[hider=Max Cotto] 

Name: Maximilian Elias Cotto

Age: 18

Gender: Male

Appearance: [url=https://patrickbrueltour.files.wordpress.com/2014/10/patrick-bruel.jpg]Max[/url] is a young man of slight build and olive complexion, with thick dark curling hair and alert brown eyes. He lacks any distinguishing marks- no scars, tattoos, deformities, anything like that. He prefers to wear dark clothing, and always wears a small Hand of Miriam necklace. 

Personality: Max is cynical, pessimistic, and occasionally bitter, often treating even the people he likes with disrespect and sarcasm. He is not naturally likable. However, this stems from his own insecurities- his own loneliness and anxiety about his life causes him to lash out in a self-perpetuating cycle. Privately, though he would never admit it, Max is a desperately soul-searching young man. Outwardly, he's just a snarky, sarcastic misanthrope.

History: An only child, Max was born and raised in sunny Sacramento, California. His mother Rachel lost a short and brutal battle with ovarian cancer when he was only four, leaving Max to grow up under the care of his father Reuben. The elder Cotto, a history professor at Sacramento State, threw himself into his work and peculiar hobbies, frequently dropping everything to leave town on sudden "business trips". Max was raised mostly by babysitters and various members of his extended family. His mother's death and father's periodic absences had a profound effect on him, pushing him into cynicism and distrust of authority from an early age. While he did exceptionally well in school, he made few friends. 

Gradually, as Max grew older, he came to realize exactly what Reuben Cotto's "business trips" truly were: amateur paranormal investigations undertaken by a semi-secret group calling themselves the California Dreamers. While the older Cotto had long been a member of this organization, he had grown obsessed with the supernatural since the death of his wife, perhaps hoping to find some closure or comfort in the thought of a larger world, a world where death was but a state of being and the soul lived on.

Max considered himself more realistic. His father's bizarre form of hope and idealism clashed with his son's skepticism and doubt. The gulf between father and son widened, particularly when Reuben tried to include his son in the activities of the California Dreamers. Max didn't believe in the supernatural. He didn't even believe in people. It became a point of contention, with the two barely speaking to one another and resentment growing on both sides. Finally, the older Cotto suggested to his son that he spend a year studying abroad after high school, using his contacts in the educational world to help Max gain admission to the Catalina Academy. Max agreed, thinking some time out of the country might help clear his head, and now finds himself off in the misty Caribbean. 

Why are you here?: Max first learned of the Catalina Academy through his father Reuben, a professor in the California State system who has contacts all throughout the educational world. Reuben encouraged Max to apply, ostensibly for college prep, and Max agreed, hoping a change of scenery and meeting new people might improve his mood. The application process was a bit odd, but Max contented himself by firing off an essay- he had always had a talent for writing. 

Faith: Max is virtually faithless, something of a nihilist. 

Fear: Max's darkest fear is one that visits us all, late on sleepless nights, in our deepest depressions, except in his case it is always whispering in the back of his mind. Max is truly concerned that there is no meaning to life or the world, that our existence is solely an accident and all of us have spiraled out of control, that nothing truly matters and continued existence is utterly futile. Max despairs, and occasionally in his worst moments, begins to suspect that his fears are uncomfortably true.

Astrological sign: Capricorn

Other: Max speaks Spanish (thanks to growing up in California) and Hebrew (thanks to growing up with his father) at near fluent levels.

[/hider]

[hider=Prologue] 

The old valise was perhaps a little too full, Max conceded as he strained to close it, the springs of his bed creaking as he pushed down on the lid. Still, he was obstinately determined to make this one suitcase work. He didn't want to bring any more luggage than he had to.

There was a gentle tap at his door, and Max's father poked his head inside. He was a gentle, soft-spoken man with warm eyes and a graying walrus mustache, and yet Max didn't particularly want to see or speak to him. "All packed?" the older man asked quietly.

"Yeah, Dad," Max grunted as he wrestled down the lid a final time and struggled with the straps on the suitcase.

"You sure I can't give you a ride to the airport?"

"Armando's dropping me off. He should be here soon."

"Tell him to be careful driving up there. The I-5 can be a real pain in the keister this time of day." The older man hovered uncertainly in the doorway, unsure of how to say what he wanted to say next.

Max looked at his father curiously as he struggled with the old leather suitcase. "Is there something else?"

The man shrugged. "Look, son, I just wanted to say I'm proud of you and I love you. And- and I think if your mom was here she'd be proud too." He shuffled awkwardly, reaching into his pocket for something. "I've been planning to give this to you for a long time, I was just never sure when. It's hard to know the right time, when you have kids you'll understand that. I thought maybe your thirteenth birthday, but I didn't think you'd be old enough to understand. Then I thought last Hanukkah, but. . ." his voice trailed off.

"You missed last Hanukkah," Max said coldly. "You were down in El Centro with your Dreamer buddies. Looking for- what was it? El Chupacabra? Or was it the ghost lights again?"

"Well, to be fair, Hanukkah isn't even one of the High Holidays," the old man tried to joke. He could see his attempt at humor was not appreciated, and cleared his throat. "Anyways, I've carried this a long time for you, because rightfully you should have it. Do you remember this?" He extended his hand. Within his palm was a smaller palm, made of ornate and carefully polished silver. A Hand of Miriam.

Max looked closely, hardly believing his eyes. "Wasn't that Mom's? She wore it around her neck, right?"

The older man nodded. "She wanted me to give it to you when the time was right. Take it, wear it around your neck, many Sephardim do. They say it protects you from demons and the evil eye."

Max took the talisman, looped the chain around his neck. "Thanks, Dad, I don't know what to say. Something to remember Mom by." His gratitude was genuine. He remembered the trinket vaguely from his childhood, so long ago, but had never really thought to wonder what had happened to it in the years since. "I don't know about the evil eye bit, but I do appreciate this."

The old man shrugged. "The evil eye might be real. I don't know just yet. Just do me one favor, son. Let me know about anything. . . weird on that island, alright? You know how your old dad likes his spooky stories." 

Max arched an eyebrow at this. "Dad, is this one of your schemes to prove to me the supernatural exists?" he said, only half-joking.

His father shrugged lightly. "A man's got to believe in something bigger than himself, son." A car horn sounded outside their house. "That must be Armando. You'd better get going, Maximilian. I'd hate for you to miss your flight." 

[/hider]