That damn Hector haunted him everywhere he went.

Yes, he was free. Allowed to roam the Land of the Dead instead of a prison cell only on a technicality. The most capital crimes in the Land of the Dead included skull smashing, encasing (for example, in cement), dismembered encasing (like regular encasing, except with separated bones), and any other attempt to permanently trap another person. No one bothered to put attempted murder on the books. It was now, thanks to him. However, as he'd committed the crime before it was technically a crime, he was in the legal clear by the non-skin of his teeth. At least some of his lawyers were still willing to work for him…for double their usual price.

As for the crime he all but confessed to in front of a crowd, that of murdering his former best friend, he could have still been convicted for it had Hector been interested in pressing charges. It was actually pretty difficult to get away with murder in the Land of the Dead. The victim could press charges against their murderer the second they crossed over. Special counselors were in place to help them through the process. If they knew the name of the murderer, they could give it to the police. They could undergo a memory scan and have the memory of their murder stored as evidence. The police then analyzed it to find the identity or confirm the murderer. Once the murderer died themselves, they'd be arrested on the spot. With memory scan and facial recognition technology, the cases were open & shut. The murderer would receive punishment, even if they managed to escape it in life.

It was more complicated in Hector's case. Hector hadn't known he'd been murdered when he first died. He didn't undergo the memory scan procedure. He could now, if he wanted, but it would only show Hector drinking a shot of tequila and collapsing in the road. Any hard evidence of poison was left in the Land of the Living. At the Sunrise Spectacular, Miguel accused Ernesto of murder, and he didn't deny it, but it wasn't technically a confession (although throwing the boy off a building right after wouldn't have boded well in his favor). The evidence was all circumstantial and it would turn into a massive legal battle which Hector wasn't willing to endure. So, legal-wise at least, he got away with it.

The plagiarism, however, was easier to prove. Hector died with a few things in his pocket. Two of those things included a letter from daughter to father and a letter from father to daughter. They were both documented on his death report when he first arrived, 2 years before Ernesto released first album in the Land of the Living. Hector kept them like sacred relics for almost a century. Both letters contained lyrics to Remember Me. Imelda was surprisingly adamant about Hector reclaiming credit, apparently furious that her daughter's precious gift was stolen and exploited for so many years. She verified that Hector played that song for Coco the day he left for the tour. She also confirmed that Hector and Coco would both sign off their letters with lyrics from the song. She'd know. She was the one who put Coco's letters on paper. All it took was a handwriting sample from both Hector and Imelda to confirm that Hector was the true artist.

Ernesto was forced to pay restitutions to make up for 96 years of plagiarism. It was a hefty sum, but it didn't leave him destitute by any means. He was able to keep his tower, but it feel into disrepair from neglect. He became isolated, not wanting to deal with the stares and whispers of the people around him, and those were the most polite of his despisers. Sometimes, he'd get a called an ugly name or spit in his face. He kept a few contacts on the outside, just to keep in touch with the world around him. As his bones never yellowed, he assumed Miguel, that brat of a living boy, never told anyone in the Land of the Living of his crimes, or at least no one believed the kid. He found out a year later it wasn't true. News trickled in from the Land of the Living. Apparently the new arrivals were positively abuzz with revelation that their beloved icon was both a thief and a murderer, not to mention a fraud. So, he was still remembered, but as a villain. People loved juicy story either way.

It all started that night, when the living boy, claiming to be his great great grandson, crashed his party. It was strange, and certainly unexpected, seeing Hector again. He looked different than the last time and it took Ernesto a second to recognize him. When they met that day at Ernesto's first rehearsal in the Land of the Dead, Hector wore clean, whole clothes and even had some shoes. His bones weren't as glittering white as Ernesto's but not the sickly yellow they'd turned by that fateful Dia de los Muertos. He could tell just by looking that Hector wasn't long for this world.

Then, Hector held out the photo to Miguel and Ernesto took it. He hadn't seen that face in the literal flesh since he died, not in waking or in dreams. The grin was a stark contrast from the last time he'd seen Hector flesh face in person. Ernesto remembered the way Hector's freshly dead body stared blankly, half his face pressed against the cobblestones. He couldn't forget.

But the image of another Hector also burned itself into his brain. The Creature Hector, with its over-wide threatening smile and its never-blinking eyes. It'd been decades since he last dreamed, since he last let that thing haunt him. Still, he couldn't scrub that face from his mind. He remembered the last dream. In it, he performed his last Dia de los Muertos show in the living world, the same show where he met his demise. He played for an audience of one. The Hector Creature, grin gleaming and face half rotted off, sat front-row, center. When the performance ended, it clapped slowly. "Excelente, but I believe I heard that last song somewhere before," it said, referring to Remember Me. "Something about it rings a bell."

As Ernesto looked at the photo and Hector begged him to let Miguel take it back to the Land of the Living, he actually considered it. Hector clearly wasn't going to last much longer and it wouldn't do much harm. Perhaps he could give Hector this one mercy, as a testament to their long dead friendship.

But then Hector had to bring up that night, that awful night. He could still remember. "Hate me if you want." Those were the exact words Hector said to him. Those words made him decide. Those words told him exactly who Hector chose, who Hector was willing to sacrifice. "Hate me if you want," as if it didn't matter, as if their friendship didn't matter, as if Ernesto didn't matter. "Hate me if you want," because I don't need you anymore. Hector's words sealed his fate back then, and they'd seal his fate now.

Come to think of it, this very well might be Hector's last night before the final death, before he passed on to the true great unknown. By Hector's clear desperation, he obviously knew it too. Don't people who know they're going to die (or, in this case, die again) usually try to complete unfinished business? Visit loved ones? See old friends? Resolve old conflicts? So why, if it weren't for Miguel, would Hector not want to see Ernesto? Ernesto'd only been Hector's best friend for the entirety of that fool's life? Hector didn't know about the poison. Hector only knew about the songs, which could easily be explained away. And yet, Hector wasn't even going to try to see Ernesto. He was far too obsessed with seeing his goddamn kid to even consider it.

So, Hector wanted to see his daughter? Fine. He could see her in hell.

In retrospect, maybe he should have just let Miguel go home and let Hector see his girl. It'd be all over. Hector would be forgotten, Miguel would still idolize him, and the world would still love him. But, he underestimated Hector. He should have known Hector would find a way out. That damn constant thorn in his side always found a way back.

After that disastrous Sunrise Spectacular, it all fell apart. The fame, the respect, the admiration… he lost it all. No longer was he hailed as one of the greats. People didn't praise him as a creative genius. It all shifted to Hector. And what did that fool do with it? He gave money away to the nearly-forgotten. He turned down chances to travel the Land of the Dead in order to stay home. He answered questions about if he would perform again with a maybe, saying he wanted to reconnect with his family first. Then next Sunrise Spectacular rolled around and he finally agreed to perform again, but, only if he was just one of the acts. The Sunrise Spectacular became a multi-performer concert where both famous musicians and unknown artists had the chance to perform. Also, it began at sunrise, rather than ended. He wanted to make sure everyone got to spend as much time with their families as possible.

Hector didn't want fame anymore. It was all wasted on him. He squandered it, just like he planned to squander his own talents. Even in life, when he decided to go back to Santa Cecelia, he wanted to waste his time playing for that backwater town when he could be playing to large crowds in big cities. It was a cruel trick of fate that Hector was born with those natural gifts when he planned to fritter them away.

Hector thrived while Ernesto fell apart. It felt wrong. It was against the natural order of things. Ernesto was the star. Hector was the screw up. That's the way it was, the way it should be. Not this. This was a waking nightmare with no escape.

Well, there was one escape. He could sleep. He hadn't slept in 75 years, but he could try. He wandered into a guest room, one that hadn't seen a guest in over a year. Ernesto had no bedroom himself. He had a dressing room, but as he never planned to sleep, he kept temptation at bay by never getting his own bed. It's not as if any other bed-related activates were possible anymore, so he saw no need for getting one of his own. However, back in his glory years in the Land of the Dead, he threw parties that lasted several days and so, he needed these guestrooms for party-goers who grew tired and needed a break. This was the first time he set foot in one himself.

He lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling wondering how, exactly, this would go. The nightmares could possibly come back, especially now with old wounds reopened. But then again, the real Hector had his songs back and reunited with his family. Maybe the Hector Creature was appeased. Maybe he could close his eyes, get some rest, just this once…

[-]

Ernesto found himself in a small, familiar house. It was modestly furnished and very old fashioned in terms of technology. He'd been here many times before, but he couldn't place it. At least not until he spotted the tall, lanky man sitting on the couch with a baby in his arms.

"Hector?" he asked. He had to be sure, this wasn't the skeleton Hector was now. Nor was it the Hector Creature that used to haunt his dreams. This Hector smiled softly down at the baby and hummed it a little tune. He didn't seem to notice Ernesto's presence. "Hector?" Ernesto called again, this time louder.

"Shhh, silencio por favor," Hector said in a quiet, gentle voice. "I just got her to sleep." He got up from the couch and brought his daughter over to Ernesto. "God, look at her," he said, holding the baby so that Ernesto could see her. "Un angelito. I still can't believe she's mine."

"She is beautiful," Ernesto answered. He wasn't sure what to make of this. Was this a memory? Hector gushed over his little girl almost constantly after she was born. It was hard to pick out specific instances. Hector couldn't stop smiling when he looked at her. It brought a smile to Ernesto's face too. It was hard not to feel some warmth while watching a parent so in love with his child.

"I know I should put her in the crib," Hector went on, "but I just don't want to let her go. I'm almost afraid, you know?" He turned his face to Ernesto and suddenly the grin grew wide. "Afraid I won't get to spend enough time with her."

That grin. No.

Hector looked back at his baby and his soft smile returned. "Alright, I'll put her down. Then we can talk." He took the baby into the bedroom and Ernesto stood frozen. That creature, it was back. The real Hector had everything he could want now and it was still back to haunt him. Maybe, if he left before the Hector Creature came back, he could escape this nightmare. He looked around, no doors. He went to the window, locked shut. He had nowhere to run.

"Something wrong, old friend?"

Ernesto practically jumped when he heard the voice. He turned around to see the Hector Creature, grin full, eyes staring, all the softness and warmth he had for his daughter now gone. "What do you want from me?" Ernesto growled, sick of this thing's games.

"I'm not sure what you mean," the Hector Creature asked, grin never wavering.

"It's all been found out, alright?" Ernesto shouted. "Everyone knows the truth about the songs, about Hector's death."

"Murder, you mean," the thing corrected so causally. "I'm not here for that. It's never been about that. I'm here for you."

"What?"

"I'm here for you, only you." It took a step forward and Ernesto took a step back. "You're the only one who's important to me."

"That's not true. What about your daughter?"

Hector's smile softened slightly and he got a dreamy look in his eye. "Ah, Coco. I did love her, but she'd have gotten in the way of our dream." Hector reached into a pocket inside his jacket. "So, I set her aside, for you." He produced a small bottle and showed off the label. Barbital, and it was empty.

"You…you…" He couldn't believe it. Hector said he put the baby to sleep. Come to think of it, the baby did look unusually still. But that couldn't be it. Hector would never… But this wasn't the real Hector, was it?

"I don't see what you find so repulsive about this," Hector said, eerily calm. "She was in the way, so I took care of her."

"But-but you love your daughter," Ernesto sputtered out.

"I did," the grin grew, "but isn't our dream more important?"

"She's a baby."

The Hector-Creature simply grinned and took a step closer. "And Miguel was a child. What does it matter?"

Ernesto felt a sharp dip in his stomach and stepped back toward the wall. This wasn't right. Never, for all the world, would Hector harm a child, harm anyone, then brush it off like it was nothing. He was wrong before. This, this was truly against the natural order. "You… you're not Hector." A stupid thing to say, of course, given the circumstances. He knew this, he'd always known. But this thing, this creature, didn't even deserve to wear Hector's face.

"I'm better than Hector." The Creature reached out and laid a spidery hand on Ernesto's shoulder. "I'll follow you everywhere. I'll do what you want. You'll come first, no matter what. It's just what you always wanted."

"No," Ernesto growled and slapped the hand away, "not this."

"It is. I have nothing else, no one to split my time with, no other obligations. I'm your best friend, and that's all I am."

"Who are you?" He shouted, advancing on the Creature. "Why do you torment me?"

"Torment?" The Creature crinkled its brows but the frozen grin remained. "When have I ever done anything to you?"

Ernesto paused. He tried to think of something, but apart from a few sly comments and cackling, he came up blank. It made itself grotesque sometimes and cried over its death others, but in truth, the Creature's greatest torment was forcing him to see Hector's face every night. It would never let him forget.

"What are you, then?" He roared. He was done with this game; done with this creature's knowing smirks and coy hints. "What do you want? Where do you come from?"

"I don't think you understand. I come from you." The thing slid its arm around Ernesto's shoulders and squeezed just a bit too tight. He recognized the gesture. He'd done it to Hector more times than he could count. The Creature turned its face to Ernesto so that he could smell its stale breath. "I'm yours, Ernesto," it claimed, its grin somehow curling even more at the corners. "I've only ever been yours."

[-]

Ernesto woke with a start. He looked around the strange room and it took him a second to remember where he was. He grabbed a pillow and shouted every curse known to man in it. Why? Why did it come back? Hector had everything he could ever want now. Why did that Creature continue to torment him? What more could that thing take?

Maybe, that was his mistake. He thought the Creature was tied to Hector all this time. In life, part of him wondered if it was the real Hector, back in spirit form to avenge himself. But tonight, it demonstrated that it most assuredly was not Hector. Never, not even in a dream, not even to prove a point, would Hector harm his own daughter.

The Creature said it came from him, but what did that mean? That Ernesto cooked it up in his own mind? It said it did what he wanted, but how could that be true? Who would want to be plagued with these nightmares every time they shut their eyes? But perhaps there was something to it. If the Creature was simply a figment of his own imagination, all he had to do was fill his mind with memories of the real Hector. Dreaming of the real Hector would hardly be as terrifying as this Creature. However, the memories he currently had evidently weren't enough. He had to get some fresh ones.

There was a problem, though. He couldn't just knock on Hector's door and ask to grab a drink. The real Hector wouldn't want to see him now. They couldn't go back to the way they were, not after everything that happened. So, Ernesto would simply have to observe Hector from afar.

[-]

Ernesto tugged on the cloak's hood, hiding his face. He couldn't be seen, especially not here. He watched the Rivera household from across the way, tucked in an alley. Hector sat on a table in the courtyard with his guitar. He smiled serenely while playing a melody Ernesto'd never heard before. Occasionally, Hector would hit on a set of chords he liked and pause to write it down in a little notebook. Apparently, he found inspiration once again and was back to his songwriting. The fans would be happy to know that there would be a new set of songs come next Sunrise Spectacular.

Sometimes, people would pause to listen and he'd tell stop to chat, especially if it was a kid. In fact, one kid asked to hold the guitar. Not only did Hector hand it over, he also showed the kid how to hold it correctly and pluck out a few notes. He seemed absolutely at ease the entire time. But then, friendliness always came as naturally to Hector as breathing.

A little old woman came out of the house and sat with Hector. His face lit up like the Land of the Dead at night and planted a million kisses on her face. Ernesto didn't recognize this woman. She wasn't with the rest of the family the night they ruined his life. He watched the tender way Hector spoke to her and stroked her hair and he realized. No, it couldn't be. This was little Coco? It had been nearly a century since he last saw her. Ay Dios mio, she must have lived to her late nineties at least.

Imelda came out as well to announce that dinner was ready. Hector helped his daughter off the bench. She smiled and rolled her eyes at being treated like a child, but made no other protest. She went inside while Hector lingered at the door. He wrapped his arms around his wife and gave her a kiss before they disappeared into the house together.

Ernesto felt a pain in his chest as he watched the door close. This was Hector's life now, the seemingly idyllic family life he always wanted. And, as Ernesto suspected, there was no room for him. Ernesto made it a point to never look back. He left far too much destruction in his wake on his road to success. It wouldn't be healthy for him. But now, as he stood in the cold, shady alley and watched the warm glow emanating from the Rivera's home, he wondered what could have been. What would have happened if he let Hector live? Would they have made up and become friends again? Would they have found success some other time, some other way? Would Ernesto have even found a family of his own? Or would Hector have left him alone in the cold the way he did now?

It didn't matter, really. The past was set in stone. He made the decision he could never take back. There was nothing to do but deal with the reality of now. But still, as he watched the silhouettes bustle in the kitchen window and remembered all the times in life Hector and Imelda invited him into their home, he felt a strong pull inside him. He tried his hardest to deny it, but it simply wouldn't be ignored. Never before had he felt such a powerful longing to go home.