The whole city was full of dancing skeletons. Death itself was celebrated, embraced during the first days of November. Graveyard stayed open late, vendors sold skeleton figurines in dresses, and the whole city smelled of marigolds. Horatio Caine found himself in the midst of a parade of skeletons, their clothing shining with chingaderas and flowers. He felt out of place amongst this macabre celebration. High tempo Latin music wound its way through the streets. Women with their faces painted to look like skeletons walked by, this multi-layered skirts swishing along the ground. Long hair was bound up into braids and plaited with marigolds. For a man who had lived in New York, it was a spectacle of color and sound the likes of which he had never experienced before.
And she had dragged him into it.
His girlfriend, Laila Collins, was supposed to meet him here. So far, he hadn't seen her. She had told him to look for a skeleton with a rose behind her ear, but everywhere he looked were marigolds. He felt a hand on his shoulder, his hand immediately going to his gun as he whirled around. A young woman was standing there, almost as tall as him. Her blonde hair had been braided, secured with a comb, and had a mantilla draped over it. Her face wouldn't have stood out in the crowd on this night, covered with white greasepaint. Black greasepaint was slathered on her eyes, and more defined her cheekbones and her lips, where it had been painted to resemble teeth. Her eyes were almost as dark as the paint, their brown irises dancing. The dress she wore could have belonged to any girl in the crowd, white with black lace around the pleated edges.
She had a red rose behind her ear.
"You look scared." Laila said, linking her arm with his. She reached up the half inch she needed to kiss him lightly on his lips. He smirked under the kiss.
"I'm used to death, just not celebrating it." Horatio said with all sincerity. Truth be told, the easiness with which these people accepted death frightened him. Death meant you lost the ones you cared about. You didn't get to see them again. Everything ended with death.
"Why not? You can't live your whole life in fear, Horatio. Sometimes you just have to accept things, even death." Laila spoke as if she had decided this a long time ago. Maybe she had, she and Horatio had never spoken about death. She had comforted him during a rough patch for him, and he had felt almost indebted to her since. "Now come on, there's a place over here with great green chile tamales."
"You say that like a Spanish-speaker." He noted, hearing the slights exaggeration of the s.
"I've learned some. I'm not fluent but I know enough." Laila turned back, smiling. She looked like something that would fly above a pirate ship. The food cart she pulled him to did have some good food, but it wasn't enough to shake him out of the funk. Horatio Caine and Death had walked together for a long time, but he wasn't ready to become bedfellows with the Reaper. She seemed to notice after she came back from throwing away their plates.
"Horatio, do you want to go to the graveyard?" She asked, "I know it sounds weird, but we can leave some offerings and it might make you feel better." He only smirked and nodded. He walked with her until she found a vendor. Laila didn't give herself enough credit, she did the entire purchase in Spanish. She came away with a long tapered candle, a handful of marigold blossoms, a small loaf of bread, a ceramic bowl, one of the skeleton figurines, and a shot glass full of tequila.
"What is all that?" He asked her as they made their way to the graveyard. He knew what graveyard was closest, he had walked this path many times. Horatio would take her to see Raymond's grave, and maybe she was right. Maybe this would give him some closure.
"The offerings. The candle to draw the spirit near, the bowl we'll fill with water so it can wash itself after its journey, the marigolds to have it stay, the pan de muerto, bread of the dead, is for it to eat, and the tequila to let it be happy. The skeleton, well I just wanted one to be honest." She smiled, and suddenly Horatio didn't dread the coming moment so much. Once they got past the gates, accepting a man's help to light their candle, he subtly guided her towards his brother's grave. She filled the bowl at a fountain they passed.
"Raymond Caine." She whispered. "Horatio." He looked down to her. Her eyes were full, and a tear slowly began to make its way down her face. He admired her fortitude though. Even with the tears, she set up the altar. The candle stood on the gravestone, secured in its own melted wax. Beside it went the bowl, the marigolds scattered around and in it. The pan de muerto rested near he bowl as did the tequila. She sniffed, "Do you have a picture?" Horatio nodded, pulling out his wallet.
"Yes." He extended it to her, she settled it by the candle and weighted it down with a few pebbles. Her duties finished, she stood.
"Do you want to be by yourself, or do you want me to stay?" She asked, her voice still emotional.
"Just, just give me a few minutes." He told her, settling himself down in front of his brother's grave. She walked away, but before she did she placed her hand on his shoulder.
"Horatio, I'm not religious. But you can't spend your whole life blaming yourself. You'll see him again someday, and..." She trailed off. "Don't let it consume you. Celebrate Raymond's life, not his death." With that she left, her skirt swishing in the grass. Horatio let what she said sink in. With her words in his mind, he spoke.
"I miss you, Raymond. Yelina misses you, Ray Jr. misses you. I begged you to stay away from narco, got down on my knees and begged. But you wouldn't listen, you never listened. Every single time I warned you, all you did was ignore me." Horatio felt his voice hitch. He looked up to the offerings. Suddenly he wasn't only speaking to Raymond, but to everyone he had lost. He spoke to Speedle, dead in his arms. To Hagen, lying sightlessly in Calleigh's lab. To all the witnesses he had seen die, to all the people he had shot. He was in tears right now.
Finally, he spoke to his parents.
"I miss you Ma. Every day, I miss you. You would know what to do right now. I've got Laila, and I think you'd love her, and she cares. She reminds me of you in that. She just cares. But I miss you. I lost you too soon, and then I sent Dad to you. I can't every forget that. It's my burden. I need to remember that, every day." Horatio knelt there, tears rolling down his face. He didn't even notice when Laila reappeared, her arms around him.
"Share that burden Horatio, or better yet, let it go." Her voice was almost nothing but sobs. She must have been listening to him. "You're still here, I'm still here. We're still alive, but they're waiting for you. And you don't have to go there for a long time." Horatio let her rock him back and forth, until both of them had stopped crying. "You don't need to bear your brother's burden, Horatio."
"I do." If he lost the guilt, what would keep him grounded? His guilt drove him, kept him focused.
"Horatio, no one man can carry that. Let it go." She told him, standing up to grasp one of the marigold blossoms. She handed it to him, then took one for herself. "Come with me." She didn't give him an option, pulling him to his feet and after her. They finally ended up by one of the rivers that cut its way through Miami. She turned to him, pointing to the river. "Let them go Horatio. If you hold on to them, you're just holding them back from what they should go on to. Every one of them." Laila turned around, setting the flower into the river. It began to be borne away by the current. Horatio saw her lips moving, names passing over them. When the flower finally floated into the dark, she turned. "Your turn."
"I really don't think-"
"Your turn." Her voice was firm. He stepped forward, cradling the flower. He lowered himself down, setting the flower into the water. It began to float away. He did as Laila had, repeating the names of all those he had lost. Truth be told, he actually felt better. Once his flower was gone, he turned to her.
"Now what?"
"We enjoy our lives. And let the ghosts get on with theirs." She linked her arm with his. "Death doesn't leave, but that doesn't mean you have to be afraid. Enjoy the present, and spend one day a year remembering those you've lost. Don't forget them," She placed a palm on his chest. "but don't let them consume you." Some of the music from the party blew over to them on the breeze, and Laila began to dance. She pulled Horatio into it, twirling in his arms, not caring who saw. All they would see was a skeleton and a man haunted by his own ghosts, dancing their release on the Day of the Dead.
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