DISCLAIMER: If you recognize it, I don't own it.
He should have known this would happen.
In the heat of the moment, Manolo had dared not question the exact nature of his resurrection. But in the aftermath of the wild evening's events, and the lull in his ecstasy that came with it, the need to understand it all gradually seeped over him. He should have jolted awake at the undertaker's, or in the middle of his own funeral. Or, he added with a shudder, in the blackness of the coffin with six feet of dirt between him and his loved ones.
He had first begun to consider it when he was alone, having briefly excused himself from the festivities to make sure the Sanchez house was presentable for its newest member. When he stepped through the front door, he found all the furniture in the parlor uprooted and shoved against the walls. Before the fireplace, where the sofa normally sat, stood a table holding a long, rectangular wooden box. His breath hitched in his throat at the sight, but not as much as it could have. Well, that answers one question.
He realized that his feet were slowly carrying him towards the coffin. Reaching out, he ran a hand over the smooth lid. It looked so simple, almost deceptively so. An ordinary soul certainly would not have guessed at the painful, unnatural sight that lay beneath its surface.
I should go, he thought. Just find someone to get rid of it, and you won't have to think of it again.
Instead, he watched his fingers work themselves beneath the lid and push it aside.
"Manolo?" Maria called out as she hurried down the streets of San Angel, the hem of her wedding dress dragging through the dust. "Are you alright?"
"Calm down," Joaquin said, trying to keep up with her. Xibalba wouldn't be cruel enough to try anything, he told himself. Not with La Muerte still around. "He probably just got busy cleaning or…"
He trailed off as they both caught sight of the Casa de Sanchez. The front door hung open, creaking as the wind moved it back and forth.
"Manolo!" They both rushed forward and skidded to a stop in the doorway, their eyes darting around the parlor for signs of trouble and quickly finding one.
Manolo stood beside the table, staring into the box. He made no noise, and his breathing was slow and steady. Only through his wide eyes and biting his lip did he let the emotions storming within him slip free.
Coming up beside him, Joaquin placed a hand over one of Manolo's. His friend flinched at the unexpected contact and turned to face him. The endless questions trapped on the tip of his tongue were written on his face.
"Your dad put it out in case anyone wanted to visit," Joaquin said. "We…we wanted to tell you earlier."
They both stared down at the other Manolo, who thankfully didn't stare back. The body was laid out straight and dressed in his dark blue Sunday suit, his hands folded together on his chest. The warm tone of his skin was dulled by the grey pallor of stagnant blood still sitting in his veins. His lips still curled up in a soft smile.
Manolo gripped Joaquin's hand, but his other hand reached forward to touch the corpse's face. Joaquin saw what he was doing and moved to grab his wrist. "Manny, don't - "
He was too late. Manolo touched the cheek of his dead form's visage. It was colder than ice and stung like the raindrops from that morning. He gasped and jerked away, taking a step backwards. His breathing became more ragged as his eyes snapped shut.
"It's okay." He opened his eyes to find Maria beside him, gently stroking his hand. "Listen to me: that's not you anymore. This is you. You're here with us."
"Only just now." That thought was what truly staggered him, even more so than the unreality of it all. Hours ago his friends and family had faced this terrible sight alone, believing he would never return to them.
"…Why were you smiling?" Maria wrapped both her arms around one of his and stared up at him. He could tell by the gleam in her eyes that she already knew. She wanted proof of his sin straight from its source.
He looked at the floorboards, then at the ceiling - anywhere but her face would have done. "I thought…I thought you were…that I might…I wasn't thinking," he finally blurted out. "I wasn't thinking at all."
He felt his wife rest her head against his arm and his best friend put a hand on his shoulder. "No one was," Joaquin said.
Manolo smiled for the first time since he'd entered the room. "I won't leave you again."
"You better not," said Maria as her grasp on him tightened.
Joaquin broke away from the group and moved the lid back onto the coffin. "I'll move this somewhere else for you guys. At least for tonight."
"Come on," Maria said. "Don't want to keep the rest of the family waiting." She pulled Manolo towards the door, and he didn't resist.
For some reason, Maria wanted to bury it. "It doesn't seem right to just toss it somewhere and pretend it never existed," she explained when the boys stared at her in disbelief.
Manolo would have been perfectly content with having it burned, even comfortable, but Maria's mind was made up. "Let's not put it in the graveyard, though," he said. He would rather not look upon his own tomb each time he went to pay his respects to his ancestors. "Don't want to confuse people when we have to do it again."
Maria had agreed to this compromise, and the morning after the wedding, the three of them headed for the mainland with the coffin in tow. They would put it under the Proposal Tree, they had decided, where Carlos's shrine had been. The boys dug up a few feet of earth, lowered the box down and covered it up once more. Maria shoved a small rock into the dirt over it and placed some flowers next to the makeshift headstone. Kneeling, she stared at the grave sadly. Joaquin bowed his head, and Manolo turned away. A few minutes later, they were walking back to San Angel in silence.
That afternoon, as they lay in bed together, Manolo dared to ask Maria the question that had lurked in his mind since she announced her plan. "Why did you do that? You could have forgotten. Spared yourself the pain." The image of the corpse was still lodged in his own memory, refusing to leave.
"I don't want to forget," she said firmly, rolling over to face him. "I swore I'd never take what we went through yesterday for granted. Do you understand…?"
"Of course I do." He took her in his arms and rested his forehead against hers. As he held her, the thought of his cold, deathly smile was replaced by her warm, living one. Much better.