It was quick, at least. Not painless, because not everyone was as lucky as her brothers had been, but quick all the same.
Her heart had abandoned the strong steady beat that she'd followed all her life. It had started to skip and flutter, irregular thumping in her ears. Initially she'd been concerned, though not enough to mention it. Elena had just fallen pregnant, after all, and she didn't want to worry the family. They had enough to worry about.
The headache hit her out of nowhere one day. It was immense, pulsing in her temples, throbbing in her jaw. Suddenly clumsy, her hands fumbled the leather and her foot slammed on the pedal of her sewing machine. It screamed to life, needle and thread whirring, chewing up the boot that was only half-made. She was vaguely aware of her heart beating in her chest. Frantic and rapid, like the wings of a trapped bird against her ribcage.
"Mama? Mama?!"
Coco's hands on her shoulders. Pulling her away from the shrieking sewing machine. There was an odd combination of spasm and boneless weakness in her limbs. She fell from her chair, caught against her daughter's chest, both of them overbalancing and crashing to the ground.
The headache was all-consuming. She became aware that she couldn't breathe properly. That her heart had begun to pause in its frantic fluttering. That she could no longer really feel her hands.
These facts seemed unimportant.
What was important was that Coco was crying. Distressed whooping sobs. Like she'd cried when she had been a little girl. Not the tears of a woman in her mid-fifties. Imelda tried to lift her hands. The left twitched in her lap. Did nothing more. The right rose, wavering, and bumped against Coco's cheek.
"Don't…cry…" Her voice was a croaky little whisper, rasping from her throat. She found she was unable to put any force behind her words. "Coco, please…m'ija…"
And then the pulsing headache was gone. The irregular skipping of her heart was gone. She was gone. For a while there was nothing.
Héctor shuddered, suddenly ice cold. Slipped. Fell from the roof he was trying to help fix and into the water. It wrapped him in a cold wet embrace, seeming to urge him deeper, until his left knee collided hard with the rocky river bed.
There was a sharp, almost electric surge of pain. He gasped in water. Didn't feel any worse for it. Because, of course, he didn't really need to breathe.
He bent, long fingers searching the murky water, running down his femur and through the joint of his knee. It was cracked. Of course it was. A twisting spiral break in his tibia. The cold water rushing past the jagged edges sent needles of pain up his spine to lodge in his jaw. His fibula was floating off to the side, still connected to his ankle but cut loose from his knee. There was a sharp stone that had pierced the leg of his trousers and wedged itself in his knee joint. He fought to get it free and eventually, frustrated, he tore the flimsy cloth of his pants above the knee and pulled his lower leg off, separating the knee joint. He held the shattered top of his tibia in one hand and the rest of his lower leg in the other. Kicked off with his right foot. Broke the surface with a spluttering cough.
"You okay, amigo?"
Tío Alberto, the skeleton whose roof they were fixing, extended his hand and helped Héctor out of the water, grimacing when he saw the broken bone.
"I'll be okay." The pain was immense. Like when he'd broken his arm. A biting clawing pain. Héctor carefully opposed the edges of his tibia, wrapped a hand tight around it and winced as the bones jarred. "Do you have any tape?"
"You'll need to dry off first, amigo," Alberto said. Smiled at him reassuringly. "The tape won't stick to wet bone."
Héctor groaned to himself. Looked in vain for a towel or other dry cloth. Not willing to admit that it wasn't just the pain of his broken leg that made him so anxious to be fixed.
It was something else, of course. His distress was, first and foremost, that icy shudder that had twisted through his bones. Like just over ten years ago, but much more powerful. Someone who remembered him must have died. Someone who remembered him strongly. And he could think of only two people like that.
When she woke up, she was disorientated. And relieved that her headache was gone. She lifted one hand to her temple and shot to her feet when her fingertips scraped on bone. Looked down at her baggy dress hanging open in front of curved ribs.
A skeleton in a blue uniform, a black belt cinched tightly around her spine, approached and handed her a clipboard, welcoming her to the Land of the Dead with a bony smile.
Imelda took it with no hesitation, adjusting her dress with one hand so her ribcage was hidden from sight. With a matter-of-fact detachment, she filled out the form.
"Señora? What if I don't know my cause of death?" she asked. It was a bit disconcerting how matter of fact her tone was. How accepting she was of this afterlife. But there was no use getting flustered over something she couldn't change.
"Ah, don't worry," the clerk said with a comforting smile. "If you're not sure just put what you felt and we can adjust it later."
"Thank you." She wrote down headache, paused, then added a dash and 'irregular heartbeat'. That would narrow it down a little. When she'd filled it all out, she handed it back.
"Oh, a shoemaker! Fantastic. The Crafts District is always in need of a good cobbler." The words sent a warm flush of pleasure through Imelda's ribs. It was always reassuring to hear that her profession was valuable. Another flipped page. "And your brothers are already here, that's wonderful. We'll send an alebrije to alert them of your death."
She felt a little twinge of something at that. Of course, if she was here as a skeleton, then Óscar and Felipe must be as well. The thought of seeing them as skeletons sparked the first little flash of trepidation in this strange new world. Before she could focus on it, she was ushered into the Department of Family Reunions, watching with wide, awe-filled eyes as striped and spotted and glowing rainbow animals crawled over the pillars and columns. There was an open window high above and the magical creatures flew in and out in a surprisingly orderly fashion.
Pretty much as soon as she entered the door flew open and two identical skeletons raced in. They saw her at the same time she saw them. A moment's pause and then they were running towards her.
They swept her into their arms, hugging her tightly. Their tears wet her hair and she closed her eyes as she held them close.
"Oh, Imelda…"
"We've missed you, hermana."
"It's so good to hug you again."
"Are you okay?"
"You're not in pain?"
"You're coping?"
She laughed. A choked little laugh that emerged from her tears like sunshine on a rainy day. "I've missed you too, hermanos." She hugged them closer. Pressed her face to first Óscar, then Felipe's shoulders.
"Now you're here we can start up Rivera Shoes," Felipe said.
"We've been working for other people but it's no fun," Óscar added.
"But with the three of us –"
"We'll be able to start up a workshop proper!"
She laughed again, wiped her eyes, and felt a soaring sense of joy when she looked between their grins. "That sounds wonderful. Lead the way."
And so, they did. Their arms linked with hers, they left the station as a trio. As they stepped outside a gigantic shadow swooped from the sky, bowling all of them over with an earnest yowl. Imelda was afraid for only a split second, before the enormous jaguar with eagle wings and shining rainbow feathers butted its head against her shoulder and delicately lapped at her face. The purr that rumbled through her bones was immense, and recognition burst through her.
"Pepita!" She embraced the cat. Her cat. Oh, how wonderful it was to have her here as well, to help guide her through the afterlife. "You've been guiding me here, haven't you? What a good kitty."
And Óscar and Felipe watched with wide eyes and an open mouth as their little sister tickled beneath the jaguar's chin and crooned softly to her.
It took time for Héctor's bones to dry. Too much time. There was an unpleasant, squirmy sense of anxiety that worked its way up from his toes to the very top of his skull. Why had his knee broken so easily? It was one of the strongest bones in his body. Would he be able to walk on it?
When Alberto finally decided he was dry enough and taped him up, he got up slowly. Cautiously. Testing the joint. It didn't hurt, thankfully, but it wasn't totally stable either. The fibula kept popping out of his knee joint when he put weight on it and springing back when he lifted his foot. It was a very disconcerting feeling. It made the act of walking, particularly with that leg of his trousers now above the knee, tricky.
"I have to go," he said. "Sorry about your roof, Tío, I'll be back to help later."
"You've done enough for today, cousin." Alberto slapped a hand on Héctor's shoulder. "And I appreciate it. You go rest that leg now. Do you need a hand back home?"
Home. His little shack with bare walls and a bare floor, and a narrow mat beside the water. Empty except for the various instruments he had gathered.
"No thanks, Tío. I'll manage." He smiled a strained little smile. Limped away from them and out of Shantytown. Trying to hurry and being absolutely unable to. He reached down with one hand and tried to stabilise his knee. It worked a little, but leaned him sideways so he kept veering off to the side. It took conscious effort to keep moving in a straight line.
It took three times as long as normal to get to the station. When he arrived, the lobby was empty. Alebrijes congregated near the roof, the shining of their pelts forming a kaleidoscope of rainbow colours that shifted and merged as they breathed.
He limped to the front desk and leaned against it. Rafael, one of the clerks who sometimes manned the checkpoint on Día de Muertos, was sitting behind the glass and flicking through a pile of clipboards. Using a hole punch to input data on stiff pieces of card and filing them in apparently random order. When he glanced up and saw Héctor there, he almost jumped out of his chair, bones rattling with shock.
"Oh, Héctor." He ran a hand over his face and sighed. "What are you doing here? Día de Muertos isn't for another month."
"Did someone new arrive? From Santa Cecilia?"
Rafael winced. Looked down at the stack of clipboards and flipped them over, so they were face down. "You know I can't tell you that, Héctor. Privacy and all that."
"Please, Rafael, I think my…" He trailed off, uncertain how to actually finish the sentence. Catching the pity in Rafael's eyes, Héctor swallowed and leaned forward. Had to try and get the information. Even if it meant manipulating this poor young man. "I think my wife might have…" He let out a dramatic choking sob. Covering his face with his hands. There were no tears stinging his eyes: he was too focused on getting the information he needed.
Rafael hesitated for only a moment, looking down at the stack of clipboards, then his lips tightened and despair coiled around Héctor's spine.
"I'm sorry. Even if she did, she didn't put your name down and your face wasn't on the ofrenda sweep. You need to leave." His eyes flicked up, sad and uncertain, but couldn't meet Héctor's gaze for long. "Please, Héctor."
Silence. Héctor assessed Rafael's face, eyes narrowed, then dropped his chin to his sternum. He wasn't going to get any information out of Rafael. He had no way of knowing if Imelda or Coco had died. He pulled back from the desk. Turned and limped from the station without another word. Tomorrow he would search the Arts District, ask around, see if he could find any news of a singer or dancer just arrived from the Land of the Living. Maybe, with luck, he'd find one of his girls.