Central Hospital (Caracas, Venezuela)

My heart beat happily. My uncle was standing in the door, wearing his familiar brown Franciscan habit and holding a worn gray bag. His hair was trimmed short, and he was sporting a beard that made him look older. I wanted to launch myself at him, but the growing pain in my arm stopped me. He approached and enveloped me in a warm hug. The lump in my throat suddenly exploded and tears started to stream down my face.

After crying uncontrollably for a moment and being comforted by uncle Chucho, as my mom used to call him, I lay back on my bed and glanced at the door. My dad was standing there, looking furious.

My dad and Chucho used to be inseparable since they were children. My dad had always had Chucho's back, even risking my grandfather's disapproval when he supported my uncle's decision to be ordained. My grandpa had always thought that becoming a priest "was not a real man's job." They were friends through thick and thin, even my uncle used to be my mother's best friends. Until my mom's sudden death, when everything took a turn for the worse. Neither my brother nor I knew what really happened, but we could tell my dad now hated his brother. After my mom's dead, my dad threw away all the family pictures were my uncle appeared.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" my dad yelled at my uncle.

"I came to see my nephews, and to pray for Aníbal's and Azael's recovery." My uncle's voice was calm and warm.

"You saw them, now get the fuck out of here!" said my dad, raising his voice.

"Dad! My uncle's here because I asked him to come!" For the first time in my life, I yelled at my father, suddenly angry at his attitude. My grandma's eyes flashed a warning, and my dad, blushing angrily, stared daggers at me through his glasses.

"What did you say, Aníbal?"

"I called him!" maybe tiredness made me reckless, but I continued anyway yelling at him. "And I'm asking you to please let me talk to him, alone!"

"You will not talk to this man and I will not leave you alone with him, like I did with your mother—," my dad warned me.

"It's best if we leave for a moment; my grandson wishes to speak with his uncle," intervened my grandma and ushered my dad to the door. He let her, still glaring at my uncle.

My uncle stood by the window, gazing at the park outside. "Guess what, nephew? I lived this encounter before, in a dream," blue birds were fluttering outside, and my uncle followed them with his gaze, smiling softly. He turned, and sat down on the couch, leaving his old bag next to him. "I know you need to discuss something with me urgently."

I dried my tears, remembering how important and significant his visit was for me. I was desperate for his expert advice about the astral travels, or dreams, or whatever, I was having.

"Since my brother's accident, some freak things have been happening. It's hard to explain, and even more to believe—"

"Before we discuss your dreams, tell me what happened, from the beginning."

"It was an accident while we were playing futsal," I paused, confused. How did my uncle know about the dreams?

"Playing futsal?" my uncle prompted me.

"Yeah. That day was beyond odd. A bunch of weird stuff happened; everywhere I saw there was this Dalmatian."

"A Dalmatian," my uncle asserted. He didn't look surprised or worried.

"I've being having these incredibly weird dreams," my uncle furrowed his brow in concentration. "I've being dreaming of angels," his frown relaxed, and he smiled. "I dreamt I was leaving my body, and there was another me sleeping in the bed, and there was this old man, with a long beard and piercing blue eyes, and wearing white robes, waiting for me. He was dressed like a circus magician, except for the wings and white armor."

My uncle jumped out of the sofa. "Salazar!" he exclaimed. "You know him?"

"The prophecy is being fulfilled," he observed. The blue birds were now hitting the glass, trying to get into the room.

"What prophecy?"

"The prophecy, the one written in a secret Gospel that forewarns the arrival of humanity's Final Judgement."

My blood chilled in my veins. My uncle's eyes were fixed on me, reminding me of Salazar. He sat down again on the sofa, rummaged through his bag, and pulled out something that was brighter than sunlight. I froze.