Chapter Seven

What She Left Behind (II)

WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARING WARNING WARNING

This chapter includes bullying (in regards to Michaela, by Mariana + another character), small fight scene, mentions of blood, as well as underage drinking, mentioned pornographic material of minors and illegal distribution of said material. Implied child abuse, marriage infidelity.

Please, please, please: If you are uncomfortable with this, DO NOT READ. Furthermore, if I missed anything in the warnings that may cause someone else pain, tell me so I can add it.

October 31st, 2017

[Land Of The Living]

Antonio stared at Mariana, breathing heavily and waiting for her reply. The girl's face was white with near blinding fury. She had pressed her lips so tightly together that they formed a thin line. She looked away from him, and her shoulders sunk...but they still quivered with anger. "Wasn't." She spat out. It was like her mouth had been filled with acid. Antonio glowered at her, confused and so so angry. "Wasn't what?"

Mariana snapped her head up to look at him again. Her gaze was searing, like a cattle branding prod. "I wasn't lying when I warned you. It's a possibility...and not just in her case." Her facial expression was as though she had swallowed a full glass of lemon juice. Her eyes glittered. Before Antonio could even begin to comprehend that statement, her eyes darkened and something wicked crossed her face.

"I saw her just now, before I came over to talk to you. She wanted to sign up for the talent show, as if she had any sort of talent to display." She was snarling like some cornered, caged beast. A vicious grin stretched across her face. That grin mocked him. "Why are you telling me this?" He snapped at her, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Was this another lie, a distraction? He stepped around her and began to take long strides across the plaza, weaving through the audience. God, he was idiot. He needed to find Michaela, needed to apologize, to explain himself, find out why - Mariana was still at his heels, words tearing at the skin on his back like claws.

"She had been crying."

He turned to glower at her. Stopping now, turning to face Mariana, it was an action that ate away at the seconds he could use to catch up to Michaela, to find her, but-

"Give me the whole damn truth, Mariana. She may have been crying before...whatever the hell you said to her, but that stunt you pulled right now did nothing but make that matter worse. You did something." If he were an angrier man, more impulsive, more reckless and crass, he might have grabbed her by the shoulders and shaken her until she answered or struck her across the face. But hitting her, hurting her...wouldn't solve a single thing.

Her eyes flashed and her grin widened. "What did I do? What did I do?" Her smile dropped and her voice grew sharp. "I put her in her place!" She snapped. Her expression was manic with fury, almost unhinged. "She looked so weak, so pathetic. Do you know that? What hope did she have of performing beneath the limelight of the stage? Michaela Rivera knows nothing of what it takes to stand on stage, she doesn't deserve such a dream either. What she would do or sacrifice for a glimpse of glory if she got even the slightest taste of it, what others would force her to sacrifice!"

"What it would take, what it can break and has broken in other weak minded fools who seek to cling to fame. She'd burn up, shrivel up like the meaningless, incompetent worm she is beneath the scorching heat. Not only did I put her in her place, but I did her a favor as well. That world she dreams of reaching? It's a world of death, Antonio. So many people die, inside and out, striving to obtain such a dream, or they trample on the others in their path." Quietly, almost as an afterthought, in a voice he wasn't meant to hear, soft as a whisper - "Some of them are born into it without a choice."

"It wasn't even that difficult, you know? All I had to tell her was a little white lie- No, not even that. All I had to tell her was that she needed an instrument. It's not my fault she didn't realize her voice itself is an instrument. Really, she caused herself that sort of pain." She started giggling, cackling as though it were some innocent, casual inside joke shared between the two of them. Then, Mariana leaned really close to him, and dropped all pretenses once more. Her voice returned to normal, in that it had lost the shrill tone. It was something dark now, dark and sensual in a way that lack any seductive or romantic notation. It was something almost raw, almost wounded.

"What I really did to hurt her, though? The thing you want to know about so badly?"

He wasn't sure he did. It felt like his heart was being squeezed, painfully as if caught in a vice and slowly being ground into a gruesome, crimson mass of pulp. Mariana...her entire being was demented, distorted or at least seemed that way. It was as if some sort of mask holding her back had been ripped off, a facade stripped away to bare an ugly truth he was failing to comprehend.

"I claimed you as mine. That oblivious, stupid little girl has a crush on you. Isn't, or at least wasn't, aware of it until now. Not that it matters anyway, now that she believes you and I are a pair." She paused, tilting her head as she sifted through her thoughts, trying to find her words through whatever the hell she was feeling. "It's not as though you'd make an ugly pair. Sure enough, your personalities sync well with each other, and yet - your assets do not. Her family consists of shoemakers, which is lucrative enough to support a comfortable life I suppose, but...it lacks anything interesting, anything dazzling. You, on the other hand, you and I were born into wealth. Two separate worlds, one of grey monotone and one of vibrant light."

"Wealth marries wealth, and dirt will marry dirt as my mother says. In comparison with the Rivera's, combining our assets and future careers will provide far more satsfying results for everyone involved."

Repulsed, Antonio drew away from her. "Claimed? You say that like I'm an object, some rare commodity! 'Dirt marries Dirt?' To hell with whatever your mother says! Marriage, romance...that's not a business transaction. It's the twenty-first century for god's sake! If that's what she believes, and you as well, then it's you who is dirt!" He spat, and then jeered at her bitterly. "What, does she want you to date or marry me instead of Michaela?"

It was only when Mariana gave him a cool, calculative stare that his blood went cold. "I'm surprised you caught on. With such poor observational skills like that, its no wonder my mother views you as an incompetent but useful fool. You're wealthy, and the inheritor of a very successful agricultural business. You are also very popular locally, so with the exposure that comes with dating or marrying into my family, you'd get a shotgun seat straight to fame. Likewise, I'd also get more exposure. It's always good gossip and good coverage, even if it's a scandal, especially when you are the flesh and blood of the greatest musician of all time. With my family's investment money, my personal income, and the royalties from my great-great grandfather's work, we'd certainly never want for anything in our lives."

"It's mutual exchange really, we'd get shared increase in fame and be secure in terms of monetary issues. In contrast, the Rivera's can't really offer anything. Nothing except its stifling rules and traditions. They're like weeds, even eating away at their own lives."

"You'd throw your life away by marrying her, just like her father did when he married into the Rivera family. That damned rule, it would settle around your throat like a noose and gradually strangle the life out of you." Her hands reached up to her own throat, fingers brushing against the lace collar she was wearing as though it had something to hide. "You'd never be able to play music again, not a song or a measure or a single note. You'd gain nothing, and lose so much. Being seen with one of the Rivera's normally is nearly tantamount to social suicide. To date or marry one of them-"

"Enough." A frigid voice, a girl's, came from behind.

Turning, there was a bespectacled girl coming up to the two. Her face and lips were pale and one of her knees were scraped up, as though she had fallen somewhere between the plaza and wherever she had just come from. It was only belatedly, after she had caught her breath and another person, this one a burly young man he had seen frequent the football fields, that he recognized either of them.

Rosa Rivera. Abel Rivera.

Michaela's cousins.

His gaze briefly dropped to Mariana, whose face had gone blank, then to the two siblings. They never came to the plaza. The Rivera Family as a whole never came to the plaza, except for Michaela. It was literally a household rule, ridiculous as it was. If they needed to get to some of the stores, they'd rush through as quickly as humanly possible. The only one in the family that ever relaxed in the plaza was...Michaela. Michaela, who had just been in tears, even before...whatever it was Mariana had taunted her with. Michaela who had just run off.

His stomach twisted. He could see desperation in their eyes, and the fury in Rosa's. He knew now what Mariana had done, and couldn't understand it, or why Michaela had already been crying (if that was even the truth). Didn't have the time to go through what she had said, possibly more that what she had intended to say, or maybe she knew exactly what she was doing. His head was spinning, and all he could think was that in regards to Mariana, something was terribly, horribly wrong with her. He turned to Michaela's cousins, a question on the tip of his tongue.

"What happened?"

For such a small town, Santa Cecilia became a maze during the holidays. People crammed the streets, in cars and crowds, food and drink laid out and sold at every corner, and music blasting from the town's center at top volume. It wasn't just the locals celebrating either. Some were tourists, either from other parts of mexico or from out the country entirely. Most of the time, it was about Ernesto de la Cruz and his birthplace. It was ten times worse during holidays, as then they'd get particularly enthusiastic about eating the types of food he once ate, or partaking in part of his culture...they were like rabid beasts at the worst of times.

Not to mention the creeps that came out, hidden in the large shadows cast by the brilliant celebratory light. Mariana, for one reason or another, stuck around when Antonio joined forces with Rosa and Abel to search for Michaela. As it stood...

"So, just to be clear, Michaela found out that an old photo of Senor Rivera had De la Cruz's guitar in it and based on that decided to become a musician? Because, supposedly, you're related to Ernesto de la Cruz through Senor Rivera's wife?" Antonio huffed out as they ran through the streets, darting down alleyways and searching and calling ceaselessly for a girl who did not appear. That was the almost the wildest thing he had heard today.

"Yes." It was Rosa who answered him, in the affirmative. Her voice was short and crisp, sour with worry. They didn't look at each other, none of them did. They cast their eyes elsewhere, scanning and searching, doubling back, and scanning the area again. As they left the alley and continued further through the endless intersecting lanes that constructed their hometown, Mariana spoke up. Her voice was flat, blank and void of any real emotion. "She had a guitar hidden away somewhere and your grandmother just...destroyed it? Because she wanted to perform?" There it was. The wildest thing he had heard all day.

"Yes." Her tone was significantly more hostile towards Mariana. The two had been glowering at each other since they began to search for Michaela. "Oh? What's wrong, Rosa?" Mariana drew her name out slowly, mockingly. Irritation simmered low in the veins of both girls. She couldn't stand the look the girl was giving her. "Did I strike a nerve earlier?"

Rosa glared at her. "Shut up, Mariana. It seems to me you're just a little touched in the head." Her voice was sweet, like a poisonous and silent gas cloud that smothers out the flame of a candle in the bottom of a newly built well. Mariana opened her mouth again to respond, which would have set off a vicious verbal spar if it weren't for-

"Antonio!" Someone called, jogging casually up to him with a small crowd of various sycophants. The group of four turned, to be met with several boys, some of whom seemed barely capable of keeping on their feet. One of the held a cheap can of beer in hand, half held on its side so that the murky liquid with the aluminum spilled from the top and hit the ground with a splatter. Their leader, a slender (read: scrawny) boy with hair the color flax and dust, was grinning boyishly at Antonio. His speech, while still coherent, was slurred slightly. "Where have you been, man? We haven't hung out for a while now. Have a drink with us!"

Antonio pursed his lips, to Abel's apparent surprise. He and Rosa exchanged looks, not missing Mariana's perplexed expression as well. He'd been busy recently, at the workshop, but last he'd checked...hadn't Antonio and this kid been as thick as thieves? Judging from his face though, Antonio didn't hold any sort of close feeling for him. At all. "Marcial." He acknowledged dryly. "Whatever you want, it has to wait. We're busy."

Marcial walked over to Antonio, throwing one arm over his shoulder before leaning up against him and pouting. "C'mon, don't be like that. We're gonna throw a massive party at my house, complete with all sorts of booze." He raised his brows up and down. "You don't want to miss out on the booze, dude. Some seriously hot chicks are gonna be there too." His breath stank like cheap beer, and so did his clothes. Antonio shook him off. "I already told you. We're busy."

"You and who - Well, hello there." Marcial purred, directing his gaze to Mariana. There was something sleazy in his eyes, like an oil spill over water. Grabbing her wrist, he began pressing slow, deliberate kisses up her arm. He smirked at her licentiously. Disgust crossed her expression before it vanished in the next second, behind a flattered and flustered (if not somewhat uncomfortable) young starlet.

To accurately sum up Abel, Antonio, and Rosa's reaction in a few words: Qué. Los. Mierda.

Mariana giggled lightly, before pulling away her arm. "I'm sorry, but he really is right. We have to go." She rubbed at her skin as though she had caught a shiver, even in the warm evening air. "What for?" Mariana opened her mouth to reply, when Antonio gave her a fierce glare and shook his head so sharply, it almost looked like he had snapped his own neck. Marcial turned to face Antonio, eyes narrowing. "What is it, Antonio? What has you so busy you barely spend time with your old friends?"

He once again forced his way into Antonio's personal space. "It wouldn't happen to be about your little Rivera girl we saw earlier, right?" He caught the way Antonio's jaw tightened, how his lips pressed themselves tightly together...and then he laughed. "Really? You're going to run yourself ragged looking for that skinny little nobody?" Somewhere in the background, Rosa made a noise similar to growling wolf. Abel clenched his fists. Mariana watched with wide eyes and very slowly reached a hand into her pocket.

Biting his tongue, Antonio glowered at Marcial and ignored the boy's later comment. "You saw her? Where did she go after she ran into you?" Marcial snorted. "Why should I care what happens to the bitch or where she is? Her family's crazy, so it wouldn't surprise if she turns out the same way. More importantly, why do you care? Remember how I told you there were plenty of other chicks to pursue in town? Hell, the most eligible young lady in the entirety of Mexico is on your right." He nodded his head toward Mariana with hooded eyes, as though she were deaf and stupid, unable to comprehend the words coming out his mouth.

While Marcial's cronies began to snicker behind him, Antonio's voice carried with deceptive softness. "I didn't ask for your advice or opinion. Where is she, Marcial?" The boy stared at Antonio. "Why? You make it sound like something's happened. But I already told you. I have no reason to care about where she is or how she is, the only thing that freak has going for her are those curves. Isn't that why you have your eyes on her? I bet she'll get real expressive in bed as soon as she has a man between her legs. If you want, I know a guy that can hook you up with some pictures of her in the school locker room. I have some of my own i can give if you pay the price. For such a freak, she sure as hell has-"

In less than a second, a resounding crack filled the alley followed by the sickening thud of something, large and with a decent weight to it, hitting the ground. To be more specific, it was Marcial hitting the ground. A dark, viscous crimson fluid ran down his chin as it flowed freely from his crooked nose. In the next second, Antonio had stooped down to drag him up by the collar of his shirt and slam him against the wall, digging his elbow into Marcial's throat. He wasn't harsh enough to crush his throat, but he certainly put enough pressure to make it seem like he planned to.

Silence descended. Antonio's voice was still quiet, but held a lethal edge to it. "You asked why I haven't hung out with you? It's because I can't stand sharing the same air as someone like you, a degenerate of a man. I asked you a single question: Where did Michaela go?" Marcial grit his teeth and struggled to spit out the words he wanted to say through the waterfall of blood running down his face. "You hijo de puta! Do you really think you'll get away with hitting me like this for trying to be a good friend?"

"Get off of him, asshat!" One of his cronies lunged forwards, shortly followed by the others. From the one end of the alley they had been skulking at, they ran forward like rabid beasts. Before reaching Antonio however, they were flung back by what felt like a brick wall with two massive tree branches for arms. Abel stood before them. More than some simple adversary, he had become a monster of a man (especially with what he had just heard). Years of football training and hard labor helping out at the workshop had done wonders as far as building muscle went.

"Beat it. Before I make you."

His voice rolled low in his chest, like the crescendo of thunder in the middle of a rainstorm. The kids Marcial had hung out with scrambled, hands and shoes scrabbling against the ground and kicking up dust and dirt into the air. "Hey, what are you- !" Heedless of Marcial's call for them, the group of kids keep running. Within seconds, the area was devoid of all presence except the remaining five:

Marcial. Antonio. Abel. Rosa. Mariana.

There was a beat of silence. Antonio's expression was nothing short of murderous, and his attention had not once wavered from where it had been set upon Marcial. "You won't get off free from this! I'll tell everyone that you-"

"That I punched someone who admitted to peeping on underage girls while they were getting dressed and undressed? For handling pornographic material of underage girls? More than that, just as well as admit they were specifically peeping on one of my close friends?!" It was only when Marcial's breathe weakened closer to a wheeze that Antonio released him, throwing him to the ground.

Marcial sputtered a bit, scrambling back to his feet as he backed away, preparing to run. "N-no one will believe you! You don't have a single bit of-"

"Proof? Of course we have proof." Mariana spoke up suddenly, and lifted up her hand. In it, she had her phone. Pressing a button on the screen, she then held the speaker up to let the sound spread through the air. Word by word, Marcial spelled out exactly what his crime was himself. "From just what I recorded here, you own pornographic material of minors, and are also in contact with a person who produces and distributes such a thing. You also implied that you also distribute it, for a price."

"Furthermore, earlier you mentioned booze. That's illegal for minors to own, and while you are technically an adult, those who attend your parties are still several years below the legal drinking age. That's another charge on your record. As you are eighteen, you can and will be charged as an adult should this get into the hands of the police, because they will investigate this. And don't try to say no one will believe us. Despite that ridiculous ban on music, the Rivera's are a well-respected family especially by the older generation. Antonio's is the same, with the difference in social class. There's also myself, who- what was it you said?"

Marcial had gone white, and was getting paler with every passing word. Mariana grinned viciously. "Ah, yes. Mexico's most eligible young lady. It pays...being the descendant of Mexico's greatest star, right Marcial?" Her voice grew scornful, bitter...almost sarcastic as she finished speaking. Rosa stared at Mariana, dumbfounded.

What the hell was wrong with this girl? First she badmouthed Michaela and the Rivera's, and now she was defending them (well, it was a result of the conversation, and that alone was already making her head spin-). It...had to wait. Mariana could wait. She moved to stand beside her brother, and now the four of the encircled Marcial. "You still haven't told us yet." Marcial spun to look at her. She watched him with eyes like chips of ice.

"You haven't told us where Michaela is, where she went after running into you, or what happened when she ran into you."

Marcial swiveled his head, eyes darting rapidly between the merciless faces that surrounded him on all sides. "I-" His body felt like ice, and tremors wracked his body well before he was even consciously aware of the terror that replaced his blood. "Well? What's your answer, Marcial?" Antonio's face loomed before his, written in stone with unbearable godlike wrath.

A dark stain, reminiscent of when water was spilled on a cloth, spread from the center seam of his pants, just below where his zipper sat. It spread and spread until it ran down the inside of his pant legs and began to pool on the ground at his feet. Dropping to his knees, regardless of the growing urine puddle, he spilled his guts. "We ran into just on the outskirts of the plaza! We told her to get lost and last I saw, sh-she had been heading towards the statue of de la Cruz!"

"I see." He didn't know who spoke those words. The buzzing in his head, that primal emotion, it was impossible to decipher the voice. Only the meaning. Then-

"You won't get out of this unscathed, Miss De La Cruzito. We made a killing off of you, and you're well aware we're not the only ones. Our family has done everything for you for a very long time, from caring for your estate and increasing your fame to...disposing of rivals." There was a sharp inhale from someone, and then silence. "I wonder how bad will the scandal for your family be. Siding with these three will drag down everything your mother has worked for, what she wishes for to the point of infidelity. Will you able to hide your beatings then? Father wasn't pleased that my little plaything was already bruised before I got to use her."

"Calling the police doesn't mean a thing when they're on our payroll."

He kept his head down, waiting for the fists and feet to strike at him. Or for them to speak up and tell him to get lost like all the others. But there was nothing. Eventually, after who knows how many minutes passed, he looked up.

But...they weren't there. Instead...

"Get to your feet, Marcial Vilchez. You're under arrest."

Elisa's back ached, even with her husband's gentle support as they both continued to search for Michaela. There was absolutely no sign of her amid the sprawling crowd in the candlelit cemetery. God, it was like she had disappeared into thin air! For a brief moment, as she and Lucas climbed the hill leading to one of the largest mausoleums in the cemetery, of that famous musician Michaela idolized...she could have sworn she heard Michaela voice for a moment. A chill racked her body.

"Michaela? Where are you?!"

Lucas kept one eye out for his daughter, and the other trained on his wife while he tried to ignore the rush of blood behind his ears. They hadn't found a single sign of her. He tried to remember how to breathe, and forced his heart back down his throat. Panicking wouldn't help anything. No matter how badly he wanted to.

After calling out for her again, he began biting at his lip. "This isn't working...where could she have gone?" His weary, worried gaze drifted over the cemetery, eventually landing over the path to Ernesto de la Cruz's mausoleum. The tomb was often crowded by his fans and offerings, befitting one of Mexico's greatest stars. It was large and ornate, almost to the point of being gaudy. Could she have gone there?

It was surrounded by an usually large crowd, for this time of night. They weren't there to offer anything either, because they weren't holding anything. Most people should have headed home by now, or to the graves of their own family members. Lucas turned to his wife. "Stay here for a moment. I'll ask if anyone's seen her." He squeezed her hand reassuringly, and carefully made his way through the crowd. Coming to the steps of the mausoleum, he noticed that the groundskeeper was inspecting one of the windows from inside. He took a breath, before calling out to the man.

"Discúlpeme señor. ¿Qué ha pasado?"

The man looked down at him, before speaking warmly. "Ah, Senor Rivera! It seems that someone tried to break into the crypt. Someone alerted me that they saw a shadow through the windows, and that someone may have been trying to steal from de la Cruz!" The man, with surprising ease, hauled himself up to the window sill before dropping down to walk over to Lucas. "Well, when I got here, no one was inside the crypt. However, people kept crying about the guitar being stolen."

"De la Cruz's guitar?"

"Si."

This peaked Lucas' interest. Michaela's guitar had been a replica of de la Cruz's guitar. Could it be that she had taken the guitar, after running off? He pursed his lips unconsciously. No, that didn't seem right. Michaela was good child, she wouldn't steal - not even from the dead who have no need for things like guitars. It's not like those old bones could rise from their casket and play it. But...Michaela had also been very, very, very upset. That still left a small chance that it had been Michaela who broke into the Mausoleum. But no matter how he went over this new information in his head, he still couldn't picture Michaela stealing. He had to be missing something... "Did you find out where the guitar was, or who broke in?"

The man sighed, looking away and something reluctant crossed his expression. "Yes and no, senor. The guitar hadn't been stolen, but just moved to rest against Senor de la Cruz's casket. Whoever had been inside must be long gone by now, though I just can't figure how they got out without being seen. Most likely it was some kid playing a prank." Shaking his head, he faced Lucas again. "As it stands, we'll have to get newer chains and locks for the windows. That's how they got in."

Muttering to himself about the cost of new locks, chains, and keys, the man returned to the crypt and continued to inspect the inside. Something caught Lucas' eye, just below the window sill. The groundskeeper, when he had hopped down from the window, had left footprints in the dirt. Half obscured beneath them, and several other prints, were the half legible shape of a Rivera shoe. Many people in town wore Rivera shoes, but...

Lucas slipped away from the crowd, and swiftly returned to Elisa's side. Elisa, for her part, had continued to scan the area for her daughter to no avail. Michaela wasn't anywhere to be seen. She looked at her husband, loose strands of black hair framing her face. "Did you find out what happened? Did you get to ask if anyone's seen her?" Rolling back his shoulders, Lucas shook his head. "I'm pretty sure Michaela was here, though I didn't get to ask to make sure. Someone broke into Ernesto de la Cruz's grave and moved his guitar. There were also some footprints in the dirt with the workshop brand, but they're near illegible and not conclusive proof."

"Guitar...the original to her replica?"

Lucas nodded grimly. "We know that it's likely she was here, but that doesn't answer where she is now." Elisa didn't respond, and looked over the graveyard one last time. "Let's head back to the hacienda. If Michaela hasn't come back yet, then maybe the others will have regrouped their by now. They could have found her somewhere we didn't." After another minute, Elisa nodded. They headed off together, silently.

...

...

...

...

...

...?

Socorro stirred in her wheelchair, decades older than she had been the last time she sat upon her mother's lap. Socorro Rivera was no longer three years old. Her eyes eventually landing on her bed. Bundled up beneath the blankets, there were two young boys curled up side by side. The fog that clouded her mind cleared a bit, enough to recognize them. Benny and Manny. Carmen and Berto's youngest. The children of her grandchildren. When her thoughts were clear enough, it was always a strange thought to have. She was older now than her father had been, when he had met his great grandchildren. She was even older than her mother had been when she had left, over four times her age.

Footsteps near the doorway of her room drew her attention. Elena, the last living and youngest of her bebitas, entered. She was wringing her hands in front of herself, a nervous tic picked up from Tio Oscar that she never had learned how to quit as she moved to check on the two sleeping toddlers. It gave her away. Something had happened. Agitation had etched itself into every line on her daughter's face. It was very similar to the strain, the restlessness Coco's father had once worn on his...when her Mama had failed come home.

Lifting her head slightly, she spoke to her daughter inquisitively. Her voice was dry, cracked with age but sounded strong and sure. Stronger than it had in the recent passing years. "Elena? Whats wrong, mija?" It was too quiet around the hacienda, there was none of the usual hubbub that came with the celebration of Dia de los Muertos. Of course, there was none of the music that had accompanied the holiday in Coco's youth, but this sort of silence was...unnatural for the Rivera family.

They had shoemaking and sawdust in their bones, and music and rhythm as their blood after all. Even without instruments, without singing, they made their own music without realizing it. No matter how much Papa had tried to blot it out, and with it...No, her mind was drifting again. Focus, Socorro.

It was slightly humorous, that her thoughts had tried its very best to replicate the long silenced voice of her father. When Papa laid down a rule or an order, you followed it. It wasn't exact, the memory of his voice distant and watered down like a dream, but it was there. It was enough. (It was more than what she recalled of her mother). As it were, Elena nearly jumped out of her skin when Coco addressed her. Straightening from her bedside vigil checking on the twins, she faced her mother with something akin to shock in her eyes.

"Nothing's wrong, Mama. How are you feeling, are you up to eating anything?" As Elena came over to see if she needed anything, Coco felt herself frown. Elena had stammered as she spoke, her cheeks looked red as though she had been rubbing at them with a cloth, and when she took a breath it sounded as though she was sniffling. Elena must have been crying, which just made her more concerned.

When she was younger, Elena would cry at the drop of a hat if she didn't get what she wanted. That doll in the store? A piece of candy before dinner? Endless wailing. The only one able to get her to stop was her abuelito. But she had improved as she grew up, so much so that it was a rarity for her to cry. Last time Coco had seen Elena cry...had been Victoria's funeral just over a decade ago. Elena, in adulthood, did not cry without reason.

Something, like a flash of gold, arose from the back of Coco's mind. A memory. A young girl - Michaela. Another of her great-granchildren. Hadn't she been here (not here, in Coco's room, but speaking to Coco somewhere else) earlier?

It seemed, for now, Mama Coco was having a Good Moment. A spark was seen in her old eyes. "Mija, you said something about mi mama?" Her weathered voice was warm, far stronger than it had been in the earlier ofrenda incident. Michaela strode over to her, quickly. There was no way of knowing how long Mama Coco's lucidity would last, and she wanted to ask some questions (plus, talking with Mama Coco, lucid or not, was the greatest).

"Mama Coco, did your Mama know Ernesto de La Cruz? His guitar...it's in the background of Papa Imelio's photo." She spoke quickly, almost stumbling on her words in her haste to actually ask her question. Coco gently brushed the hem of the woman's skirt with her fingertips, old joints unable to work as well as they used to. "Mama loved that guitar so much. She was musician, mija, and sang such beautiful songs with it...Papa loved when she played."

Almost choking on her saliva, Michaela filed that information away for later. 'Mama loved that guitar', from what Mama Coco was saying, she had that guitar on a regular basis and played it frequently..."Mama Coco, did you know Ernesto de La Cruz?" The elderly woman's eyes were glazing over, going dull as the fog retook her mind...but she did pick up some of what Michaela said.

Blinking wide eyes, she looked at the young girl who had called her Mama. Such a sweet looking girl, was she looking for Coco's Tio?

Michaela was about to give up on asking Mama Coco much else, was about to excuse herself when Coco spoke. "Tio Ernesto?"

Michaela had rushed off after that conversation, positively glowing - and Coco had not seen her again after that. For a brief moment during that conversation, she had been lucid and then her mind had once again been obscured by her age. Michaela had been asking about her Mama. Mama, who was a musician. Mama, who Papa cursed and cast out from the family. Mama, who had vanished from her family's life forever in the year 1921. Coco had continued to sit in the ofrenda room after that, and had dozed off. Briefly, she thought she heard the sound of an argument, before falling asleep once more.

She remembered waking up again, for an even briefer moment, agitated by some break in the regular holiday routine. Despite her old age, she thought that, perhaps, she shouldn't have. Had Michaela asked about Mama, about music, and it led to an argument of some sort while Coco slept?

"Mija." Elena froze midway through rearranging a blanket on her mother's shoulders. Especially when she saw the knowing look her mother sent her, a look she hadn't seen since her children were still children, stealing sweets from the kitchen and Coco's health had been good. Seeing it now, after so many years, and at this moment in time, was more than just 'astonishing'. It left the mind dumbfounded.

"I know something has happened. I want you to tell me what it is." Her words were slow, steady, and heavy in weight over Elena's shoulders. Elena began wringing her hands again, before her blood ran cold. "Michaela came here, asking about mi Mama and her hermano, though you wouldn't know about him." She looked at Elena very seriously. "What happened, Mija?"

On the small dresser in Coco's room, seen by not a single person in the room, a soft golden slight crept up the stems of the marigolds which filled a vase. It spread and spread until the entire bouquet of flowers was gleaming softly. That light...slowly circulated the room, carried by the scent of the marigold to surround the entirety of the Rivera household...just as everyone else arrived back.

Slowly, very slowly...

A single petal fell. In the next moment, before Elena or anyone else could blink or realize what was going on-

The world was shrouded by a brilliant, massive burst of vibrant gold-white light and they were swallowed up with it.

Chapter End

Thank god it's finished. Back to the prologue...when I said this was going to get very, very dark:

I meant it.

So a short summary (so far) of Mariana.

She is an descendant of Ernesto de la Cruz through an illegitimate child. She became (was forced into becoming) very young actress, as her mother wished. Mariana believes that the entertainment industry is 'a world of death'. Marcial, whose family is aquainted with hers and has been for decades, implied that some of her fanbase was built through distribution of pornographic material about her, as well as the idea that her mother regularly beats her. He also called her his 'plaything'.

Doesn't he seem familiar?

There are very few people aware of Ernesto de la Cruz's origins, very few people capable of toppling his reputation and that of his family, who had ridden primarily on his fame before achieving their own. Very few people who have Ernesto de la Cruz indebted to them, and would cash in on the debt, even if it were from his descendants.

I wonder...