Hector looked so different in death.

Ernesto couldn't remember a moment in their entire 20-year friendship when Hector's face was blank. The man had an unabashedly expressive face. He remembered being four and his mother dragging him over to the neighbors' to visit the new baby. Even then, Hector wore his emotions on his sleeve. They spent a great deal of time around each other from a young age as their mothers were best friends. Hector would be the one always pestering him to play and Ernesto would usually concede as playing with a toddler was infinitely more fun than listening to their mothers complain about bills.

When Hector got old enough to play outside with the other kids, he took to it with full gusto. His voice seemed to distinguish itself from all others and carried over the crowd. He was also willing to attempt more bold feats than his playmates would dare. If their ball wound up on some roof or high in a tree, it was always Hector who volunteered to go up and get it. His climbs up would create a great spectacle for his audience of neighborhood kids. He'd tease a crazy stunt or pretend to nearly fall to create dramatic tension. And when he got back down, always landing on his feet but not without having obtained a scratch or bruise along the way, he grinned and laughed like his little show was no big deal.

Hector knew how to make himself the center of attention and Ernesto wanted that too. So, he'd join in on Hector's little performances. He'd add a comment or suggestion, Hector would answer back, and they'd create a back & forth that only increased the entertainment. They played off each other brilliantly and soon became the neighborhood double act. They became known simply as "those two" by the adults. Their given name was said with amusement over some antic they pulled or derisively over some mischief they made. It didn't matter which to Ernesto. He reveled in their legendary status, achieved at such a young age.

Their carefree ways didn't last, however. Ernesto's mother sat him down one day to talk about Hector. He was worried at first. He thought she was angry over some trouble they'd gotten into and was about to tell him that he and Hector couldn't play together anymore. He was so happy to be wrong. Instead, his mother explained that Senora Rivera was worried about Hector. She thought he was too naïve and too trusting and that people might take advantage of him. She asked for Ernesto look out for him and act as a role model. Ernesto agreed as he saw these traits in his friend too. Hector was smart as a whip when it came to situations that needed a little ingenuity, but he wasn't people smart. He was generous, kind-hearted, and easily duped. He could never understand why anyone would want to do something cruel, and that was the problem. Despite brimming with creativity, in this particular area, Hector suffered from a lack of imagination.

That was where Ernesto came in. He'd stop Hector just before a bad deal could be made. Of all things, Hector needed to be reminded to think about himself.

"He asked you to help with his Papa's deliveries? But what about last time when you ended up making all of them?"

"She needs you to help with her chores? But then your chores won't get done."

"You can't lend him money. Ask around. He never pays it back."

Right after Ernesto interjected, the wheels in Hectors brain would start turning and he'd realize he couldn't do whatever favor was asked of him. Soon these lessons started to sink in and Hector got smarter about dealing with people. But he never did get over his annoying habit of thinking of others before himself. So, Ernesto never grew out of the habit of watching Hector's back.

Then, Imelda came along. Hector was 16 when love stuck him like a bolt of lightning. It worried Ernesto at first. Imelda was known for her high standards and non-nonsense attitude. This spelled trouble for guys like Hector, who was mostly comprised of nonsense. But a miracle happened right before Ernesto's eyes. Hector approached her right after she harshly turned down another suitor and within five minutes, he had her laughing.

They were married a year later, and a year after that, they welcomed their beloved daughter Coco into the world. On the day she was born, Ernesto thought back to every stupid, reckless thing Hector ever did and he realized with horror that this man was now a father. His fears were unfounded though, as Hector doted on his little girl to an obnoxious degree. His family was all he could think about, all he could talk about, and it seemed to be all he cared about.

He understood, really he did. Hector was a father now. It was new and exciting, but what about Ernesto? What about their dream to travel the world together? To play on all 7 continents? To become international stars? He thought about striking out his own, but the truth was, Hector was the brains of the operation. Ernesto had a pretty face and a pretty voice, but Hector had the songs. If he wanted to stand out, he needed Hector. It took a lot of convincing to get Hector to do just one tour with him. "Just think of it. If we're a success, you'll never have to deprive your daughter of anything. She could go to the best schools, maybe even marry into a wealthy family. She'd be taken care of and you and Imelda could live in comfort for all your days. It's not forever, mi hermano. Isn't your family's future worth the risk?"

Hector was finally persuaded to go with him on tour. Six months and no longer. That was fine for Ernesto. He was sure he'd be able to at least get a few more months out of Hector once they got out on the road. When they struck out, everything was fine at first, but a few weeks in, Hector started suffering from bouts of insomnia. He never had this problem before. They'd crashed at each other's houses many times after late-night rehearsals and Ernesto could attest that Hector Rivera slept like a sloppy rock. He'd usually flop on his back, limbs sprawled out at odd angles, and have a trail saliva seeping from the corner of his mouth. Didn't snore though, interesting enough. But this was no longer the case. Now, he stayed up most of the night, lying in bed, willing his eyes to close for more than an hour or two per night. There were times when Ernesto would wake up to the sound of Hector shuffling around, getting out his song book or writing a letter. He'd apologize, say he just missed his family, and beg Ernesto to go back to sleep.

This wouldn't be such a problem if it hadn't started affecting their performances. Hector was unable to focus, hit several wrong chords when he used to hit none, and lacked the energy which captivated audiences at home. They were never going to catch a producer's eye this way. He tried to get Hector to take something to help him sleep, but Hector would insist that the only thing that would help would be getting back to his family. So, Ernesto did what he always did. He fixed the problem whether Hector wanted his help or not. He took some money he had stashed away and he bought a bottle of barbital. Every night, he'd slip some in Hector's drink. He was always careful to use the minimum dosage. He didn't want to kill Hector, after all. He just wanted his friend to get some sleep. It worked too. Just a pinch of powder and he'd be out like a light.

They continued like this for months. Just a little pinch while Hector wasn't looking and he'd get a full night's sleep. Hector sometimes complained that his drink tasted bitter, but he never caught on to this little trick. Then, they came to the end of Hector's six month deadline and he was adamant about going home. "I promised Imelda and she wasn't even happy then. Besides, I want to go. I miss them terribly. When you have a family someday, you'll understand."

Ernesto felt a fury churning in the pit of his stomach. What gave Hector the right to talk down to him like that? That lanky idiot would be nothing without him. Who was the one pushing their dream? Who was the one who got them that tour in the first place? If it weren't for Ernesto, Hector would be sitting at home in Santa Cecilia wondering how he was going to feed his family that week.

He was sure he'd be able to convince Hector of a few more months and there was ample opportunity. They were beginning to get noticed and invited to play bigger and better venues. The road to success was clear. They'd hit the big time if they stuck to it just a little bit longer. Why couldn't Hector see that? But, he'd already bought a ticket to the first train home the next morning. So, Ernesto did what he did best. He twisted the situation to his benefit. That night, he added just a bit more barbital to Hector's drink and it knocked the moron out cold. He woke up groggy with a headache the next morning a few hours after the train already left.

"What time is it? And why is my hair wet?" he asked, when he could find words.

"I'm so sorry, mi amigo," Ernesto apologized. He'd switched from hermano to amigo two weeks ago when Hector first started talking about going home. Hector hadn't noticed, or if he did, he hadn't picked up on the meaning behind it. "I tried to wake you but you were completely out. I even threw water on you. You just wouldn't get up."

"The train!" Hector jumped out of bed but quickly sunk back down holding his head.

"I'm afraid the train is long gone." Ernesto said, putting an arm around Hector's shoulders. "Look, maybe this is a sign. You just aren't meant to go home yet. Big things are on the horizon. Stick with me a little longer and you'll see."

He was able to coax about three more months out of Hector this way. If Hector started making noises about going home, Ernesto would give him another knock-out drink. He knew his friend to be a bit superstitious and hoped he'd pick up on the pattern. Maybe he did, but homesickness soon overshadowed fear of fate. He wasn't going to wait for the morning train. He had his bags packed and was ready to head out to the train station now. No amount of persuading, or arguing, or even outright begging could change Hector's mind.

Ernesto couldn't let him go. Not now. Not when they were so close. He needed Hector. Hector was always his ticket to standing out from the crowd. Without Hector, he was just another handsome man among hundreds of other handsome men all clawing after the same star. He needed Hector's vibrant personality. He needed the unique touch Hector brought to his writing. At the very least, he needed those songs. Ernesto had always been a good actor. He could fake the showmanship and the spark of creativity that Hector brought to the table. But those songs were irreplaceable.

Ernesto stopped his begging at the last possible second, when Hector was just about to go out the door. He gave his friend plenty of time to change his mind. What happened next was his fault for not seeing reason. With one last bit of persuasion, he at least convinced Hector to take one for the road. He turned to fix the drink and dumped the contents of the barbital bottle into the glass. The powder dissolved quickly after a bit of mixing. With a smile, he proposed a toast. "I would move heaven and earth for you, amigo. Salud!" The fool never suspected a thing.

Now, here he was, in a dark alley with the blank-faced husk of the man he once called his best friend. He didn't look peaceful like dead people were supposed to look. He didn't look pained either. His eyes were open and he just stared. This was unacceptable. The damn corpse was staring at him, judging him. "You did this to yourself," Ernesto huffed, using two fingers to shut those accusatory eyes. "I gave you every opportunity to change your mind."

He got down to work, taking off Hector's nice mariachi suit and replacing it with torn rags. He smeared dirt on the face and messed up the hair. The final touch was the mostly-empty bottle of cheap tequila he placed in Hector's cooling hand. There, unrecognizable. When someone came across the body in the morning, they'd just assume it was some drifter who drank himself to death. Hector would wind up in a pauper's grave and the police would be none the wiser.

Ernesto grabbed Hector's bags and turned to go, but some force stopped him. He turned to take one last look at Hector. His body was crumpled against the side of the building and his head slumped against his chest. Ernesto half expected to see Hector opening his eyes and popping up laughing like it was a joke gone too far. But no. Ernesto stayed a moment longer, assuring himself that his best friend was really dead. Murdered.

With one last sneer at the corpse, Ernesto turned and left.

[-]

Ernesto woke in his hotel room to the sound of singing. He looked around. It was still dark, but he could see everything clear as day. He turned his head to the corner of the room where Hector lazily hummed an old folk song and inspected himself in the mirror. "Couldn't sleep, mi hermano? Me neither," Hector said, twisting his body to see himself at every angle. "You know, I don't think I'm a big fan of your taste in clothes."

Ernesto realized that Hector was wearing the rags he dressed him in. "You…what are you doing here?"

"What, you think just because you left me out there, I wouldn't find my way back?" Hector finally turned to face Ernesto and flashed his famous grin. But…no…this wasn't it. This was not his grin. There was something off about it. It was just a bit too wide and pulled his skin just a bit too tight. There was a mean glint in his eye that Ernesto had never seen before. It all just looked so wrong on Hector's face.

"But you…you're…I…"

"You what?" Hector asked, prodding sympathy in his voice. "Is there something wrong, amigo?" Ernesto knew from past experience that Hector's face should fall into a concerned expression. He knew it well. The eyebrows would raise slightly while the lips turned downward. That is not what happened. Hector's face remained frozen in this unsettling imitation of a grin.

He knew. He knew perfectly well what Ernesto did. He knew that he shouldn't be here, walking around and breathing. He was drawing it out, making Ernesto look like a fool. Hector was toying with him, mocking him. When did that pushover get the nerve? "You should be dead!" Ernesto shouted, jumping out of bed.

"Dead?" Hector's hands flew to his chest in a shocked gesture, but the grin remained, only opening wide to imitate a gasp. "Where ever did you get that idea?"

"You know, damn you! You know! Why play coy about it? Is this how vengeful spirits spend their time?"

"I assure you, I have no idea what you're talking about." The Hector-like creature began to cross the room and Ernesto backed up into the bed. He didn't want that thing getting near him. He didn't want to see that grin up close. "You must be tired," it said, getting close enough to put its arm around Ernesto. "You should go back to bed. Would you like anything to help you sleep?"

Ernesto shrunk away from the Hector-thing's touch, but he couldn't shake it off completely. Up close, he realized that this Hector never blinked. "What do you want from me?"

"Mi hermano," the grinning specter whispered as it gently laid Ernesto down like it was putting a child to bed. "All I wanted was to go home."

[-]

Ernesto awoke with a gasp and sat bolt-upright in bed. He looked around again. The room was filled with proper darkness. He was only able to make out vague shapes and images. He looked in the corner. There was no living corpse gazing at itself in the mirror. And the room was completely silent.

For a moment, he felt compelled to jump out of bed and go to the alley where he left Hector, just to make sure the body was still there. He quickly dismissed the idea. This was insanity. A corpse couldn't get up and walk around. A corpse couldn't mock him and make a fool of him. It was nothing; just dead flesh and bone.

He laid back down. A dream. Only a dream. But there was something about it, something intimate. Ernesto was never all that superstitious, but he could feel a very real anger emanating from the Hector-like creature. Could it be that Hector's vengeful spirit came back to haunt his dreams? No, that was ridiculous. Since when does Hector do anything vindictive? Maybe since you murdered him.

Ernesto rolled over on his side. It was possible. Being murdered must change a person. But, no, no. Hector had no idea that poison was in his drink. That damn trusting fool drank it without a second thought. And nothing proves it was a ghost anyway. It was just a dream. Hector was dead and gone forever.