They Tried to Kill Me Quietly, Now I’m Coming Back Loud

An Unexpected Gift

Chapter 3

Consciousness returned slowly, dragging Esteban up from the depths of oblivion like a reluctant swimmer breaking the surface of dark water. His eyelids felt heavy, weighted down with lead, but he forced them open.

The first thing he saw was a face.

Not just any face—the most breathtakingly beautiful face he'd ever seen. Delicate features framed by cascading waves of dark hair, porcelain skin that seemed to glow in the soft light, and eyes so clear and bright they reminded him of polished amber. For a moment, his pain-addled brain wondered if he'd died and this was some kind of angel.

Then reality crashed back in, and with it came the realization that made his chest tighten: Miranda, his wife who he'd once thought was beautiful, now seemed utterly ordinary in comparison to this vision before him.

"Where... where am I?" Esteban's voice came out as barely more than a croak. He tried to sit up, and immediately regretted it as pain lanced through his ribs.

"Easy." The young woman's voice was melodious, cultured. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, guiding him back down. "You fainted right outside my door. I brought you inside."

Esteban blinked, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He was lying on what felt like the most comfortable surface he'd ever experienced—a plush sofa in a room that screamed wealth. Everything from the crown molding to the artwork on the walls spoke of a level of affluence he could only dream about.

"You... saved me?" His throat felt like sandpaper.

The young woman smiled, and it was like watching the sun break through storm clouds. "I suppose you could say that. I had some urgent family matters to attend to and couldn't take you to the hospital, but our family doctor examined you. He said you're fine, just exhausted."

"Thank you." Esteban pushed himself up more carefully this time, managing to sit upright despite the protests from his battered body. "I don't know how to repay you for your kindness."

"It was nothing, really." She stood gracefully, smoothing down her elegant dress. "Just a small favor. But since you're awake now, I need to get back to my grandfather. I'll show you out."

"Wait—" Esteban struggled to his feet, swaying slightly. "What's your name? I'd like to know who I'm indebted to. Someday, I promise I'll find a way to repay you."

The young woman paused at the doorway, glancing back with an amused smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She shook her head gently, as if finding his promise both touching and impossibly naive, then walked out without answering.

Esteban felt heat rush to his face. Of course she didn't want to give her name. What could someone like him—broke, dying, beaten bloody in a hotel hallway—possibly offer someone who lived like this? He was dismissed, and rightfully so.

Embarrassment fueling his movements, Esteban followed her through the doorway and found himself in an enormous living room that made his and Miranda's entire apartment look like a closet. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked a manicured garden that probably required a full-time staff. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, and the furniture looked like it belonged in a museum.

But it wasn't the opulence that caught his attention. It was the scene unfolding near the garden doors.

A middle-aged man in a crisp white doctor's coat was bent over an elderly man seated in an ornate chair. The old man's appearance was striking in all the wrong ways—his skin had a grayish pallor, his lips tinged with an unsettling purple hue, and his eyes stared ahead with a disturbing lack of focus. He looked like a corpse propped up in a chair.

Then something extraordinary happened.

As Esteban looked at the elderly man, information began flooding into his mind—not in words, but in pure, crystalline understanding. He could see, somehow, that the old man's vital energy was catastrophically depleted. His organs were failing one by one, like dominoes falling in slow motion. The heart was struggling, the kidneys barely functioning, the liver toxic and swollen. Death wasn't approaching—it was already in the room, waiting.

Esteban stumbled backward, his hand flying to his head. How did he know all this? He'd never studied medicine, never even taken a first aid course. Yet the knowledge was there, undeniable and precise, as if someone had downloaded an entire medical encyclopedia directly into his brain.

The inheritance.

The memory hit him like a physical blow. Just before Enrique's boot connected with his temple, there had been... something. A voice? A presence? It was hazy, dreamlike, but he remembered now—some kind of ancient inheritance, a gift of knowledge passed down through impossible ages. He'd thought it was a hallucination, his dying brain's last desperate fantasy.

But it was real. All of it was real.

"So, Dr. Navarro?" The young woman's anxious voice cut through Esteban's thoughts. She was hovering near the elderly man—her grandfather, clearly. "What are the results? Is he going to be okay?"

Dr. Navarro straightened, tucking his stethoscope back into his coat pocket with a smile that Esteban instantly recognized as practiced and false. "Nothing serious, Miss McCauley. Your grandfather is simply experiencing some depletion of vital energy, which is causing the weakness. As long as he receives the special remedies I've been prescribing regularly, he should improve in time."

"Oh, thank God!" The young woman—Josefina McCauley, apparently—pressed her hands together. "Thank you so much, Dr. Navarro. I don't know what we'd do without you."

Dr. Navarro pulled out a prescription pad with a flourish, clearly basking in her gratitude. "Not at all, my dear. Your family has been very good to me. Now, let me just write out the updated dosage—"

"That's wrong."

The words left Esteban's mouth before his brain could catch up with what he was saying. Three pairs of eyes turned to stare at him—Josefina's surprised, Dr. Navarro's shocked and angry, and the old man's still disturbingly vacant.

"Excuse me?" Dr. Navarro's voice dropped several degrees in temperature.

Esteban's heart hammered in his chest, but the knowledge burning in his mind wouldn't let him stay silent. Not when he could see so clearly what was really happening. "I said that's wrong. The old man's condition is critical. His organs are failing. If you don't get him to a hospital for emergency treatment immediately, he could die at any moment."

"How dare you!" Dr. Navarro's face flushed red with indignation. "Are you cursing Old Mr. McCauley? In his own home?"

"I'm not cursing anyone. I'm stating medical fact—"

"Medical fact?" Dr. Navarro advanced on Esteban, his eyes blazing. "And what would you know about medical facts? Are you a doctor? Which hospital are you chief physician at? Tell me."

Esteban's face burned. "I'm not... I'm not a hospital doctor, but—"

"Then what are you blabbering about?" Dr. Navarro cut him off with a contemptuous wave. "Trying to show off? Make yourself look important? I've been practicing medicine for thirty years, and you, some nobody who fainted on the doorstep, think you know better?"

Josefina stepped forward, and the coldness in her eyes made Esteban's earlier embarrassment feel like a warm embrace by comparison. "I think it's time for you to leave. Our family doesn't need your help, and we certainly don't need you causing trouble and spreading panic."

"Miss McCauley, please—" Esteban's voice rose with desperation. "I'm telling you the truth. Your grandfather is in critical condition. If Dr. Navarro treats him with those remedies, he'll—"

"Enough!" Josefina's voice cracked like a whip. "If you don't leave immediately, I'll call security and have you thrown out. Is that what you want? To be dragged out like a common criminal?"

Dr. Navarro crossed his arms, a sneer twisting his features. "Many people try to attach themselves to the McCauley family, hoping for wealth and connections. But you, young man, are the first I've seen who's stupid enough to insult their family doctor while doing it. Quite the strategy."

Esteban opened his mouth to protest again, but the words died in his throat as Clyde McCauley suddenly convulsed violently in his chair.

The old man's body jerked like a puppet with tangled strings, his head snapping back. Then, with a wet, choking sound, he vomited a stream of blood that splattered across the pristine white marble floor. His eyes rolled back, and he slid sideways off the chair, crumpling to the ground like a discarded coat.

"Grandfather!" Josefina's scream pierced the air as she rushed forward, dropping to her knees beside Clyde's motionless form. Her hands fluttered uselessly over him, afraid to touch, afraid to hurt him further. "Dr. Navarro! Do something!"

Dr. Navarro stood frozen for a precious second, his face cycling rapidly through shock, fear, and calculation. Then he lurched into action, dropping beside Clyde and fumbling for a pulse. He pulled up one of the old man's eyelids, and Esteban saw the color drain from the doctor's face.

"His pupils..." Dr. Navarro's voice came out strangled. "They're dilating. He's... Miss McCauley, we need to—"

"What's happening?" Josefina grabbed the doctor's arm hard enough to leave marks. "You said he was fine! You said it was just depletion!"

"I... I don't understand. He was stable just moments ago." Dr. Navarro's hands were shaking as he checked Clyde again, his professional facade crumbling like wet paper. Sweat beaded on his forehead, running down his temples. "This is... I didn't expect..."

"Then start the rescue!" Josefina's voice broke on the last word, tears streaming down her face. "You're a doctor! Save him!"

"I can't!" The admission burst from Dr. Navarro like a confession. "Not here. We need to get him to the hospital where the equipment is. Without proper facilities, I can't—"

"Then get the car!" Josefina screamed at someone—a servant, perhaps. "Now! Get the car now!"

"Don't move him."

Esteban's voice cut through the panic like a blade through silk. He stepped forward, his movements calm despite his racing heart. "If you want any chance of saving him, you need to start treatment right now. Taking him to the hospital is pointless."

"You?" Dr. Navarro's voice dripped with venom and desperation in equal measure. "How the hell do you think you can treat him?"

Esteban met Josefina's tear-filled eyes. "Miss McCauley, if you trust me, I can stabilize your grandfather's condition within ten minutes."

Dr. Navarro let out a bark of hysterical laughter. "Ten minutes? His pupils are already dilating! He has five minutes at most before there's no bringing him back! What are you going to do, drag him back from hell?"

Esteban turned his gaze to the doctor, and something in his eyes made Dr. Navarro flinch. "If you know he only has five minutes left, why are you suggesting taking him to the hospital? Tell me, Doctor—what hospital can you reach in five minutes?"

The color drained from Dr. Navarro's face as he realized his mistake. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, caught in his own attempt to deflect responsibility.

The clock was ticking, and Clyde McCauley was dying on the floor.