Chapter Five:

The Dying & The Living

October 31st, 2017

[Land of the Dead]

Helene's house was one of the cleaner areas of Shantytown, situated right on the edge of the deep black water. There was a small stretch of beach nearby, dotted with crushed seashells, the froth of the encroaching waves, and bits and pieces of multi-colored glass shards that shone like little fallen pieces of starlight half-buried in the sand. The surrounding area was reminiscent of some sort of community park or garden, and the heady scent of herbs and flowers hung in the air thickly, mixing with the sting of salt carried on the breeze. Maybe it was a community garden, where they could grow some of the fresh produce they otherwise couldn't afford?

It seemed to speak somehow of brighter times, despite being pretty small and clearly weathered. Helene had a small garden, mostly of vegetables, and near the steps leading to her front door, garden beds were filled with blooming roses, marigolds, all sorts of flowers. Vines climbed the outside wall, with unopened buds. They smelled sweet. Helene, who had slowed as she led Michaela through the shantytown, grasped her hand warmly as though to prevent her from getting lost. As they walked to the door, the wooden steps creaked almost disconcertingly loud beneath their feet. It was only one floor and pretty small, but was still better off (by far) compared to the other buildings.

Maybe this area hadn't always been a shantytown? She'd have to ask Helene.

Helene opened the door for Michaela, letting the girl inside first. From what she could make out, in the semi-darkness of the hallway, there were two doorways. One to her left which actually had a door, and one to her right that was simply an open archway into another room and covered with a heavy drape. She thought she saw another on the back wall, but wasn't sure. Helene moved forward a little, turned to the left wall right next to the door, and bent over something on a table. There was something like a small click, like when you have a lamp which has a turn knob, not a switch or a button.

A warm, small glow filled the room, and only then could Michaela properly observe the hall. It was pretty narrow. The floor, a little dusty, was covered with what once must have been a very beautifully patterned rug, now fraying at the edges and gray with age. Above the table where the oil lamp sat, there was a small oval mirror, a little cracked on one side but otherwise whole. Helene spoke up quietly, glancing at Michaela over her shoulder while looking through the table drawer for something.

"I'm sorry it's so dark, but we don't have electricity here. We get by on candles and lamplight, and if not that, then we use the sun by day and the moon by night." She pointed to the doors. "To your left is the kitchen, and to your right is the living room, which doubles as the dining area. There are a few old instruments in there that were gifted to me by others before they passed, as it was once utilized as my music room. The living room sofa is a pull-out bed, so I usually sleep there. The bathroom in the door you see on the back wall."

Remembering something she heard from earlier, Michaela looked at Helene. "I thought the land of the dead didn't have bathrooms?" The woman shrugged. "Despite the fact that we're dead, we still eat and drink. We need to brush our teeth if we want our breath to smell clean. However, we no longer need to use the toilet and neither do we feel the urge to. We also still have baths and showers, so that we can clean our bodies and wash our hair. There aren't any public restrooms because people bathe and attend to personal hygiene at home. There's no need for toilets. Some places have 'powder rooms' or 'Look Service Rooms' where you can make sure you don't look like a hot mess, but they aren't referred to as restrooms. At most, they have a mirror, a sink, some hand towels, and soap. That's it.' Helene closed the drawer and pulled out a small package of hair ties, pulling her hair up into a high ponytail and returning the rest to the drawer.

Then Helene turned to Michaela, with her brows furrowed together and a small frown on her lips. "Do you need a restroom, Michaela?" The girl in question blushed scarlet at the question, before realizing something. "I...don't actually. I don't think I've felt the need to either, for the entire time I've been in the land of the dead. I didn't use the bathroom before I got cursed either, because I was out of the house from morning to afternoon, and then was working on stuff after that for a while until...the argument with Abuelita."

Helene winced in sympathy. "I see...if that's the case, tell me if you feel the urge to go. If not, it may be a sign of the progression of your curse." Michaela raised an eyebrow. "If I did need to use the bathroom, how would that work?" Helene leaned against the wall and took a minute to think. "Well, we could probably find some sort of container to use as a chamber pot, a lid to keep the smell contained, and when it gets filled...I guess we'd just have to dig a hole away from here and bury it? That's what most alebrije owners do to dispose of the spirit guardians body waste." She tilted her head to the side and snorted. "Either that, or they put it in compost piles and use it as fertilizer."

Michaela chuckled nervously. "Let's...use that as a last resort. For now, I'll just keep it in mind. If I end up not having to go at all, then it's probably the curse." Helene crossed her arms and decided to move on, checking a small clock on the table. The time read 11:13 PM. It was late, a little too late for Michaela to be up. She said as much to the teenager, taking on a voice she hadn't heard from herself in years.

"It's very late, probably far past the time you usually go to bed. Head to the living room. While you are a bit smaller than me, I should have some nightclothes that will fit. While you get to look through and find something you'd like to wear, I'm going to go draw some water for you to take a bath. After that, you'll be free to pick where you want to sleep for the night while I make something for you to eat."

"How will you heat the water, or get it to the tub? Do you have plumbing?"

"No. There's a well in the garden that I can draw the water from. Then I'll heat the water and bring it to the tub. Come on."

Helene's living room was sparsely decorated. There was a window overlooking the beach with a small garden bed on the sill. A sofa was against one wall, covered with pillows and a heavy quilt. A stand with another lamp stood besides it. There was a small chest filled with dresses and nightgowns. Resting on the lid of the chest were a hand mirror and brush. The floor was covered by several rugs. Helene pointed to the chest, told her to search for nightclothes, and swept out of the room to prepare some food.

Michaela looked through the drawer for a while, until she settled on a nightgown. It was white, with loose sleeves and a long skirt hemmed with lace. It was very pretty. There were other lacy nightgowns, but they were more tightly fitted to the body and seemed better suited to Helene (especially taking into consideration the difference in bust size). This one was embroidered with green vines and soft pink flowers at the edge of the sleeve and skirt.

She spent a few minutes holding it against her body, spinning and watching the skirt flare. Then she giggled. Helene's voice called. "The bath's ready!"

While Michaela headed to the bath, Helene was in the kitchen.

In the kitchen, Helene was preparing dinner. Looking at her planning book, she decided she definitely had the ingredients to make rice, but what really concerned her was this, would it be enough? Would Michaela want something else to go with that? She had some tortillas still...it wasn't much, but rice tortilla burritos would be more filling than just rice or just tortillas. Yes, she'd bring out the tortillas too.

Rinsing her hands in a basin and drying them, she took out the ingredients. She stacked a few tortillas on a plate and moved it to the side for when everything was ready. From a cabinet, she took down some cooking oil and began looking over the vegetables she had brought in from her garden. The onion, garlic, and carrot had been rinsed quite well. She diced the onions and carrots, and minced the garlic. Unfortunately, she didn't have any beans on hand. Black beans were wonderful with rice and if she'd known she would have had a guest...well, there was no point thinking about it.

She did have tomato paste and some leftover chicken broth though. Both were useful in adding more flavor to the rice. It really was a shame she didn't have electricity so that things such as broths and fresh foods were preserved longer. There wasn't that much broth left though, considering she had shared it with other inhabitants of Shantytown that morning who were celebrating Dia de los Muertos. There'd be just enough for tonight.

Helene smiled and hummed softly to herself. It had been a very long time since she had anyone to cook for. She hoped Michaela would like it. It wasn't anything grand, but it was a hot meal that would fill your stomach. Some kids didn't get that. She hadn't gotten that, in the orphanage. There, in her mind, she could remember bread so hard and stale you could break your teeth on it and dirty, murky water from the nearby river that had to be boiled clean. Even after boiling, kids would still get sick from eating it. Some kids caught diarrhea. Some caught dysentery. And some died from the lack of treatment they couldn't afford.

That didn't even touch on the fight for food, scrounged up from the always empty pantry. Kids always fought to get to meals first. Holidays were only a bit better, with charity money flowing in for those who wanted to better their reputations, and Christmas gifts. Of course, kids almost always resorted to selling those gifts for a little bit of money, just to get some food...

As she cooked, she tried to move away from those bitter memories of childhood to sweeter ones. The first time she had met her husband, she had been six years old, and he was seven. She was working as a kitchen girl at some party for some wealthy ranchero and his family was attending. She had stolen his father's pocket watch and was planning to sell it. It had been made of gold and shone in her hands. He followed her and took it back. Instead, he helped her smuggle food like those soft white bread rolls into a basket she snuck back to the orphanage and shared among the others.

Of course, she had continued pick-pocketing people, but he hadn't said a word about that, and she remembered from the way he had stolen glances at her that he had known she was thieving. He had managed to sneak away from the party and sat with her for a few minutes with a plate of rice. He had shared it with her. Just remembering the taste of the rice, and that boyish carefree smile he had given her that night alongside his name, it made her cheeks heat up.

After it had started to boil, she reduced the heat and covered it with a lid. At some point, Michaela had left the bath and came in, smelling of soap and dressed in a nightgown. "Is that rice?" she clapped her hands gleefully and Helene could have sworn there were stars in her eyes. Dante padded in as well, sniffing the air hungrily. Helene handed him a giant beef bone from the counter which he eagerly began to tear into.

"Si. I don't have much food here at the moment, and with how late it is, I thought it would be better to just make something quick. Is it alright?" Michaela beamed at her. "It's good, I like rice!" Helene's smile widened at the teenager's enthusiasm and a wave of relief washed through her. "Go sit in the living room, and I'll bring the food in once I've finished cooking."

After eating, Michaela had offered to rinse the dishes so Helene got the chance to take a bath. After showing Michaela how to dispose of the dirty water, she poured herself a bath and soaked in the tub. She began shuddering as the events of the day caught up with her. As she closed her eyes and tried to breathe, tried to relax, all everything that happened flashed across her mind, from the cold grip on her wrist, the way Marco had been so capable of grabbing her and pulling her towards him, the way she had been thrown down as though she were weightless when she fought back...the way he had looked at both her and Michaela as though they were pieces of meat.

Her breathing grew heavy and she curled into herself, hands and nails digging into the side of the tub. She couldn't stand people touching her like that, their hands on her shoulders, bruising her waist. She couldn't take it! It made her feel like she was some toy, a piece of property and not a person. It made panic rise in the back of her throat with the urge to vomit. It was all too similar to the way Ernesto had...the thought cut through her like a heated blade through butter.

She seized a wash rag and soap, beginning to scrub so hard at her skin it stung and began to turn red. No matter how hard she scrubbed though, the sensation wouldn't leave her, of hands groping and bruising her body with no regard for how she pleaded with them to stop. Her chest and stomach burned. Her whole body began to burn, mingling with the unending ache that stemmed from deep within her bones. Helene tried to breathe. She needed to calm down at least before she left the bathroom. She needed to be calm, at least for Michaela. Helene couldn't let the girl see her like this. Even so, that didn't stop the tears that fell down her cheeks, rippling the surface of the water as they dripped from her chin.

Nothing had even happened to her, so why couldn't she get herself under control? Finally, they were safe. No one would come here, and there were hundreds of thousands of shantytowns across the land of the dead. The chances of finding them were slim unless an alebrije could track their scent. She kept scrubbing at her skin anyway. It was so dirty, so grimy, she couldn't grasp how Michaela hadn't been repulsed at the very sight of her.

When others were in danger, like when Marco had attacked Michaela earlier, Helene functioned just fine. She had snuck up on them, taken the gun, and freed Dante very easily. She knocked him out with the rubber bullets. Yet, just a few hours later, when it had been her who was grabbed, she froze. Why had she frozen? Sure, she fought back, but only after he had managed to grab onto her and she felt his body on hers. That was close enough for her to completely lose her grasp of her surroundings, too close. She could have struggled harder, could have fought back, so why didn't she?! She was so pathetic, so incompetent, she even lost the gun. Her teeth began to grind against each other in both frustration and anxiety.

Michaela must have been so frightened. She had seemed so small afterwards, clinging to Helene. Michaela. She...was probably done with the dishes now. Probably waiting for Helene to get out of the tub. Helene began to force all other thoughts from her head and rubbed at her forehead, trying to sooth the headache forming. She'd been in the tub for a while now. She needed to get out and get dressed so she could get Michaela settled down. Of course, she'd also need to wash the girl's clothes and check on Amaryllis too, when she arrived, before retiring herself.

She grasped a bottle of shampoo. Her hair was mess. If she was going to spend time around Michaela, she could strive to look presentable at least. She was itching to get out of the water anyway.

Michaela was situated back in the living room, burrowed beneath a blanket and squeezing a small pillow in her arms, resting her chin on it. She had briefly debated on whether to check in on Helene. She had been in the bathroom for a while, and there hadn't been a response when Michaela initially knocked. However, Helene had seemed very tired, whether the woman was aware of it or not. She probably needed the alone time to unwind, especially after the trolley incident. Michaela didn't want to disturb her or intrude on her personal space.

She yawned and stretched out over the pull out bed like a little burrito. Or maybe she was a sushi roll? If she was a sushi roll, what would it be called? Then she snorted. She'd probably be called a 'Rivera Roll' or something. At the other end of the bed, she could feel the mattress sink. While she had been busy laughing at herself, Helene must have come in from the bath. She sat up so quickly, she nearly fell off the sofa, so tangled up in the blankets. "Woah..." she squeaked.

Helene looked kind of like a princess from a fairy tale, one that was locked away because she was so beautiful. Honestly, she had been gorgeous before in a wild sort of way, but now...

Before, she had smelt faintly of some sort of flower and dust and dirt. Now she smelt like a full field of roses, freshly blooming on a summer day. Looking at the woman now, she realized that her skin had always been smudged with some sort of grime. It had been so barely noticeable that she only noticed it after it was gone. Her skin was clear and a bit flushed from the bath. Even her bones, though they were still yellow and frail, seemed to be polished nicely.

Now that it had been combed out and washed, Helene's hair shone brightly even in the somewhat dark room. Before, it had reached down to the small of her back, and Michaela realized it had only looked so short because it was so tangled up. Now it tumbled down her back in luxurious waves, long enough to reach down to her knees. Her bangs framed her face, making it seem delicate, like porcelain. That...must have been a pain in the ass to brush out and wash. No wonder Helene had been taking so long!

Helene's nightgown was a very pale shade of pink. The bodice was pretty form fitting, swanning over the swell of her breasts in the shape of a curve, though it looked kind of squared where the long sleeves were attached. It just barely skimmed over the ground as she walked, and the sleeves and skirt were both hemmed with lace. Helene had a thing for lace, Michaela noticed. It floated around her like some kind of shimmering mist, a cloud made from the soft early morning dawn.

"You're so pretty!" Her eyes shone as she spoke. "Like a princess!" Helene's only response was to smile. "Thank you, but...why are you still up? It's past midnight." Michaela rolled across the mattress before boldly putting her head in Helene's lap and staring up at the woman. "I wanted to wait for you. Umm..." She began fidgeting with her hands again, a nervous tick. Her eyes fluttered, as though she were fighting to stay awake (and Helene's heart ached because it was so familiar to her, a trait of both her stubborn daughter and just as stubborn husband).

"Thank you, for everything. I get I probably seem like this sketchy, bratty kid running away for a stupid reason and risking her life but you're still helping me and-" Helene began stroking her head. "Keep in mind, querida, that I'm only helping you up until the final night of Dia de los Muertos. If we can't get to de la Cruz, I will take you back to your family or find a way to send you back myself. Wanting your family to support you is natural, and so is fighting for what you want even when those you love are against you, especially in adolescence...but it is not worth losing your own life. Besides, I also have my own agenda to fulfill, remember?"

Michaela blinked up at Helene, but smiled. Helene was really trying to stay cold and aloof to her, but it was a losing battle. She was kind of like a feral stray dog that will roll over and expose their belly to be pet after learning to trust someone while being fiercely on guard to strangers and threats to her loved ones. Like Papa Imelio actually. Papa Imelio was a wolf though. He was cold to everyone and would probably only show his soft side when your were sick or injured. Then, as soon as you were better, you'd probably wonder about your sanity as he returns to normal. They'd be a good match, despite the differing personalities.

Helene and Papa Imelio. They'd balance each other out, and maybe Papa Imelio wouldn't have turned out so harsh as years passed if he had met Helene, even if his wife never returned. Maybe, she'd even help find out what happened to the woman. She didn't seem the type to just grow cold from years of waiting for a question to be answered. She'd go after those answers herself, and not stop until she uncovered the definite truth, especially in regards to something she seemed to prioritize over all else. Friends. Family. Helene would make a good Mama, Michaela decided. She'd like to pretend, even if it were only tonight, that Helene was her great-great grandmother.

"Yes, Mama Helene... Can you sing me a lullaby?" Michaela yawned. Helene's brain seemed to short circuit for a second. "M- Mama?" she whispered. She went unheard by the teenager who curled up into a ball, still using Helene's lap as a pillow with a very small, comfortable smile. She remained very still and very silent for quite some time afterwards. Eventually, she spoke.

"...Of course."

Helene's voice was very quiet, yet was carried around the room very well. Michaela was swept off to sleep cradled in a sonic cradle of silken sound.

Imelio gritted his teeth as he sat in one of the finely upholstered offices in the Lower Sect of the Land of the Dead's Trolley Stations. The Lower Sect was, in entirety, the poorest area of the Land of the Dead. Only those who worked in poor paying jobs, lacked employment, or were in the process of being forgotten lived here. In other words, it was the slums. The station was a gaudy display of wealth in an area where many were lacking even the most basic necessities and yet...Pepita had led him here. Michaela had obviously been here, though Pepita had seemed overly angered as the flew past the tracks and tunnels that led here, past that awful plaza named after that rotten musico. She hadn't growled or roared, but he could feel the emotion rippling across her fur as they flew.

Then they had arrived here, only to find utter chaos in the form of a hysteric crowd of passengers, all clamoring about some mysterious attack on two young ladies by a man on his snake-like alebrije. Among them were their bustling family members, trying to find a relative who was on board or trying to reassure who they found. A man, at the front of the multitude of people, was speaking from a megaphone and calling out the name of passengers.

"Family of Helene Rivera? Family of Michaela Rivera? Please come forward, family of the aforementioned please come forward." Imelio had felt anger, low and simmering, build in his chest. So Michaela was with Helene. Why were they together? So that woman could corrupt the girl's mind with pleasurable fantasies instead of reality? Externally, his face was completely blank. He strode forwards, his heels clicking on the tiled floor. He stood before them man with a glacial expression. "Present."

The man had looked at him, nodded at an officer, who proceeded to lead him to the office where he now sat. He waited for an hour until someone finally came in, the master of the station, shuffling through a stack of papers. One was labeled "DEPARTMENT OF CERTIFICATION" and another, "DEPARTMENT OF CHILD CURSES". He stared for a moment, dumbfounded. Why was there a whole department related to children being cursed?...After this, he was going to research the subject. He couldn't afford to remain uninformed on the subject, just in case. Especially in Michaela's case.

Isn't this your fault though?

He discarded the wayward thought. There was a time and place for self-loathing, self-doubt. Now and Here wasn't it. The Stationmaster took a seat at his desk and cleared his throat, looking at Imelio. "Senor Imelio Rivera, you are the husband of Helene Rivera, si?" He continued reading off Helene's documents as though to ensure this was his wife, and not someone else with the name Helene Rivera. "The Helene Rivera who was born November 30th, 1900 and passed away at 21 years of age, on December 7 of 1921?"

Imelio suddenly felt as though he were something made of wood and put too close to an open fire.

His voice sounded like wood when he spoke, slowly. "Si. My wife was born November 30th, 1900. However, I was never made aware of her date of death. The last time I properly spoke to my wife..." I had cast her away without remorse. A sick feeling began to grow in his stomach. He had presumed that she had eloped with Ernesto after her letters had simply stopped, as rumors had spread, and especially after de la Cruz had denied ever knowing her, but the paperwork was telling him otherwise...once upon a time, hadn't she also tried to tell him otherwise? There was something off, like a bad smell or funny taste. Something was horribly wrong with this situation.

"...was in March of 1921, just before she left with her brother on a tour of mexico. What...how did she die?"

The stationmaster looked at him, as though astonished by this information before looking down and briefly skimming the pages for cause of death. Then he recoiled, as though in shock. With no small amount of pity, he simply brought a hand to his mouth. After a minute of silence, he spoke. "Lo siento, senor. It...seems as though our system has done you and your wife a great disservice. Her case is listed as a Class A High Priority Cold Case, and the documents here state the details as classified. In order to find the complete set of legal documents, you must speak to an officer in the Department of Certification, as well as receive the permission of your wife herself."

Imelio didn't remember traveling back home past midnight. He was numb. He wanted to deny what he had learned, in regards to Helene. It would be easy, sickeningly easy to say she had been cheating since the start of the tour. He knew she hadn't. Her smile, the lingering scent of her perfume, the way they had pressed their bodies together while dancing in the plaza...Helene's heart bled into all that she did and she couldn't help being genuine, even when she fought to pretend she wasn't. She definitely had never cheated on him.

She died in December of 1921. She had died, never to come home and he...he had been left waiting for a dead woman to return, left to eventually scorn the memory of a lying Delilah that never existed instead of the devoted girl with a fragile heart that did. More specifically, she died December 7th. That was a single day away from Coco's birthday. She had died...trying to come home. Further more, her death had been classified as a cold case?

That only happened in cases of gruesome murders. It didn't necessarily mean you didn't know who was responsible. Maybe they were alive still, or maybe you just didn't have the evidence to prove them guilty. For the first time in many years, Imelio found himself as frightened as he had been when he was five years old and afraid of the dark, clinging to his mother's skirts and begging her to light a candle to scare away the shadows.

However, what could he do when he became the shadow? He had hurt Helene, and he remembered the hurt that had been etched across her face when he had spurned her, spat at her. He had wanted to hurt her then, had wanted her to feel the pain of abandonment as he had. Now the memory made him sick, how she had tried to speak and how he had physically forced her away from him, as though her mere existence repulsed him.

How had she died? Just what had happened to Helene?

Why hadn't Ernesto told him she had died? That man, as possessive and protective as he was over her, would never have let her go unaccompanied. He was missing something, some horrible idea that he was dredging from the deepest recesses of his mind. He had denied it then, and dearly wanted to deny it now. Did Ernesto have something to do with Helene's disappearance?

So many people had presumed that she had become a mistress for Ernesto, abandoning Imelio because he had been disowned for marrying her, no longer having access to the wealth of his parents and giving her a daughter in an era which favored sons. Eventually, he began to believe it too, as far as her telling Ernesto to lie about not knowing Helene...what if Ernesto had told that lie without any prompting? Because Helene had been dead for over a decade by that point. She had been dead, no longer breathing, and unable to return home as she had promised.

There were puzzle pieces in his hands, and it was so glaringly obvious how they fit together that it frustrated Imelio. It frustrated him that he couldn't put it together. Or maybe it was that he didn't want to put it together. How could Ernesto be tied to Helene's death? He couldn't have been the one to...

The one to kill his wife.

Imelio stood still. That was the root of the problem, wasn't it? Helene had been killed. Murdered. The case had been forgotten as she had, left to slip through the cracks...or maybe someone had paid to keep it a cold case. Ernesto was rich. Ernesto was famous. Ernesto was beloved by the living and dead. That nefarious thought grew in his mind like a weed. It would have been easy for him to cover it up...the thought made him feel like he was dying despite already being dead.

Looking up, he found himself outside the family home. Home? Where did Helene have to call home? Where was she hiding, with Michaela too? Who had attacked them on that trolley? He went inside, still lost in his thoughts while Pepita flew up to rest on the roof. His head was whirling. Michaela likely met Helene when she had gotten attacked in the alley by the marigold station, as Pepita hadn't noticed her scent before entering the underpass tunnel after that.

Michaela was probably trying to get to de la Cruz. She thought they were family, and even though they weren't, because she had stolen from his grave, she could get a blessing from him anyway. Helene was just dragged along, and if Imelio's growing suspicion was correct, right into extreme danger. They had likely gone to the arts district, as like most performers, that's he rehearsed and prepared his concerts. Or at least his staff did. Ernesto rarely showed up to rehearse with Helene. When they didn't find him there, they left. It was very late when Pepita and Imelio had reached the trolley station, it was past midnight now, so Helene likely brought Michaela somewhere to rest after that. But where?

As Imelio closed the door and tried to focus, something caught his eye. The lights were on despite the fact he had told everyone to rest. Turning around, he prepared to scold them only to feel his throat close in shock. A young teenager came up to his shoulders, in a flower embroidered gown, slippers, and her hair done up in twin trenzas.

Socorro "Coco" Rivera smiled shyly and waved her hand. "Hola, Papa."

Imelio stared at his daughter as though he were both mute and deaf, before looking around the room. In the same state of shock, he noticed the faces of very much alive members of the family among the deceased, as well as two other faces otherwise unknown to him, both ashen in shock.

Elena was white with worry and wringing her hands anxiously, as she always did when he had caught her, Victor, and Victoria stealing sweets. Franco was besides her, staring in wide eyed shock and no small amount of fear as he eyed the family patriarch. Most of the others were the same, though Elisa was sat upon a chintz upholstered chair in the corner, cradling her swollen stomach with her husband right besides her. Elisa was focused on one thing alone, though even as Imelio was sent reeling all over again.

"Where is she, Papa Imelio? Where is my daughter, where is Michaela?"

She sounded so fierce, it reminded him of...

Helene. She sounded just like Helene.

Marco tipped back the glass of wine, relishing the way the crimson liquid flowed down his throat. "I want the girl as payment for fetching you that woman." He crossed his legs as he smirked at his employer. "After all, I'm the one who helped preserve the body, and I'm the one you always send after her. Don't I deserve a reward?"

Ernesto de la Cruz turned to look at him. And he smiled cruelly. On his desk, was an image taken earlier of two young woman in the arts district, Helene cupping Michaela's face and looking so worried, so maternal...he wanted to see that lovely face contorted beneath him again, screaming in pain and pleasure, writhing and singing for only him. If he had to give up a living girl for that, who would care?

She'd died anyway, eventually. Everyone did.

Uh...Surprise?

Please tell me if this chapter makes any sense or no sense at all. It was initiallysupposed to be filler and ended up wit T. The funny thing is, I considered none of this when thinking up the story.

Imelio is considering what happened to Helene now, as he was literally blindsided by the blatant fact she had died and was murdered. High priority cold cases are almost exclusively gruesome murders with long lasting trauma done to the victims. And Ernesto has the wealth and fame to push all of that aside (not taking into account he was TRAVELLING with Helene). In Helene's case, she is outright denying Ernesto killed her and only faintly recalls being assaulted. It's...really bad. Ten times worse than what either of them think happen.

Helene will eventually remember everything that happened. Right now though, she has almost no memory of what happened. Almost.

Also, I didn't show this, but Imelio was told about the entirety of the trolley attack, including the fact that someone was trying to kidnap Helene. How the man had been trying to kidnap Helene for someone else. How that man had blantantly leered at Michaela.

Elisa is going to be very angry.

Also, the long story short for the living Rivera's, Antonio, and Marianna being cursed too? They are the reasons why Michaela stole the guitar, and are cursed as well as a repercussion. The Rivera's chased Michaela away by denying her support and smashing her guitar, which is the equivalent of spitting on her own wishes and talents as well as the family values (support each other).

Marianna lied. You didn't need a guitar to perform in the talent show. Plenty of people performed acapella. Further more, she taunted and mocked Michaela and is a DIRECT REASON why Antonio scorned her (which involves drawing on personal interpretation of events vulnerable to bias).

Antonio might have been able to prevent Michaela from stealing the guitar ad getting cursed if he talked her down, or offered to perform with her. But he didn't. He glared at her as though he hated her (He doesn't, he views this as protecting her, and I'll try to explain it later).

This is really short, sorry.