Thank you to 9aza, loracarol, superlc529, alex, Happy, Cara Beatrice Green, friskthefandom, and guests for your reviews last chapter!
PuzzleMaster: Looks like we're about to find out ;)
xxxx
Imelda can't think. She can't breathe, even though she no longer possesses her lungs. Her subconscious chest movement seems to have stopped altogether in her shock at the sight that lays before her.
No, no, no. This can't be happening. It isn't possible! Her mind races uncontrollably, but her long-gone heart tells her that it is.
Héctor lays on the ground far from the bridge, and far from where they can reach him. She raises her hand from where she kneels after falling from her captor's grip, pressing it against the invisible barrier that 'appears' when Día de los Muertos ends, blocking the dead from entering the Land of the Living past the holiday.
"Héctor..." she whispers. She can't help it when her voice shakes, when it can't help but plea for him to come back to her. He doesn't answer, still passed out on the ground. His eyes are closed, but the thing that stands out to her most is that his bones are no longer visible, but covered with...skin.
Human skin.
His cries of terror before falling still echo around her.
"I can't see you. I can't hear you!"
The dead have the ability to see one another, but the living are an entirely different matter. They can't see or hear the dead, yet Héctor is dead.
Not anymore, Imelda's inner voice seems to tell her. De la Cruz and those tontos forced him to stay in the Land of the Living. They forced him to stay, and now my husband is...
Her mind doesn't want to finish the thought, still unable to wrap itself around the very idea that a dead man was somehow able to come back to life, skin enveloping his bones. Pain causing him to fall to the ground as his body twisted itself in unimaginable ways, creating new organs on the inside that would be able to keep him...
Alive.
She wants to run to him, to hold his head in her lap to stop him from being hurt further, but the invisible barrier prevents her from doing so. Pepita rumbles lowly and attempts to paw at the unseen wall blocking them, but not even her gigantic size would be enough to break it down if she slammed her head against it. Though Pepita won't show her worry, Imelda can tell she's anxious about what happened with Dante and wants to help her fellow spirit guide as well, but the dog is nowhere to be found.
The crowd of de la Cruz fans have scattered in order to avoid being caught by police. The man holding Pepita hadn't been so lucky, and the police drag him away to be questioned along with a few others.
Héctor's spirit guitar lays to the side, and she reaches her other hand down to grab hold of the instrument.
"Mamá Imelda?" She hears Papá Julio's voice, but only barely. She doesn't react, her free hand refusing to leave the invisible barrier. Her fingers curl into a fist and her other hand raises the guitar in warning, but a second hand rests on her shoulder to stop her from trying to break it, to stop a pointless act that wouldn't work no matter how hard they tried.
Her head turns around sharply, and her eyes meet Rosita's. She smiles gently at her, but Imelda can't find it in her to return the gesture, glancing back around to fix her gaze once again on Héctor. He hasn't moved in the slightest, remaining where he had fallen only moments ago.
"It's okay...let's not panic," Oscar says from behind her. His false breathing picks up as he stares harder at Héctor, his twin brother joining him. Together they notice Héctor's new skin, his new hair, and the way his chest seems to fall and rise in real, shallow breathing movements so unlike their own.
"Héctor's alive again! We're panicking!" They both yell at the same time, hugging each other close to try and calm down; their attempt is unsuccessful.
"Stop it, you two. Don't make matters worse," Victoria scolds the twins, though even she has a hard time believing what just happened herself. A skeleton coming back to life...it was just unheard of!
"We should go to Family Grievances," Papá Julio suggests, holding Coco's hand. She sticks close by her husband, and doesn't speak or give any indication she'd heard. She stares in the direction where her father lays, seemingly unable to give a proper reaction in her shock. Julio squeezes her hand tighter, and she manages at least a small grip in return.
Imelda breaks her gaze away from Héctor for only a moment to see Victoria nodding in agreement.
"They'll know what to do," she says, though cautiously optimistic and not certain.
Imelda knows one thing for sure: this has never happened before. A lot of things may happen if skeletons get stuck in the Land of the Living after sunrise on Día de los Muertos, but coming back to life wasn't one of them. It couldn't be! As far as she knows, Héctor is the first skeleton to come back to life. How would Grievances know what to do if it had never happened before? She wants to throw her shoes at the other skeletons around them watching and staring in awe, eyes wide in disbelief, but still can't bring herself to move.
She shakes her head at Julio's suggestion. "We can't leave him."
"We have to get help," he reasons quietly. He doesn't want to push, but they have to do something. They can't leave Héctor laying outside alone without any help, though they couldn't exactly break down the barrier to try and get to him. They were stuck in the Land of the Dead as much as he was stuck in the living world, and even if they were able to go outside, they still wouldn't be able to touch him. They had to get help here.
"Papa Héctor?!" A voice suddenly cries out of the blue. A surprisingly young voice, but Imelda still can't bring herself to look away from Héctor. She has to stay with him, she can't just leave after what happened...
"Look! It's Miguel and Rosa," Felipe says as the two come into their view. Imelda watches as her great-great grandson kneels next to her husband, just as shocked as she feels.
He looks up, left and right and straight ahead where the bridge is located, but invisible to his living eyes.
"Miguel..." Héctor mumbles so quietly that they almost can't hear what was said. Miguel's eyes widen at the confirmation that yes, the man laying before him is indeed his great-great grandfather.
"They'll get help," Rosita says gently.
"I can't leave him. Not like this..." Imelda squeezes her eyes shut, unable to bear the sight of human-Héctor any longer. The last time she had seen him this way, he'd left her and Coco to chase a musical fantasy with his best friend who had murdered and taken everything from him.
She just couldn't leave Héctor.
"Mamá?" The most heartbreaking voice she'd ever heard brings her back to the awful reality that Héctor is no longer with them, and she forces herself to look at their daughter. Coco's gentle eyes gaze back at her.
The group waits patiently for her to move, but she can't.
It's not until Luisa and Enrique arrive does Imelda get up from her spot at last, still refusing to leave until Héctor is gone and safe with them.
xxxx
"Coco...what if..." Imelda can't finish the sentence as they stand outside the Department of Family Reunions. Her feet are frozen to the ground, afraid to take another step forward.
What if there was nothing they could do about Héctor? She can't bear the sound of her daughter's heartbroken voice. How would she be able to bear her heartbroken expression if they learned nothing could be done about their situation? She tries to tell herself that won't be the case, that Family Grievances had known about a way to send Miguel back home. Héctor was in almost the same situation, except the other way around. He wasn't slowly turning into a skeleton; he had changed quickly from a skeleton into a living human being. They would know what to do, even if this hadn't happened before...they had to!
Victoria, surprisingly, is understanding. "I'll wait outside with her," she offers, taking a seat on a nearby bench. Coco sits next to her, not saying a word; Imelda can only imagine the inner turmoil she's experiencing at the thought of her father being stuck in the Land of the Living in the form he had turned into.
"Rivera family," the clerk of Family Grievances says as they wait outside the A113 door. A wave of déjà vu hits Imelda, and for a moment she has to check and make sure Miguel isn't with them. To her relief, the boy is still safe and sound in the Land of the Living, not cursed and in need of a family blessing.
She could only hope that in Héctor's situation, all he needed was a family blessing to return to them.
"Is de la Cruz really...gone?" Rosita questions nervously as they step inside. It's exactly as Imelda remembers it—the desk and stack of papers that seem to be taller this year.
"I believe that may be the case," the clerk responds, moving to sit at his desk and sort through his papers. "Though he was still remembered by the world and not anywhere near the Final Death, he stayed outside too long in the Land of the Living past Día de los Muertos. He disappeared for good."
Imelda can't help but feel grim satisfaction that her husband's murderer had gotten what he deserved...at least one good thing had come out of this. Yet it wouldn't help Héctor's situation, and Imelda has a terrible feeling that his case may be even worse.
The clerk is about to say something else when a sneeze unexpectedly erupts.
"Achoo!" His papers rustle, a few falling to the floor. Oscar bends down to pick them up and hand them back. "Excuse me, but is that hairless dog with you again?" The clerk asks, rubbing his nose with a hand to try and stop another oncoming sneeze.
Imelda stops short, eyes widening in realization and horror.
Dante. He had disappeared too along with de la Cruz, a fate that Miguel's best friend didn't deserve.
She shakes her head.
"He was stuck on the other side and disappeared, too," she says, struggling to remain calm. Why did this have to happen? What would Héctor say to Miguel when he woke up?
"Since he is an alebrije now, he is connected to the Land of the Dead the same as we are, so staying after sunrise in the Land of the Living affected him, as well. He can only cross over on Día de los Muertos, or if one of your living family members passes to guide them to you. I suppose my allergy shouldn't be affecting me as much...or at all, if he's...not here," the clerk says, unsure of a better, nicer way to put Dante's disappearance.
"Must be the hair on our clothes," Oscar muses.
"But Dante doesn't have any hair," Felipe points out. Or didn't, his mind adds cruelly. What if Dante was gone forever along with de la Cruz?
"So I remember the living boy saying last year. Feels like yesterday...Achoo!"
"Could be Pepita's cat fur from the Land of the Living," Rosita suggests.
The clerk shakes his head, exasperated, and goes on as if he's avoiding the subject they really need to hear. "I suppose what happened last night is that the fans caused a distraction, enabling de la Cruz to cross over unnoticed. Since he is still well-remembered, he had no trouble crossing the bridge."
"But what about Héctor? He...he transformed right in front of our eyes. He came back to life," Imelda says to try and get him back on track to the reason they're here in the first place. She grips the spirit guitar that she still holds tighter, unable to calm her nerves.
The clerk deliberately avoids her question, and Imelda has to resist the urge to throw one of her shoes at him.
"I imagine security will need to be tighter next year, and families will need chaperones to make sure no one attempts to stay out after sunrise, which I imagine some may try to do if they're desperate enough." He frowns. Día de los Muertos was a night to celebrate, after all. There shouldn't have to be a need for security or chaperones! But it would need to happen if skeletons were going to try and willingly stay past sunrise, now.
"His bones are covered with skin again," Papá Julio says.
"He couldn't see or hear us...just like a living person," Oscar adds in.
"What can we do?" Felipe finishes for him, trying his best not to panic again. His brother holds him close to keep him calm.
The clerk cringes, knowing he's unable to avoid his answer this time. "Not much, I'm afraid. He isn't cursed, he just stayed too long in the Land of the Living and suffered the consequences. A family blessing from anyone in the living world wouldn't help him return."
Imelda continues her struggle to remain calm, her worst fears coming to light. This was exactly what she hadn't wanted Coco to hear...
"Because of de la Cruz. He did not stay willingly...he was on his way back." Imelda isn't sure if she's trying to convince the clerk or herself, but she inwardly scolds herself for even thinking such a thing. It wasn't Héctor's fault he was stuck in the Land of the Living; he had never wanted to stay.
"Getting stuck in the Land of the Living on Día de los Muertos is actually a very rare occurrence from what you may believe, and when it has happened, the consequences were different for each person. Unpredictable," the clerk explains slowly so it can sink in for them. "Skeletons usually know to avoid staying after sunrise, leaving early to make it back on time."
"Like de la Cruz and Dante disappearing...or that man holding Pepita. His hand got burned when the sunlight touched it!" Felipe realizes aloud.
The clerk nods, frowning again.
"Which is exactly why we'll need to be extra careful next year. We can't have anyone who wants to come back to life trying to stay willingly. Chances are high they won't have the same outcome."
"And Héctor?" Imelda reminds the clerk, pulling him back to the situation at hand. It's another question he can't avoid, so he sighs and does his best to answer. It's not what he wants to say, but it's the truth and they need to know.
"I'm sorry, but like I said...there's not much you and I can do for him, seeing as we're stuck here. As far as our records show, he is the first to ever come back to life, the first skeleton from the Land of the Dead to turn human again. If he is indeed a living, breathing person now, he may just have to wait until next year on Día de los Muertos to see if the 'curse' wears off."
Imelda stiffens at the way he says 'curse,' like it's not a curse to be brought back to life, though he had already explained that it wasn't a curse at all. She had never admitted it to herself and she wasn't about to do so now...but she had waited nearly a century to accept Héctor back into their family. She may have hated him, but...she had missed him, never truly admitting to herself that yes, she still loved him, choosing instead to never forgive that he had abandoned his family to chase a stupid musical fantasy. All she had wanted was to protect her broken heart when she had still been alive...
She can wait another year for him, though she's not fond of the way the clerk had ended his sentence, like there was something more to the whole situation he wasn't telling them.
"Or..." she says slowly, waiting for the clerk to finish for her. She has a feeling of what the answer is, but needs to hear it to be sure.
"Or he may just have to live out the rest of his natural life in the Land of the Living. This has never happened before, so there's no way we can know for sure. I'm sorry," he apologizes sincerely, his gaze downcast and unable to meet hers.
Imelda's heart had broken the first time Héctor left to chase his dream. Though she had no heart now, it had felt like physically breaking when he had come close to the Final Death and she had almost lost him for good because of her—because she had wanted so badly for her family to forget the man who had hurt her and their daughter.
Now it was breaking a third time, and maybe for the last until his time came again.
This is all my fault...I never should have let him go back to see Miguel.
It was her fault again.
She doesn't care what the others think as she drops the spirit guitar and falls on her knees to the floor in despair, hardly aware of them yelling her name.
xxxx
Héctor jolts awake sharply without warning, the burning sensation from before he had collapsed returning full-force. The world crystalizes around him in a way it never had before, like he was somehow connected to it. A desperate need tears at his chest, and though familiar, he can't remember how to respond, gasping for air.
The question of why exactly would he need air sits at the back of his mind, but it's the least of his problems as his head swims dizzily, the room he finds himself in spinning uncontrollably. His body feels heavy, too heavy like Pepita is sitting on his chest and causing him to suffocate somehow, but the giant alebrije is nowhere to be found.
He thinks he can see Miguel sitting in a chair next to the bed, and relaxes only slightly, though it doesn't ease his panic. The boy jerks awake in his seat as if he'd previously nodded off, but his eyes widen at the sight of his great-great grandfather finally waking up.
"It's okay!" Miguel says quickly, lifting both of his hands as if to try and calm him. Héctor gasps again, unable to stop until this strange, new need is taken care of. He grips the bed covers he finds below the palms of his hands, and Miguel's voice barely manages to reach him.
"Just watch me. Breathe in...and out. In...and out."
Héctor stares at Miguel's chest, considering the way it falls and rises, and attempts to follow its actions.
In and out. In and out, until it seems that the process begins to repeat on its own.
It takes until after his breathing has settled to notice that Miguel is staring right at him, like he can really see him. Now that he thinks about it, why is the room so bright? Even with curtains covering the window, the sun still filters through.
Sunrise...his mind whispers warily. Didn't that mean the holiday was over?
"Miguel..." he manages to say, and the boy stares back at him, eyes wide yet expectant for him to finish.
But that's not possible! He's a skeleton, and the living can't see the dead...right?!
"...Can you see me?" He asks hesitantly to make sure, his throat throbbing as the words emerge from his mouth. Why was it so hard to talk?
Miguel nods slowly, his eyes darting away and then back to his gaze, smiling awkwardly.
"Can you hear me...?"
Miguel nods again, and Héctor's phantom stomach drops in such a realistic manner that he has to close his eyes to avoid letting the spirit food he had eaten back up.
"How is this possible?" Héctor repeats the question aloud. "You're living and I'm dead. What's going on?" First they'd had to use Dante and Pepita to talk to each other, but now Miguel could actually see him?
"Papa Héctor...don't freak out, but you might want to look at your hands," Miguel suggests. From the way he talks Héctor can tell he's nervous about something...but what? From behind closed eyes, he hesitates as if he's afraid of what he'll see.
"My...hands?" Héctor asks weakly; all he wants to do at this point is sleep—to regain his long lost energy that had been sapped from him after his collapse. But he listens to Miguel anyway, and opens his eyes as calmly as he can. He attempts to lift the palms of his hands towards his face in spite of just how tired he was, and his eyes widen at what meets his gaze.
Skin.
No...it's not possible. It can't be possible, the words repeat in his mind. He wants to jump back in shock, to scream in terror, but he's just so tired that all he can do is remain in the bed and stare wide-eyed at the phenomenon before him.
The dead do not come back to life...but here he was. Miguel could see and hear him, and his bones were covered with...skin.
Real, human skin.
"Can you remember what happened?" Miguel asks quietly. "Rosa was with me and we found you in the cemetery laying on the ground."
Héctor closes his eyes again, unable to bear the sight of his hands any longer. He forces himself to think as logically as he can, to take himself back to the moment from before he had fallen.
Ernesto and a group of fans ambushing him on the way back to the bridge.
Imelda and his family being held back so they couldn't help him...
Ernesto kicking Dante and then disappearing as the sun approached. Dante disappearing, too...
Pain...unimaginable pain as his body twisted and turned to accommodate his new organs...
"It was Ernesto..." Héctor explains slowly, his throat still hurting as his voice grates against it. "I was on the way back to the bridge, but...he and a group of fans ambushed me..."
"Fans?" Miguel repeats, disgusted at the thought. How could anyone still be a fan of that lying murderer when the truth had been revealed in the Land of the Dead?
"An entire group," Héctor confirms uneasily, "they got him out from under the bell."
Miguel shudders.
So I was right. It was de la Cruz, he thinks back to when he'd first found Héctor, suspecting that it might have been Ernesto who had somehow managed to figure out a way to touch the living, mistaking the man to be Héctor. But in the end, it was his great-great grandfather.
"But how did...this happen?" Miguel asks, gesturing towards his returned human body. Even from behind closed eyelids, Héctor can guess that he's most likely asking about his transformation.
"Ernesto knew something bad would happen to me if I stayed in the Land of the Living. The fans kept me from crossing the bridge, dropping me at the last second before they ran back to it themselves. It was too late for me and..."
Dante. Héctor's eyes flicker open again. He glances around the room this way and that, but the hairless dog is nowhere to be found.
"What is it?" Miguel asks, though Héctor can't bring himself to respond, especially if Dante was gone like de la Cruz.
Héctor shakes his head, deciding it best for Miguel not to worry about the dog for now.
"Unpredictable things can happen to skeletons if we stay in the Land of the Living past sunrise after Día de los Muertos. I guess coming back to life is one of them..."
"It's kind of like the opposite of what happened to me," Miguel says with a mild chuckle as if to make light of the situation. Héctor appreciates the effort, but even a simple task such as smiling leaves him nearly breathless.
The room begins to spin again and he can feel himself falling once more, but into the soft covers of the bed this time. He has no choice but to ignore Miguel calling his name as the shock of coming back to life settles in.
xxxx
When Héctor wakes again, the room is dark. He half expects to be back in the Land of the Dead where he belongs, but is ultimately disappointed to find himself back in the living world.
It's not so disappointing to see that Miguel is still sitting in the chair, keeping a watchful eye on his great-great grandfather.
"It's okay," Miguel repeats softly to keep him from falling into another panic. "I think you fainted. You just need to eat something like Mamá and Papá said," he explains, nodding towards a plate of food they'd left for him resting on a stand near the bed.
Eating...in the Land of the Dead, skeletons could still eat the spirit versions of food despite the fact that they were dead and didn't need to eat—the same as how they didn't need to breathe, yet they still breathed anyway as if to hold onto a part of themselves from the living world. He'd had a full stomach after eating so much on his first Día de los Muertos, but now it feels empty. Yet he can't stand the thought of eating for real when he's not supposed to. He can't give into his body's needs, or else it would be...
Acceptance. Acceptance at what had happened to him.
It's probably not a good idea for him to try eating yet anyway, so he shakes his head. "Thanks, chamaco, but I don't think I'm ready."
"Oh...right," Miguel says with an awkward smile.
"Do your parents know who I am?" He asks cautiously.
"They don't suspect anything yet," Miguel answers, "they don't recognize you yet from the photo because you're supposed to be..."
"Dead," Héctor finishes. I'm supposed to be dead, but I'm alive.
Miguel nods meekly.
"But Rosa knows," he adds, "she kept asking me all these questions, so I kind of had to tell her."
Understandable, Héctor thinks pointlessly to himself.
He's suddenly aware of another new sensation in his body. It's that same pounding sensation he'd felt before falling to the ground, that harsh and fast pounding sensation he can hardly forget.
Bracing himself for the worst, he lifts a hand to his chest—the place he can faintly remember where he'd last felt this odd sensation, back when it wasn't so odd.
Beat beat, beat beat.
No.
His heart...he has a heart again. He pulls his hand away sharply.
This isn't good, is all he can think as he forces himself to remain calm. The one person to help apart from Miguel who instantly comes to mind is...
It's almost like his newly returned heart shatters in two, splitting right down the middle.
"Coco...I promised I would never leave her again, but now I'm here..." He whispers, broken as he remembers the horrified look on her face when he had been stuck on the outside, far from the bridge.
"It wasn't your fault," Miguel insists. "You can't blame yourself for this...you didn't leave them willingly this time. It was de la Cruz...again."
Again. It was de la Cruz again. Why did that man have to ruin his life, and now his afterlife? Had Ernesto really hated him that much? But Héctor knows the question was already answered long ago with the events that had transpired. First poison, and now coming back to life...it may not have been exactly what Ernesto had wanted, nor the expected aftermath when he had ordered his fans to keep Héctor from crossing the bridge, but it was keeping him apart from his family, and Héctor suspects that was certainly part of his goal.
"It was because of me, wasn't it?" Miguel asks softly. "You wanted to come back and tell me you survived the Final Death..."
"You can't place the blame for this on yourself, either, Miguel. You had nothing to do with it," Héctor instantly disagrees. It had been his choice to go back and see his great-great grandson. Miguel may have been part of the reason, but it certainly wasn't his fault that he was stuck here in the Land of the Living...
Alive. His new stomach churns and he almost wants to gag, but manages to stop himself. It was all because of de la Cruz, as Miguel said. As it always had been.
"They know what happened this time," Miguel attempts to comfort his grandfather again, though he's not sure if it's working. But trying something is better than doing nothing. "Maybe they can figure out a way to bring you back home from there."
"I hope so, chamaco, I hope so..." Héctor trails off, staring back down at his skin-covered hands, so different from the bones that he'd grown used to after so many years in the Land of the Dead. He knows his bones are underneath the skin, but it confuses and unsettles him to no end that he can't actually see them anymore.
"Papá said I have to sleep in my own bed tonight," Miguel says uncertainly, hesitant to leave him alone. Héctor's heart skips a beat at the thought of being left by himself, but he figures Miguel can't just sleep in a chair all night.
"It's okay, Miguel. I'll be okay," he assures him, but truthfully Héctor isn't sure if he's comforting himself, instead. "You need to get some rest, too."
Miguel stays for a few moments longer, but exhaustion eventually wins since he hadn't gotten a full night's sleep on Día de los Muertos. Before leaving the room, he lifts up a familiar shape from the side of the chair.
"In case you want to play," he says, resting the instrument against the stand that still holds the uneaten food, close by so he doesn't have to reach too far. "Maybe if you're feeling better tomorrow, you can try eating. Then we can go to the cemetery and see if we can find anything that can help."
Héctor nods weakly, waiting until Miguel has left to stare at his guitar that would be a source of comfort after everything that happened.
Playing...playing some music would help him calm down since he's alone now and Miguel isn't with him.
Arm trembling as he reaches for the guitar, he gasps when his hand makes direct, unexpected contact, unlike the night before when they had gone straight through. Muscles tense as he lifts the guitar carefully as he can, positioning himself to sit up no matter how dizzily it makes his head spin again.
His songs...he immediately knows the first one he should play to comfort both himself and his daughter, despite the distance they currently face in different lands.
He had never intended Remember Me to be an extravagant song like what Ernesto had turned it into. It was a lullaby, his lullaby that he had created for his daughter alone, one that they could sing whenever they were apart. Miguel had wanted to sing it for his audition in the Land of the Dead but he had refused, claiming it to be far too popular.
That hadn't been the only reason...it was Coco's song, and Coco's song only.
Hands shaking, he lifts the guitar closer to his chest as if to distract himself from his pounding heart, albeit quietly so as not to wake anyone.
"Remember me...though I have to say goodbye..." he begins, his voice nothing but a pitiful quiver.
He's positive that Coco is singing now along with him—he in the Land of the Living and herself in the Land of the Dead—and something wet trickles down his cheek, hitting the guitar as he sings sorrowfully.
Would this last until next year, or was he going to have to live out his entire life before getting to see them again? Héctor wasn't sure if he could wait that long. This couldn't be goodbye...
"Remember me...don't let it make you cry..."
Now that he was alive again, Héctor realizes that his ability to cry has returned. He remembers his first day in the Land of the Dead very well: horror to find out that he had died, and then the realization that he would never see his family again until they passed, as well. Though when Imelda had arrived, she hadn't been too happy to see him, slapping his face with her shoe as she had done to Ernesto and banishing him from her afterlife for good—that is, until Miguel came along and pulled them back together.
He can't help it when tears continue falling for the time with Coco that he'd lost, all the years that they could have been together cut short by a man who had wanted nothing more than to be famous through his songs. Tears for when he found out that he had been murdered by no one else but his best friend.
"How could you?! You took everything away from me! You rat! I just wanted to go back home!"
Memories of the year before catapult his mind when Miguel had shown him the movie, revealing what had really happened—he hadn't been poisoned by chorizo like he'd initially thought all those years, but by his best friend...
The last words he'd yelled as he had been dragged away by security repeat over and over even after he finishes Remember Me and sets the guitar down to fall into a fitful, uneasy sleep.
Tears for the loss of his skeleton body now transformed into a living human being.
I just want to go home...