I'm bAAAAACK! I'M NOT DEAD! ... Well okay I am a skeleton BUT STILL!
I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I GENUINELY AM! But I'm not giving up on this fic, not close to it! In fact, I've recently discovered a site called 4thewords and it's been helping me IMMENSELY with getting writing done. (Highly recommended!) So I'm gonna be hoping and praying I'll be able to crank out my writing more quickly, 'cuz trust me, I wanna write more of this fic as much as you guys wanna read it!
Anyway, so uh, again, sorry for how late this was, but it's really long! So that should make up for some of it, I hope. Also, I can't remember if I've said before, but a big thank-you goes to Jaywings and PaperGardener for beta-reading for me.
OH! And before I forget! I got giftart! It's kindof tricky to link stuff here, but I'll give this a shot. Here's the links to the art:
.com (SLASH) post (SLASH) 172343519105
.com (SLASH) post (SLASH) 173037355910
I know that'll be hard to enter because FFN doesn't let you copy stuff from the fic text... so if it's hard for you to type that in, go to the "giftart" tag on my blog there, and you'll see the SUPER-AWESOME giftart two folks drew for me! Seriously, check it out!
Okay, so without further nonsense, let's get back to the fic, shall we?
Julio liked to think he was a brave man when he needed to be.
Yes, there were a great many things that scared him. The enormous beast he sat upon was one of them; even back when Pepita had been an ordinary house cat, there had always been something unsettling about her yellow gaze. The woman sitting in front of him was another—Mamá Imelda was a force to be reckoned with, and it didn't help that she was his mother-in-law. Even Héctor made his non-existent gut twist in worry—mild-mannered as the man could be, Héctor had gone to extreme measures just to see Coco again. Julio shuddered to think what might happen if his father-in-law thought he was mistreating her.
And yet the second they realized Héctor may be in trouble, Julio had followed his wife immediately. It didn't matter that he would have to fly on Pepita, travel with Mamá Imelda, or face Héctor—if his familia was in danger, he would step in to help. There was no question about it. That was just what you did.
Still, it wasn't making this little excursion any easier.
Julio had to continuously switch between tugging his hat down back over his skull, and gripping Pepita's fur. He wished he had something sturdier to grab hold of, but there was no way he was going to grab his mother-in-law—with as focused as she was, she might be startled badly enough to turn her shoe on him. It wouldn't surprise him, anyway.
She'd been tense ever since they'd left the police station. Both of them had given their statements—Julio had recounted everything from the moment they first discovered that Héctor was missing up until they brought him home. While he supposed Imelda must have given a similar account, he couldn't help but notice that she was gone for a bit longer than he had been. She hadn't spoken much when she'd met up with him again; she'd only told the police that Pepita could lead them to where they'd found Héctor.
And that was where they were going now, as Pepita scanned the streets below them to find the alley that they'd been in not six hours ago. The police were somewhere beneath them on horseback, Pepita flying slow enough for the skeletal equine to keep up. They'd been flying for some time now, and the silence was starting to get to Julio.
Ay, he wished Coco was here.
"M-Mamá Imelda," he stammered, straining to keep his voice above the wind, "are they still following us?"
Imelda twisted herself around where she sat—not to face Julio, but to look at the ground beneath them. "It seems so," she replied, and turned to face forward again.
Julio watched his mother-in-law anxiously as he reached up to tug his hat down again. It wasn't unusual for her to be so focused like this, but her shoulders were tense, and her quietness was unnerving. Something was clearly bothering her, but then… they were running on too-few hours of sleep, and in the middle of a stressful situation.
Swallowing, Julio tried to look past Imelda and at Pepita, only to quickly turn away, feeling like his stomach would be doing somersaults if he still had one. The alebrije still hadn't begun her descent, and he had no idea how much longer this would take.
Once again he wished Coco could be here. She would know what to do in this situation, but she wasn't here, so… maybe he should do something? It was usually best to avoid Imelda when she was in a bad mood, but she looked like she was about to snap, and the idea of her snapping on the police sounded like a disaster waiting to happen.
Which would mean he would have to take the brunt of it.
Well… might as well get this over with. "What—" he cleared his throat. "What did you talk to them about?"
There was a rumble beneath them as Pepita growled. Ay, this was a mistake, this was bad, this was a horrible mistake!
"I told them," Imelda began, her words clipped, "what happened."
"S-sí, I guessed that," Julio replied, tugging his had down further over his head and fighting the temptation to duck into his ribcage. "But you—"
"I told them everything I saw, everything I know—" She drew in a hissing breath through her teeth. "But they seemed more interested in sticking their nasal bones where they don't belong!"
Her voice was rising—in anger, clearly, but Julio had known his mother-in-law long enough to recognize when she was using her fire to cover for something else. But more than that, he knew that once she started like this, it was best to let her burn out on her own.
"What sort of idiota do they take me for? I come to them when I find my husband broken and shivering in a dark alley, attacked by some criminal, and they decide to bring up things that have nothing to do with this—from years, ages ago, that don't matter, that have no bearing on this—"
Oh.
As Imelda's speech degenerated into curses against the entire police department, Julio shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
When you were a Rivera, and you died and joined the rest of the family, there were (or, used to be) a few things you learned very quickly—usually within your first year or so. One was that the no-good músico that had abandoned your family did not stop by—not on any sort of anniversary, not on anyone's birthday, not on any holiday. Another was that the second you caught a glimpse of a ragged skeleton approaching the hacienda, you suddenly had something very important to do on the far side of the house or workshop. Finally, you did not hear Mamá Imelda raising her voice over the pleas (and sometimes shouts, and often yelps) of said ragged skeleton, and you did not discuss what you did not hear with anyone else.
Not that Imelda ever threatened anyone over it, of course. Rather, she always came out of the situations looking so hurt and exhausted that no one had the heart to ask her to elaborate on anything. Imelda never liked being vulnerable, so they would turn a blind eye to it.
But that didn't mean their neighbors would.
People couldn't exactly ignore the spectacle that occurred at the Rivera hacienda every year or so, and on a few occasions concerned neighbors called the police after hearing a few too many screams and shouts.
Imelda had never gotten into real trouble; the first time the police had paid their house a visit (before Julio had died—the twins had explained it to him briefly later on), she laid out the situation for them calmly. A man she was no longer associated with had tried to force himself onto her property uninvited, and she had simply been protecting her familia. To her, the matter was already settled. Evidently they'd looked into the matter further, found that the man in question possessed yellow-tinted bones, a dilapidated house in Shantytown, and a lengthy criminal record, and dropped the matter.
The next few times they were called, they offered to put a restraining order on the man, but Imelda had insisted that she could take care of the situation herself. After that, they simply let things be.
But it never occurred to any of the family until now that those incidents would still probably go on record… which might explain why the police had a bit more to question Imelda about than they did Julio.
Mamá Imelda had gone silent, her shoulders tense.
Tugging on his hat, Julio mulled over how to approach this. "...We know you had nothing to do with what happened to him, Mamá," he said slowly. "The police are… just being thorough. They need to be, s-so they can find whoever hurt Héctor."
"...You're right, Julio." Some of the tension left Imelda's shoulders, and, subsequently, it left Julio's as well. Then the ire returned to her voice, if only briefly: "But to even think for a moment that I would do such a thing—!"
Julio wasn't sure what to say to that, but it wouldn't matter if he did anyway—the world suddenly tipped downward, and his stomach dropped as Pepita prepared for a landing. One hand went to his hat, and the other cling to Pepita as the alebrije carefully swooped into a street, this time needing to dodge the sparse traffic that populated it. Once she touched down, Julio removed his hat to rub his skull in relief. Ay, he would never be used to flying, ever.
Imelda was first to dismount, Julio hesitantly sliding down Pepita's wing afterward. The few passersby paused to look at the giant alebrije before moving along, and the three of them watched, as though expecting one of them to reveal themselves as Héctor's assailant. Julio wondered, briefly, if these were people Héctor knew, but it was hard to say, when he knew so little about Héctor himself. But…
They heard the clip-clop of hooves on pavement, and around the corner trotted a skeletal horse bearing fake ears, glass eyes, and a frankly silly-looking police cap. The animal did not flinch at the sight of Pepita, and its two riders urged it forward.
"Señora Rivera," one of them said, remaining mounted as they approached Imelda, looking around at the wide-open street. "Is this the place your… husband was attacked?"
Imelda tensed, and even Julio had to furrow his brow at the officer's tone.
"No, Officer Heraldez," she said, looking to Pepita. The alebrije dipped her head before striding toward a narrower street. "My spirit guide found him close by here, in a space too narrow for her to fit through."
Certainly she wasn't happy with the officer, but at least she wasn't shouting at him. Maybe getting her to talk on the way here had worked out all right. At least… Julio hoped so.
He, Imelda, and the two mounted officers mounted followed Pepita as she led them to the narrow alleyway they'd found Héctor in. It didn't look nearly as foreboding in the daytime, though it was still dimly-lit. But from the entrance, they could see the garbage piled up and scattered around the middle of the alley.
"Well, looks like something happened here, all right," the other police officer said, grabbing her flashlight and shining it around the alley. "Hasn't this complex been abandoned for a while?"
Heraldez nodded. "Sí, no one's claimed this place in some time." He turned to face Imelda, who was following him alongside Julio, while Pepita stayed behind. "And what was your husband doing here?"
Sensing Imelda's anger rising again, Julio spoke up in her stead. "H-he was visiting Shantytown. He's been doing that every week. He must have tried to cut through here?"
"Hm, then this would be an ideal place for someone to jump him." Heraldez dismounted from his horse, handing the reins to his partner. "Assuming that's what happened, anyway."
"Why would you assume otherwise?" Imelda growled, hands curling into fists.
"Mamá," Julio whispered. She met his gaze, and forced herself to calm.
"He may have been attacked elsewhere and then dropped off here," the officer said, sweeping his flashlight along the side of one of the buildings while the other searched around the piles of garbage. "Where did you find him?"
Both Julio and Imelda had to look around for a moment before their eyes fell on the door Héctor had been huddled against. "Here," she said, placing her hand against the doorway. She hesitated, a faraway look clouding her expression.
It wasn't hard to guess what she was really seeing.
"Sí, and I found his guitar here as well," Julio added, more to pull Imelda out of her thoughts than anything else.
"His guitar?"
"Sí, officer. It hadn't been touched."
"That's… unusual," Heraldez admitted, rubbing his chin. "It doesn't rule out an attempted robbery, though. It could have been overlooked in the dark?"
"Doubtful," the other officer said, turning around in her saddle. "Even in the dark, it'd be hard to miss someone carrying something of that size."
"Or else they didn't think they could get away with carrying it off."
"And you think a robber would take the time to break his ribs? To—!" Imelda cut herself off, and Julio placed a hand on her shoulder.
"That is the question, Señora Rivera."
Julio's reassuring touch quickly became a grip on Imelda's shoulder when she shot a glare at the officer. Forget wishing Coco were here—he was suddenly very, very glad she was not, because there was no way he could have held her back at this point. She didn't get as angry as quickly as Imelda did, but when she was angry… well, she'd even scared Julio once or twice.
"We can search the building, though it may be better if we knew where Señor Rivera was when he was attacked." Approaching the door, Heraldez tried the knob and found it locked.
"He could barely walk when we found him," Imelda said, and Julio could tell she was struggling to keep her voice even. "I don't think he walked very far, if at all."
"Well…" The female officer eyed the doorway. "If you're sure that's where you found him, and since this building is abandoned…" She looked to her partner for confirmation.
Nodding, Heraldez faced the door. "We can conduct a brief search right now, though without more details from your husband, we can't know exactly what to look for."
"So do what you can, then, por favor." Imelda's voice had taken on a tired edge to it—whether from being tired of dealing with these police or from actual physical exhaustion, Julio wasn't sure.
He tugged at his hat, backing away with Imelda as Officer Heraldez got to work on ramming the door open. More details from Héctor, the officer had said. Héctor couldn't even speak right now, so he wasn't entirely sure how that would work. But more than that—
BANG.
Yelping, Julio jumped back—the officer had succeeded in kicking the door open. The interior of the building was dim, but not impossibly dark, thanks to a bit of light from the doorway and a window somewhere else inside.
"See what you can find out here," Heraldez said with a nod to his partner. "I'll take a look inside."
Julio watched as the female officer urged her horse down the alley. When he turned back to the doorway, he gave a start; Imelda was already stepping in ahead of the officer. "W-wait, Mamá Imelda!" he called, allowing the officer to enter ahead of him before rushing after Imelda. "We should let the police handle this—he knows what he's doing."
Even in the dark, he didn't miss the look she gave him—one that clearly stated just what she thought of the police right now. But it was brief, and she turned to where the officer was shining his flashlight around the room.
It was full of old storage crates and boxes, and little else otherwise. There was a window at the end of a nearby hallway (through which one of Pepita's eyes peered through—she must have walked around the side of the building) and a few doors to other rooms, but otherwise, nothing that helped them. The hardwood floor was old, but clear of any scratch marks or signs of a struggle, like any of them had expected.
"Looks like someone was using this place as storage," Heraldez said, looking over the containers that littered the room. He opened up one box and shone a light into it, and Imelda and Julio looked with him only to find a collection of mildewed books. "And whoever it was, they're probably not coming back for it anytime soon."
"What about the other rooms?" Imelda said, already moving on to open a door. When Julio peered through the doorway, he could barely make out a countertop—a kitchen, probably.
While Imelda and the officer began searching the other rooms, Julio stayed behind in the main room, taking a closer look around. It was entirely possible Héctor had never been in here at all—that he'd just been jumped in the alley, and had chosen this particular doorway to hide in. But something about the room felt… off, though he couldn't place exactly what.
He listened to what he could hear of Imelda and Heraldez's conversation—they had found a bedroom with a collapsed bed frame, a bathroom with a broken mirror, and another room full of boxes, but otherwise, nothing of note. The officer seemed to be growing increasingly convinced that nothing had happened in here, and Imelda was growing increasingly frustrated.
Still, Julio knelt to the floor, trying to take a closer look and wishing he had a flashlight of his own. If there had been a struggle—and there would have to be, given he couldn't imagine Héctor going through what he'd gone through willingly—there was one thing he knew he would find.
Scuff marks.
Héctor had been wearing his new shoes, and while Rivera shoes were incredibly sturdy, the soles could still leave marks on the floor if they were hit hard enough. And given the state Héctor had been in, Julio wouldn't be surprised at all if his father-in-law had kicked and struggled with all his might through whatever he'd gone through.
If only he could see the floor better. Maybe…
Julio reached out his hand to feel around the floor as Imelda and the officer stepped out of the spare room.
"We can search the crates and boxes, but I'm starting to think there isn't—"
"Hijole!" Julio cried, hopping upright. "There's no dust on the floor!"
"Qué?" Both Imelda and the officer rushed up to him.
Immediately Julio felt uneasy under their scrutiny, but his excitement over his discovery won over his nervousness. "Y-you said no one's come here for a while, now, so there should be a buildup of dust. But the floors are clean!"
Imelda stooped down, running her hand over the floor and then rubbing her phalanges. "He's right. The floor is clear." A smile came to her lips—finally. "It seems someone was trying to clean up in order to hide something."
The officer knelt down to see for himself, and nodded, seeming impressed. "Well! Looks like you're right. Good work, Señor."
Julio smiled, relieved that this hadn't been a total waste of time. Even the smallest clue was better than nothing. Briefly he wondered if Pepita had noticed their discovery as well, but the yellow gleam of her eyes was no longer shining through the window.
"So something could have indeed happened here, but we're still scant on details—particularly anything that tells us who did this." Straightening, Heraldez looked around the room. "But it's a start. Again, a statement from your husband will be invaluable here, Señora."
"It'll have to be a written statement," she said, "but he will give you one."
Hearing that, Julio's smile faded, and he began to fidget with his hat.
Yes, Héctor would need to give a statement; there was no getting around that. But there was one problem—something that Julio had been suspecting last night when they'd found him. Something that he'd been mulling over, that he'd been growing more and more certain of the more he thought about it.
Héctor had been scant on some of the details, understandably, but some—like the identity of his attacker—he had given specific answers on.
Julio had not known Héctor for most of his life—no one in their family had. But he had known Coco for most of his life, and she bore a resemblance to her father in more ways than just their markings.
There was a look he'd seen in Coco a few times in the past—usually when she was hiding something from her mother. He suspected Imelda and Coco had been too upset to notice it, but even in the dark alley, Julio had noticed something about the expression his father-in-law bore—something beyond just pain and exhaustion.
When they'd asked about the identity of his attacker…
Héctor had been lying.
"You're an idiot, Héctor, but you're even more of an idiot when you haven't slept in three days."
Chicharrón had told him that once, after the aftermath of one of his many failed attempts at crossing the bridge. Héctor couldn't quite remember which one that was—it was either the one with the chicken-llama alebrije, or the one with the boat. Or was it the one with the fireworks?
Either way, he'd been absolutely right. None of his bridge-crossing plans had worked, but the ones that had been the most disastrous tended to be the ones he made when he was very desperate, very sleep-deprived, or both.
And apparently that extended to things other than bridge-crossing plans… like jumping out a third-story window to avoid being seen by a doctor.
Héctor's foot caught on an uneven cobblestone, and he gave a choked yelp. Even though he'd split himself apart before impact, it hadn't exactly done wonders for his still-healing leg, which he'd partially re-broken last night. Once again he was limping as bad as he had been months ago, which was quite the literal pain. As were his newly-broken ribs, and his re-broken arm, and…
Why had he thought this was a good idea, again?
…Oh, right, because he'd needed to avoid being questioned by the doctor. Which he was successfully doing, but it wasn't like he could stay away from home forever… could he?
Tiredly he looked around the street he'd found himself on. He still hadn't left the residential areas—he was absolutely not going to the commercial ones, unless he wanted to be hounded by the media, and there was no way he could avoid them in his current state. Not to mention, said current state would certainly draw even more attention to himself, and he really did not need more rumors flying around about him, and Ernesto, and Imelda…
Ay, how would they spin this? He looked down at the missing end of his right arm accusingly, and quickly decided he didn't want to know. He could barely stand to reflect on what had actually happened last night, let alone what wild yarn the tabloids would spin if they found out. Frowning, he tucked his arm back into his vest.
A few voices caught his attention, and he ducked behind an artificial tree, peering around the corner. But it was only a family—two parents and a teenager—walking down the road and talking. They seemed to be talking about something seriously, but there was no fighting or arguing. Both adults were listening to their son, nodding along and offering input as he spoke.
Feeling a pang in his chest, Héctor looked away.
What kind of questions was the doctor going to ask him? Héctor could probably make up some lie or other about the broken bones, but what would he say about his hand? If he said he'd lost it somewhere, the doctor might send someone to search for it, and then his family would immediately know he was lying, and then they'd wonder what else he was lying about, and…
What a mess.
He leaned against the wall, lifting his injured leg to keep the weight off of it, and let out a short sigh. Part of him wanted to turn back so he could go home and just lay in bed for a while, but the rest of him wasn't ready. Not yet. Not until he came up with a good excuse for why he'd run off, at least.
Or, ideally, until he figured out what he was inevitably going to have to tell that doctor.
And, well… the doctor didn't have the right to tell anyone else about it, right? Ernesto couldn't get him for that, could he? Or maybe he could admit that he'd been attacked, but then the doctor might tell the police, and then they'd get involved, and goodness knew how he was supposed to handle that. Could he just… keep his mouth shut? He had a right to do that, didn't he?
…Actually, he had to keep his mouth shut, didn't he? Literally—he couldn't talk. They couldn't fault him for not answering any questions then!
The thought made him give a laugh, which he quickly choked down, rubbing at his throat.
Well, in any case, he still wasn't ready to turn back and head home, as bad as he felt both mentally and physically. Maybe he'd keep wandering around this residential area for a while to clear his head.
As he began limping back down the street again, however, another sound caught his ear—the faint plucking of strings, coming from one of the nearby houses. It took him only moments to recognize the tune—one of the more common ones he'd heard during the Revolution—and for a moment it made him smile. Limping farther along, he listened to the song for a while. Even though the memories it brought back weren't the happiest, Héctor had never been one to turn down good music (unless it came from Ernesto, but, then, he could hardly consider that good music). He should really go back and play some of those older songs again, when—
…Oh.
Cringing, he gripped his right wrist before yanking his hand away—it still felt so wrong to hold his wrist, and not feel the hand at the end of it.
This was stupid, stupid, stupid, idiota, what did you think coming out here was going to accomplish?!
Héctor stumbled away in the direction opposite of the music , fighting to ignore the phantom pains in his missing hand and his chest, alongside all the other very, very real pains in his bones.
He could head back over to Shantytown, maybe? People there didn't ask invasive questions, usually. Even so, he didn't want to worry his other familia over his current condition, especially when everything had been perfectly fine and happy the night prior. Even if they didn't ask questions, that didn't mean one or two of them wouldn't worry and try looking into things.
By this point he'd turned down another street, finding himself closer to the edge of the tower that the Riveras' home was built on. Here, the buildings were more clustered together and the streets sloped more. Moving upward would be harder on his leg, so he turned to move downward. He still had to be careful about being seen by other people, but so long as he didn't act suspicious, perhaps no one would look his way. Ay, though he wished he'd put on his shoes before jumping out that window. A barefooted skeleton in these nicer residential areas would be an odd sight to any person.
A distant roar echoed through the air, and he grimaced. Alebrijes might notice, too, but at least none of those could rat him out.
The roar sounded again, this time closer, and for a moment Héctor wondered who around here owned a giant, flying, feline… spirit… guide…
Stomach dropping, Héctor slowly turned around to see an enormous green-and-yellow shape tearing through the sky and rapidly approaching. Terror quickly took precedence over whatever amount of pain he was feeling, and he scrambled to get away from the oversized alebrije before she overtook him. He had no idea what Pepita wanted from him, and no desire to find out.
Another roar followed by the ground shaking told him that she was getting closer, now, and he had to act fast. Spotting an iron stairway jutting out of the side of a nearby building, he set to work climbing the fire escape, ignoring the pain it sent shooting through his cracked tibia. Pepita was below the balcony, now, yowling up at him, and he backed up against the wall of the building. Gato estúpido, he thought with a smug grin, looking from the thin rickety stairs to the massive alebrije.
Pepita cocked her head before suddenly springing up, her front claws latching onto the balcony railing.
His legs nearly buckled in horror. ¡Héctor estúpido!
With another distressed yowl, Pepita swung one of her wings at Héctor, evidently trying to push him closer to her. He ducked beneath the wing before hopping onto the edge of the stair railing, that he slid down until he flew off the bottom, rolling onto the cobblestone. His ribs were in agony as his frame bounced on the ground but that didn't matter, not right now, he had to get away, and he pushed himself back up, taking off with a heavy limp.
Behind him, Pepita dropped back down and resumed her chase. It would only take her moments to catch up, so he had to be quick. There had to be something he could do to throw her off, some building or street he could duck into, or…
There was a gap between the next two buildings, and instinctively Héctor turned to run into it, only to come to a screeching halt as his body seized up.
No, no, nononono…! Not again, he didn't want to go in there, not again—!
It wasn't dark—it was midday, even—and there were no piles of crates and boxes and other junk clogging the space, but it was still an alley, much like the one from before (was it the one from before? Had he gone this way? It didn't seem right—he was sure he'd been farther away, but he couldn't remember), and… and was… was that…?!
A shockingly loud yowl bellowed from behind him, and for lack of knowing what else he could possibly do, he staggered forward to get away from it, toward the figure that was hurrying toward him down the opposite side of the alley.
Héctor, my friend, I have something to discuss with you.
No, nononono he didn't want to go through this again, no, not again, not again—!
Ernesto was getting closer to him, and Héctor stopped, shrinking away, his phantom heart pounding and his aching chest heaving, but he couldn't run away this time because a very angry Pepita was directly behind him, and he couldn't run forward because then he'd probably get grabbed again, and he wasn't entirely sure when Ernesto had gotten so short, but he was marching right up to him—
…and right past him, and…
"Go away, gato estupido! Shoo!" Something struck Pepita on the nose, and she let out a very confused growl. "It was bad enough when you followed me around when you were a little cat, but now you're some big thing, chasing Papá around and scaring him half to death—!"
…Coco?
Trembling, Héctor turned around to see Coco, standing as straight as her stooped back would allow. She was pointing an accusing finger at Pepita, who stared at her in bewilderment. "You know what he's been through, and you chase him around the street?! You terrible gato! Go away!"
Pepita's gaze flicked over to Héctor, who flinched, but Coco stayed firm.
"I said, go, gato!"
Giving a concerned sound Héctor couldn't quite identify, Pepita took a few steps back before striding back into the street, though she didn't leave. Evidently that was enough to satisfy Coco, who finally turned to face him.
Héctor's initial reaction was to grin—how could he not whenever he saw his daughter?—but his smile faltered at seeing her expression.
Coco was not happy.
Her brow was furrowed, and the look she gave him was so very much like her mother's when she got angry… except there was something else behind it, too. Behind those narrowed glass eyes, not quite hidden by the anger, was worry—concern. Coco stepped up to him, and he barely managed to avoid flinching. "What are you doing, Papá?"
I'm fine, mija, really, he thought, wishing he could reassure her verbally. He gave a weak smile, holding up his left hand in defense, but Coco waved it off.
"You're not okay, Papá. Don't pretend that you are."
A mess of emotions stirred within him—he hated seeing Coco so upset like this, but some part of him couldn't help feeling offended. He… well, no, he wasn't okay, but that didn't mean he couldn't handle himself. He hadn't been okay in a good century or so, but he'd survived, hadn't he?
"Why would you jump out the window?!" Her arms were spread wide in a beseeching, bewildered manner. "You're already hurt! How is hurting yourself more going to help?"
Héctor pointed his finger, opening his mouth to answer, but quickly faltered, and not just because of his damaged voice. That… that's a good question.
"Papá, por favor, just come back. The doctor is still waiting for you, and he's going to help you."
Once again he held up his hand, shaking his head. No, no, I don't need—
The concern that had been dominating Coco's expression was quickly chased out by frustration, and she buried her face in her hands. "Why are both you and Mamá like this?!"
I'm not—! Héctor wanted to protest for a moment, but once again faltered, giving his daughter a bewildered look. Wait, wait wait wait… He waited until Coco was looking at him again before mouthing at her: Your Mamá?
Coco nodded. "Sí. Mamá is always pushing herself, working harder than anyone else. She would always insist she wasn't tired, or she felt fine, even if she'd worked herself sick." She drew in a shaky breath. "We always joked she'd work herself to death… and she did."
Héctor jerked back as though he'd been struck. He'd never known—she'd never told him how…
For a moment Coco was lost in thought, only to shake herself out of it. "I thought that when we died, we wouldn't have to worry about stuff like that anymore. About working too hard, about getting hurt…" And then she glared back at Héctor again, eyes gleaming. "But I suppose that's not what happens. You still get hurt, and then try to pretend like you're not, and then you get hurt worse, and…"
Immediately Héctor knelt down (making sure to put weight on his good leg) and put his hand on Coco's shoulder. Lo siento, he mouthed, his chest aching, eyes burning with the effort to hold back his tears. He leaned forward, drawing her into a hug, and she slowly wrapped her arms around him.
"Papá… will you come home?" she whispered into his shoulder.
The question sent a pang through his chest, and he nodded. Of course, of course he would go home—why had he even tried to run off in the first place? He'd spent all those years just trying to come home, and then he tried to run away…?! I need to keep them safe, he reminded himself, but he didn't want to run away from home to do it. Not if it meant hurting Coco.
But letting anyone know what had really happened—who had done this to him—would hurt her, too.
Dios, what was he supposed to do?
What do you think you're supposed to do? Cheech's voice answered in his mind—the same words the old man had spoken to him when Héctor had posed that same question to him years ago after another bad Dia de Muertos. Get some sleep so you can think clearly! Idiota.
Fighting to ignore the pain in his ribs, Héctor wheezed out a laugh. Ay, Chicharrón. He wouldn't have lasted half as long as he did without that grump knocking some sense into him every so often.
Coco pulled away from his embrace, bringing him back to the present. "I just want you to get better, Papá," she said. "We all do."
He nodded, biting back a sigh. Yes, getting better was definitely something he wanted, though he wished there were… eh… less invasive ways to do it. Ways that involved a lot less questioning, and fewer pokes and prods from that doctor. Shakily he raised himself up to his feet, looking out toward the street he'd come from—maybe he and Coco could take their time getting home, so he could at least have a bit more time to figure out what he was supposed to say to the quack that was waiting for hi—
"BOWWWWOOOOOO!"
WOOSH!
Instinctively ducking, Héctor and Coco watched in bewilderment at the multicolored streak that zoomed overhead, flying erratically through the alley. It clipped a wall, sending itself spinning, before reorienting itself and moving on. During this brief moment, they could both make out the shape of a dog with very, very disproportionate wings.
"…That was Dante," Coco murmured, and Héctor's metaphorical heart leapt. That only meant one thing—
There was a nearby growl, followed by a tremor as Pepita—who had been lurking in the street behind them—shot up into the air, flying in the opposite direction.
…And that meant another.
Looking at each other in a mix of surprise and horror, they arrived at the same conclusion: Dante was bringing news to the house, and Pepita had flown off to grab Imelda. This, in turn, meant that Imelda was going to be at the house very, very soon, and was going to find that Héctor was not there. Which, in turn, meant that Héctor was going to be in trouble. If she hadn't already discovered his absence.
This has not been a good day, Héctor thought, feeling like his bones were about to crumple.
"It's all right," Coco said. "Mamá won't know you were gone."
When he gave her a look that clearly asked how, her eyes glinted in a mischievous smile.
And, moments later, Héctor found himself in his daughter's arms as she bolted with surprising speed toward their house.
"…and that was size twelve, you remember, right? I still can't believe he wants blue! Blue, can you believe it? That's not his color at all! And you know I don't think he really looks very good in that style either but that's what he wants, and you know he's probably just going to complain to me about it, but he'll be complaining to me about it if I don't order exactly what he wants, and…"
Having finished writing the order some time ago, Victoria gazed up over her glasses to eye the customer, never breaking eye contact. The fact that this prevented her from actually seeing the woman properly was irrelevant; what mattered more was the impression it gave off.
Sure enough, the woman seemed to notice that Victoria was not responding to a word she was saying. Her rambling came to a slow, graceless, stammering halt, and she took off her hat to fiddle with it. "Yes. Um. I think that's everything, then."
Without another word, Victoria ripped the carbon copy sheet out from beneath the order form, handing it to the woman. "Come back in two weeks."
And not two minutes before closing.
The customer gave an uneasy nod, stuffing the copy into her handbag and shuffling out the door.
As soon as the door was shut, Victoria bolted it, and heaved an exasperated sigh. Running the counter on Saturdays wasn't the worst job—especially since they closed at noon—but it certainly wasn't the best when idiot customers didn't know when to shut their mouths. Ay.
This day had been… different, however. Rather than merely taking orders and enduring small talk with customers, Victoria had been scrutinizing the people who came in, looking for any suspicious activity. While she wasn't entirely sure what she was looking for other than a tacky "I heart DLC" shirt or a customer humming one of those stolen songs, she at least felt like she was doing something to aid in the situation. She'd made a mental note—and, on the back of an old receipt, physical notes—of each customer's name and appearance, should they become important later.
Héctor might have been a scrappy runaway musician, but he was living under the Rivera roof. And anyone living in the Rivera household was their responsibility, family or not.
Once the cash drawer was counted and the shop was properly locked up, Victoria stepped out the back door of the shop, looking toward the house and wondering if the rest of her family had found out anything new about Héctor's situation.
"Arf! Arf!"
Victoria ducked as an alebrije swooped overhead and slammed into the wall of the shop. Unfazed, she stepped up to him as he dropped onto the ground, momentarily dazed. With a snap of her fingers, she got his attention, and the winged dog gazed up at her, tongue lolling and tail wagging. Around his neck was a dark blue collar that stood out against the colorful hide, and around that, a rolled envelope.
"The house is that way," she said, gesturing at the building behind them.
With a delighted bark, Dante lifted himself into the air again. He made what he had probably intended as a beeline (and looked more like a swerve) to the house, only to stumble over the porch steps and roll into the door.
Smiling, Victoria followed after the sorry mutt as he squirmed to get himself upright again. She may not have been much of a dog person, but Dante was always a good sign—it meant Miguel was sending news over from the Land of the Living. That was more than enough for her to set aside her distaste for canines whenever Dante came around.
Just before she reached the door, it swung open as both of her twin tíos stepped onto the porch and spoke up simultaneously: "Coco?" "Héctor?"
And before Victoria could question just what they were expecting her Mamá and Héctor for, Dante bolted into the house, plowing through the twins. She caught Óscar's head with practiced ease, stepping over Felipe as he scrambled for his own skull.
"H-hola, Victoria!" Tio Óscar said, wincing as when she shoved him back onto his body. "We were just—"
"—wondering if Coco and Héctor had—"
"—come back from their walk!"
"Si." Victoria eyed her uncles as they sorted out their misplaced bones. "Their walk."
"Yes! Just a walk—"
"—a jog—"
"—a stroll around the neighborhood."
With a raise of her brow, Victoria crossed her arms. "With Héctor's broken leg."
The twins exchanged glances. "Then I suppose you could say—"
"—they went for a limp?"
Rolling her eyes, Victoria turned toward the dining room, blinking when she spotted a note sitting on the table. It was addressed to Héctor, but she skimmed over it nonetheless. "So you called for a doctor?"
"Sí, that's right."
"He'll be returning when—"
"—Héctor gets back."
"Yes," Victoria glanced back at them. "When he comes back from his walk."
A loud whine interrupted any further conversation, leading everyone to stare at the multicolored dog that was plopped on the floor between the foyer and dining room. Ears drooping, he appeared forlorn and betrayed, looking around the room with his big mismatched eyes.
"Sí, Dante, I'm coming!" Rosita called from the kitchen. A moment later she hurried out, holding a bone-shaped treat for Dante.
Immediately the dog perked up, jumping to snap the treat out of Rosita's hand. While he was busy with that, Victoria stepped up to him and snatched the envelope off of his collar.
"I suppose it's good that the doctor had to step out," Rosita said as she watched Dante gnaw at the treat. "I'm not sure how we would've explained all this to him."
"Oh that's easy!" Tío Óscar said, reaching over to Tío Felipe's hat to swap it with the one he was currently wearing.
"We'd just tell him it's a message from—"
"—another family member!"
"He lives far away."
"Several towers away."
"More than a few—"
Victoria waved her hand. "I think it is better that he didn't stay," she said, looking over the envelope and carefully peeling it open. "Should we wait for the others?"
As if on cue, the door slammed open, and from the way her Mamá stood balanced on one leg, it had apparently been kicked open. This fact was slightly less bewildering considering she was carrying a full grown man in her arms. Said man, upon glancing around the house and all the people staring at him, looked mortified.
Raising a brow, Victoria regarded the two evenly. "Back from your walk, Mamá?"
"What walk?" Coco said, and set Héctor on his feet.
"Oh, yes," Felipe said quickly. "They never left."
"They were here the whole time."
"Never stepped foot outside."
"Spontaneously became agoraphobic."
Victoria wondered if it was too late to down what remained of this morning's pot of coffee.
As Héctor hobbled to the far corner of the foyer and Coco dusted herself off, a distant roar from outside announced the arrival of yet more people. A dull thud outside signified that Pepita had landed, and moments later, Mamá Imelda and her papá were stepping through the door.
"…wh-when do you think we should ask Héctor—"
Said scrappy skeleton cleared his non-existent throat. Victoria glanced from him to her papá and grandmother as they paused, seeming to take note of all the people around.
"…Are we interrupting something?" Imelda asked, quirking an eyebrow.
"No," answered everyone but Héctor, who couldn't talk anyway, and Victoria, who was weighing the pros and cons of temporarily disowning her family.
An uncomfortable silence followed, interrupted only by the slobbery chewing noises from Dante as he gnawed contentedly on his treat with his few remaining teeth. Imelda's gaze fell upon the dog, and she relaxed. "So that's why Pepita was rushing us home," she said, stooping down for a closer look. "Where's the letter?"
"I have it," Victoria said, glad to finally focus on something that wasn't ridiculous. "I was just about to start reading."
"Go ahead, mija," her mamá said, smiling. "What's it say?"
While the rest of her family and Héctor moved in closer, Victoria unfolded the slightly drool-dampened papers and adjusted her glasses.
"Hola! Sorry it's been so long! I've been busy with school and helping Mamá take care of baby Socorro. She's already getting so big! But she doesn't make a lot of sounds yet except for crying. I've been singing to her, but I think it'll be a long time before she sings with me. Until then, I'm trying to set a good example."
Everyone cooed and aww'd, and she was pretty sure she caught a choked sob from somewhere in the back of the crowd. Giving a faint smile, she went on:
"I'm sorry I don't have pictures of her yet! I'll send some as soon as I can, OK?"
"He'd better!" Óscar snorted.
"We need two!"
"For each of us!"
Victoria rolled her eyes before scanning over the next line. She paused for a moment, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat before continuing.
"How is Mamá Coco? We all still miss her a lot. Abuelita gets really sad sometimes, but I told her that you'll all be there next Dia de Muertos."
"Elena…" Papá mumbled, wrapping an arm around Mamá's shoulder, before she returned the soft embrace.
"She'll be all right, Julio."
"Does it say anything else, mija?" Mamá Imelda asked.
Frowning, Victoria skimmed over the rest of the letter before checking the other sheet of paper that had come with it. "There's another note at the end saying he'll promise to send pictures next time. The rest is for Héctor." With that, she handed the papers over to their recipient, who shakily accepted them. "Something about song lyrics."
She stared at Héctor as he read over the letter, taking a moment to really look him over now that things were slightly less chaotic. His bad leg was raised and leaning against the other like a bad imitation of a flamingo, the condition of his ribs made her suppress a shudder, and the absence of his right hand was a strange sight to say the least. He'd certainly had a number done on him.
"I'd like to hear about Miguelito's song," Mamá said, stepping closer to Héctor, who held the letter out so she could read as well. He seemed upset about something, and Coco frowned. "Oh… how are we going to do that?"
"Do what?" The rest of the letter hadn't said anything unusual, from what Victoria had seen. Miguel had just been asking for Héctor to read over part of a song he'd written, and try out a few cords to see how it—
Her gaze suddenly flicked back to Héctor's right arm. "Oh."
"Miguel wants Papá to play part of a song for him," Coco explained to the others, "so he can write back, and let Miguel know how it sounds."
When everyone turned to stare at Héctor, he only grimaced, tucking his right arm underneath his vest. Their gazes then turned to Mamá Imelda, who was rubbing her forehead.
"Should we… tell Miguel what happened?" Papá asked, fiddling with the rim of his hat.
"Oooh, that would upset him." Rosita shook her head. "You don't think he would try to curse himself again to come back and help?"
That remark caused several of them to look at Imelda in alarm, but she only shook her head. "I would hope Miguel would know better than to try that, but we can't risk him putting himself in danger. It's best if we don't let him know."
"Won't he be suspicious if Héctor doesn't reply to the letter?" Victoria asked, eying the man in question. He was looking over his left hand and flexing it. "Even if he did, he'd have to lie about the song, which I'm sure Miguel would notice."
"His bones are still mending," Imelda said suddenly, looking up at Héctor. "Miguel saw the condition of your bones, sí?"
The man nodded, but the look he gave her seemed to say "where are you going with this?"
"We'll write back, and tell Miguel that Héctor's broken arm is being treated by a doctor. He won't be able to play until he's fully healed."
"Oh! That could work!" Óscar said.
"And it's not technically a lie," Felipe added.
"Exactly." Taking the letter from Coco, Imelda handed it over to Victoria. "Go ahead and tell him that, and that we'll be happy to hear any updates about Socorro."
"Especially pictures!" Rosita exclaimed with a hopeful smile.
"Si," Victoria said as she sorted through some nearby drawers to search for a pen and paper. "I'll also let him know that Mamá is doing quite well, and taking regular walks with Héctor."
"…Walks?"
Taking the stumbling noises behind her to mean that Héctor was trying to make an escape upstairs, Victoria smirked.
"Come to think of it, Héctor, what are you doing out of bed?"
While Imelda got started on interrogating Héctor, Victoria sat at the table and set to work writing out a reply to Miguel. A few words in, however, she felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up to see her mamá giving her a look.
"Mija," she whispered, "I was trying to keep your abuelito out of trouble."
Victoria frowned, tapping the top of her pen against the table. "Héctor can keep himself out of trouble by not trying to run away from the doctor," she hissed, "and making it harder for us to fix this mess."
Her mamá's grip tightened on her shoulder. "He shouldn't have run off, but you aren't helping, Victoria." She looked to the stairs, and Victoria followed her gaze to see Héctor making a valiant attempt at communicating silently with Imelda. From the way he was gesturing with his hand, he was apparently insisting that he'd only come downstairs when they'd all heard Dante. When Imelda stared pointedly at his broken leg, he paused, then repeated the "walking downstairs" hand motion much, much slower.
"Your abuelito has had a very hard time, mija," Coco went on. "You can help by going a little easier on him."
Victoria gripped her pen tighter, setting her jaw before going back to writing the letter.
"What happened to that doctor you were going to call?" Imelda asked, turning to face the others.
Victoria looked up as TíoÓscar quickly stepped in front of Tío Felipe as his brother snatched the doctor's note from the table. "He couldn't come right away," Óscar lied.
"He'll be here tonight!" Felipe affirmed, slipping the note into his pocket.
"I see." Nodding, Imelda turned back to Héctor. "Let's get you back upstairs until then. Unless you think you're as good walking upstairs as down."
Looking back down at her work, Victoria tuned out the sound of Héctor attempting to pull himself up the stairs, Imelda following him, and Rosita fighting to keep Dante from flying off again. The letter didn't take long to finish, and as she went to grab an envelope and some tape, she heard her papá speak up.
"So… we found the apartment he was taken into," Julio said. The rest of the family were all standing around him, listening intently. Dante gave a quiet woof, pulling for the door, but Rosita held him back. "Unfortunately that's about it… The police are starting their investigation, but they won't know what exactly to look for until Héctor gives his statement."
"Can he give a statement in his condition?" Victoria asked, folding up the letter.
"He can write with his left hand," Coco said, gesturing with her own hand.
"Not well," Óscar remarked.
And Felipe finished, "But it's better than nothing."
Victoria considered asking if he would even want to give a statement, given how keen he seemed on starting up his old habit of running away from his problems, but she kept her mouth shut. Instead she slipped the letter into the envelope before stooping down to tape it around Dante's collar. Once this was accomplished, she opened the door, allowing Dante to bolt outside.
While Dante flew off, Pepita watched him from the courtyard, her long tail flicking in agitation. The big alebrije looked back at the house, ears folded back, and lay down, claws digging into the dirt.
As the others moved on to discuss lunch plans, Victoria looked from the alebrije laying outside,and back to the stairway where she supposed Imelda had probably carried the two-time runaway upstairs. I understand how you feel, Pepita, she thought, frowning as she shut the door and gazing up in the direction of Héctor's room.
This whole thing bothers me, too.