Chapter Four
Alebrijes, Shantytown, and Chicharron
October 31st, 2017
[Land Of The Dead]
Michaela ran her fingers over her face lightly, trying not to disturb the 'makeup' Helene had decorated her face with. It was really just some shoe polish she had been carrying in her skirt pocket, but it was also the only thing they had on hand that would work. Her touch had been incredibly gentle, rounding and smoothing the polish into unique facial markings. As Helene had explained it, "I think our markings and their coloring stem from our personalities, or maybe its from how we are remembered."
Helene had given Michaela some very simple, but pretty markings. Beneath her eyes, she had painted three pearl-like white dots. From beneath those, she added music notes in black. Across her forehead, she had drawn two lines above her eyebrows and stretching outward, and then two smaller ones over that. In the very center was something like a budding, three point tulip (or some sort of flower). It was kind of similar to a child's drawing of the sunrise, without the half circle symbolizing the rising sun itself. Just the outreaching sunlight.
As she peered at herself in the compact mirror, clearly old judging from how it had darkened at the edges and had a small crack running across it, Michaela spoke quietly. "Earlier, you said you wanted to ask me to do something in exchange for your help. You've agreed to help me, sooo...what is it I can help with?"
She turned to Helene, who had moved away to examine the stolen gun still holstered at her hip. Helene looked at her. "The Land of the Dead runs on memories, chica." Her voice was just as soft as Michaela's. "When you're someone whose been well remembered, you are put up on your family's ofrenda. Being put on the ofrenda, whether its an item you owned, a painting, or more commonly nowadays a picture, you can visit the land of the living on Dia de los Muertos."
Helene looked disdainfully at her hands, holstering her gun. The bone was yellowed and covered in deep scratches, caked with dust and dirt and grime she just couldn't get rid off no matter how hard she scrubbed it. There was always more. The other one had a calloused hand and fingertips, worn and hard from laborious work and long past hours of playing guitar until the strings had caused her to bleed. She pushed down the the rising sensation in her throat. It was a bit like having bile come up your throat, when you've been sick but have nothing in your stomach.
"Someone like me...can't do that."
Michaela remembered the way Helene had desperately run to the bridge, the way it hadn't supported her weight. "You can't cross." It wasn't a question. Her companion nodded solemnly, absentmindedly spinning the ring on her finger. It had been a nervous tick, a way to try to calm herself even when she had been alive. That familiar weight that tied her to her husband...
But she had ruined that, hadn't she? He had told her so to her face when he first arrived some decades ago...
She shook herself from her thoughts. "You're correct, chica." She drawled slowly, trying to seem nonchalant and aloof. Just earlier, she had wanted to squeeze and coddle this child. It wasn't good to do something like that. Soon enough, the girl would get sent home and Helene would be, more or less, left alone to her fate unless she got...caught. How odd, even after those years, she's afraid of a man whose never come near her himself despite his hired guns. Besides, what he did to her was unforgivable, but its not like he's the person who killed her.
She pulled a photograph out of her skirt and handed it to Michaela.
The photograph showed Helene, in black and white, sitting in a chair reading. Obviously, someone had wanted to take her picture, as she had been facing the camera and smiling charmingly. Unlike now, her hair had been tied up very neatly with a ribbon. She looked...happy. "Muy hermosa..." she murmured. Helene's sad countenance seemed brighten. She gave a small smile, before it was wiped off her face again. She ignored the way her stomach knotted up at the word 'beautiful'. It was just a word. Nothing to worry about. "Not bad for a dead woman, right?"
"You're pretty cool, Helene." Michaela grinned. "I think I may have just found a new role model." To Michaela's surprise, Helene snorted. "Michaela, I am the worst role model you could possibly think of, silly goose."
Despite her youthful appearance, now Michaela was certain Helene was older than she seemed. The dress she wore in the photo was something old, even older than the clothes Mama Coco had worn in her teens. Also, she called Michaela a goose. The only other person who called her that was her mother. So she had to be old.
It was silly, but she could swear she saw a similar dress to that one somewhere. It was clearly different, as the dress in the photo was fairly dark while she was pretty sure the other one was a light color, but the design...she pushed it to the back of her mind for later. Helene was speaking again. She paced back and forth, anxiously.
"Once you get sent back to the Land of the Living, you could put my photo up on an ofrenda. That way, I could be able to cross over." Michaela hopped up and walked over to the woman, noting how one leg seemed to buckle slightly as she moved. Due to Helene's skirt though, as badly tattered and faded as it was, she couldn't make out any injuries. Looking away, she didn't want to be caught staring at the woman's legs like she was some sort of creep.
"So...you get me to my Tio Ernesto, and I put up your photo once I get sent home? Can I even take things from the land of the dead to the living?"
Helene shrugged. "Smart of you to ask, kid. Good." She ruffled Michaela's hair. "I have to at least try. Unless you want to try go hunting down my body in the Land of the Living. By then though, it wouldn't be much help even if it were intact. I have to cross the bridge some point during the next three nights, or two, since my hands will be full at least for tonight getting you to de la Cruz."
The girl nodded. "Where do we go from here, then? You said you had some friends who work with de la Cruz?"
Helene took a deep breath, glancing at Michaela's hands. She could do this. She didn't even have to go near him. Just find a way to get his niece to him. She wouldn't need to see him, not when you could hear his voice at all hours across the city. She began walking out of the underpass tunnel, out the alley, motioning for Michaela to follow her.
"Where are we going?" Michaela asked, shaking her hair loose and tucking the braid ribbons into her pocket. Her reasoning was that Papa Imelio would be looking for a living girl in twin braids, not a dead child with hair worn down. Besides, Helene wore her hair out too, and she was a gun-slinging badass who had saved her life and was her guide to Tio Ernesto. Regardless of how cold and aloof Helene tried to seem, despite her sort of snarky attitude, Michaela still saw softness in her eyes.
Helene wasn't as bad a role model as she wanted to seem, or believed herself to be.
Helene's fingers skimmed the stone walls of the nearby buildings. "I'm bringing you to the Arts District of the city. I believe that Ceci, a friend of mine, is still working. She works as a designer for de la Cruz's shows. Not much, but its a start. If we're lucky, maybe some of de la Cruz's fellow performers will be there too, rehearsing."
"Rehearsing for what?"
Helene pointed to the side. "That."
Michaela followed that direction with her gaze, before landing on a brightly lit (borderline gaudy) billboard. Her ears picked up the sound of "Remember Me" playing over the attached speakers. "Ernesto de la Cruz's Sunrise Spectacular? He's performing tonight?" Helene's lips were pressed tightly together and she narrowed her eyes, snorting in disgust.
"Blech. Every year, this monkey performs this show to mark the end of Dia de los Muertos. Just like his stupid parties. I can even hear the crowds from my home, and that's halfway across the city from the concert hall. Which is on top of a tower. That's what Ceci's preparing for, what other performers are rehearsing for."
Michaela blinked at the derision in Helene's tone. "You don't seem to like the idea very much."
"That's an understatement. I've seen hordes of people trample each other, even their family, just to get a ticket. I know for a fact that Ceci had to visit her living family pretty early, and cut the visitation short because the rest of her holiday is going to spent working in overdrive. She used her free time up, and will spend the rest of the holiday working overtime. People get so stressed about it, even sacrificing time spent with loved ones, whether its because they are required to be working to get this over-the-top ostentatious circus show prepared, or its entirely voluntarily done and they'd rather listen to a rich dead man sing then spend time with their families. In my eyes, its...just not worth the stress, or the worry if anything could go wrong, or losing time. Tickets are near impossible to get for one person, let alone their family."
"Are they expensive?"
"Very. On top of that, because of your idol's fame, they sell out of seats in a minute. Not minutes. All it takes is a single minute."
"But, for a lot of people, what if Tio Ernesto's been the closest thing they have to family, or someone supporting them, even if its through his music? Despite his womanizing tendencies, he's always been known as a good, chivalrous type of man. A modern knight, some girls at school say. For them, wouldn't it be worth the price?"
Helene turned to Michaela with dark eyes. "Sometimes its people who have been sworn to be good, sworn to be trustworthy, that you can't trust worth your life. Not all people are good, whatever what their reputation might be. You could know a person your entire life, and still never know a single thing about them. Not their dreams, desires, or even what they dislike. Not really. Not until they stab you in the back. You can never put a price on your safety."
Michaela was very quiet as Helene led her down a few more streets. They eventually arrived at a warehouse, complete with fire escape exits. While they were walking, she had been lost in her thoughts. Now she was almost certain that something similar had been done to Helene, in the same way Marco had attacked her. Helene...she would avoid touching Michaela, not like she was disgusted, but like she couldn't handle other people touching her. Earlier, she had been rubbing the wrist Michaela had grabbed too, though that might just have been from having to reattach it.
Furthermore, the fact that she had warned Michaela against people who seemed kind, who were able to stab you the back...She had been hurt by someone. Badly. A very treacherous part of her mind whispered that...maybe whoever had hurt her...whoever had assaulted her...was also the reason Helene seemed so young and so old here in the land of the dead. Marco's 'Client'. Despite the yellow bone and faded clothes, Helene was very youthful. She didn't even have any graying hair, no signs that like Imelio she simply looked young because that's how she was remembered, especially for later generations who had never seen her in old age.
She died young in life, and was only able to grow old in death. There was something sad about that. She couldn't ever ask Helene about it though. Not when however long after...whatever had happened to her, it still affected her deeply enough to cause her eyes to grow cold and her hands to shake.
What she didn't get was how Ernesto de la Cruz fit into this. Helene said she had known the man, and she clearly held some form of distaste for him. Then there was that thing the guard at the station had said before. What was it? A 'scorned lover'? It made Michaela think.
Had de la Cruz been the one to hurt Helene?
No, that couldn't be possible. He had his own code of chivalry, his reputation was supported by thousands of accounts. Most rumors that said otherwise had already been debunked. Also, Helene had promised to get her home, and she had protected Michaela earlier too, so she wouldn't just hand the teenager over to someone who had hurt her so badly, when it could be possible that they'd also hurt Michaela. Besides, Tio Ernesto was family, so she had nothing to fear from him anyway. She was overthinking. Helene may have known de la Cruz, but so did everyone in Mexico. She never specified if she had known him personally, or if she had been close to him. Maybe she worked with him once or twice, and they just didn't get along. Michaela was definitely just overthinking things.
Besides...in most of de la Cruz's publicized personal documents and journals, a 'Helene' had never been mentioned.
Helene pointed up to a window on the third floor. "Ceci works up there." After that, Helene proceeded to remove her hand from her arm with a small pop (and Michaela noticed that her joints definitely came apart far easier than Papa Julio's had) and then her hand (free from the rest of her body) climbed up the beams of the fire escape up to the third floor before knocking.
After a few minutes, a woman's silhouette neared the window and Helene's hand waved at whoever it was. The window opened and a woman with red curls piled on her head peeked down as Helene's hand threw itself from the fire escape and reattached itself to her arm. "Hola Ceci!" Helene called, sounding cheerier than she had the entire night (which really wasn't all that difficult).
The woman scoffed lightly, sending the ladder of the fire escape down to them. As Helene motioned for Michaela to climb up first, Ceci (?) called down to Helene. "I thought you'd be at the bridge, trying another one of those harebrained schemes to cross." Her words, though harsh, were colored warmly if not a bit strained with stress.
The two girls clambered through the window, Dante following after them with his tongue lolling out of his mouth.
"Well, something else came up. What's wrong? From the tension I can see in your shoulders, really, the stress coming off you in waves, you seem to be struggling a little bit." Helene shrugged, almost drowning out Michaela's quiet greeting. Ceci turned to face Helene with what looked like bags under her eyes. "One of the dancers from the opening act hurt her ankle, so a backup dancer was called in. Unfortunately, there seem to be vandals in the workshop, because while the other dancers went and got her help, someone snuck into the dressing room and stole some of the dresses, so now I am several Frida's short of an opening number, with one in need of adjustments!"
"Stole the dresses? That's petty. Look, calmese Ceci..."
"How can I calm down Helene? We only have so much time before the show will be held, three days, technically two to prepare! And we still don't know who did it! Probably one of those rabid fans, who want to be festive without having to pay more cash during the holiday..."
While Michaela watched Helene try to calm her friend, it was almost astonishing to see her face blossom with warmth and mirth. She was smiling, not a faint one, but one strong and secure on her face. "Look Ceci, we have three days, I'll help you like usual, four hands are better that two and you know I'm pretty skilled with a needle." She quirked her eyebrows up repeatedly, with such a smug ridiculous grin on her face, Ceci couldn't help but snort. Helene seemed so...warm.
"Fine, Fine..."
As the conversation continued, Michaela kind of felt like she did when watching her parents converse with their friends. No space to cut into the conversation but perfectly content to watch them be so merry. Her parents...were probably even more worried about her. Everyone probably was. But...she couldn't go back. Not yet. She was sticking with her choice of getting an unconditional blessing, and she'd never receive it from the Rivera side of the family.
Suddenly, she noticed Dante sniffing the ground, wandering away from the costume area (tailoring workshop?). "Oye, Dante...Dante!" She whispered, trying to calm him back. Looking between Helene tied up in conversation to the door the pooch was disappearing through, she began to chase after him. She tried to blend in with the walls, hoping not to disturb anyone. While Helene might know the people here, Michaela did not. If she got caught, would she get thrown out?
Continuing to follow Dante, she noticed the warehouse was divided among a lot of artists. The area was filled with sculpture of marble and stone, and giant banners, and paintings. Her face burned when she remembered accidentally peeking in on a nude painting in process. Her young mind would be scarred forever, she thought. "Dante, come back! We're not supposed to be in here..." she groaned. Her heart felt like it would beat out of its chest. If she got kicked out, she'd still be able to come back in through the fire escape, right?
Helene would kill her once she found out Michaela had wandered off. On the way here, she had warned Michaela several times that, just like in the land of the living, there were creeps that prowled in even the safest streets, like earlier in the Marigold Station (Read: Marco). She told Michaela to stay close to her, to run only if Helene was otherwise incapacitated, and even then, to run straight to the most crowded, brightly lit area so she could lose her pursuers.
She even handed Michaela a map she had nicked from the station meant for the newly deceased, now carefully tucked into her skirt pocket.
Dante yelp, drawing Michaela's attention. After a second, she needed to do a double-take. What looked like a vibrant, glowing moneky was climbing all over him, tugging at his lips, at his ears. Generally speaking, the tiny creature was tormenting Dante. "No, no, no, please get off of Dante!" Nearing the two, she held out her arm, unsure of whether to grab Dante or the monkey, when the monkey made her choice for her.
It leapt on her arm, climbed up to her shoulder, before poking curiously at her cheeks and chirping. She spun, trying to get them off of her and keep her giggling to a minimum as they climbed up and down her body. Unnoticed, a woman standing near a small rehearsal stage turned to see Michaela playing with her monkey. The girl in question jumped about five feet in the air when the woman called out to her.
"You! How did you get in here?"
Michaela turned with wide eyes, and the monkey jumped from her to the woman's skirt, gripping the fabric and pulling themselves up her torso, before hopping up on her shoulder. The woman was dressed richly in vibrantly patterned clothing, with golden earrings and flowers twisted up in her dark hair. Most interestingly, she had a unibrow.
"Lo siento, I was just following Dante, my-!"
Frida Kahlo (Frida Kahlo, Tia Carmen would be screaming right now!) turned to look at Dante, before her eyes with wide and she kneels to rub his head in her hands, ears flopping all over the place.
"Oh, you have the mighty xolo dog! The mighty guardian of wandering spirits...!" She paused and turned to Michaela with an interest gaze. "Now, whose spirit have you guided to me?" She leaned closer to get a better look at Michaela, who leaned back slightly as the woman got way too close to her personal bubble.
Watching Dante sheepishly, Michaela fiddled with her fingers. "I...don't think Dante's a spirit guide..." Right now, he seemed more interested in sniffing his own butt than guide any spirits.
But Frida shook her head. "Ah-ah-ah. Alebrijes can take many forms here. They are as powerful as they are mysterious."
She turned her head almost as though signaling her Alebrije to do something (because why else would they be so comfortable perching on her shoulder?).
The monkey struck a handsome pose, before dazzling Michaela's eyes as the colorful shining patterns on their fur began to spin and spiral, glow even brighter and change color.
They were even able to breathe out blue fire!
"Woah..."
Then both turned to look at Dante...who once again was trying to eat his own leg. After a moment, Michaela got a cheeky grin on her face and raised an eyebrow at Frida, who snorted.
"Or maybe he's just a dog." She shrugged. Pinching Michaela's cheek, she added "You are just as cheeky as La Belle is. Come! I need your eyes."
With both hands on Michaela's bewildered shoulders, she steered the girl to face the rehearsal area, where there was an orchestra tuning instruments, and dancers behind some ominous looming shadows that were probably props.
Then she made Michaela sit in a chair, a pretty comfortable one too, and directed her to face the stage mock-up. Then Frida began to narrate.
"You, will be the audience. Darkness." The lights overhead go out.
As Frida continues to speak, she brings the stage to life. Literally.
From the dark stage, a single light returns to illuminate the shape of a massive papaya. That thing could probably feed a family for weeks if it were real. Michaela's stomach growled and she held it, trying to make it shut up. Food could wait. She knew the dead ate because she smelt food earlier but didn't feel like asking Helene for something (wait. Did the dead even have stomachs? Or stomach acid?).
Dancers dressed like Frida crawled out from the inside of the papaya, dressed identically and garbed with the exact same unibrow to complete the deal. Some girls sat on the side, one with a bandage wrapped around her ankle, reminding her of Helene and Ceci's conversation. Huh.
Frida continues to narrate. "They go to drink the milk of the mother, the cactus, but the mother is also me. And the milk is not milk, but tears." The dancers did some very impressive acrobatics, leaping from the papaya to a larger structure, which turned out to actually be what could only be called the Kahlo-Cactus. She paused and turned to Michaela. "Does it seem too obvious?" She asked, wringing her hands. Michaela tilted her head to the side. "I think it's pretty obvious, but it's a good type of obvious. It's cool, but..."
It sounded empty.
"You could add some music to it." She finished.
To Michaela's surprise, about a half hour passed while she was conversing with Frida, who had brought over some sheet music for the opening act, asking for Michaela's input. As they finished up with the music, something seemed to dawn on Frida and the woman's eyes lit up. "What if everything was on fire?" She exclaimed suddenly. The artist clapped her hands together excitedly, either ignoring or unaware of the dancers concern. Michaela, for her part, kind of just stared. Truly, the mind of the artist was something to be feared.
"Yes, fire everywhere! I'm inspired!" She leaned over to Michaela and cupped her cheek, smiling. "You have the spirit of an artist."
Michaela brightened, feeling something warm spread throughout her body. Frida returned her attention to the rehearsal stage and began speaking rapidly as Michaela's attention was drawn to the top of the Kahlo-Cactus again. "The dancers exit, music fades, lights go out! Ernesto de la Cruz rises to the stage!" A spotlight points at a trap door on the top of the giant cactus, and the silhouette of a man began rising from it. Michaela was on the edge of her seat, though it wasn't from silhouette was too still. It didn't even look like it was breathing. Eventually another spotlight came on, showing that de la Cruz's silhouette was really nothing but a mannequin. Michaela blinked.
Frida continues speaking about how he'd perform a few songs, the sun would rise, the holiday would end...Michaela walked over to her.
"Why isn't de la Cruz rehearsing with everyone here?" She asked. The woman scoffed. "Ernesto doesn't do rehearsals. Just like he performs the Sunrise Spectacular every year, he always throws a party each night. He's too busy hosting one at his fancy tower right now. It wouldn't surprise me if we didn't see him until show night."
She pointed out of some of the large side windows across town to where Michaela could make out what she first thought to be a massive monument. At the very top, shrouded in bright gold light, was a very grand mansion she could just barely make out from this distance.
Suddenly, Helene appeared from out of nowhere with panicked eyes before releasing a heavy breath. Her hands were shaking more clearly than they had been earlier. "Mi dios, niña! You can't run off like that, I already told you this!"
She rushed over to Michaela, lifting up her chin and scanning her from head to toe, as though she were searching for injuries. There was something so frightened in her eyes, something so maternal, that it made Michaela want to apologize for worrying her.
Irritation bubbling in her gut made her push Helene away, shaking off the woman's hands. She pointed out the window. "I thought you said Tío Ernesto would be here. He's halfway across town throwing a party!" She frowned.
Helene's brows furrowed as she crossed her arms. "I never said that. I said that some of his colleagues would be rehearsing here and that I'd talk to them to find a way to get you to him. Furthermore, I also very clearly remember stating that, like his stupid show, he also commemorates Día de Los Muertos with his stupid party."
Under her breath, she began muttering. "Such a bum, never showing up to your own goddamn rehearsals..." She shook her head. Michaela glowered at nothing in her frustration. "Cálmese." Helene put a hand on Michaela's shoulder before turning away. Her hair swayed behind her as she strode over some of the orchestra members. "Oye, Gustavo!" She called. "Do you know anything about this years party?" She queried.
The man in question looked up at Helene with a sly smirk. "It's the hottest ticket event this year next to the sunrise you're not on the guest list, there's not a chance in hell you'd be able to get in." He paused and his smirk turned downright nasty. "Unless you'd be willing work your way in with the guards, Chorizo. Seems there'd be something you enjoy eating there."
Helene's cheeks paled with silent fury and mortification. The other musicians laughed as well, calling her Choricito, some even catcalling her. Her stomach started to churn. Those damned rumors...She tried to fill her ears with white noise instead of the whistling. She balled her hands into fists at her sides and ended up speaking through gritted teeth. "Very funny, Gustavo." Michaela came up from behind Helene and peered at the group curiously.
"Chorizo...?"
"You wanna know how she died, kid?" He grinned. Helene was as stiff as a board. Her eyes glittered like dark amber. "She choked to death on chorizo!" He began cackling with the others. Helene spoke with a strained, flat voice. "I did not. It was food poisoning. You should also keep in mind that there is a child present." The musicians paled at her expression. It was cold and lethal, as earlier at the Department of Corrections. Michaela tried not to gag in disgust when she realized what they were implying.
The connection was barely there, but she saw it. Helene's nickname, they way they had said she could work her way into the party through the guards, and had even catcalled her...Antonio had once made a joke similar to that. Of the 'corking of an onion' with 'chorizo'.
Her eyes were even darker and she would not look at anyone. Completely ignoring Helene after making a joke out of her, Gustavo shrugged off her words even as the other musicians continued to chuckle and turned to Michaela. There was something almost...remorseful (?) in his eyes. The others seemed wary too, but...no one apologized.
"If you really want to get into that party, the winners of this year's Talent Show will get to perform there the night of the Sunrise Spectacular, with a plus-one invitation included. It's going to be held tomorrow night."
Helene was still pretty pale even minutes later as the were walking down the street to some unknown destination. "This is why I despise musicians. All they do when they aren't kept busy by their practice is mock others. Them and their pride..." She spat. Her tone was venomous.
Michaela glanced warily at her. "About that Talent Show..." Helene stopped dead in her tracks, turning to look at Michaela. "Michaela, you know your Tio is one of the most famous 'musicians' in the world. Tons of people are going to be competition. It's not just simply a talent show. It's going to be a real competition...besides, your life is in danger. If we run out of time, I might..." The girl in question looked down at her hands, and Helene's gaze followed. The curse had progressed down to the knuckles of her hand, golden pattern spiraling up her wrist and disappearing down her sleeve. Something flickered in the woman's eyes.
"Unless Frida or Ceci are on the list or have a plus one invitation to that party, or will get one at some point during the holidays, I think this might be my only chance to get close enough to Tío Ernesto's to get his blessing. Either way, we have tonight to practice, and tomorrow too...maybe? Just...I don't want to go back, even if my life is in danger. This goes beyond music, Helene. If we really start running out of time, I'll go back, no questions asked!" Her other thought went unspoken. If I can't rely on them support me, how can I expect them to protect me? Michaela turned to her with hopeful eyes. It made her heart ache and long stored away maternal instincts to flare in her chest. She just wanted to cradle and shield the girl from the world. It reminded her of when her own hija had asked for chocolate before dinner, and they had shared some as their little secret...
"Do you know where I can get a guitar?"
Helene began to bite her lips. Finally, she looked away. "I know someone who can get you a guitar..." She grabbed Michaela hand, and began to gently pull her forwards. "Come on, We'll take the trolley. It'll be faster that way, and we can swing by the Plaza where the Talent Show is usually held." As she led Michaela away, she glanced behind them through her peripheral vision. Hidden in the arch of an adjacent alleyway, she saw the silhouette of a man dressed in a suit with dark eyes and dark hair.
They needed to find a place to hide for the night anyway.
A short walk later, and Helene had led Michaela to a small train station like area. After reaching a trolley that hadn't yet departed, Helene paid the man driving four coins. As they took a seat near the back, Helene closer to the window, Michaela spoke up. "Helene?" She turned towards the teenager. "What were those coins?" They had shone like gold, and had the emblem of a sugar skull on both sides. "Single peso coins, Michaela."
"So the land of the dead still uses the same currency as the land of the living?"
"Si. Most things don't come for free in life and the same goes in death." The trolley began to move, and Michaela leaned back into her seat. Helene watched as the girl's head began to droop, eyelids fluttering as she tried and, inevitably, failed to stay awake. She ended up curling up against Helene, who returned to looking at the window.
It took a while to reach the Plaza from here, so the kid could rest for now. It wasn't healthy for her to be up so late, or under so much stress. Helene pulled out a small book from her pocket, a meal planner. It had been sometime since she last cooked something. While she didn't need food any more, Michaela definitely would. She'd also need to see if she had some nightclothes and blankets lying around that would fit her, not to mention washing the child's clothing...
Maybe some rice? It was quick and easy to make, and despite being a side-dish, if she made enough of it, and Michaela liked it, it would be enough to fill her stomach. Rice was cheap, and she had a lot of it so she could eat when she bothered to cook, and last she checked, the garden was coming in nicely, so ingredients wouldn't be a worry either.
The sound of a man's boot heels echoed against the walls of the underpass tunnel, accompanied by the soft click of a large animal's claws. Only the glowing of large jaguar's pelt illuminated the darkened tunnel long after the previous inhabitants had left it. Her proud shape cast a large shadow over the wall as she began to sniff at the ground, following the trace of her master's missing child.
Imelio was very quiet when he spoke. "Was she here, Pepita? Can you continue to track her from here?" He resisted the urge to rub at his eyes. While he had sent the others back home to rest, his own could wait until Michaela was found. He couldn't get it out of his head. That image of the back alley near the Marigold Station.
When Pepita had led him and the rest of the familia there, Rosita had begun to cry, Julio and Victoria tried to comfort her. Victor had gone quiet and pale, and twins were to busy focusing on their nephew to notice Imelio's expression. Luckily, he got himself under control. He could panic and worry himself sick later, once Michaela was safe, once they had treated her injuries. They had to have been minor injuries because there wasn't enough blood on the ground for it to be severe.
Still, for her to utilize pepper spray against someone...he held the small pink canister in his hand, running his thumb over the side of it. He'd hunt down and kill the bastard later for daring to touch his nieta. He looked up when Pepita began growling, moving something across the ground and sniffing it. Nearing his alebrije, he knelt down and took what she had been sniffing while tried to focus on where the scent led.
A discarded canister of shoe polish, still opened up. There were fingerprints in it, and a woman's compact mirror left behind one of the crates that filled the tunnel. Michaela was smart. She knew she'd draw attention. Had she used the shoe polish to disguise herself somehow?
While her master was distracted, Pepita's nostrils flared as she caught wind of where the kitten's scent leaded. More than that, she could smell another with the kitten. If the kitten smelt like the golden flowers of that bridge, her companion had smelt of the blood colored flowers...like Master's mate did. Mama.
Pepita remembered Mama, who had saved her from that cold river and brought her to Master. She never understood why Mama didn't come back. She did understand that it hurt Master. If Mama was with the kitten, then the kitten would be safe. But if those ugly male-beings followed them, then both Mama and Kitten would be in danger. For Master, she needed to find them both. Mama's scent was very faint, almost drowned out by the kittens, and pervaded with a sense of wrongness. Mama needed help.
Pepita growled even louder, and Imelio put a hand on her hand. "Pepita, have you found our girl?" Technically, she found both of them. And Pepita would help them, and Master, who still missed Mama very much. He may lie to the others, but the alebrije knows all.
She breathed softly against the ground, focusing on seeing where the trail led. Imelio looked sharply at the ground and observed the footprint. Seven and a half in size, pronated. It was definitely Michaela's shoe print. What he didn't expect was another set of shoe prints, from an older pair of Rivera brand boots. He took a step back. The branding on the sole of the shoe had been worn down over time, though the relatively clear shape of the shoe print meant the owner took extensively good care of her shoes. By its shape alone, those were definitely a woman's boots. Around a size 9.
It couldn't be her. Many woman wore size 9 shoes. It couldn't be...He shook his head. He'd deal with it after finding Michaela.
"Pepita, let's go. After them."
Michaela woke up to someone poking her cheek. Groaning drowsily, she pushed the hand away and cuddled even closer into her pillow. It was so nice and warm, and she was just so tired..."Cinco minutos más, Mama..." The poking stopped, and she snuggled even further into her pillow. Then someone's hand began to slowly stroke her head. "You know, if I keep this up, will you begin to purr like a cat too?" A woman's voice drifted down into Michaela's ears. Startled, she jumped up with a squeak and removed her head from where it had been using Helene's lap as a cushion.
The woman herself just titled her head to one side. "Are you awake now?" She was smirking. It was very faint, but she was definitely smirking. "Wai-wha-...huh?!" She managed to squeak out. All she had wanted to do was close her eyes for just a little, not fall asleep! Oh god, did she sleep talk? Did she drool?! Helene really began to grin then. Michaela's thoughts were written all over her face. Mercifully, Helene didn't poke anymore fun at the teen. Instead, she nodded her head out the trolley window as the vehicle rounded a curve.
"This is the Plaza de la Cruz where the Talent Show will be held."
Michaela's eyes went wide and she peered over the edge, nearly claiming into Helene's lap so she could soak in as much as she could see. Ernesto had an entire plaza named after him here? That was just so... fantástico! Brilliant neon lighting decorated the area, surrounded by buildings, and she could hear lively tunes floating the air. From this height, the dancing couples looked like handsomely blooming flowers, especially the women with their flaring skirts as they spun. Trying to get closer, even just a little bit, she leaned out even further...before Helene tugged her back gently.
"Careful, Michaela. We don't you falling out the trolley. While they dead would only suffer broken bones, the living are a lot more fragile." Michaela turned to her with a pout. "But it's so pretty! They even have a statue of de la Cruz!" She pointed at a life-sized replica of the man himself caught in gold and placed on a pedestal setting him high above the others. While Michaela turned away to look at more of the plaza as the trolley continued on its route, Helene pursed her lips and tried to ignore her dry throat. She couldn't stand those statues of him.
They were always far too close to the real deal.
She was roused from her thoughts by Michaela's awed exclamation. "That stage is huge! Way bigger than anything back home!" Helene almost laughed at her expression, eyes nearly bugging out of her head and her jaw dropped in shock. "Close your mouth, chiquita. Its unladylike and you'll catch alebrije feathers. Not a very pleasant experience." She brought her hand to the girl's chin and very gently moved it up, her teeth clicking together as she finally shook herself from her stage-induced stupor. "Sorry..." she giggled, rubbing at her head (It was such a happy giggle and Helene just wanted to squeeze her so badly, and her heart just began to ache, it was so similar to her darling bebita).
The trolley eventually passed the plaza and headed down its tracks into a dark, dimly lit tunnel. Michaela plopped back down in the seat. Dante, who had been snoozing at Helene's feet suddenly woke up, with his ears pricked back. As they continued through the tunnel, he leaped up on to the seat with his nose twitching. "Dante, get down! You can't sit on the seat..." Michaela made a shooing motion, while Helene tried to pick him up and put back on the ground.
Before her hands even reached him however, his lips drew back in a snarl and he poked his head out the trolley window, growling ferociously. Helene and Michaela both drew back in surprise. Michaela, because she didn't think Dante could even make that noise, even after remembering how he had defended her in the alleyway earlier from Marco (or had tried to, before Helene released him). Thinking back on that, she immediately turned her thoughts away to trying to calm her dog down. If she lingered on it too long, she'd feel the rope around her neck again and those bruising hands...
Helene, on the other hand, was surprised and concerned. In the short time she had known Michaela and Dante, the dog had only been growling like this once before, when she met and rescued the teenager. The only thing she could think of that was similar was how an alebrije would react when the one they guided was in danger. They'd be unusually aggressive...and an alebrije was never wrong when they sensed danger. Dante wasn't an alebrije. Or, taking a glance at Michaela, he had become one yet. Even so...
"Michaela, sit and keep your head down." Any previous mirth that had been in Helene's voice had faded, causing the teenager to look at her curiously. The woman stood up, and only then did Dante hop down from the seat, trailing her to the back of the trolley. Here in the very back, where the seats were empty, there was no clamoring of other passengers to cover any other noises.
Very clearly, she could make at a rapid click-click-clicking sound, like nails tapping against a wooden desk. Her eyes struggled to focus on the darkness of the tunnel, where the back lights of the trolley did very little to illuminate the path. At first, she thought it was an approaching trolley. Then she drew back and paled furiously, catching a glint of something abnormally bright glinting. It belonged to a serpentine shadow with leathery wings and a gleaming maw of sharp teeth. Perched on its back was man also obscured in shadows.
"Helene...what is that?" Michaela whispered, frozen mere feet behind the woman. Her eyes back and forth between the speed-gaining shadow and woman. Helene turned to face her with half-repressed panic written on her face. The trolley continued on unwittingly, exiting the tunnel as it had on any other journey unaware of the predator on its trail. Helene's hair was waving around her face, dark curls like silk ribbons in the wind. "I told you to sit back down and stay there!"
There was a sudden roar from behind them trolley, and from the exit of the tunnel, a stunningly large alebrije leapt for the back of the vehicle. Michaela screamed, and Helene threw both of them to the ground as sharply clawed feet swept just inches above where their heads had been a moment ago, before diving off to the left of the trolley and disappearing beneath the tracks. Looking through the railings, Michaela noticed now that the trolley was very high above the ground, on tracks reminiscent of a roller-coaster, it was just like a roller-coaster.
People all over the trolley had turned to face them, some were even trying to head back to check on them, when the alebrije returned, up from beneath the track on the right, just at the right spot for the rider to be eye-level with Helene and Michaela who had just gotten to their feet.
Marco, with his dark suit and dark eyes, grinned at them like he was a feral beast. With his alebrije, he began to slam against the trolley, sending everyone off their feet. People began to scream in fright. Before he could have his winged snake try and grab the two again, Helene began to drag Michaela back up the trolley car, shoving the girl in front of her.
Marco leaned forward, pulling her towards him by a harsh grip on her wrist. She froze. years after learning to defend herself, even the gun still holstered on her hip, it just...faded from her mind. All she could feel was panic, a cold grip on her that wouldn't let go no matter how much she would scream or cry or bleed. "You know he wants to see you." He hissed. "You can't run forever." His mad eyes turned to Michaela, who was swiftly hidden among the crowd of passengers able to get to their feet again and shrank back even further.
Knowing he couldn't reach his so heavily coveted prize, he began pulling Helene out of the trolley. In sheer panic, her free hand grasped for the gun. She was too slow to lift it, and he wrenched it from her within seconds, discarding it over the side of the trolley. He'd rather dispose of it entirely than risk a passenger pick it up to help her. Whether they knew how to fire it or not, as she had. She tried to pull away again from her, eyes distant as she struggled even more. A heavy hand cracked against her face. She began shuddering, caught between her urge to fight and flee, and her body's urge to freeze, both unable to compromise in her current state of mind. Her skin was delectably soft against his palm. Compared with her looks, he could see why her client yearned for her so much, a near century after losing her. A pretty face, clever mind, and a devoted heart to boot. She must have been a very lovely wife and mother, and would make an even lovelier doll. If Michaela (oh, such a sweet name. She'd made such a mistake giving it to him) grew up, would she have just as nicely developed a body as Helene?
Helene's was terrified. Her eyes were impossibly wide, her lips parted as though she were trying to speak. Only faint, tremulous croaking escape, barely louder than a whisper. She couldn't breathe, could barely even think. No, no, no, no! She had to fight. She had no choice but to fight. Michaela would be left alone otherwise, and then he would go after her...Marco grabbed her and pulled her up against his body. Something in her, something that had been damaged and cracked over the years she had been left alone, broke down a little bit more.
Her voice returned in full force. She screamed and shoved away from him, her knee slamming into his gut with her nails raking against his face as though she had gone out of her mind. Fight back. Fight back no matter what, even if you lose. In turn, Marco shoved her away and threw her down. It might have just been luck she landed back on the trolley and not the tracks. Her ears were ringing.
She didn't want to be hit anymore. The trolley blurred in her sight, memories of living flickering between the now of the dead. No, he wasn't here. There was no need to beg for safety. They might now be safe with that psycho after them, but at least it wasn't him. Besides, he wouldn't dare to hurt a child. Helene was silent after that, gaze darting frantically trying to locate Michaela. She darted through the crowd lithely after scrambling to her feet, grabbing Michaela's face and pulling her so close to her body that she could feel the child's heartbeat. The other passengers, noting her reaction, assumed them to be related and began trying to assure them and shield them, others looking for the man and alebrije who attacked them. Their words fell on deaf ears.
In desperation, Helene brought an old whistle to her mouth, hanging on a chain around her throat. It looked like a dog whistle to Michaela. Dante's ears swiveled to Helene, just as Marco returned one last time. As he prepared to slam the trolley again, a blur of scales and wings slammed into him instead. Landing on the tracks, a dragon alebrije began to bite and snap ferociously at Marco. In its fury, it released a torrent of violent blue flames that threatened to torch both of its opponents, its tail swinging side to side as though it were planning to club them too.
It gave them enough time to reach another tunnel, one which led underground until it reached the next station. Helene dropped to her knees, wiping her face and struggling to breathe. She cupped Michaela's face and looked at the teenager with wild eyes. "Are you alright?! No scrapes, no bruises?" She nodded mutely, and Helene said nothing else, pulling her and Dante both into a hug. If Dante hadn't started growling, they'd have been caught completely unaware. Things could have gone so much worse, and her body wouldn't stop shaking.
Helene looked at her wrist, decorated with darkening bruises in the shape of a man's hand. Never again. When she first arrived in the land of the dead, officers had tried to assure her she was safe. That it would never happen again. Yet, when she had finally felt comfortable speaking about what had happened...she had been denounced as a liar. Then those rumors began around the Arts District, based on her own lie. Safety...
What bullshit.
Michaela hadn't let go of Helene's hand since earlier.
At the station, there had been such a panic among passengers that it had been easy, too easy considering they had been the targets of the attack, to slip away. Helene pulled Michaela close to her, not letting the girl out of reach either. Michaela noticed that Helene was still shaking, despite otherwise seeming to be perfectly calm. Her own knees felt like they were made of jello. They were each others support as they traversed the streets.
"Helene, was that dragon your alebrije?" Helene nodded, and tightened her grip on Michaela. That wasn't what she had intended to do. She had wanted to distract Helene from what just happened, but that would be hard to do if it was the only thing she was focusing on. If anything, she probably just made the older woman focus on it more. Michaela couldn't get it out of her head, either. Especially Helene's desperation to get free. "What animal were they in life?" she asked quietly.
"You mean Amaryllis?...She was a coyote. I found her when she was just a little cub, with her leg caught in a trap." Her voice was very soft, and she spoke absentmindedly with a faraway gaze. "My husband nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw me bring her home...I was terrified he'd tell me to leave her own the streets, because she'd take up food and space and money we didn't really have at the time. Instead, he helped me bandage her up. I don't think anyone in town viewed her as anything than a giant puppy."
"Isn't Amaryllis a flower?"
"Yes, I saw a painting full of them shortly before adopting her. Amaryllis is Greek, meaning sparkle or shine. The flower itself represents pride, strength, and determination. Personally, because of its history, I also liken it to the 'Flower of Love' itself."
"A rose? Why would the history of an Amaryllis remind you of an entirely different flower? It's Greek, so I'm thinking it has something to do with either comedy or tragedy."
Helene looked at her. "Amaryllis was once the name of a nymph, who fell in love with a Shepard named Alteo. He was very handsome, and Amaryllis fell in love with him."
Her eyes got a little misty as she spoke. "Alteo, however, did not love Amaryllis. While he was very handsome, he was not attracted to any maidens. He was devoted first and foremost to flowers and nature, not ladies. She attempted to prove her devotion to him by striking herself in the heart everyday with a golden arrow on his doorstep."
"She waited on his doorstep everyday, until finally, on the 30th day, Alteo opened his door only to find Amaryllis gone. In her place was red flower which had sprouted from her blood. Maybe he mourned her after she was gone, but maybe he didn't..."
"That is the history of the Amaryllis. Occasionally though, the tragic ending is much happier. I remember reading another version where Amaryllis had simply been a normal maiden. She had noticed the beautiful flowers growing from her blood and had offered them to Alteo as a gift. Enamored by the flowers, he eventually grew enamored with Amaryllis herself and they fell in love. He named the flower after her in both versions though, I believe. Amaryllis' devotion, her love for Alteo...that is why I compare amaryllis flowers to roses."
Michaela pouted. "I like the second ending better." Then she continued speaking. "I think Alteo did mourn for Amaryllis in the first ending, even if he didn't romantically love her. He had to care for her, even if it was only platonically, if he named a flower after her."
"If you had to pick, which would you choose? Roses or Amaryllis?" This was just genuine curiosity. Michaela had noticed, earlier, that Helene smelt like roses after all. All this talk and thoughts about flowers were reminding her of something...Helene paused. "I can't choose a favorite flower between the two. I love them both. The story behind the amaryllis is something as lovely and romantic as the rose, and the rose was the first flower I ever received from my husband. They are both very dear to me." She wore a very soft smile on her face, remembering happier times and fond memories.
"You're married?" Michaela looked down to the ring on Helene's hand, obviously well cared for with its lustrous shine. Despite being an adult, probably born some point in the 1900's if she knew Tio Ernesto, she didn't expect Helene to have been married! To her surprise, Helene's features seemed to cloud over. Her smile got just a little more sad as she ran her thumb over the only piece of jewelry she wore. "Was." She cleared her throat, finding it hard to speak. "I was married, querida. We...you could say we divorced quite some years ago."
Michaela shut her mouth with an audible click, hand flying over her lips to make sure it stayed shut. "MMM SMWRY FRR BINGIM IP UP!" She exclaimed mortified (and it took Helene a few seconds before she realized the teen had said 'I'm sorry for bringing it up'). Helene exhaled slowly, and very carefully stretched a wider smile across her face. "Don't worry about it. It still stings every now and then, but we had our reasons for separating. Don't worry about it." As was beginning habit, she stroked Michaela's head to calm her.
Maybe it was something her parents did? Every time Helene did it, the girl just seemed to melt against her. She wondered if her daughter had grown up like this, enjoying hugs and praise from her father when she did well in school, what she had grown to enjoy. Soft touches, gentle touches were very soothing. Her husband, despite his harsh and aloof exterior had always been warm and gentle like candlelight.
She should have remembered that even small flames could prove dangerous when angered. And he had been very angry indeed when she tried to speak when him once he arrived. As she led Michaela further down the streets filled with rapidly aged buildings, where maintanence on the cobblestone streets eventually turned to dirt, she couldn't help but get lost in the memory of what he had said that day.
"You expect me to be happy to see you?" His voice was low and hostile, and he would not meet her eyes.
"Get out, Helene. I do not ever want to see you approach me again, not after you've spent years as some rich man's floozy, you damned whore!" His words were were daggers, striking at her heart. Those blades must have been laced with poison because it paralyzed her down to her very bones. She didn't understand, couldn't grasp what he was talking about. "Mi amor, what-" Her voice was trembling, fading away at the end like a old decayed bone crumbles to dust beneath a harsh grasp.
"You think I wouldn't know you ran off?" Ran off? "Do you know the rumors which circulated after you had left him? When he got famous? That you had given him everything, all so you could get away from your 'burdensome' little family. Some people even said that you's rather lay in bed with him than me. After all, better a son than a daughter, right?" Her ears were ringing with his vicious accusations. She couldn't understand. She didn't want to understand.
They didn't know she had died? He never told them? He must have known...how could he not have when he...
When he what? She couldn't remember. They were empty holes where memories should have been. Life, darkness, and then death was all she could recall...there had been pain, endless pain and punishment, and all encompassing terror as desperation sunk in.
"Mi amor, I don't know what you're talking about! Please, listen to-" She tried to walk over to him, reaching out...only to be shoved away forcefully by her shoulders. By the time she had registered what had happened, she was kneeling on the ground in front of him. His eyes were dark with conflictions of anger and remorse...dark with hatred.
"You don't have the right to call me that, not after you ran to be with another man, and for what? Fame, fortune, prestige? Don't come crying to me, smiling as if you did not abandon everything we had. Go run to your lover, to Ernesto because who else could it be but him, regardless of his lies? Be his good little bedwarmer and hide from the public eye for all I care. You are nothing to me. Nothing!"
She could feel her heart break at that. She had never been unfaithful, never dreamed of another man but him regardless of how many others had wished her to, so why..? Why was this happening?! What had happened?!
She staggered to her feet barely breathing. Pearly tears ran down her cheeks as she began backing away. One foot, then two. Imelio was watching her with a shattered, twisted expression. Was it grief for what had been lost? Was it hatred for however he had interpreted her absence, twisted by rumor? She didn't know. Very clearly, he didn't want to see her any longer either.
"Get out, and never show your face around me again. I no longer wanted you in life, I do not want you in death. If you ever try to come near me or mi familia again, I will not hesitate to call the police. You are not my wife, nor do you hold any position within my family. You mean nothing to the Rivera family."
My family. Once, years and years ago, it had been hers too. Ours. Theirs. At that moment, she learned what a shattered heart felt like. It felt like going mad, like beating your head against stone until it bled, like screaming without any sound ever coming past your lips. Sound shriveled in her throat and died.
With one last glance at the man who had renounced her, the man who had been her entire world...she fled from the room, from the station itself, and she ran and ran into the darkness of the night and wished she could disappear forever into it. Her body seized painfully and she collapsed, feeling one of the strongest threads tying her to existence fade. The cracks in her bones began to groan. She ignored them.
She began to scream, ripping up the dirt and grass beneath her hands, feeling the tears pour down her face. No matter how much she cried however, the pain would never be fully washed away nor the ugliness of that man's crimes. He never told them she died. Next thing you know, she'll end up learning it was him who killed her. She began to laugh as she cried, hysterical. So that's why she had never had a photo up. She had been forsaken, her family unaware that she never came home, not because of abandonment like the town had thought, but because she had died.
Now she truly was alone, and whenever her daughter, her precious baby girl died, she'd take the truth to her final death with her as well.
They came to a steep, cracked staircase. "Why on earth do you want to be a musician, querida?" Helene was flipping through the pages of some sort of book she had pulled from a skirt pocket. Michaela, who had been observing her now very bony left knuckle, looked over to her. "My great-great grandmother was a musician, and so was Tio Ernesto." People loved them for their music, their music made other people happy, what else could there be? Her great-great grandmother, even if she never released her own songs, must have helped Tio Ernesto with his.
Helene pursed her lips. "Is that all?"
"Huh?"
"Is being related to other performers the only reason you want to perform? If so, especially in regards to de la Cruz, then you won't make it as a musician, not for so superficial a reason." Michaela looked at Helene. "What would you know? You don't perform." She looked away, not seeing the way Helene's eyes glistened at that. She didn't perform anymore. "It's not like that anyway. I've performed before, at the plaza, but usually wearing a mask or something so I wouldn't be recognized. It's fun to be on stage, even if no one recognizes me, because on stage its like I can actually be...me. Besides, there's so many different styles of music, it can invoke all sorts of moods and thoughts and feeling in people. The world would be incomplete without it!"
Her cheeks flushed as she finished speaking, saying it all in one rush. Unexpectedly, Helene turned and grinned at her. "Well said, Michaela. Now, I'm more convinced you might just actually win the competition. Inspiration wouldn't be enough. All participants there will have been inspired by some other person, be it family or other people, most likely even de la Cruz himself. You need more than inspiration. You need the desire to win, but that comes second to the performance itself. Feel the performance hum in your veins, breathe it in, excite and become both the audience and entertainer at once. You can't just perform on that stage." Her grin widened into something roguish, like outside the marigold station, before it was gone in a flash. "You must know how to perform."
They descended to the foot of the staircase. "Got it. How far is this guitar you mentioned earlier?" Helene led the further, over to and through stone archways and painted all over with graffiti of angels and flowers and grand murals of scenery. "We're almost there."
The area in which Helene lived...well, at first Michaela thought it was a dump. At least, she did until she took note of the ramshackle huts set up over the dark water. Was this the ocean? Did the land of the dead have oceans? This entire neighborhood was set above the water by rickety, rotting wooden docks that creaked loudly under her feet. Past the main archway they had just entered by, a group of people sat huddled around a burning trashcan to keep warm, yet they had cheerful dispositions and laughed raucously.
Like Helene, they wore faded and tattered clothing. Some wrapped rags around their feet instead of wearing shoes, most likely because they couldn't afford them. Like Helene, the parts of their bones that showed were yellowed. Some were broken or fractured and held together by dusty, worn bandages or even tape. Despite the evident poverty though, everyone here seemed incredibly close. The sense of camaraderie about them was immense. One of the people from around the trashcan hopped up to greet Helene.
"Cousin Helene! Nice to see you made it back in one piece." They gave Helene a fist bump, which she returned with a relaxed grin. "Who is this?" He began poking and at Michaela's cheeks curiously. He seemed...right around Michaela's age actually. Helene batted his hand away good naturally. "It's rude to touch people without their permission." She chided lightly, before answering his question.
"This is Michaela, a new arrival to the Land of the Dead. She won't be staying here long, but due to an issue in the communication services at the Department of Family Reunions, she'll be staying with me for at least tonight while they work on locating and informing her family." She wrapped her arm around Michaela and pulled the teenager closer to her. Surprisingly, it was pretty reassuring surrounded by tons of strangers. Michaela had always been warned to avoid poor areas, because there was always the worry of seedy gangs or kidnappings that happened in Santa Cecilia. Gang violence was common too, so this went against everything she had been taught. These people seemed a lot like Helene though, and Helene wasn't bad at all.
A few minutes passed of pleasant conversation between Helene and the boy, who eventually returned to converse with his friends again while they continued on their way. "Helene, where are we? Are these people all members of your family?" She peered around cautiously, trying to seem like she was gawking whichever way she turned. Helene turned her head and spoke over her shoulder. "Welcome to Shantytown, Michaela. Where the poor, destitute, and nearly forgotten ones roam. You could say we're family. We're the ones with no ofrenda to welcome us to the other side, no family to cross over to see in the land of the living, and no other family to visit in the land of the dead. We're a close-knit bunch, so we all call each other Tio, cousin, hermano...whatever goes." She shrugged and continued on.
Eventually, they came up to three ladies perched in old foldout chairs, using a wooden crate as a table to play a card game. One woman looks up with a smile, haring them approach, before standing up with open arms and catching Helene in a hug. "Ay...mi Helene, how have you been?" Helene brightened significantly with the sweetest smile on her face. For a moment, she closely resembled Michaela's mother.
"Tia Chelo, what's happened since I was out?" They began speaking rapidly, with Chelo cupping Helene's face, looking over it for any injuries while Helene began to wave her off, saying she was fine. Helene...had never known her mother, but she had always thought that her hugs must have been something Tia Chelo's. It was definitely reassuring to have one now, after the events of earlier.
"Oh, and who is this new face?"
Helene's 'Tia Chelo' turned to face Michaela. Helene grasped her hands and tugged her forwards. "This is Michaela, she'll be staying with me for the night. Also, have you seen Cheech around? I wanted to speak with him, but he's not out here." Chelo glanced at her friends, before gently squeezing Helene's hand with a concerned expression. Helene's exuberance seemed to dim slightly as she read something in Chelo's face and grasp that Michaela couldn't grasp. It reminded her of when the family medico always warned them of how frail Mama Coco's health was, how she...probably didn't have much time left.
Michaela hoped Mama Coco was alright. On the bright side though, if Michaela got to Tio Ernesto and her great-great grandmother was there, she could find out why she didn't come back. She might have gotten sick, or died, and no one ever knew. Tio Ernesto might not have even known, if it happened while she was returning to Santa Cecilia and he was still in Mexico City. She could tell Mama Coco once she got back home, and once Mama Coco came to the Land of the Dead, she would be able to see her Mama again, just like she wanted!
"Is he in the mood for visitors?" Helene spoke in a low voice, trying not to disturb Michaela who had started to stare into space. Chelo shrugged. "Not sure, he didn't seem to be in the mood earlier, but he'd likely appreciate it if you visited. You've always been good at comforting others. Helene...it might be his time." Chelo turned and picked up a bottle of whiskey from the crate. "Here, take this with you. You know how that man loves a good, strong shot of whiskey. You're looking a bit pale too, so it would do you a world of good."
Taking a moment to shake Michaela out of her thought, she motioned with her head towards the doorway of the house just behind Chelo. "Come on, Michaela. I want to introduce you to Cheech." Going up the steps, Helene pulled back the curtain which blocked the doorway, allowing Dante and Michaela to enter first. The tent like hut was crammed with items. It was dark, very cramped, and very quiet.
There were piles of old magazines, newspapers, and books. Crates full of towering stacks of dusty old dishes. There were crates of records, a gramophone somewhere in the back, a drawer full of silverware, and another full of pocket watches. Michaela bumped into one and nearly had a heart attack as it began to sway before slowly righting itself. Helene ignored the junk and headed to the back of the room, where a hammock was strung up and also filled with junk. A dusty old hat rested on the very top.
Striking a match, she lit the oil lamp on the bedside table. Then she went and found two clean shot glasses, setting them down. Leaning over the hammock, she began grinning mischievously and lifted the hat. "Buenas noches, Chicharron. How are you?" The face of a grumpy old man looked back out her. "Will you ever stop stealing my hat from me?" He said, gruffly. As he took it back, Helene very cheerfully chirped the negative in her response.
The man made himself comfortable, leaning back before he answered her question. "I'm not doing too great to be honest, you imp. Got this ache that just won't fade.." Helene settled herself on the hammock besides him, and shook the bottle of whisky. "Is it something your favorite hard drink won't fix? Tia Chelo sends a gift." She poured the two shots of whiskey, though neither of them made a move to drink. "Who's that?" Chicharron asked, indicating with his hand to Michaela.
Helene's face went from mirthful, to reluctant. She put the bottle of whiskey down. "This...is Michaela, Cheech. There's this Talent Show being held in the Plaza de la Cruz tomorrow, with tickets to de la Cruz's party as the winning prize, and I was wondering if you would let her borrow your guitar." Chicharron sat up, very quickly. "My guitar? My prized, award winning guitar?" Helene leaned back, just in case she was going to get lectured. "I swear we'll bring it right back to you afterwards!" She put up her hands in an attempt to calm him. Chicharron raised a finger to give Helene a sharp tongue lashing.
"Oh, I have no qualms you'll return it, but with how competitive folks get over de la Cruz, how can either of us be sure it'll be in one-" Suddenly, the man slumped back and Helene leaped up to steady him, Michaela jumping to her feet as well in shock. From his very bones, and stretching over his skin, his entire body was wracked with pulsating golden light that seemed to drain any energy he'd had.
"Wait, hold on a minute. You okay, Cheech?" She reorganized the pillows beneath his head, tried to make him more comfortable when he reached out and covered her hands. "I'm fading, kid. I can feel it in my bones." He nodded at the guitar besides him. "If you want to use the guitar, you got to earn it. I don't have the strength to play that old thing even if I wanted to." He chuckled dryly at the end, before it was cut off into a series of hacking coughs.
Helene, trying to help him, shook her head slowly. "Cheech, I haven't touched an instrument in years. You know I don't play anymore. The guitar's for..." Chicharron gave Helene a look. "Grant a twice-dying man his last request?" His eyes were warm and sad, and Michaela watched as Helene very slowly rose from her knees, looking unsteady in her own skin. She moved to sit back down on the hammock silently, tenderly grasping the guitar as though it were a newborn baby. What did he mean by 'twice-dying'?
Helene settled the guitar in her arms and began tuning it with the grace of a well-rehearsed professional. Her eyes were wet. "Just for you, Cheech. Any request you might have in particular?" Chicharron smiled at her. "You know my favorite, Helene." She took a deep breath to calm herself, and then her fingers began to glide against the guitar strings. She began to play a gentle, lilting tune. Michaela recognized as a drinking song, pretty popular around town. Then, her eyes widened as Helene ran her tongue over her lips, opened her mouth, and began to sing.
"Well, everyone know Juanita. Her eyes each a different color..." Her voice was very soft, very rich with emotion. It felt like liquid emotion that had been poured in her ears, pure sound that felt like you were bathing in layers of satin, silk, and crushed velvet. Hidden behind the mirth of the melody, there was an underlying and unmistakable tone of grief in Helene's voice, though. Michaela found herself swaying along as Helene continued.
"Her teeth stick out, and her chin goes in, and her..." Helene paused, glanced at Michaela, and subsequently though 'screw it'. "knockers they drag on the ground." When the teenager started giggling, Helene rolled her eyes. Michaela was what, fifteen or sixteen? While still a kid, she wasn't a child. There was no reason to censor the lyrics. Besides, Helene had gotten married just ten days after turning sixteen. She wasn't one to judge. Cheech glanced at her with a raised eyebrow and a small, but smug grin as though he knew what she was thinking.
"You hesitated."
"No I didn't."
"You absolutely did."
Helene continued to the end of the song. "Her hair is like a briar, she stands in a bow-legged stance. If I weren't so horribly ugly...she'd possibly give me a chance." Helene finished the song as softly as it had begun, smiling softly at Chicharron. "How was that, Cheech?" His face was bright with joy. "Perfect. That brings back memories." He chuckled, settling down in his hammock as though he were about to drop off into sleep. He took off his hat and brought it to his chest, sighing with content. "Gracias, Helene..."
His eyes closed as that soft, beautiful golden light appeared again. It began to crawl over his bones, over his face, over his entire body. Helene dropped her gaze with an impossibly pained expression. It was something to be expected, here in Shantytown...but it never lessened the ache that was left behind afterwards. Michaela edged closer in stunned silence. The light grows brighter, and then...slowly, Chicharron's body crumbled away into dust. His hat slid from the hammock, and landed on the ground.
Helene took a moment to wipe her eyes, before standing, saluting to her friend with a whiskey filled shot glass, and downed the contents. She put it back rim down next to Chicharron's glass, which was still full. Michaela looked at the hammock, before turning to Helene. Her mirth at the risque lyrics forgotten, she turned back to Helene. "Wait...what just happened? Where did your friend...where did Chicharron go?" He had been there just a second ago, and now he...
Helene looked at Michaela sadly, not quite meeting her eyes, but gazing back at Chicharron's empty hammock. "He's been forgotten. You know how, earlier this evening, I told you the land of the dead runs on memories? How Shantytown was the home of the nearly forgotten, those without ofrendas?" Michaela nodded slowly, not seeing how this was related to her question.
"Not having an ofrenda is the first sign of being forgotten. The living either no longer care about you, or have forgotten you and you've been removed. It could even be that they just don't believe in the Land of the Dead, they don't think it serves any purpose. It is the memory of the living that sustains our existence, most likely, it's probably responsible in some way for the formation of the land of the dead. When you fade from the memory of the living completely, when there is no one alive who remembers you...we call it the 'Final Death'."
"Where'd he go then, after he..." She couldn't say he died. He had already been dead, and yet Helene referred to it as the "Final Death"...The woman took a very deep breath. "Some say you are sent to heaven or hell. Others says you are sent to be reborn. It depends on the person's belief what they think happens, but truthfully...no one knows. Just how most of the living don't really know what happens to the dead after they pass."
"I've met him though, right? I can remember him, and when I get back home..." Helene turned sharply and looked at Michaela, speaking in a curt tone. "Michaela, can you revive a dead body? I'm not talking about when a person's heart stops, but when they are definitely dead, either from a heart attack, or a knife to the gut, or a car accident." Michaela took a step back, and shook her head. Helene's voice softened. "It...doesn't work that way either, querida. Memories of the dead, memories of us...they need to be passed down by people who knew us in life, in stories they tell about us, in the legacy we left behind. But there's no one left alive to pass down Cheech's stories."
"Even if it did work the way you think, its already too late. Finding a way to learn about Cheech, to put up his photograph...it won't mean anything. Because Cheech is no longer here in the land of the dead. No matter what you can find out, no photo can ever bring him back from where he has gone." The two lapsed off into deep thought. Helene mourned her friend, and Michaela...Michaela thought about Helene.
Helene was being forgotten too, sooner or later she was going to end up like Chicharron. A chill ran down her spine as she remembered what Helene had said earlier.
I have to cross the bridge some point during the next three nights...
She had said 'I have to'. As though, she wouldn't get another chance. Chicharron had said he could feel the Final Death...which meant that Helene knew that it was coming for her as well. If...if Helene didn't have a photo up during the holiday, she would fade without crossing over. Michaela could feel it, in the way Helene seemed to be able to pull herself apart far easier than Papa Julio too. She nearly shrieked in surprise when Helene put a hand on her shoulder, suddenly bright and cheery. "The Final Death comes for everyone in the Land of the Dead, just as death comes for all of the living. It happens to everyone eventually."
Michaela still must have seemed unsure of herself and concerned, and Helene changed the subject entirely.
"Come on, I'll show you to my home. We still need to wash your clothes and it's late. You need food, a bath, and sleep. Then tomorrow, we have the day to practice and a contest to win that night."
Helene exited Chicharron's home, and after a moment's pause, Michaela did too.
NOTES:
When Imelio mentioned 'Ernesto's Lies', he's referring to a letter he was sent by de la Cruz's secretary. I won't explain because its (kinda?) spoilers, but basically:
Imelio: Where is Helene, why hasn't my wife come back?
Secretary: Senor de la Cruz has never heard of you, nor your wife, please cease your attempts with correspondence
Except Imelio knows DAMN WELL that Ernesto knows Helene and that they were traveling together in 1921. Based off the rumors in Santa Cecilia, his (correct) instinct that tells him Ernesto views Helene in more than a platonic manner, and the denial from the secretary (not Ernesto himself), he interprets this (incorrect) situation.
- Ernesto and Helene leave
- Ernesto eventually woos Helene
- Helene pretends to disappear while Ernesto goes on to perform (they are actually still together) (But not really, she's dead at this point)
- Once Ernesto gets truly wealthy, the two live in his mansion (Helene still hiding from public eye)
Eventually driven bitter, he hardens himself against not only the rumors but Helene herself and his memories of her, and denies any possibility of anything else happening. While he never trusted Ernesto, he did not allow himself to think Helene had died, or that Ernesto would have been involved in that impossible death. The only one more protective of Helene was Ernesto. He was also very possessive of her though. In other words, a shitty coping mechanism that drives them further apart when he hurls it at her like its the truth. 54 years is a very long time for anger like that to brew.
Also, I hinted at what happened to Helene's body after her death at some point in the chapter. I'll tell you one thing. She was not buried in an unmarked grave. Ernesto knows exactly where her body is.