Quick comment for the anonymous reviewer who is asking when this story will be over, wanting me to hurry up, and trying to apparently write the ending for me: I can't really respond to you properly because of the anonymous thing. So asking me questions isn't very helpful since I won't be answering them in the text normally. But this once, I'll make an exception.
I have no idea when this story will be complete. I have my plot worked out and I know what the ending will be like, but I can't provide a proper prediction of length or time frame. And asking for me to hurry up and update within three days of posting a chapter is just rude. Writing takes time and I do have a life outside of this.
Which leads to the second part: I already have the ending planned out, so your suggestions will not have any effect. If you want specific lines and paragraphs, you'll need to write your own story and post it. I'm not taking requests.
This information is for everyone. I appreciate feedback and predictions. Suggestions and requests have no effect. Sorry about that brief public service announcement. And now back to our regularly scheduled program.
Dante trotted down the dark street carrying his twin burdens in his mouth. He was a Xoloitzcuintli on a mission, granted one that he'd been too distracted to complete for a while. He'd spent most of the day catching up on some sleep and snatching up food. But now he was ready to find them again. He would find them and help because Dante was a Good Boy.
The last couple days had been exciting. He spent so much time with His Boy and exploring. He could always slip between the Land of the Living and the Dead; all the Xoloitzcuintli dogs could do it, even if only a few other animals could make the journey. He didn't need to be an alebrije like them to do it. He could do it because he was a Good Boy and he was good at protecting and guiding. And when His Boy got in trouble, Dante followed and made sure Miguel found his family. Dante brought him to Héctor and tried to keep him from the Bad Man.
And since Dante was a Good Boy and took such good care of His Boy, he was an alebrije now. He glowed and could fly with his new wings. And it was strange at first, but flying was fun and Miguel said he was a Good Boy. So Dante was happy. It didn't take much to make him happy. Belly rubs, yummy food, nice words from His Boy, and now flying with the Big Kitty all made him happy.
But when Miguel went home and the Big Kitty, Pepita, flew everyone else away, he couldn't keep up. He was still learning how to fly with his new wings and she was fast. And then all sorts of skeleton people started wandering around where Miguel fell over the edge and they were talking loudly. Dante didn't know what he was supposed to do and he was tired. So he just grabbed what His Boy and his family left behind and ran off to find a cozy place to sleep that no one would find him.
Only once things calmed down and his belly was full of stolen food did Dante try to track them down. Even with wings, it wasn't easy. When Miguel ran off to the Bad Man, Dante found the Big Kitty fast because Pepita was close by and then Pepita found Miguel. Pepita was good at tracking. But finding Miguel's family was something Dante could do better than anyone else because he was a Good Boy and would take care of His Boy. So he followed their scent across the city to a quieter street until he found a place similar to Miguel's home, smelling like leather and shoes.
A curious sound, too deep to be a meow and too quiet to be a roar, met his arrival. Dante's whole body wiggled with excitement as he saw Pepita. She was a good Big Kitty, all furry and feathery and bright. He lowered the front half of his body as his tail whipped around, Dante pawing the ground in front of him. She licked his head politely in greetings, but didn't accept his invitation to play.
Too bad. It was too late for anyone else to play. Unlike last night, the skeleton people weren't all out with their exciting sounds and smells as they had fun together and went to see the people in the Land of the Living. They were sleeping tonight.
Dante gently set down his burdens: a red jacket that smelled exactly like Miguel and a straw hat that smell like dust, both slightly damp with drool. They left them behind, but Dante brought them back because he was a Good Boy. Everyone would be so happy.
Pepita rumbled quietly, nudging the hat with her nose. The scent made her ears prick forward with interest. She recognized it just like Dante did; it belonged to Héctor and Héctor went with Pepita and Her Person when they flew away the night before.
He wiggled excitedly. Pepita could watch the hat and give it back to Héctor. The skeleton man would be close and would get his hat back soon. And Dante could go back to His Boy with the jacket. This was a good plan. Dante would probably get his ears scratched in just the right place. It would be nice and he would be so happy.
Dante picked back up the jacket, his mouth holding firm to the fabric as his small wings flapped. It was time to go home and take care of Miguel.
He was such a Good Boy.
Coco woke up, the early morning light streaming through her window. She blinked her bleary eyes, trying to bring the ceiling into focus. Between her failing eyesight and her aching joints, she couldn't get around quite as much as she once did. But that wouldn't stop her from sneaking out that afternoon. She and Julio planned to meet in the plaza to go dancing…
No, they didn't do that anymore. She and Julio were married now. And she couldn't sneak off dancing because it would worry her little Elena and Victoria, her daughters distrusting music almost as much as Mamá…
No, that was still wrong. Coco managed to pull her mind back to the present. A present where Mamá was dead, her Julio was dead, and even her Victoria was dead. But as that realization caused her heart to drop, memories from the day before pushed back the approaching mental fog.
Her precious lullaby performed by her great-grandson and music returning to their home. And Miguel sneaking into her room afterwards to tell her about his adventure in the Land of the Dead and meeting all their dead relatives. He told her about how her mamá, her husband, and her daughter were all happy and together. And how Papá wanted to see her and loved her.
It kept her happy and hopeful, forcing down the years of sorrow and loss that tried to drag her mind under and swallow her up. Those memories and the quiet tune wove through her head helped push back the confusion that had plagued her mind for so long.
She couldn't let her memory slip. Not again. Not yet. Miguel needed her help. Papá needed her help.
Hope, joy, and songs helped keep her thoughts in the present. But so did having a purpose. Feeling useful once again and working towards a goal was almost as important as bringing back songs from her childhood.
Music had returned to the Rivera household. That took care of one difficulty for her great-grandson. He would be able to play music without fear. He wouldn't have to hide his heart's desire.
Her next goal would be to share as many stories about her papá as possible. Miguel said that Papá needed to be remembered. But it was so long ago, she was so young then, and her memory had frayed over the years. It wasn't easy to drag those memories back up. She would have to try. The more stories she could share, the more people would remember Papá.
And then there was one more thing that Coco needed to do. Ernesto de la Cruz murdered her papá and stole his songs. He needed to pay for his crimes. People needed to know the truth. She wasn't certain how she and Miguel were going to do it, but she would find a way to crack through that man's perfect mask. It wasn't fair that everyone apparently adored Ernesto when even their family tried to forget her papá.
Coco waited her entire life for Papá, never wavering in her certainty. He did and always would love her. And she refused to let his murderer escape, even in death. It didn't matter that she could barely move due to her age or that she knew that she probably didn't have much time left. She refused to let her mind cloud back over and she refused to consider the possibility of dying. She wasn't going anywhere until Ernesto de la Cruz was exposed.
A soft knock at the door pulled Coco the rest of the way awake. A moment later, Elena poked her head in and smiled as she met her eyes.
"Good morning, Mamá."
"Good morning, míja," she greeted. "Isn't it a nice sunrise?"
"We can't keep the workshop closed," said Imelda as the family, with the exception of Julio, started in on a very solemn breakfast. "Not two days in a row. No matter what else has happened, we still have orders to finish. We still have a business to run."
She had to be practical. Even weary from her restless night, Imelda knew that much. No matter what any of them might want, the rest of their afterlives didn't stop because of what happened on Día de Muertos. Imelda knew that they needed to continue with some semblance of normality. Otherwise they'd all wear themselves out with stress. And normality for their family meant returning to work.
"If you're sure…," said Felipe uneasily.
Yawning slightly, Rosita said, "Don't worry. Julio is going to stay with him this morning. They'll be fine."
"Well, Felipe and I could probably finish up that large order for the Pérez family," said Oscar slowly, exchanging looks with his brother. "And you were working on those shoes for Señorita Martinez."
Imelda nodded. She remembered that she was halfway finished when they closed early to prepare for Día de Muertos. What was left to work on for the project was detailed work, something that took focus and time. It would be a nice distraction, keeping her thoughts occupied and away from the lifeless figure on the bed for a little while.
If she didn't find a way to stop dwelling on him and his current state, she would drive herself mad.
"And maybe Victoria could help me with a few chores and errands today," Rosita said. "Unless you need our help, Mamá Imelda?"
Noticing how tired Rosita still looked from her night sitting next to Héctor, she said, "We should be able to manage on our own. Try not to overdo it."
"As long as you do the same, Mamá Imelda," said Victoria.
Imelda didn't dignify that with a response. They worried too much. She knew her limits better than anyone. And she was long past the days where she needed to work herself to exhaustion in order to survive.
True, she was already tired from the night before. But she'd worked through far worse conditions than a little drowsiness. And perhaps a hard day of making shoes would ensure that tonight would be different. Perhaps she would be too worn out that her sleep would be dreamless.
Julio would keep a close watch over Héctor. Her son-in-law was a steady and dependable man. She could count on him to take care of things for a few hours while she worked. Nothing would happen.
For a little while, she could ignore the rest of the world and simply make shoes. She couldn't help Héctor. She couldn't do anything for him. But Imelda could make shoes. She'd spent most of her life and death making shoes. When she could do nothing else, Imelda Rivera could still make shoes. As long as she was making shoes, she wasn't powerless.
Glancing around the table of solemn faces, Imelda said, "If you don't start eating now, your breakfast will be cold. And we are not wasting this food."
They didn't need to eat to survive, but so many habits of life still remained. And one such habit within the Rivera household was obeying the matriarch of the family. The clatter of silverware abruptly increased.
"Come on, Miguel," called Rosa, her cousin finally joining her in the courtyard. "We're going to be late."
"I'm coming, I'm coming," he shouted, pulling on the second strap of his backpack as he ran.
"What took you so long?" asked Rosa.
The two of them ran into the street, dodging the morning traffic with practiced ease. There were a few vehicles moving slowly along some of the roads, but it was mostly other pedestrians starting out their day. Both of them waved at familiar faces automatically. It was routine by now. They almost always went to school in the same manner: not quite racing each other, but still with a hint of competitiveness at making sure not to fall behind.
Grinning at her, Miguel asked, "What? Afraid I'll disappear again?"
"That's not funny. We were really worried about you. We were out looking all night. I've never seen Tío Enrique so upset."
Miguel at least had the decency to look remorseful for his brief joking comment. He ducked his head and his eyes dropped to the ground even as neither of them slowed down.
"I didn't mean for it to happen. Well, I did mean to run off when Abuelita... But everything after that was an accident. And I am so sorry about scaring everyone like that."
Scowling as they turned a corner, Rosa said, "You still haven't explained where you vanished all night."
"You wouldn't believe me anyway," he said, laughing lightly. "It was pretty impossible."
"Abuelita said we can have music in our family yesterday. Anything is possible."
Before Rosa could go any further with her questions, a black blur nearly knocked Miguel off his feet. Barking excitedly and wiggling his entire body, the hairless stray bounced around the boy. Rosa recognized the Xoloitzcuintli as the one that her cousin kept feeding.
"Dante! You're back," Miguel shouted, rubbing the scrawny thing. "I missed you, boy. What do you got there?"
Rosa watched as he tugged at something dangling from the dog's mouth. It took a moment to recognize the red fabric as Miguel's jacket. The one he was wearing when he ran away, but he didn't have when he returned home. The stray eventually released his prize after some playful pulling, his tail wagging and tongue lolling out.
"You brought it back? I thought I'd never see it again," Miguel continued. "Thanks, Dante. Good boy."
"Come on," urged Rosa. "We have to get to school. And Abuelita told you not to name strays. Now you'll never get rid of the dumb dog."
Stuffing the jacket into his backpack, Miguel said, "He's not dumb. Dante knows a lot more than people think. He's probably smarter than you."
Rosa glanced at the stray, the dog now chewing on his hindleg to the point of nearly choking on it. She then turned back to Miguel with a raised eyebrow. All he could do was shrug.
She wasn't quite certain what she thought of Héctor Rivera. He was the man that she spent her entire life despising for abandoning her abuelita and her mamá. She'd seen how much Mamá continued to hope despite everything and Victoria had been certain even as a child that she would never forgive the man who did that to her mamá. And Elena's feelings on him, music, and the entire mess were even stronger, her sister inheriting Mamá Imelda's more fiery nature.
But recent revelations suggested that they never had the compete picture. No one had ever mentioned that he left with someone. Ernesto de la Cruz never seemed different than any other musician: someone not to be discussed, but not anyone connected to their family. And none of them ever considered the idea that Héctor Rivera's abandonment might not have been voluntary. No one suspected that murder was what kept the man from fulfilling his promise to return.
Victoria didn't know the man. And even what she thought she knew of him was only part of the story, incomplete and made murky by decades of assumptions. Victoria took pride in the fact she was a practical and sensible woman. She didn't know him. And she didn't know if she was ready yet to reexamine her thoughts on the man. There was a lot to consider. So for now, she was prepared to withhold judgment.
But even if she wasn't prepared to broach the topic of how she felt about the unconscious figure in Mamá Imelda's bed, she could still try to take care of some practical matters. As Rosita pointed out once Mamá Imelda and the twins headed over to the workshop, they couldn't keep trading places to sleep forever. And from what Tía Rosita told her about her overnight vigil, he didn't show any signs of improving. It could be days until Héctor woke up or he… Well, he could be with them for a while. So Victoria and Rosita started working on rearrangements.
The second floor of their home consisted of Mamá Imelda's bedroom, the shared bedroom for Tío Oscar and Tío Felipe, a pair of bathrooms with comfortably large tubs and sinks to keep their bones clean after a long day, and a large office that Mamá Imelda used to do the numbers for the business. That office was now undergoing some serious work. Victoria and Rosita were straightening up the stacks of paper, pushing the desk and chair against one wall, and cleaning every corner of the room.
"You think this will help?" asked Rosita even though it was originally her idea.
Dragging a broom across the floor, Victoria said, "Mamá Imelda can't keep borrowing your room. She will need somewhere to sleep and once we finish straightening up in here, there should be plenty of space to set up a pallet."
"She might even sleep a little easier if she's in a room closer to him," said Rosita.
She didn't respond to her words or think about them too deeply. Victoria focused on sweeping the floor instead. She preferred to think about it in practical terms for the time being. Mamá Imelda needed somewhere to sleep. They were fixing that. Anything else, like how Mamá Imelda felt about the man now or how Victoria felt about him, could wait a little longer.
"Do you think Héctor will be staying with us for a while?" continued Rosita, moving a few books to the desk.
"He isn't improving yet. And even when he does wake up, I doubt he'll be in any state to immediately run off."
When, not if. Considering the possibility of Héctor never recovering was something else that she would prefer to avoid for the moment. Especially since she would lose the chance to get to know the man and form her own opinions on someone she'd despised for so long.
Not to mention that even a blind man could see how much losing him to the Final Death would hurt Mamá Imelda.
"Well, if he ends up staying here for a while, maybe we should pick up a few things for him," said Rosita. "Perhaps he has some clothes in better condition? The shirt he was wearing before is in need of repairs. Maybe he has the other sleeve somewhere… And we want to make his stay as comfortable as possible, right?"
Victoria set the broom aside, giving the room a quick glance over. With the clutter straightened up and the furniture pushed out of the way, there should be enough space for someone to sleep in there. It would be a little crowded. There was nothing that they could do about that. But it should serve nicely as an improvised bedroom for the time being.
"That would require us knowing where his home is," Victoria reminded her. "And we do not."
Glancing away from her niece and towards an empty corner of the room, Rosita said quietly, "We do. We do know where he's been staying." She rubbed her arms, still refusing to look at her. "Héctor… There was no foto on the ofrenda. There hasn't been one ever. No one ever spoke of him or passed on his memory. He almost suffered the Final Death at dawn yesterday morning. And his only family here refused to acknowledge him. There is only one place that he could have possibly been."
Victoria almost demanded that Tía Rosita stop speaking in riddles and just tell her the answer. But then she stopped and actually considered her words. And a wave of cold seemed to wash over her.
Los Olvidados. Shantytown.
A place of abandonment and no hope, where those who had no one else and would soon be forgotten by the living completely ended up. A place where no one wished to go and all feared might eventually be their fate. A place to disappear before they truly disappear. A place for those on the brink of the Final Death.
And that's where he'd probably been before he met Miguel. Victoria didn't know for sure how long he might have spent down there, but Rosita was right. That was where he probably called home now.
"You want us to go to Shantytown," she said slowly. "Alone."
"Sí. Will you come with me?" asked Rosita, finally turning back towards her.
All common sense told her to refuse. Neither of them should head down there. They didn't belong. And the idea of willingly going down to such a dark and hopeless place bothered her in ways that Victoria couldn't explain. No one wanted to be reminded of what might happen to any of them if their stories and memories were ignored or forgotten. No one wanted to see what could happen.
But she'd already been reminded of what fate awaited those who are not remembered. She'd seen the golden-orange light that stole away Héctor's strength and energy until he was left clinging to his afterlife by a thread. Nothing could be as heartbreaking or upsetting to see as what lay across the hall at that very moment.
Besides, Rosita would go either way. She was a sweet woman, but she could still be a force to be reckoned with when she felt strongly enough. It was hard to guess sometimes that she wasn't born into the Rivera family.
Decision made, Victoria gave a firm nod and said, "Sí. We'll go together."
"Staccato" is the opposite of legato. It indicates that you should play each note brief and detached from one another. Each note marked by a staccato, which looks like a dot above it, should be distinct and strongly articulated.