December, 2018.

Re-animated, that was the word the newspapers chose to use. It sounded less creepy. Undead gave off the wrong impression, after all. It made people think of zombies and all those terrible movies Abel liked.

Re-animated sounded harmless, right?

Still, it nearly frightened Elena into an early grave herself when her re-animated sister appeared in the workshop. Victoria snuck in, wearing nothing but a hospital gown. Her feet were bare and her hair dishevelled. She looked over Elena's shoulder, criticised her stitching and then promptly fainted in her sister's arms.

Victoria had always been a bit of a drama queen.

She loved making an entrance.

-0-

"Experts" were frequently interviewed on her radio and on the televison, but Elena thought they were all just making it up as they went along.

Experts, pah! This had never happened before, Everyone was just guessing. Elena wasn't going to pay any attention to some know-nothing-professor who warned people not to get 'too attached' to their newly returned loved ones, because it was unnatural.

Not be attached to Victoria – her beautiful sister? Pah! Elena should track that professor down and hit him with her shoe. What an idiot. Yes, it was a little strange having Victoria back, but they would get used to it. Some members of the family would take more time to getting used to it than others.

Miguel was clearly delighted to see her. Mama Coco had been exceptionally confused, but very happy to see her daughter again. Abel had been avoiding Victoria – too many of those fool Zombie movies.

Rather than a music ban, they should have had a zombie movie ban.

No Zombies!

Victoria had come back as she was the day she died. She looked exactly as Elena had last seen her, waving from the end of the street and excited about her holiday. Victoria didn't have a scratch on her – no indication that she had been in a horrific bus accident. She said she had woken up in the hospital where she had died. She was meant to wait for "processing" and "observation", but she had felt impatient to see her family and had fled.

Victoria's experience was the common story. The re-animated appeared where they had died, in a sudden explosion of petals. This was causing a great deal of commotion in the hospitals. They were suddenly teeming with people. They also had required specialist cleaning services to free them of petals, but only one expert had been brave enough to point out this particular inconvenience.

One ambulance had six people appear inside it at once! This nearly caused a second accident that would have sent everyone back to the land of the dead.

There didn't seem much rhyme or reason to who returned. So far it was mostly young people; those who had died sudden, accidental deaths, those who had died violent deaths, those who had died of completely natural causes, like unknown brain tumors. They were the ones who returned. The TV and the newspapers blared theories. Miguel was lapping them up.

"People who died young and violently? Papa Héctor was murdered when he was only 21. Do you think he might come?" Miguel had asked, when it first started. His voice was so hopeful. He took to glancing out the window frequently, and looking down the road, just in case.

It reminded Elena of the way Mama Coco had been last year, before the magic of Miguel's song had brought her back to herself. Mama had always been looking out the window, waiting for her papa, and not understanding why he never came home. It had made Elena very angry at that musician. That man had too much of an effect on people. He could just make people love him forever. Mama Coco wasn't waiting for him any more. Elena wasn't going to have Miguel ruin it and give her false hope.

"That musician was as reliable as a box full of dysfunctional street cats. He wont show up if we expect him too. Stop looking out the window for him." Elena had scolded that boy harshly for his foolishness.

Elena had felt a little worried. Miguel had been a little obsessed with that musician for over a year. He seemed to know how much his devotion to the musician annoyed her. Elena had hoped it was a phase and Miguel would move on to other more common forms of teenage rebellion. Most of her boys had an ill-advised flirtation with smoking at this age...

If Miguel was smoking – Elena could feel completely righteous about shutting that nonsense down.

But no, Miguel had no interest in smoking, because it would ruin his singing voice. Miguel studied his great great grandfather's large, loopy handwriting and music notes and taught himself songs. Miguel always sat with Mama Coco and wanted to hear stories of her childhood. Miguel got copies made of the old family photo, saying things like "I'm so proud of my family."

Elena didn't think it was healthy.

Though some good things had come out of his little obsession.

The music ban had been lifted, and even Elena could admit that everyone was much happier, especially the children. Miguel, Rosa and Abel had all chosen to start learning instruments – and Elena had even caught Enrique strumming on the guitar and smiling to himself when Miguel was at school.

There was also the added benefit of the royalties. Apparently the musician, someone Mama Imelda had always described the human equivalent of a drunken llama trying to limbo under an improbably narrow opening, had actually been very talented. He had written some songs that were still popular today. The rights of the songs had been transferred to the family, as Héctor's nearest living relatives. They referred to it as "The Héctor Money."

Elena didn't let it go to her head. She was sensible with money. Still, she had splurged a little. All the little projects Elena had been putting off could suddenly be afforded with ease. She had the whole casa, workshop and store re-painted, the roof re-tiled and the bathrooms re-done. She was going to have the courtyard re-paved. She had even installed air conditioning in nearly every room.

Miguel seemed so sure that Héctor would return to them. He didn't seem to understand how awkward it would be for the adults in the family. At first, no one came knocking on their door, and Elena thought they would be spared from this nonsense, and she had breathed an internal sigh of relief. But then Victoria had appeared several days after "the event" had started - because the family was never spared being part of the nonsense.

Elena had a feeling that Miguel just attracted nonsense to them.

At first, when Victoria had been dazed and confused and fainting all the time, Elena had guarded her fiercely. She'd put her sister in the nice new guest bedroom. She'd even had an en suite bathroom put in (another perk of the Héctor money.)

Victoria loudly expressed her displeasure at having to use the toilet again. It was, by far, the strangest conversation of Elena's life. Victoria forgot to eat unless Elena ate with her. She had intermittent narcolepsy and would fall asleep anywhere. She slept for most of the day – she was more awake at night, when nearly everyone else was dreaming. She was like a jet-lagged passenger. To be fair, Victoria had come a long way. Elena had been trying to let her sleep.

"Wake me up for dinner. I want to see everyone again properly." Victoria had demanded. Victoria emerged in a bright, patterned dress she had borrowed from Gloria. She was too tall and too skinny and it didn't fit her properly. Shopping, Elena thought to herself. I must take her shopping.

Miguel was instantly by her side, rushing over and knocking Rosa out of the way to be the first to give Victoria a big hug. He started asking a million questions, babbling at a mile a minute about their dead relatives. Victoria seemed to know exactly what he was talking about.

Miguel had come back home with such a strange story after he had run away last year. It was crazy, beyond crazy, to think that her little Miguel had visited the land of the dead. But Miguel had been insistent.

At first all the adults had been humouring him gently to his face, but making comments about hallucinogenic cacti behind his back. Then some of what Miguel had said turned out to be true. That man had been murdered, his songs had been stolen, and the musician with the statue on the Plaza had been to blame. All of that could be proven, but Elena highly doubted the rest of it.

Pepita became an enormous, glowing flying jaguar? Pah!

Little Miguel must have accidentally consumed some cactus to come up with that!

Now Elena realised it must have been true. All of it.

"Is anyone else coming back? Is Héctor coming back?" Miguel was asking, bouncing on the balls of his feet, beyond excited.

"Héctor's not here yet?" Victoria's brow furrowed in concern. "I thought he'd get here before me. He disappeared first."

There was a pause.

"Oh no. He's turned up in Mexico city!" Miguel said, eyes widening with realisation. "Everyone turns up where they died. He died far from home. We have to find him!"

Elena sighed and reached for the phone.

Naturally, the drunken llama of a man was going to have an inconveniently hard time getting home.

-0-

Héctor patted himself down in disbelief.

He was alive?

He had hands?

He had skin?

He had a lot of skin actually. Waking up face down in the garbage, wearing only his underwear, was by far the most underwhelming experience of his new life. He hoped. It was hard to imagine a lower point, to be honest.

At least he was starting from a low point. It could only go up from here Héctor thought to himself, optimistically.

He staggered to his feet, and tried to get his bearings, but nothing at all was familiar. He wandered to the end of the alley and was struck by so much sound and noise and colour and movement. What the hell was this place? The colours were blurring for him and he suddenly felt dizzy. He really wanted to go back to sleep, and he swayed unsteadily on his feet. He felt so cold. Suddenly a van slammed to a halt near him, and a uniformed man got out. He was at Héctor 's elbow holding him steady.

"Yo, guy. You're okay." He said.

Héctor nodded his thanks at the stranger.

"So, I'm guessing you were you recently dead but now just woken up to find yourself alive again?" The man suddenly asked, apropos of nothing.

Héctor started at him, gobsmacked. He nodded.

"We got a fresh one!" The man called over his shoulder, and then he started to guide Héctor towards the van. " I'm officer Peralta. I'm here to help you. Come with me. We'll get you some clothes and a good meal. Take it easy. I've heard coming back to life is rough."

"How did you know I used to be dead?"

"You're standing around in your underwear near stab street, looking dead on your feet...geddit?"

Héctor made a face at him.

"I mean looking confused." Officer Peralta corrected. "I'm guessing mugging gone wrong is how you died?" Peralta said as they got into the van.

"Actually, it was artistic differences." Héctor corrected him.

When inside the van, Peralta pulled out a what looked like a flatter, smaller version of those devil boxes Imelda hated. He was muttering about paperwork, and how there were so many dead people popping up, and he may as well put Héctor in the system now, what with bureaucracy being what it is, and backlogs and understaffing, and no one knew what was happening with the stupid Zombie situation, and they should probably create their own department just to deal with this mess. He finished this long and inexplicable monologue, shrugging "You know what I mean?"

Héctor just nodded. In truth, he had no idea what Officer Peralta meant, but nodding felt like the safe answer. Officer Peralta pressed a few buttons before returning his gaze to Héctor.

"So, what's your name?"

"Héctor Rivera."

"Do you know your date of death?"

"Yes. Dec 7, 1921."

Officer Peralta looked up from the flat devil box. "Well, that's a while ago. What was your age at that time?"

"21."

Officer Peralta gave a low whistle. "Yikes. Tough break kid. You died young! Your murderer even stripped you down, that sucks." He stated the bleeding obvious. Héctor wasn't sure what he was meant to in response to this statement.

"Yes. That wasn't very pleasant." Héctor tried to keep the sarcasm from his voice. Of course being murdered, then stripped down and abandoned in an alleyway had sucked. "What happens now?"

"Well there's a lot of you newly re-animated folks about." Officer Peralta said, and then looked back at his devil box screen, muttering to himself "This is a terrible city. There's been so much murder. No one should live here."

There was a long and awkward silence following this pronouncement.

"Anyway, we're taking you to the processing centre. You'll get clothes, food, be able to sleep."

Sleep sounded really good. Héctor had never wanted to sleep more in his entire life.

" Do you have any family or friends we can contact?"

"Yes!" Héctor said feeling his heart lift. He wasn't sure how long this 'being alive again' thing would last for, but if he was alive he could see Coco again! He had been waiting so long. He could finally make it home and give her the biggest hug. Héctor knew there'd be a bright side.

"Good. What's their contact information?"

"They live in Santa Cecilia."

Peralta typed something into the devilbox, then gave a low whistle.

"Wow, down in Oaxaca. You are a long way from home, amigo. Alright, what's the address?"

"From the plaza you walk straight for a bit, then take the third right, then it's on the left." Héctor said, giving directions. This was apparently not the right answer.

"Okay. Let's try again. Is there a landline phone number?"

"What?"

"Do you know the home phone number? Or anyone's mobile phone number?"

"What's a mobile phone number?"

Officer Peralta blinked, looked at the devilbox screen and sighed. "Oh right, dead since the 20s. That's not good. That's going to make it a bit harder to get you back to your family. We'll have to wait for them to come looking for you."

-0-

Elena called the line for the Mexico city "re-animated" division. She was on hold for a very long time. Miguel grew impatient and pressed the button for speaker mode, so he could better listen in. Cheery, tinkly, extremely annoying music played in the kitchen.

"No music!" Elena snapped, out of habit.

Goodness this tune was irritating! It made her want to reinstate the music ban.

Eventually a harried female voice answered. Elena relayed the situation of their missing Héctor , with Miguel frequently interrupting to provide more "crucial details".

"Hold on a minute. Peralta, it sounds like someone is calling for your lost giraffe." The woman called out. "Officer Peralta will be with you in a moment. Hold please."

The irritating music continued for what felt like an age before an extremely tired voice echoed the kitchen. It had taken Officer Peralta much more than a moment to answer the phone, but Elena felt like it would be churlish to point this out. They had to explain the whole situation again.

"That sounds like Héctor ." Officer Peralta sighed in a very long suffering fashion.

Goodness, what had this musician done to make poor officer Peralta sound that exasperated. Was he really that frustrating?

"I have to inform you that Héctor left some time ago. I told him to just be patient. What's wrong with waiting a little longer when you've already been waiting for a hundred years? But the damn fool left just just under an hour ago with some others. Dead people, goodness me. They're the worst. So impatient, rushing off to see their families. Don't they know they'll get home faster if they just wait for processing."

Elena spared a glance at Victoria. She had done the exact same thing, and fled that hospital rather than wait. She and Héctor had that impulsive restlessness in common.

Miguel was now asking Officer Peralta to go out and look for Héctor , and had received a rather long, and apologetic spiel about being swamped and understaffing. He said "We'll keep an eye out for him. But he was pretty determined to go home. I imagine he's on his way down to Oaxaca by now."

-0-

"I just want to see my baby girl." Carmen was saying. She'd worked in the Department of Family Reunions. She'd died thirty years ago. Rare complications during childbirth.

"I just want to see my baby girl too." Héctor replied. He knew it wasn't a competition, but still.

"I don't have a baby girl. But I still want out." Six-fingered Pedro chimed in. Six-fingered Pedro hadn't elaborated much about himself, but he had hint vaguely enough at a violent criminal past that Carmen and Héctor had both stopped asking question.

"We can't wait for the bureaucracy. I used to work for the bureaucracy! They'll have use waiting here until my baby girl's sixith birthday, if they can."

Carmen had a plan. It involved using six-fingered Pedro's "skills", and Héctor causing a distraction with the borrowed and damaged guitar Peralta had acquired for him.

"Is there anything I can get for you to make the wait easier? Something to pass the time." Peralta had asked Héctor just this morning. He'd been trying to make amends after he made that quip about Héctor already waiting nearly 100 years. Héctor always tried to laugh off anything and everything, but that joke had made him feel so bad he couldn't hide it.

"A guitar would be nice. I used to be a musician. "

Television made Héctor dizzy. He'd tried reading the books, but the words wouldn't stay still on the page for him. But when he was alive, and the world got him down, he had played his guitar. He could do it blindfolded. Peralta had emerged with the chipped and out of tune instrument, giving Héctor a little shrug. "Sorry, this was the best I could do."

Peralta hadn't need to apologise. Héctor had never been so happy to have a guitar in his life (or death). Everything else was strange and scary, but music was familiar.

Héctor felt a little guilty about leaving. It wasn't so bad. He'd been fed, and given some clothes (ill-fitting and mismatching, but Héctor wasn't going to look gift clothes in the mouth). Peralta had been encouraging him to wait. Saying, I'm sure it won't be long now. Someone from your family will probably come looking for you.

It wasn't Officer Peralta's fault. He didn't know that no one in Héctor's family had ever come looking for him, ever. Ernesto had left him for dead. Imelda had assumed he'd run out on her. None of his living relatives had known anything about him until last year.

They never came to get Héctor . He was always the one trying to get back to them.

Why should now be any different?

Héctor caused a distraction. Pedro did his thing. Carmen bossed them around. They acquired a police automobile, which they quickly swapped for another automobile, and then a third. Pedro certainly did have "skills." They drove south. They had planned on dropping Carmen off first. But when they got to her daughter's door, Carmen froze. She refused to leave the car. She started heavy breathing, and was clearly very emotional.

Pedro was obviously a hardened criminal with one true weakness; crying women. He didn't know what to do with a crying women. Crying women terrified him. He announced that he was going for a cigarette, got out of the car and walked a long way down the road.

Héctor rubbed soothing circles on Carmen's back, while she cried. That made her cry more, so he pulled her to his chest, and gave her a cuddle, like he would have with Coco, if he had been alive when she was grown up and in distress. "Ssshhh, Little one. It's okay."

This was the wrong thing to say. Carmen pulled away abruptly.

"You're calling me little one? Aren't you a teenager?" she was a little indignant.

"I just died young. I'm actually a lot older than you. I'll have you know I am very mature and responsible." Héctor said, waggling his eyebrows. It made her laugh, a weak teary chuckle. Good, Héctor had been hoping to cheer her up.

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong?" he offered.

"I have been wanting to see her, my baby girl, to talk to her, for thirty years." Carmen said hesitantly. "I want to be with her so bad. But what if she doesn't...?" Carmen trailed off.

"Doesn't what?"

"What if she doesn't want me? She's thirty years old now. She's all grown up. She has a baby of her own. She doesn't need a mother."

"I'm one hundred and eighteen and I still need my mother around." Héctor said simply.

"You still look like a teenager to me." Carmen said, eyebrows raised.

Héctor gave a rueful shrug. Victoria always teased him about how young he looked. He'd gotten used to it.

"My point is, my mother died when I was born too. I always wondered about her. I never knew her, but I would have liked the chance to get to know her. I would have liked that very much. Your daughter will want to meet you."

Carmen nodded, absorbing his words.

"Your daughter will love you. I know she will." Héctor said, reaching over her and opening the car door. "You just have to give her the chance."

"Thank you, Héctor." Carmen said, and she stepped out to meet her family.

-0-

It was 3:30 am in the morning, and Elena was awake. She had never been one to party until dawn, but her sister was here. Victoria was at her most alert during the small hours of the morning. It was an added quirk of coming back from the dead. Elena had taken to staying awake just to have better conversations with her sister.

Somehow, between the tea and the tequila, they'd gotten onto the subject of Victoria's return. They hadn't spoken of it in detail. Elena imagined it was a difficult subject for Victoria. She never asked any hard questions. But tonight Victoria was drinking tequila and letting it all hang out.

"I thought he would be with me, at least, that crazy lummox. When my skeleton dissolved into petals before my eyes, I thought to myself at least Héctor 's coming down with me."

"What was it like?" Elena asked, infinitely curious.

"Oh Elena, it was awful. We saw it coming, but we never suspected. People have been disappearing for days beforehand, but you know what you do, you dismiss it and say to yourself this will never effect me..." Victoria trailed off here and toyed with her glass.

" We were walking down the hill from our shop to the central plaza, when I heard it. That poof, that explosion of flower petals. It was like a wave coming down the hill. People were disappearing above us."

The "event". She was talking about the 'event' and how it had seemed from the otherside.

"Héctor was a little bit above me, on the hill. He'd been walking hand in hand with Mama Imleda. It happened to him first. I think he knew he would disappear, because he reached of Mama Imelda. He was yelling "no, I don't want to go" and she reach back for him and tried to grab a hold of him, – but poof, he vanished right before us. The last thing I remember seeing is Mama Imelda crying and clutching the empty air, before I felt it happening to me."

Victoria poured herself another shot, downed it, and toyed with her glass. " I hope you never experience it, my sister, your own body dissolving into petals. It's not comfortable.." she said after a long moment.

" You're here now. I'll make sure you're comfortable." Elena said, covering her sister's long thin hand with her own.

" Thanks." Victoria said as she downed another shot.

They were quiet for a while.

"He's going to be a hot mess when he gets here. Héctor ." Victoria observed, breaking the silence.

Elena had always assumed he would be a hot mess in general, and now Victoria was confirming it. She made a face. Victoria made a face back at her.

"I know what we were taught about him when we were kids, and I know what you think of him, but you'll need to take care of him too. Don't be rude to him when he gets here." Victoria said diffidently.

"How is he going to get here? He could be dead in a ditch for all we know. Again." Elena sassed, not liking that Victoria was implying that Elena would be less than hospitable to her own family.

"If I know Héctor , he won't ever give up on getting back home, and he's a pretty resourceful kid."

"He's actually your grandfather. He's not a child."

"He bloody well looks like one. He's the baby of the family on the otherside, you know. He hates when I point this out. " Victoria chuckled to herself, at some in-joke Elena could only guess at.

"Well, baby or not, his actions ruined this family." Elena said, feeling defensive. She didn't know much about him, only that he walked out on his family. She was right to dislike him for that alone.

"Just wait until you meet him before you pass judgement. He's hard not to like."

"Says you. I have not liked many musicians in my time!"

"True."

-0-

Pedro had been a fairly new arrival in the land of the dead. He'd died when he was thirty two. He'd only been dead three years. He was keen on driving south, because he had a "score to settle". Héctor didn't ask any more questions.

Pedro had tried to teach Héctor to drive the automobile, so they could share the driving. But after 10 hair-raising, terrifying, screaming and swearing filled minutes, he had given up. Héctor had been regulated to a passenger.

Pedro had decided if that if he wasn't going to teach Héctor to drive, he was going to teach him how to survive the modern world. He was giving Héctor a lot of tips on how to be "street smart" in the modern world. He evidentially felt Héctor was lacking in this department.

That was a fair call.

There was a lot of rules. Advice about money clips, how to assault people while making the most of his slight frame and the fact that he obviously had almost no upper body strength (hey! True – but hey!) There was advice about how to punch out tail-lights on various automobile models, in case Héctor ever got locked in the trunk of a car. At their last stop before parting, they had a big conversation about hitch-hiking.

"Don't hitch-hike with weirdos. Don't fall asleep in the car. People get killed when the fall asleep in the car."

"How does sleeping kill them?"

"Damn Héctor, you're naïve. If the person giving you a lift is a psychopath – they will drive you into the desert to have their wicked way with you, then kill you horribly, then bury you in a shallow grave and no one ever knows."

Héctor blanched. Pedro seemed to remember belatedly that Héctor had also been killed by a psychopath, buried in a shallow grave and his family hadn't known.

Héctor pointed out that at least Ernesto hadn't had his wicked way with Héctor – that was a small blessing. "As far as you know!" Pedro replied, cheekily. "Who knows what he did with your body."

Héctor knew his face was now much more expressive. His face must have very clearly displayed a combination of disgust, panic and morbid curiosity.

"Okay. Don't freak out. But here's a new rule. Don't get a ride with psychos. And keep this on you." Pedro handed Héctor a switch blade. It had his initials engraved on it. Pedro had obviously had it on him when he was murdered. Fat lot of good it had done him, in the end.

"I'm not good at knowing when someone is a psychopath. I'd never stab anyone." Héctor said, handing the blade back. It was Pedro's. He had unfinished business down south. His life was way more dangerous that Héctor's, on the whole. Héctor wasn't going to take his knife from him.

Héctor knew now that Ernesto, (His brother! His best friend!) had been a psychopathic murder, but he had never guessed when he was alive. Never suspected. Héctor had trusted Ernesto, and for that he'd been murdered when he was only 21. Still, Héctor didn't know if he could bring himself to stab anyone. He wasn't a violent man.

"Héctor . You need a knife more than me. You're too trusting. You try to see the good in people." Pedro scoffed, as if this was the most ridiculous thing anyone had ever said. "Trying stabbing a bitch for a change. It will will feel good."

Héctor shook his head.

Pedro took the switchbalde back, folded it and put in in his pocket. "Listen, muchacho – there's a processing centre in the next town. I could drop you off and..." he started to say.

"No. I'm not waiting. I want to get home and see my family. We don't know how long we're back for, and I need to see my Coco!"

Pedro sighed and looked away. "Fine, seeing your Coco it is. But let me help you flag down the next ride."

Pedro helped him flag down a ride. They went through many automobiles and trucks before Pedro was satisfied. It was a large truck. But Pedro had climbed in and had a quick conversation with the driver.

"He's a music lover, not a psychopath. I told him you're an award winning guitar player. He's going down the 190. He can drop you off near the exit for Santa Cecilia. After that it is up to you, muchacho. I got you as close as I could."

-0-

"You a fan?" The driver asked when Héctor was mid-song.

"Huh?"

"Are you an Ernesto De La Cruz Fan? You obviously like his work. You know all the songs."

"The songs are good." Héctor said, trying for a passive tone. That much at least was true. His songs were good. Good enough to kill for, according to Ernesto.

"I guess it's hard isn't it, to admit to being a fan now, with all that murder and plagiarism stuff going round." the Driver said, and Héctor's fingers stilled on the guitar. "I, for one, think it's a big conspiracy. How much money is that family making now they've got the rights to all the songs? And I hear that kid wants to be a musician too. I think there's something fishy there. What do you think?"

Héctor fiddled with the strings and surveyed his options. That was his family the man was casting aspersion about. His Miguel. But then he remembered Pedro's advice about psychopaths, and not getting murdered. He didn't know much about this man except that he was still an Ernesto De La Cuz supporter, despite everything.

That enough was pretty damning.

He could turn off the road, and take Héctor to a secondary location (Pedro had been very adamant about the danger of secondary locations.) Héctor was so close to Coco. He didn't want to get murdered (again!) when he was so close. So he did what he always did, and shrugged it off.

"I just think the songs are good, Muchacho. I don't know anything about that murder stuff."

He'd be dropped off at the next intersection. He just had to keep the driver sweet until then. Héctor could walk to Santa Cecila from there. Granted, it would be a long, long way. But walking the distance was better than risking being stuck in a car with a psychopath, or even worse with a De La Cruz fan.

-0-

Elena was woken by a knocking at the door. It was ridiculously early in the morning. She was the first one down. She flung the door open. Before her stood a scrawny, scraggly 21 year old with a hopeful face, an old guitar and no shoes.

Just wait until you meet him before you pass judgement Victoria had said a few nights ago, and Elena said she would.

But oh, Héctor did make it difficult not to judge him.

His hair was a mess. He was too thin by far. He was so skinny it made his clothes look almost comically large on him. The T-shirt swamped him. It looked like it would be better suited as a tent. The jeans were held up by a piece of string that had been fashioned into a belt. He was shivering the early morning hair. No jacket. No shoes! His feet were ridiculously dirty. He had huge, dark circles under his eyes, (worse than Victoria's). It was as though he hadn't slept properly since he had been re-animated.

Elena looked at the youth quite severely. Héctor offered her a rueful, lopsided smile and gave a little dorky wave in response.

"You must be Elena. I'm Héctor ."

Elena stared at him, arms folded, until it became awkward.

This was that man? This was the musician who ruined the family? This was the man who had driven Mama Imelda crazy? This was the man she adored, the man who had broken her heart when he left? Mama Imelda had weird taste in guys.

"So, eerr, I'm actually your grandfather. Not a weird stranger, knocking on your door at four am. Well, I guess we've never met properly. And I did just knock on your door...and it is four am...and I ..."

"I know who you are." Elena's tone was clipped, bordering on rude.

Héctor looked a little crestfallen at her abrupt tone. He looked like a kicked street-dog, like that one Miguel was always feeding. Something in his sad face made pity wiggle in her stomach.

"Well, you may as well come in and let me make you some breakfast." She opened the door to him. "We need to get some meat on your bones. You're too skinny." She scolded, as he walked past. Héctor babbled gratefully at her and stepped into their home for the first time in 97 years.

This boy needed so much more than a good feed. Elena didn't even know where to start. A list was rapidly compiling in her head – a list of what this boy needed before she could probably bear to be related to him.

The Riveras had standards, after all!

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What Héctor needed:

A bath,

A rest,

A good meal,

Clothes that actually fit him,

New shoes, (A Rivera – without shoes! How disgraceful!)

More common sense,

A good smack upside the head,

And to shut up.

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