See the end for author's notes.

"I just need one more to get through to you,
I can't take back what I've done wrong,
I just need one more…"

Part IV

The bedroom next to Miguel's was modest but fresh. He had no nose, but as soon as he saw the lilacs in the vase on the window sill, his brain kicked a neuron in gear and he was reminded instantly of the scent of the flower. The lace décor and accents of soft pink and creamy yellows promised Héctor his earlier assumption was right. It was a little girl's room, and he recognized the crib instantly. Héctor shut the door as soundlessly as a mouse's cough in church, unable to take his eyes off the slender little crib.

He knew that crib after all. He remembered it well because it had taken two months and twenty-one splinters to build.

He never was good with his hands unless it came to guitars, cards, or women.

That crib though, despite having a different coat of paint, was plain as the bones of his frame and still somehow managed to look a little fancy. For its age, it was holding up well. Considering how old it and Héctor were, he was impressed. Imelda had actually said it was 'rather nice' when Héctor had hauled it in to show her. Which Héctor knew meant she loved it. And he assumed Coco liked it when she was a babe and used it—she never told him otherwise.

The little infant's name was Sorcorro, and though Héctor knew she was young and upset, he did not know her name. Still, family is a strong bond, and his ribcage ached where his heart used to hang at her meek dismal crying. Dios mio, such tears! Coco was not much a crier, but she was such a somber little thing, just like her wonderful mama.

Héctor closed his eyes…and he remembered.

When Coco was born, she did not smile. Oh, she cuddled, she clutched her mama's hair, and she made the usual baby noises. She was, by all accounts, happy and healthy and bright. Héctor fretted, Imelda told him to settle. But little Coco's face was so set and so serious, Héctor couldn't help but wonder if Coco was ever happy with him. After all, in the photo that the three of them took, Héctor was the only one smiling.

She was two weeks old when she smiled for the first time, and it was when her papa ran his fingers down the chords of Camila. Baby Coco had turned her little head at the sound, her eyes went wide…and she had given him the smallest of smiles.

Her first smile…it was at her Papa. It was because of his music.

He was beside it before he was aware of crossing the room, running his hand lovingly over the frame as he remembered how small and cute his daughter looked in it when she slept.

The whimpering and sniffling brought him back to the present, and he blinked in surprise before looking down.

"But we're not doing much sleeping right now are we, bebita?" Héctor asked the fussing baby fondly. She was so very young, her heart shaped face all scrunched up in irritation and small hands wriggling against her stomach. Little apple slice cheeks were flushed and the tears were bubbling freely, all the world's problems in this small mind was apparently enough to keep her up and grouchy as a jaguar with a toothache.

Héctor let himself chuckle at this little display of righteousness (and tiny) fury at her discomfort.

"Come on now, fácil, fácil ey?" Héctor murmured, reaching into the crib on automatic and stroking her little mop of black hair from her eyes. This cause her to look up (and up and up) at him, and for a moment he worried he would scare her, as Miguel had worried this morning—

But she was far too young. With a watery hiccup she whined and stretched out her arms. They were about a quarter the length of his own, latching into his ulna and tugged with all her little might. Héctor dropped his whole long arm closer to her like she apparently wanted, but the crying still continued stubbornly.

"Well, we aren't shy either, are we, my little bonita?" Utterly and hopelessly charmed at this point, Héctor gently freed himself and couldn't help scooping his granddaughter up. It was a bit of a challenge, balancing her bundle of a body on his skeleton arms, but he managed it. He didn't rock or bounce her, instead focused on keeping her against his slated ribcage, up near his clavicle. She whined about this, of course, whatever had caused her crying was still bothering her and she seemed to be intent on making sure he knew how miserable she was. He cooed over her sympathetically, letting her press a small, inquisitive palm to his cheekbone, one finger almost in his nasal cavity and the other inspecting the shine of his gold tooth. Her crying had weakened, now a mere afterthought as she tried to reach for the straw of his hat.

"You have your brother's eyes, cariña," The dead musician whispered to her, eyes drooping in love and admiration as he watched this small life explore his skeletal features so matter-of-factly.

Remembering Miguel's own boldness against De La Cruz and noting the similarities in bravery, Héctor added on with a slow smile, "And his spirit."

She wriggled in response, then hiccupped plaintively. Her hand found one of his long fingers, and without much fanfare, into her mouth it went. Héctor considered this for a moment, letting her gum the bone as he noted now what the endless fussing must mean.

"Ahhh-hah, the teething phase. Poor niña, I would cry too!" She went on, unhindered, as Héctor stood there. He was patient as the grave, but soon a new idea sparked in his mind. Of course! He knew just what to do—provided he could free his hand from the little mouth that is.

"Ay, let go small one, and let Papa Héctor show you how he soothed his Coco of her pain when she was your age," Once settled back in her crib—and there was much fussing about that too—Héctor straightened up and swung Camila round to his front. Baby Sorcorro saw this and paused mid cry, trying to consider if this action was something more important than her earlier woes.

"After all, bonita," his fingers trailed lazily along the strings like waltzing spiders, "music soothes the savage toothache, no?"

Sorcorro burbled softly in response. Her eyes were locked on his movements, causing a good distraction as she watched…and as she listened. At the first strum of notes, the baby shifted on muscle memory. Her big brother made a sound like this, and it always provided comfort and warmth. Sorcorro now gave Héctor her full attention as a reward.

"Come, let's sing a little lullaby…nanita ella, nanita ella," Héctor adjusted his arms, leaning over the crib's opening better and keeping his voice low and warm. "Mi niña tiene sueño, bendito sea, bendito sea…"

At first, Sorcorro was not immensely impressed, as this was not her big brother's voice. She told him so, by way of gurgles, but hesitated as Héctor sang on. Héctor himself was undeterred. And gradually, as he hit the second verse and kept his tone even and lulling, the music began to work its magic. She gave one mighty, defiant yawn…

"Fuentecita que corre, Clara y Sonora…Ruiseñor que en la selva…Cantando y llora
Calla mientras la cuna…" The skeleton's smile grew as he watched those big brown eyes grow heavier with each blink. The crease in her brow was fading, and her wriggling was lessening.

"Se balancea…Come, let's sing a little lullaby…let's sing…"

Héctor stared down at his sleeping granddaughter, and smiled gently.

"Dulces sueños, cariña. Remember, your Papa Héctor loves you very much…" Héctor inched backwards out of the room, clutching his guitar and not daring to put it back until he was sure his movements wouldn't wake the sleeping infant.

The reality of what had happened did not strike Héctor until he was back in Miguel's room, staring at his ofrenda with a lost expression. Then, all at once it flooded over him, a sensation so dizzying and intense his lean frame rocked as if the wind had pushed him. The skeleton stumbled forward and gripped the edge of the desk, ribcage heaving as if he'd run a mile. Or as if he had lungs that still needed to heave, anyway. He and Coco had reunited in the Land of the Dead, and it was a wonderful time for him, but this…

He had gotten to sing.

He had gotten to sing for his familia.

For one his daughter one more time. Great-granddaughter or not, that shining little cariña in that room was his family, and he adored her already. He couldn't get to see her grow up, but he had gotten to tell her how much he loved her. He hoped her life was spectacular.

This is what he wanted to do all along.

Yet…was this why he had come back?

Héctor looked down at himself, noticing he had laid a hand over where his heart used to be.

No. It wasn't.

Somewhere, a crow cawed. The workshop was still bustling off to the south. Around Héctor, the world moved on.

Something else was at work here. And while all the things that had happened so far were wonderful, he had a strange, ominous feeling. Something was going to happen. It was the same feeling as when the music picked up, when the last verse came. It was the same feeling when a guitar string is tuned…just a fraction farther than it should be…that frightening, heart-pounding moment just before a guitar string pulled too taught…snaps.

A terrible thing, after all. To die alone and dishonored. It had happened to Héctor. He hadn't lived through it, but he had survived it. Living and Surviving were two different things, but at the end of the day, Héctor was still 'here.' Miguel had saved him from Final Death, Coco remembered him, and even De La Cruz got what was coming to him…

Yes. By all accounts, his song had ended a while ago.

What else was there?

"This ain't good, amigo…" Héctor muttered to his living face on Miguel's desk. He asked for Coco to remember him…

So what was it he had forgotten this time?

Clever Reader, you've probably noticed by now, but the song has been chosen for lots of symbolism and parallels to Héctor and his life. (Not just because I've had a musical hard-on for the killers since I was in the 7th grade.) Certainly in this part, where it mentions "I can't take back what I've done wrong," happens to head the same chapter Héctor sings to baby Sorcorro, like he longed to do for Coco one more time.

The lead singer for the killers, Brandon Flower, once wrote a despondent email to a colleague, asking him how he coped with feeling creatively drained. The email was headed Have All the Songs Been Written? The colleague answered with an interesting response. "Why don't you start there? That's a great title." I liked the sound of that story, so I started with it too. The lullaby 'A La Nanita Nana' can be found on youtube easily. Until next time, my friend.