Héctor led Ernesto to the house on the farthest left area of the town, the last house in that area. It was two stories high but still small and missing a few slats in its roof. There were two cracked windows on the front wall, one on either side of the doorway, which had a gray curtain covering it. The second level didn't appear to have any windows at all, and the roof was covering it at an angle, meaning it most likely didn't have a lot of space.

Ernesto stood seven feet away the doorway and glared at the house, slowing his walk. Faint light, most likely candles, flickered through the windows, dimmer than the flickering lights on the path that took him here. The house looked unstable, as if it was just hours away from the floor giving out and falling into the water. It reminded him of the shabby houses that he'd seen in the Land of the Living when traveling to different cities for concerts, the ones that he usually looked at with disdain and thanked Dios for saving him from having to live in them.

Now, standing at the foot of one he was going to be living in for what seemed like an eternity, he felt cursed and punished. He felt more miserable than he had in years.

Héctor stopped walking and turned to stare at Ernesto, his hand on the curtain as he threw it open. He frowned, looking concerned. "Are you coming, Superhero? What's the matter?"

Ernesto sneered at him, crossing his arms. "There's no way I'm staying here," he snarled. "I refuse to live in that place for the next few months."

Héctor gave an annoyed huff, rolling his eyes. "This is the best one we have, Ernesto. The other places aren't half as good as this one."

"If this is the best house," Ernesto said coldly, "I'd hate to see the one that no one lives in."

Héctor laughed dryly, waving his hand in front of him to indicate the dark and abandoned shacks in front of him. "Superhero, people are forgotten every day here. There are plenty of houses with no one in them."

Ernesto scowled at Héctor's remark, uncrossing his arms and balling his hands into tight fists. But before he could respond, he heard a voice behind him.

"What are you two doing here?"

Ernesto turned to see a man walking toward him, the same one he'd seen hanging out with Héctor earlier. The lamposts on both sides started flickering rapidly, poorly illuminating his face and the way his ribcage pushed against the tight shirt he was wearing. He flipped his wavy hair to the right as he stared over Ernesto's head at Héctor. He held two bottles, one in either of his thick hands, and if Ernesto were to guess without looking, they both contained some type of soda.

The man grinned, his face looking almost scary with the large crack in his skull that almost split it in half. "You showing Ernesto around, Héctor? Seems like you guys are having fun."

Ernesto rolled his eyes and stared at him coldly.

Héctor laughed from behind him. "Buenas noches, Tío Ramiro. I was just showing Superhero where his place was going to be."

Ramiro stopped walking and eyed Ernesto with an unsure stare, his gleeful expression fading. "He's actually staying with us?"

"Sí. And I know he's going to love it." Héctor walked up beside Ernesto, an eager smile on his face. Ernesto resisted the urge to shove him off of the walkway and into the water.

"Eh, I'm not so sure about that." Ramiro scrutinized Ernesto again, and this time Ernesto could almost see fear in his eyes, made more prominent by the way he tilted his head to the left, the overhead lights gleaming in his eyes. "Are you sure this would work? He can't just find somewhere else to stay?"

Héctor groaned, throwing up his hands in exasperation. "Por Dios, you sound just like Lorenzo." He narrowed his eyes. "Ernesto already told me that he doesn't have anywhere else to go, that he wants to stay here. And because we've all had times where we've been just like him, we're not turning him away." His tone was low and definite, leaving no room for arguments.

Ramiro took a step back, almost dropping the bottles in his hand. He sighed, shaking his head. "Fine. How long is he staying?"

"For five months."

"What?!"

Ernesto smirked at Ramiro's displeasure.

Héctor rolled his eyes. "It's not like he's staying that long, Tío. As soon as he needs to, he'll leave, and then everything will go back to normal."

Ramiro gave him a careful stare. "I hope you're making the right decision, Héctor. After how he's been treating you all these years..."

Héctor cut him off, holding up his hand. "I know what I'm doing," he replied curtly. "And I'll deal with that some other time. For now, Ernesto can stay as long as he needs to, and there will be no questions asked."

Ramiro sighed again, looking between Héctor and Ernesto with objections still clear in his expression. But when Héctor's firm look didn't waver, Ramiro nodded halfheartedly.

"Okay, fine," he said, sounding defeated. "He can stay here." He raised an eyebrow at Héctor. "I hope you make him understand that he has some things to clear up, though."

Héctor nodded. "I will," he assured he assured him. "But, like I said, that comes later." He turned away and wrapped an arm around Ernesto's shoulder. "Come on, Ernesto. Let's go inside."

Ernesto watched as Ramiro gave him another uneasy look, this time for sure looking scared, before he turned and dashed away, the drinks in his hands clinking against his legs as he ran in the other direction.

Ernesto sat on the old mattress that was against the farthest wall, its springs protesting as he shifted his position. He felt suddenly drained, and images of the day he'd had filled his mind and made annoyance and bitterness surge through him. He stared disapprovingly at the cracks in his ribs, wishing he'd died a more subtle death so that no evidence of it would show.

Héctor stared at him from in front of the small fridge that was next to the doorway, watching as Ernesto contemplated his injuries. "Those will go away faster than you think, Ernesto," he said encouragingly. "You're well remembered, so they should disappear in a few days."

Ernesto glared at him, and Héctor huffed.

"Fine," he said. "Don't talk to me. I was just trying to make you feel better."

"Nothing can make me feel better right now," Ernesto growled. He deepened his glare. "And I hope you know that you're not getting any apologies or explinations from me at all."

Héctor inhaled sharply, walking over to him and standing in front of him, his arms crossed. "You don't have to talk now, but I do want answers. And I will get them, no matter what."

"Don't count on it," Ernesto snapped. "You don't need to know anything. I did what I had to do, and it's over. All you need to know is that I regret nothing." He laid back and rolled over, away from Héctor's gaze. "Now get out of here. I'm tired."

Héctor sighed, and though Ernesto couldn't see his expression, he imagined it softening the tiniest bit. "I'm here if you need anything, Superhero," he said with a solemn tone. His footsteps receded as he walked out, and Ernesto could hear him throwing the curtain aside as he exited.

Ernesto shuffled in his bed, trying to get comfortable. He put his hands under his skull as a pillow before drifting off to sleep, trying his best to push away the memories of this terrible day that still lingered in his mind.