Max Donovan's Curse

It has been two days since the peculiar incident unfolded, two complete days since the elderly woman ignited into flames following her curse upon Max and two days since Max succumbed to unconsciousness. 

Max abruptly jolted from the bed, desperately gasping for air as he frantically scanned his surroundings to confirm where he was. Gripped by fear because he was being choked and rendered powerless by an unknown figure in the unconscious state he was stuck in that felt like an eternity. 

Agitated by fear and panic, Max tried to unplug the heart monitor connected to him and also tried to extract the cannula that delivered fluids into his dehydrated body through his vein. Two doctors and a few nurses with frantic expressions rushed into his room, they surrounded him quickly to stabilize him. The billionaire is under their vigilant care. 

"What happened?" He croaked out, sensing his parched throat. He had been drifting in and out of a coma state for the past two days, hence the sensation. Yet, he remained oblivious.

"Mr Donovan, please remain calm. I will explain everything." The doctor responded in a gentle tone, hoping to soothe his unrest. 

Max complied with the doctor's directive and maintained silence. His mind was a whirlwind of questions, each one was a puzzle piece adding to his mounting worry. He recalled the recent events but couldn't remember how he ended up here in the hospital and that left him stranded in a sea of uncertainty. 

With bated breath, he awaited the completion of the medical team's ministrations before seeking out the doctor who stayed behind, the one who had tried to calm him. The unknown gnawed at him, driving his urgency for answers. Max could not bear to remain in the dark.

Although deep down, he silently hoped that the events that transpired to be nothing more than a haunting reverie. A mere nightmare, despite the eerie and creepy nature of the one he had just emerged from.

"Mr Donovan, you were rushed here two days ago. We were informed that you passed out after an encounter with an old woman who had marked your wrist and then burst into flames afterward." The doctor explained, refreshing Max's mind even though he had doubts that their story was true. 

They were in a normal world, not a mystical one. But he refrained from voicing his skepticism, unwilling to jeopardize his position by pointing out the absurdity of their claims. It lacked common sense. 

"So it was real?" Max paled, the recollection was vivid in his mind as he replayed the entire incident from start to finish. His memory was rekindled by the unfortunate confrontation with an elderly woman whom he had underestimated.

"It was Mr Ethan who narrated it to us, but we didn't see any mark on your wrist nor is there anything else wrong with you, Sir. We did a full medical checkup while you were in a coma." The doctor had softly explained, seeing worry etching on Max's face. He wondered why a man of Max's status would embrace such superstitious beliefs. 

Aren't billionaires usually more realistic? 

"There are no marks?" Max, perplexed by the doctor's words, inquired further.

"Yes sir. Everything is crystal clear. No marks or bruises adorn your body. Your health status is pristine. The only prescription we offer is to indulge in ample rest for a few days. Occasionally, stress can trigger sudden fainting spells." The doctor refrained from mentioning that stress might have induced a state of delusion. 

"Doctor, I didn't faint due to stress. I fainted because there was a scorching mark on my wrist. Can't you see it? That freaky old woman inflicted it upon me. She even ignited into flames afterward. Conduct more examinations. You will discover something." Max adamantly rejected the doctor's diagnosis. He was not one to simply faint due to mere stress. He did not reach his current wealth position by being easily swayed by stress.

In fact, he could argue that he was totally immune to stress. And the red mark was still engraved on the skin of his right wrist.

Perhaps the doctor is partially blind or color blind.

"Mr Donovan, it's just stress. It's–"

Max interrupted the doctor, exclaiming, "Don't tell that to me! Don't speak of things you are uncertain about. I am the one who lived through it. Conduct further examinations. If you are unable to handle this, just tell me. There are numerous hospitals eager to assist me." Max lashed out at the doctor, resenting the disbelief reflected on the face of the man in a white coat, standing before him. 

He was not a naive individual. He could decipher the doctor's expression. It was evident that the man considered him to be delusional.

The doctor swiftly apologized, knowing that losing their top client could cost him his job. "It's not as you think. We will conduct more examinations, just as you requested."

"Excellent." Max gestured with his hand, dismissing the issue. "Where is Ethan?"

"He's waiting outside, Sir," the doctor replied.

"Ask him to come in as you leave," Max ordered. The doctor excused himself and exited the room.

In a few moments, Ethan entered the room. Worry was evident on his face. "Sir, are you alright? The doctors assured me of your physical well-being, but I am not convinced," he expressed to Max.

"Ethan, physically I am fine. However, internally, I sense all is not well," Max responded candidly.

 Ethan had been by his side since the birth of his company a decade ago. Back when he was a young man of twenty-four, brimming with dreams and ambitious goals, the company was barely scraping by. Ethan played a significant role in his empire and achievements. Max had always made sure to show his appreciation in various ways.

A home, investments, and a generous monthly salary. Along with educational support for his twin children. Everything to ensure Ethan lived a comfortable life.

Ethan was perhaps the only receiver of Max's acts of kindness and thoughtful gestures. 

Ethan expressed his certainty, "I knew it. That old woman was a witch. She did something really bad to you. I don't think these doctors can do anything."

Max's worry spiked as he asked, "What do you mean she was a witch and these doctors can't do anything about it?" Because if she was a witch, he was doomed.

"Can you see the mark on your wrist?" Ethan inquired. 

"Yes, it's still bright and red, but no longer burning," Max replied.

"But I can't see the mark. No one else can see it. So nobody will believe that something is wrong, and that's why I said the doctors can't do anything about it. It's sorcery, sir," Ethan's statement made Max's eyes widen and left his mouth agape.

"Sor- Sorcery?" He stuttered. 

"Yes sir." Ethan nodded firmly. 

"How did you come by this knowledge?" Max asked. 

He was no fool to piece together the puzzle that all occurrences were ordinary. He was well aware that the events between him and the peculiar old woman were far from normal. Yet, hope, a delicate sentiment he despised, lingered in the recesses of his fearful mind.

He dared to hope it wasn't magic.

His influence, his strength, his riches, his treasures— all rendered powerless against a problem wrought by sorcery.

Encountering a problem his wealth couldn't mend left him feeling impotent, a sensation he dreaded and hated.

"Linda, your secretary, relayed the information. When she visited two days ago and we recounted the events to her, she identified it as the work of a witch and mentioned someone who could offer aid," Ethan responded.

"Linda?" Max questioned with skepticism 

"Yes." Ethan nodded. Linda was one of his seasoned colleagues, with over five years of experience at the company and in her fifties. This fact alone made Max inclined to trust Ethan's words.

"So who does she believe can assist me? Another witch?"

"No, sir, it's a shaman. And I believe we should head there immediately," Ethan proposed.

"Do you truly think it's wise?" Max inquired, his voice tinged with doubt and weariness.

"Yes, sir. I do." 

Sometime later, Max and Ethan were on their way to the shaman Linda was guiding them to. Her car was in front of theirs, leading them to the shaman's sanctuary.

The journey was quiet. Max couldn't shake the thought of the red mark on his right wrist, wondering if it was a bad omen. It was too crucial, threatening to derail his ambitions of becoming the world's second wealthiest man. That position was a stepping stone towards his ultimate goal - being the richest man in the world, the billionaire bachelor.

"We've arrived, sir," Ethan announced, pulling Max out of his reverie about his aspirations and desires. His dreams of reaching greater heights.

Max cleared his throat, stepping out of the luxurious black car, and surveying his surroundings. He had expected to see a place similar to the one he had destroyed on his property, but the shaman's abode appeared surprisingly inviting. It resembled a residence more than a shrine.

It was a bungalow, nestled in a tranquil and secluded area. The only sounds that filled the air were the melodious chirping of birds and the gentle rustling of dried leaves and grasses swaying in the wind.

They followed Linda, a petite woman whose bob-length hair showed hints of gray. They entered the dimly lit house. The bodyguards remained outside, diligently carrying out their duties of safeguarding their employer.

"Aunt! We have arrived," Linda announced, surprising both Ethan and Max with the unexpected title. The air was filled with the scent of incense, a vast difference from the musty odor of the old witch's tattered hut. 

"Welcome, please take a seat," a woman in her sixties emerged from behind the curtains, another unexpected sight for Max, who had anticipated meeting someone much older. 

"My niece informed me about your predicament. My name is Patricia. I have to take a look at your wrist." The shaman addressed him directly. He nervously extended his right hand for the woman to examine. 

Patricia, the shaman, only needed a few moments to inspect his hand before releasing it and moving to sit on a couch directly across from Max.

"Both of you should excuse us. I have to speak with only him." The shaman told Linda and Ethan. The two got up and left immediately. 

Max gulped again. The shaman's aura exuded an intimidating presence that made Max feel small. He resented feeling intimidated, believing that as a billionaire, he shouldn't be affected so easily. So, he placed the blame on the elderly witch.

"You have been cursed by a primeval sorceress. These witches are exceedingly rare as they were the first of their kind to be brought into existence. They have faced death and rebirth countless times, possessing immense power and a fierce nature. Those who have crossed their paths have never known peace thereafter." The shaman's words were akin to tiny needles pricking his skin, inflicting a slow and agonizing torment that seemed never-ending as she recounted the tale of the old and ailing woman who had placed the curse upon him. 

"You are going to perish in thirty days due to this curse. It's a powerful one because it killed her. She must have despised you so much." The shaman spoke to him. His blood seethed with fury. 

He cannot perish. No. He cannot die. 

"Thirty days?" He roared in a guttural voice. 

"Yes, thirty days." The shaman affirmed. He vigorously shook his head, adamantly rejecting this cruel destiny. Just a few months ago, he was thirty-five. He still had numerous accomplishments ahead of him. Much to accomplish. He simply cannot die.

An intense and apprehensive expression settled upon his face that typically radiated pride and assurance. He gazed at the shaman, yearning for her to offer a remedy.

Because he was not prepared to depart from this world.

"Max Donovan, you are fated to perish within thirty sunsets unless you encounter your soulmate. Your predestined life companion. Only then shall your curse be lifted."