Author Notes:
This chapter ended up getting three times as long as I intended. Originally it was only going to be the final part, but there's just so much fun stuff coming up that I wanted to mention here first. Lots of hints in this one!
Note: I made a teensy little correction to something in chapter 3 that may or may not be important (depends on how you read it, honestly)
Thanks to BabyCharmander for helping beta!
Chapter 9: Ambushed
"That... maybe could have gone better," Héctor said to himself, wandering home as the winter sun drifted towards the horizon. His shoulders hunched forward as his mind kept going back to his conversation with Imelda.
So she finally knew about Aida, he thought wearily, more frustrated than anything. Not like he had planned to keep it a secret, but he definitely hadn't planned on telling her like that. And what was with that dumb article? Who wrote that? Who had he pissed off so much? All right, maybe a bad question.
At least it hadn't mentioned the details of her death; that was a small consolation. Or that she had had a child. Then again, she had been very private about those matters. In fact, he wasn't sure if anyone else knew those secrets. Not anymore, anyway.
Still, to actually state that Aida was his lover? That was uncalled for and certainly wasn't going to help his renewed relationship with Imelda. Or the rest of the family, he thought as his shoulders slumped further, his head sinking towards his ribcage. What would they think? Had they all read the same article? Frankly, he still didn't know any of them well enough to anticipate their reaction, and they didn't know him. Not really. For most of their lives he was nothing but a no-good musician who had abandoned his family. Maybe they had even thought that he had left Imelda for another... Oh. Right. Duh. That could make things worse.
But at least Imelda believed him. That alone was invaluable- incredible! Even if she still seemed suspicious. Which… was reasonable, he reminded himself. More than reasonable. Aida herself had warned him of it years and years ago, so he should have seen this coming, but he still hadn't been ready. And he had managed to make things worse!
"Ah, stupid, stupid!" he said, hitting his head with his palm, accompanied by annoying 'clacks.'
He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts he nearly went down the wrong street, walking faster when he heard his name spoken in eager, hushed voices nearby, not in the mood to sign any autographs, nor to get yelled at. As he skirted a corner with backward glances, he wondered if he should have mentioned to Imelda that she had, in fact, met Aida years earlier, albeit under a different name. He thought that was why she had brought up Aida in the first place. Except mentioning that little secret might only complicate things, and possibly make her angry at him again. It wasn't like they had done anything bad- far from it! It was just… a bit shady.
One day he would tell Imelda the whole truth, he told himself, gnawing his lower lip bone. Eventually. Probably.
If he didn't mess it all up before then.
"Señor Rivera!"
His head jerked up, then his whole body sagged at the sight of a group of skeletons lurking by the upper entrance to Shantytown.
"Ay, not this again," he muttered under his breath, watching them hurry forward with their cameras and notepads. They often had the same questions, none of which he was keen on answering.
Do you maintain your argument that you were murdered by Ernesto de la Cruz? Why did you never suspect it before?
What is the origin of the 'chorizo' theory of your death? How can you be certain it wasn't simply food poisoning?
What went through your mind when you discovered you had been poisoned by your best friend? Do you plan to pursue legal action?
Why are you still living in Shantytown? Were you disowned by your family?
They were terrible questions, and he was very bad at answering them.
"Héctor Rivera!" One man called out, racing ahead of the rest. "A few moments, con permiso."
"No, not interested," he said, striding forward without pause. "I'm just trying to get home, so will you—"
As he stepped around the man another moved to block him, holding up a small black recorder to his face.
"Señor, some quick questions—"
"I just sa—"
"-about some recent information that's come to light about a particular friend of yours," the man said in one quick breath. "Do you have any comments about your relationship with Aida?"
"No. No comment. Now will you leave me alone?" He was distracted by another skeleton jumping in front, while another hoisted up a camera with a bright flash that half-blinded him.
"Ay! What the—"
"Is it true you took Aida as your lover?" another called out.
"No!" he said loudly, blinking fast and holding up a hand.
"So was she simply a common whore?" said another.
"What? No! Don't call her that."
"What was her reason for living in Shantytown?" A woman said loudly, elbowing her way through the others. "Was she also disowned by her family?"
Héctor opened his mouth to reply, then shut it, unsure what to say, still blinking away spots. "She was, uh… she did have family. That was—"
"Did your wife know of your infidelity?"
"Wha- no! No, she… ugh!" With a groan he ground his head into his hands, dimly aware of another flash and pop of a camera.
"Or did she first find out with the publication of that article?"
"Now hang on." He was losing tracking of what was happening, as something tapped his back, making him turn around. He looked around and realized how many there were, and felt something cold shudder in his chest, and he shoved it down, glaring out at them as they pressed closer.
"Is that why you're still living here in Shantytown? And living in your old lover's home?"
"No! She's not- wait, that's... I mean, I…" He stepped back, bumping into a shorter skeleton with glasses who looked keenly up at him.
"Did you love Aida?" she asked. An expectant hush fell as they watched him intently, all poised over their little books as another camera flashed and popped.
Héctor opened his mouth to again refute the accusation but then paused with a small grimace. "S-she was my friend. A good friend, all right?"
He watched them scribble away and wondered what they were writing. But what else could he say? There was a sudden, sharp pang of missing Aida. If she was there, what would she think?
"I'm not ashamed of her!" he said suddenly, standing taller. "Write that down all you want. She was a good person."
There were some raised eyebrows, a few crooked grins that made Héctor nervous, but he wouldn't take it back. He had promised. To both of them.
"Señor, can you elaborate on that?" someone asked.
"No."
"All right, all right, no need to get testy, eh?" another man said with a humorless laugh. "So then… were there any other lovers?"
His eye twitched. "Aida wasn't my lover. Now if you'll all excuse me, I just want to go home." He pushed his way through the throng, but only got a few steps before they pressed in tighter, one man sliding in front of him and almost making him stumble and fall on his bad leg.
"Hey!"
"Ninety years is a long time to be alone. Surely you had some other company."
"I wasn't alone! I had friends, good friends. Why is this such a big deal?"
"Really? Just friends?"
He bit his lip, once again unsure what to say, knowing whatever he said might very well come back to haunt him. Looking at the crowd of journalists, he wondered if his silence might speak louder than words.
With a great sigh he rubbed his head, could feel a dull thudding beneath the bone. "They were family."
Again there was a flurry of scratching pens, a few of them asking additional questions that he barely heard, wondering how this would come back to bite him. But to say anything else would feel akin to a betrayal.
A bespectacled skeleton edged through the crowd, calling his name until Héctor finally glared at him.
"Héctor! Sí! Señor, can you tell me about your dance partner?"
"My what?"
"I mean your—"
"So what else are you hiding?" someone piped up from the back.
"What kind of a question is that!" Héctor yelped, jerking backward. This was getting ridiculous. He was tempted to make a run for it when one man stepped forward from the pack of wolves and pulled Héctor away amidst mild protests from the others, slinging an arm around his shoulders like they were old pals.
"Ah, amigo, the whole land is wondering about you now," the man said, a leer stretching across his skull. "Might as well make it worth your while, eh? And I could get you a good price, a real good price, for an interview. What do you say?"
"Ehhhh…" Héctor leaned far away, uncomfortably aware of the man's hand gripping his shoulder. Glancing around, he caught sight of an escape, a balcony railing hopefully leading to not too great a drop. With a smooth duck he swung out from under the arm and stepped backward, facing the journalists with a broad grin, his arms spread wide.
"Well, this has been fun and all, but it's been a really long day and I'm just gonna go now. OK? So, then… buenas tardes!"
"Hey, wait! Señor!"
"¡Disculpe, sr. Rivera!"
But Héctor had already slipped away, holding tight to his hat as he dashed across the short space, skipping wide over the railing and clambering down to the next landing. As he steadied himself, a little shakier than usual, he glanced up and caught sight of skeletons beginning to appear at the railing. With a grin he took off, turning a corner and quickly getting lost in the crowds until he came to a quiet side-street where he waited, breathing heavily until he was sure he hadn't been followed.
"Well that didn't go well," he muttered, leaning back against a wall. Had he answered those well enough? It hadn't been too bad, right? Thinking back, he couldn't recall much other than how annoying it had been.
"Ugh. 'What else are you hiding?'" he spat, walking down the narrow alley, his limp worse than before. "Of all the dumb questions..."
Then he hesitated, catching his words. Honestly, there was a lot he hadn't told Imelda, or anyone for that matter. But even if there were a few skeletons in his closet, he didn't have to share that with the world. What he did in his afterlife was no one's business but his own. Well, his and Imelda's, he thought miserably. There were some things he needed to tell her, he knew that. But he hadn't expected for it all to come up so soon.
In the weeks since Dia de los Muertos, she hadn't shown any strong interest in his afterlife, and he had been fine with that. Whenever they talked it was always Héctor asking and listening. He assumed that neither her nor the rest of the family had cared much about what he had been doing. Which was fine, he reminded himself, feeling a small twinge of annoyance. Understandable. Better, in fact. He knew they were easing into a relationship again, and he didn't mind waiting for them to get more comfortable with each other before bringing up some of the more questionable things. And… and there were a few of them.
He groaned, rubbing his forehead, feeling even more exhausted.
"Yeah fine, maybe I am hiding a few things. I did tell the truth, though," he muttered. "Technically."
Then he looked around, and realized he didn't actually recognize the place. What he took to be an alley wove into a quaint, comfortable little back street with the usual looming houses all around and with a general feeling of being newly built. It was brightly colored and simmering with life, with plants and windchimes brightening the pace, full of sound as he heard a radio from one window and laughter from another, although the street itself was empty of anyone else.
He came upon a little fenced-off yard where a goat alebrije languidly chewed, turning its head as he approached. He leaned against the paint-flaked fence, stretching his arms out along it and reflecting on many things as he took a moment to breathe and rest his legs.
"Guess I could have done a better job of explaining it all to Imelda," he said, glancing over at the alibrije who had stepped a little closer. "I mean, even if I can't tell her everything right now, she still deserved better than that. If I had just thought it through earlier, maybe I could have known what to say. Eh, suppose there's always tomorrow, right? Ha! Ah, that feels good to say!"
At least he had time. For once he wasn't racing against the falling sand, and regardless of what happened, Imelda had actually listened to him! They had talked! That was a very nice change. Even if he suspected she didn't quite believe everything. Which was entirely his fault, perfectly reasonable, and he knew it. But he could fix it. Maybe.
"Yeah. Tomorrow I'll go see her, we'll sit down, and I'll tell her the real story, that's what I'll do! Or some of it, anyway, don't know how I'll explain the beginning. Or why I broke into her house and uh… no, shouldn't mention that. And maybe skim over the torture bit. Except Imelda only knows about Aida, so… might not have to explain that one. Is that even possible? If I just say that… mmm, probably not. Ok! So skip over that and then the… me almost drowning, and the fishing for a leg thing, and the sleeping togeth- no, maybe not that. Then hiding under the dock… uh, maybe skip that part too, she probably doesn't need to know about that. Or that I asked her to strip, kinda. Huh… what was I going to tell her again?"
The alebrije wasn't particularly helpful, munching on what he realized was a lumpy gray sock. So he twisted his mouth and tried to remember exactly what else Imelda had been asking about. Oh yeah. The rib.
"Ay, why did I even bring up that rib? She wasn't asking about that! Why didn't I just say it was my friend's?" He looked over at the neon face and waved a hand. "I could have said I had to steal back my friend's rib. That's not weird, right?"
The alebrije slowly blinked, still chewing.
"Ehhh… it's a little weird," Héctor muttered, turning back and watching a jewel-bright dragonfly alebrije flutter this way and that, before vanishing from sight. High above, the stars began to appear, faint and thin against the sky. They were no nearer or farther than usual, but in that moment they seemed especially out of reach.
"Maybe I really did mess it all up," he murmured. Maybe it was already too late to go back to the way things were between them, and there was no one to blame except himself. What if he ended up hurting Imelda all over again? She was doing fine on her own, she had proved that. Clearly she didn't need him. He wasn't entirely sure if she still wanted him. The alebrije nudged his shoulder with its nose, loudly sniffing at his vest, and effectively pulling him from those thoughts. Héctor smiled and scratched between its horns.
"I'll just have to do better, yeah? Bring it out in the open and tell her what happened. The truth. How we met and the whole… house-burning thing. It's not like I would have to tell her everything all at once, but I could begin to tell her. I could… I could at least mention…" He paused, frowning, and found himself unable to say the word, annoyed at the cruel voices in his head and the familiar stab of pain near his absent heart.
"I'm not ashamed, that's not the reason," he muttered, but there was little conviction. He certainly was acting like it, and the realization made something curdle within him. With a low sigh he straightened up, patted the alebrije's head twice, and kept walking.
Home awaited him.
Fortunately, the secret entrance to Shantytown was all clear, yet he found himself glancing up and down the dark path before slipping through the jagged crack in the ancient adobe wall. There he found himself overlooking the land of the almost-Forgotten, the far-off sea reflected the new-risen moon, while golden lights hung suspended in the darkness, brightening the little homes and neighborhoods. A breeze touched him high up there, cool and fresh, and he breathed deep. It had been a long day.
"Señor?"
"Ah!" He jumped, his top half spinning so quickly his legs had to catch up as he turned to see a woman also squeezing her way through the gap in the wall. A woman holding a little book in her hand, and he had a feeling she wasn't there for an autograph.
"Pardon, I'm here on behalf of Hasta la Muerte —"
"Ay, ay, ay…" he moaned, dropping his head.
"I have a few questions for you."
"No. Just… no." He held up his hands, stopping her. "I am not doing any interviews, so you can just turn around and leave. Actually, wait a minute." He realized where they were standing, and a quick glance at her suggested she was not from Shantytown. "Wait, how… how did you even find me here?"
"I uh… followed you," she said, pointedly looking away.
"What? Are you loco? You just…" He glowered at her, and realized he wasn't one to talk. "Fine. Just don't tell anyone else about it, ok?"
"Fine. In exchange for answering my questions."
Héctor shoved his head into his hands and bit back a scream.
"Just a few questions—"
"No." He held up a hand before she could continue. "Absolutely not. Today has been a very long day, and right now I just want to go home."
"Tomorrow then," she said, annoyingly persistent. "And I won't tell anyone about this little secret entrance of yours."
"Ay…" His head back, almost falling off his shoulders before he snapped it forward. "Ok, ok. As long as you don't tell anyone about this, or sneak up on me like that again, then fine. I'll answer a few of your questions tomorrow. Or the next day. Or whenever you stalk me next." He couldn't keep the peevishness out of his voice.
"Great. I'll be here tomorrow."
"Great. Good night," he said briskly, turning on his heel and catching one last glimpse of her before his head caught up with his body and he stepped off the ledge.
There was a gasp above him as he caught the handhold tapped into the wall and landed lightly, his bones rattling but holding together. He glanced up to see the woman peering down, her shock clear even in the dim light.
"What?" he said, holding his arms wide. "I said good night."
She merely frowned at that, so he shrugged and leapt down the next ledge, then another. The next time he looked up the woman was gone. There was an odd sense of déjà vu, of looking up and seeing a dark figure outlined against the stars, a memory he couldn't very well forget.
But there was no one. He was alone.
He leaned against the wall and let out a long sigh and looked out over the far world, heard faint laughter and the refrain of a song, and dwelt upon how awful he felt. It was a feeling that had snuck up on him, from a general uneasiness to something sharp and icy-cold.
He curled his arms around himself and closed his eyes. There in the quiet, on the dark hidden edge of the underworld, he was struck with the familiar pain of grief, the new fear of losing his family all over again, and the overwhelming loneliness. He missed them. The feelings were so strong he nearly fell to his knees, leaning his shoulder hard against the cold stone as he tried not to crumble.
But he had dealt with this before, and had moved past it time and again. He could do this. Besides, he was talking with Imelda and the rest of the family, and at some point those articles would stop and he would be ok. Hopefully. And one day Coco would arrive and he'd be able to see her, and tell her how much he loved her. That thought alone gave him strength, something tangible to work towards. Then, after seeing his daughter, and talking with her once more… he would tell Imelda the truth.
Eventually he recovered and continued his way down, slower than before and increasingly thankful for the handholds along the walls they had put in all those years ago. Before the final step he headed right and went to the point of the grand pyramid, clambering through a gap and coming onto a dusty street, far from the usual entrance with not a soul in sight. Perfect. It put him on the opposite side of his home, but at least he could avoid unwanted attention from those skirted around the main alleys and places where he heard laughter or conversation, meandering through familiar dark streets and keeping his head down. With any luck he might be able to avoid having to talk to anyone else.
"Ay, Héctor! That you?"
Or not. His first instinct was to grimace, and he warily looked towards a shabby little veranda decorated with strings of golden lights and with dingy furniture on the roof of the shack behind it.
Héctor squinted, then grinned and waved, calling out, "Ay, Lando! Que onda? How ya been?"
"Ah, well stop shouting, come over here, and I'll tell ya."
Héctor paused, not keen on being interrogated again, which seemed to happen every time he sat down with someone. Besides, he already had enough on his mind without another person asking him a dozen questions, or requests, or even lyric suggestions, which was new. Longingly he glanced down the path that would lead him to an empty, quiet home.
Lando called out again, "What are you waiting for, amigo? I've got cards."
With a sigh and a smile he loped down the dirt path to the old shack and the grinning skeleton sitting comfortably in a chair.
"Why do you look so tired? It's not even late yet. You're too young to call it an early night."
"Young?" Héctor said, putting a hand to his spine and stretching, straightening from the slouch he'd been in. "I'm a great-great-grandpa, you call that young? I should be hobbling around with a cane by now."
"You are hobbling," Lando said with a good-natured laugh, and Héctor felt himself relax. The former brick-maker had died in his fifties, far older than Héctor's meager twenty-one years, but Héctor was one of the older members of Shantytown, so it more or less canceled out.
"Pull up a chair. Up for a game of Conquian?"
"Eh, sure, why not." Héctor sat and watched him shuffle in comfortable silence, grateful to be able to have a normal conversation again.
They had known each other for quite a time, although perhaps more of acquaintances than anything. Still, it was nice to sit with a friendly soul. For a time they played and chatted about this or that: who had been Forgotten recently, updates at Casa Chueca, and speculating on the new construction by the southwest corner. Then the conversation moved to the inevitable.
"I read about you in a magazine lately," Lando said with a knowing look.
"Ugh, don't tell me. They're always writing about me now. I just try to ignore it all."
"Did you see this one?" Lando pulled out a folded up page from the little table beside him and handed it over.
One glance and Héctor leaned back. "Oh, ech! This one! My wife- you know, my wife Imelda? Ah, she showed it to me earlier today, and ay, ay, she is not happy. She thinks I was together with Aida!"
Lando laughed. "I wouldn't be surprised if she read that."
"It's ridiculous!" Héctor said, glowering at the stupid paper.
"Not arguing that, but it's beside the point." Lando leaned in and went on in a conspiratorial voice. "I actually brought it up for another reason. Did you read the bottom? About the next article?"
Héctor frowned and flipped the paper over to the end. Sure enough…
Next week: Héctor and the Dancer!
His hand slowly fell to his lap as he felt a chill over him. Oh no…
"The dancer, eh?" Lando said with a low chuckle. "Makes you wonder who that might be."
Héctor met his eyes and Lando gave him a knowing, sympathetic look. He glanced away, panic rising in him before he shook his head and gave a forced laugh.
"Ahh, come off it! Not like it was a big secret or anything. I mean, it won't be… that bad?" But even as he said it, he winced.
"I don't know, amigo," Lando said in a mild tone, shrugging. "You know what it's like, especially in the rest of the Land. Not everyone is going to be so understanding."
Héctor glowered at the paper. "It's dumb. So what if we were friends?"
"And lived together," Lando said, leaning back with a smile.
"Well, yeah but... ugh." He groaned and hung his head. With all that had been written about Aida, there was no way the next article was going to be any better, especially with Imelda. Oh, this could get… very bad. How much had they found out?
Lando coughed, catching his attention before his mind went further down that dark path. "Look Héctor, as nice as it is having you here and playing cards, I also wanted to warn you."
"Warn me?" Héctor said, looking up.
"Once that article goes out, you might want to, well, you know…"
"What?"
There was a movement from the house and Héctor turned to see another older skeleton, Inocencio, leaning in the doorway and looking down at him.
"He's trying to say you should keep your distance from people like us. It's about time you move on with your real family, and go live with the rest of the Remembered. For your own sake."
Héctor leaned back, staring at him a long moment, then at Lando who looked away as if ashamed. There was a pause, then Héctor laughed.
"Ahh, as if! Trust me, amigos, I've heard that before, but I wouldn't hold your breath." He leaned forward and scooped up the cards before folding them into a tidy deck. "So! You just gonna stand in the doorway all night? Sit down. We're playing Conquian."
Inocencio hesitated, then he smiled and pulled up a little wooden stool, glancing at Lando who shrugged with a warm grin. They ended up playing cards and talking long into the night, just like old times.
But all the while, Héctor wondered and dreaded what would happen once that next article was published.
Author Notes:
Héctor knows what's up…
This chapter roughly finishes the first arc of the story. How many chapters is this going to be? Quite a few. We're just now getting started to the real fun! (although that term is debatable)
Reviews always appreciated! Honestly, I'm not sure if anyone is reading this story, so I may stop posting here and just stick to Ao3, not sure yet.
