Hiya folks! Another Monday, another chapter! Hoooo boy I need to replenish my buffer soon.
Héctor wasn't the only one who had trouble sleeping.
Imelda lay awake in her bed, staring into the darkness of her room. The dense curtains hung over her windows, keeping any light from getting in. Whether her eyes were open or shut, all she saw was pitch black. But no matter what she did, her mind was too full to allow her to sleep.
She was no stranger to sleepless nights. She'd had many of them when she was alive, lying awake as she wondered why her husband was taking so long to send his next letter. Other times, she would be rocking Coco as the child sobbed and cried out for her father. Still others, she would be stooped over her desk, trying to figure out how to stretch her meager savings to feed both herself and her daughter as she got her business started.
Even in death, insomnia was her constant companion. Sometimes she would lay in bed, wondering if everything was all right with her living family during the year of silence between Dia de Muertos visits. Sometimes she would find herself thinking about her business in both worlds and how she would continue to provide for her family as more of them arrived from the other side. Others, she would be trying to ignore the feeling of her arms aching to hold someo—something…
Now her mind was filled with thoughts of what had happened a few hours ago, and what could have possibly happened before that.
Imelda wasn't sure how much Héctor would be willing to talk about, if she could figure out how to get him to communicate at all. But what she did know was that he'd been attacked—Héctor himself had confirmed that—and he didn't know who had done this to him. Turning the ideas over in her head, she frowned. Robberies did happen in the Land of the Dead, sadly—some criminals never broke their habits even after death—but nothing Héctor had on him had been taken. Not even the new guitar that Óscar and Felipe had purchased for him.
No, he hadn't been robbed… he had been…
Images of his broken ribs, his slashed vertebrae, and his missing hand flashed through her mind.
Hot anger and sick worry churned where her stomach used to be.
Whoever had done this to him, they would pay. She didn't know why they had done this but that hardly mattered. Nothing would stop her from beating them with a shoe until they were as broken up as Héctor, or worse.
Héctor…
They'd gotten him home sometime around one thirty in the morning. By that point, everyone had been utterly exhausted, but Imelda hadn't been about to let him sit on the couch all night. But his room was on the third floor, and he could barely walk, let alone make it up two flights of stairs. Ignoring his protests, she'd scooped him up into her arms, carrying him up to the third floor. Julio and Coco had followed several steps behind, pretending not to see.
Even after that, just getting him to bed had been a challenge. At first she'd laid him on his back, but he'd given a hoarse cry of pain. Julio had been the one to rush out to grab some extra pillows, which they piled up at the head of Héctor's bed so he could sleep sitting up.
By then, nearly everyone was ready to sleep, themselves, but poor Coco was still heartbroken, begging to stay by her father's side. Héctor had only shaken his head—he probably wanted to be alone, and Imelda could hardly blame him. So they'd left him in his room, and retreated to their own bedrooms.
That had been over an hour ago.
Heaving a sigh, Imelda slid out from under her thick quilt and strode over to the curtains, drawing them to see out her door to the balcony. The district they were in was quiet this time of night, but the city lights twinkled like stars in the distance. After a moment she opened the door, stepping out onto the balcony to drink in the sight, breathe in the cool night air.
The peaceful scene brought her no comfort tonight.
Still, she stayed outside for a few more minutes, hoping the stillness would settle over her and calm her racing mind enough to sleep. But even as she looked out over the balcony, her mind only saw Héctor, huddled up against a doorframe, trying to make his broken form invisible in the shadows. Her hands, gripping the balcony wall, only felt the rotten wood and deteriorating cardboard that she'd searched through in the alley.
Finally Imelda stepped back into her room, rubbing her forehead.
This was not working.
But she had always been a woman of logic. She could figure out how to fix this—she had to, if she wanted to get enough sleep to be able to tackle their problems in the morning. Her thoughts were constantly drifting back to Héctor, so if she could just check on him, perhaps that would be enough to ease her mind. That decided, she stepped out into the hallway, heading for Héctor's room.
Apparently she hadn't been the only one with that idea.
Imelda stopped before she reached the end of the hall, surprised to see two figures sitting up against Héctor's door. While it was difficult to make out their faces in the dark, she didn't have to flip on the lightswitch to recognize them.
Coco and Julio were dozing with their backs to the door, hands linked. They hadn't been there when Imelda had left; she could only assume that they had come out here after attempting (and, evidently, failing) to sleep in their own room.
It wasn't hard to imagine why.
No matter how old she got, Coco was still her daughter, and when her Coco's heart ached, so did Imelda's. Part of her wished she could sit with Coco and comfort her, as she'd done when Coco was only a child, but she couldn't do that now without waking her up. But maybe…
Putting her hand to her chin in thought, Imelda turned around, walking quietly back to her room, and came back shortly with a blanket in her arms. She approached her daughter and son-in-law, careful not to wake them, and draped the blanket over their sleeping forms. They would probably have a bit of stiffness in their spines in the morning, but at least they wouldn't get cold, now.
Imelda stepped back to look over the two, a faint smile crossing her features. It faded when she realized she couldn't check on Héctor without waking either of them.
Well… that was all right. Given she couldn't hear any noises coming from that room (and given Pepita was keeping watch outside) Héctor was certainly asleep and safe now, especially with his daughter and son-in-law guarding the door. He would be fine, at least for the night.
Returning to her room, Imelda slipped back into her bed, finding her mind a bit more at ease. Tomorrow was going to be hard, but she would be able to handle it.
All of them would.
Imelda woke at 6 AM sharp.
Immediately she felt exhaustion seeping into her bones; two hours of sleep was not enough for anyone. She didn't even need to be up this early, she realized—it was Saturday, the workshop was closed, and it was Victoria's turn to run the sales desk today. Héctor wouldn't be up yet, and Coco and Julio would likely be sleeping in, too. She had no reason to be awake.
Heaving a sigh, she rolled to her side, willing herself to go back to sleep. When this failed, she slid out of bed, keeping her curtains closed but opening the balcony door a crack. She then lay back in bed, listening to the sounds of the world outside slowly springing to life… as "alive" as the Land of the Dead could be, anyway.
Pepita snored in the courtyard. A bicycle zipped by, preceding the clank of the newspaper hitting their front gate. In the skies above, birdlike alebrijes sang their discordant melodies. A tremendous crash shook the floor, immediately followed by an echoed cry of "¡Lo siento!"
Imelda groaned, sitting up as she listened to the muffled sounds of her brothers' rapid conversation in the room below hers. No point in staying in bed now.
It didn't take her long to slip out of her nightgown, change into a fresh dress, and put up her hair. As she stepped out the door, she was immediately greeted by Óscar and Felipe, who practically bowled her over.
"Buenos dias Imelda!"
"Is Héctor awake?"
Stepping back, Imelda put her hands on her hips. "I don't think anyone isn't awake, after all that noise you two were making."
"¡Lo siento!" Óscar held up his hands in apology.
"We were just excited!" Felipe resumed. "Just last night, we—"
"—finished our prototype guitar attachment, and—"
"—we wanted to know when—"
"—Héctor was ready to try it out!"
Imelda opened her mouth to reply, and then their words sank in.
Guitar attachment.
Once again, the image flashed through her mind of Héctor's current condition, and her heart sank. It hadn't even occurred to her until now.
Seeing their sister's expression change, the twins exchanged confused glances. "Is everything all right?" they asked in unison.
Imelda turned away, waving them off. "Go on back downstairs. If you see anyone else, let them know that there will be a family meeting before the shop opens." She could sense her brothers' unease, but out of the corner of her eye she saw them nod at her before heading downstairs.
She would have to tell the others what happened—there was no getting around that. It wasn't a conversation she was looking forward to, but it had to be done.
But first, she had to check on Héctor.
Heading back down the hallway, Imelda found Coco and Julio awake and conversing in hushed voices. When they saw her approaching, they looked up. "Hola, Mamá Imelda," Julio whispered with an embarrassed smile, rising to his feet.
Coco stood up beside him, her face sullen as she looked to the door. "I…" She swallowed. "I didn't want to leave him."
"Lo sé," Imelda murmured, placing a hand on her daughter's shoulder.
"I th-thought I could—" her voice caught, and she swallowed again. Julio squeezed her hand.
"I'll take care of him, mija," Imelda whispered. "You two go downstairs, and we'll talk to the others soon."
"Come, Socorro," Julio said, folding up their blanket and setting it aside. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, giving one of them a squeeze. "Let's go get ready, and make some coffee. I think we'll need it, sí?"
As Imelda watched her daughter and son-in-law head back to their room, she mentally went over the things she would say to her family. Héctor arrived home late last night— no, that was too accusatory. Héctor was hurt by— but she didn't know who yet, did she?
Heaving a sigh, she turned to face the door. She would cross that bridge later; for now, she had to check on the subject of the conversation.
If she listened closely, she could just make out the sound of his breathing, intermixed with faint whimpers. Had he slept through the racket Óscar and Felipe had made? Or perhaps he was awake, and trying to will himself back to sleep, as she had been earlier.
One way to find out.
Raising her hand, she rapped her knuckles twice against the door.
"Héc—"
A strangled scream cut her off, followed by the clatter of bone hitting wood.
Horrified, Imelda jerked away from the door. "Héctor?!"
The only sounds that answered her were hoarse yells intermixed with ragged coughs and moans, and bone scratching against wood.
"What's going on?!" came Rosita's voice from the bottom of the staircase.
"Is that Héctor making all that noise?" Victoria was out, too.
She ignored them for now, swiftly opening the door and slipping inside. Before she shut the door, she heard Julio's voice reassuring the others, but his words were lost amidst the noises from the skeleton in front of her.
It was dark—the light was off and dawn hadn't broken yet—but she could see Héctor flailing about on the floor next to his bed. His voice had given out entirely now, his muted screaming sounding more like gagging. More ragged coughs shook his entire frame, and strained whimpers squeezed their way out of his non-existent throat. On top of that were the sounds of his bones clattering and his bare feet pounding against the wooden floor as he frantically tried to back up into the wall. While his hair was messy and partially covered his eyes, Imelda noticed quickly that his vision was unfocused, unseeing.
"Héctor!" She rushed to his side and stooped down. "Héctor, tranquilo. Cálmate."
When he didn't immediately respond to her presence, she reached out to grab his shoulder. To her surprise, his left arm shot out, his hand snagging her arm and gripping it tightly. Startled, but no less determined, she reached out with her own left hand to grasp his.
"Tranquilo, Héctor," she repeated, rubbing her phalanges over his metacarpals. "I'm here."
Héctor had stopped struggling, his body stilling and his breaths coming short and quick. He blinked once, twice, before finally meeting her gaze. At first he looked stunned, and then a shaky, embarrassed grin crossed his face. He gave a huff of a laugh, and then all at once seemed to realize the pain he was in, and slumped back against the wall.
His hand was still gripping her arm, though.
"You were having a bad dream," Imelda said, brushing his hair away from his eyesockets.
Immediately she regretted her choice of words when she saw a fleeting expression of relief cross Héctor's face. He reached up with his right hand to rub at his throat, only to give a muted yelp. He looked down at where his hand should have been, and, if it were possible, seemed to wilt further.
No, that wasn't a dream, unfortunately.
"I'm sorry I startled you," she went on, reaching down in an offer to help him up. It took him a moment to take it, moving his hand from her arm to her open palm. She eased him back onto his feet, and he stood, albeit wobbly. "Maybe I'll have to knock a bit more softly next time."
Héctor only shook his head, dismissively waving his right arm at her and flinching. His left hand twitched in hers; she suspected that he wanted to use it, but didn't want to let go of her.
It wasn't often that they held hands, after all.
Sighing, Imelda guided him back to his bed, and he plopped onto it. Part of her still wanted to ask him for more details—especially a description of his attacker, if he could remember it—but it was pointless when he couldn't talk. Maybe she could convince him to write something out later, but seeing the way his back hunched, the way his eyes had trouble staying open, she decided that could wait for another time.
"Would you like some coffee or tea?" she offered instead, and he glanced at her tiredly. Realizing her mistake, she cleared her throat. "Tea?"
He shook his head.
"Coffee?"
He gave a short nod.
Finally she released her grasp on Héctor's hand, but it took him a moment to let go. He seemed to wilt again, and his hand went to his neck, rubbing it. As far as she could tell, his vertebrae looked no better than they had last night—being remembered didn't necessarily mean he would heal instantly.
And whenever he came out of his room, the rest of the family would see those scars, those broken bones, that missing hand.
Imelda looked Héctor in the eyes. "I'm going to tell the others what happened."
Immediately his head snapped up, and he looked at her in horror.
Imelda could only roll her eyes. "Did you want everyone to just sit around wondering why you won't leave your room?"
The look he gave seemed to say yes, that would be preferable.
"They would find out eventually. I'm going to let them know now, and get it over with."
Jaw set anxiously, Héctor held up his hand in a "hold on" gesture. (Or a "wait, wait, wait, wait," gesture, in his case, Imelda mused.) He tugged at his vest, fighting with it with his one hand to button it up. Next he reached up to his necktie (which seemed to bear a few slash marks) and carefully worked it looser before tugging it upward, wincing all the while.
By this point Imelda had figured out what he was trying to do, and she spread her arms out. "Basta! You are not going to try to hide your injuries from them."
Héctor's foot stamped against the floor with a bang as he glared at the floor. "Y-you ca—a—" he managed to wheeze out, voice barely a squeak, before doubling over in a fit of ragged coughing.
Part of her wanted to place a comforting hand on his back, but the rest of her kept still, regarding him sternly. "Héctor," she said, once his fit subsided. "If you are going to be a part of this family, you will not keep secrets from it."
All at once, Héctor went still. His chest stopped heaving, his hand stopped clutching at his throat, and he stared blankly down at the floorboards.
Imelda hadn't expected that reaction, but she would take it over his stubbornness. "I will tell them, then," she said.
He nodded.
"And you won't try to hide your injuries."
He nodded again.
She would have left it at that and headed straight downstairs, but something made her pause.
Héctor was trembling.
Sternness reluctantly ebbing away, Imelda placed a hand on his shoulder blade, rubbing it gently. "I'm not angry at you for what happened last night." She could feel him shaking beneath her palm. "No one is, and no one will be. I don't want you keeping secrets because I… we care about you. ¿Entiendes?"
He nodded shakily, and scrubbed at his eyesockets.
Sighing, she sat next to him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders and allowing him to lean into her side. For the moment, she held him in silence, occasionally rubbing his shoulder.
But dawn was creeping closer, and she couldn't make her family wait all morning.
"The sooner everyone knows what happened," she said, "the sooner we can work together to help you."
Héctor nodded again; he wasn't trembling quite so much, now.
With that, Imelda rose to her feet, stepping toward the door. She cast one last look at Héctor before she slipped out, finding that he'd finally raised his head to watch her.
She chose to ignore the dampness around his eyesockets.
