Ernesto paid no attention to his surroundings as he continued storming away. He kept his gaze straight ahead and didn't once look back at Héctor and his friends, his teeth clenched as he tried to calm himself down and force himself to forget the scene he'd caused earlier. He was still angry at the mere thought of it: how they all treated each other like family even though they were anything but. How they adressed each other like cousins or brothers when that couldn't be farther from the truth.
How Héctor had told all of them, every single person in that group and probably others, that Ernesto used to treat him the same way when they were alive.
It was all wrong, and while Ernesto did feel a bit of regret for his words earlier, it wasn't enough to get him to rearrange his thinking. Even if it was wrong to lash out, to cause that hurt look in Héctor's eyes, to even care that much in the first place, Ernesto would never apologize. It wouldn't change anything and it would be a waste of time since no one in this pathetic place would listen to him anyways.
Ernesto shook his head, taking a sharp right turn down the wooden walkway. People stared at him, just like they had the first day he arrived. Even as he kept his stare severely focused on the vacant space in front of him, the mist in the distance that shrouded the view, Ernesto could see the skeletons lined up on the side, most with crossed arms and peircing glares that told Ernesto that they'd heard enough of his outburst for it to affect them. Ernesto picked up his pace, not sparing anyone a glance as he turned left and lightly jogged under the dim lights.
He wasn't heading back to the place he'd stayed in on his first night here. The mere thought of returning to that dilapadated shack at the end of the town with its dim candlelight and cracked windows and open doorway made Ernesto curl his hands to fists. No, what he was doing instead was leaving. He couldn't stand being here another minute.
There was no way he was going stay here until his mansion was ready. Not when there were liars in this place everywhere he looked, not when his best friend was living here as well and haunted Ernesto's mind like a nightmare he couldn't wake up from, and certainly not when every resident in this place either ogled him with curiosity and pity or glared at him with hatred.
He didn't care that it would be embarassing and draw too much attention from the press and paprazzi or spark gossip from his fans. He didn't care that he would most likely be staying in a hotel or a house almost as bad as the houses down here. He didn't care that his reputation would be at stake the moment people saw him on the streets every day and put the pieces together in their minds as they wondered why that was the case.
Ernesto wanted to be as far from this town as possible, and if that meant being the talk of the entire Land of the Dead or having to fight with the people in charge of building his mansion so that they get it done sooner, then that's exactly what he would do.
Making sure no one was behind him, Ernesto ran towards the stairs, the lights of the town fading the closer he got until it was completely dark around him and he could see the tops of some of the higher towers in the distance. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs for a second and tilted his head up to look at the city ahead of him, feeling a jolt of anticipation at the welcome the press and his fans would give him once he was up there with them.
After the cold and tense mood that the residents of this place had been giving him, he needed it.
He started up the stairs, almost taking them two at a time in his hurry. The steps shifted under his weight and briefly threw him off, but he quickly regained his balance and resumed his run under the darkness that surrounded him. When he stood at the foot of the wooden beams at the top, he stopped briefly.
For a moment Ernesto envisioned himself in the higher parts of the city, not having his own place and either staying at a hotel or wandering the streets like a criminal. He thought of how quickly his reputation would be altered, how rumors would be spun and how he would never recover. He shuddered at the mere thought of what his afterlife would be like under tose circumstances.
But then he thought of this place-- the rundown houses, the air of joy that filled him with jealousy, the residents' judging eyes, Héctor's stare of uneasiness and defiance-- and he knew that at least up there he would be free of most of his problems and that any place he could stay up there would be better than these poor shacks anyway.
Ernesto continued his trek, no longer running but walking and trying to make himself as hidden as possible, using the lack of light as a shield from whatever or whoever might be around watching him. When he got to the bottom of the third set of stairs, though, a voice growled to the right of him, startling him.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Ernesto whipped around so fast that he almost fell off the side of the beam he was standing on. When he regained his balance, he looked for the source of the voice and looked down to see an older man staring up at him from two levels below.
He was older than the other skeletons Ernesto had seen around town, his bones almost a whole shade darker than theirs. He wore a faded brown hat caked with dust, sporting a hole in the top of it. His outfit contained a white undershirt and pants the same color, made gray because of all the dirt that covered it. His face was devoid of color, unlike the other residents who had faded but noticeable markings engraved on their faces. One of his eyesockets had tape over its brow, enhancing his glare as he stared Ernesto down. He leaned on a cane for support as he stood at the bottom of the stairs, one hand on his hip to show his rage.
For a moment, neither person moved.
Ernesto balled his hands to fists and scowled. "Have you been following me?"
The man nodded, narrowing his eyes-- or at least that's what it looked like in the darkness of the area.
"Why?" Ernesto asked in an irrated tone.
"You don't need to know," the man snapped. His voice was raspy and low, as if somthing were caught in his throat. He tilted his head to left and continued to glare. One eyebrow raised as he studied Ernesto. "Now answer me, Ernesto: Where do you think you're going?"
"I'm leaving," Ernesto answered. He crossed his arms as he continued. "I'm going to find somwhere else to stay."
"¿De verdad?" the man mused. He climed up one level of stairs, his cane tapping down on the steps gently until he reached the top. He cracked a wry grin. "That's interesting. Why do you want to leave?"
Ernesto groaned and sneered in the man's direction, gesturing sharply to the upper levels. "Because at least up there I'll have a better place to live, and I'll have the respect I deserve. You people down here are crazy and disrespectful, plus you lie all the time, treating each other like family when you're not. It's no wonder everybody who lives in the upper towers hates you; you've definitely given them a lot of reasons to." He turned on his heel and started to continue up the stairs. "I never want to see any of you again."
Ernesto's walk was interrupted when suddenly something sailed towards him and hit him in the back of his head, almost making him faceplant and fall through the beams. Ernesto stuck out his hads the second before he hit them, and pain shot through his right wrist from the imapct. When he shakily stood up, supressing a groan from the state he was in, he looked down and saw waht had hit him-- the man had thrown his cane with surprising strength. He whipped around, his eyes wide with rage and from the shock of being hit. "What did you do that for?"
The man climed up another set of stairs until he was on the same level as Ernesto, shaking without his cane to support him. He reached to pick it up and jabbed it at Ernesto, his face made even more menacing with the lack of light. "Don't act stupid, Ernesto," he growled. "I heard what you said eairlier. You do not get to insult us like that and just leave like nothing happened. No one ever gets away with that down here."
"Well, that's what I'm going to do," Ernesto snapped as he crossed his arms.
Just before he started to head off again, the man grabbed his wrist, the same one he'd landed on. "You're not going anywhere until you apologize to them."
Ernesto winced and stared at him incredulously, indignation forming in his non-existant heart. He spread out his hands exasperatedly. "Why would I do that? I meant what I said."
Besides, no one would listen to him. Lorenzo always looked like he wanted to kill Ernesto and Carlos was on Héctor's side so much that anything Ernesto said sounded like a threat. The other women and men in the town looked at him with so much pity he wanted to punch them. And Héctor...
Ernesto supressed a shudder. No way would he ever apologize to his best friend for anything again. That would be worse than any punishment he could receive.
The man let go of his wrist and crossed his own arms. "Well then you're staying here until your place is ready, no questions asked."
"What?!" Ernesto shouted, so loud that he was sure people in both the higher and lower cities could hear him. "Just because I told the truth, now you're punishing me?"
The man shrugged. "Yes and no. It's more of a kindness than a punishment. Can't be any worse than staying up there."
"You don't know anything."
The man raised an eyebrow at him, smirking. "I know that at least down here, you have a place to stay at night. You can be around people who-- if you give them a chance-- will like you for more than just your looks or your stolen music."
Ernesto glared at him.
The man narrowed his eyes and sighed, shaking his head. His voice lowered and grew serious again, taking on a softer but still firm tone. He looked away. "Look, I know it's not what you want. None of us like being separated from our families, seen as criminals. Some of us aren't even allowed to be seen up there or else people think we're up to something."
Ernesto didn't respond, trying not to remeber the moments in his life where him and Héctor were almost seen the exact same way, the first few cities they toured in where everyone looked at them like they didn't belong.
The man looked at Ernesto again, an even look in his eyes. "You might not like this, but that doesn't mean you get to criticize it and call us out." He pointed his cane at Ernesto again. "We've all learned to make the best of it-- and anyways, in a few months you'll be up there again like nothing ever happened. You can show off your talents and spoil yourself all you want."
Ernesto still didn't say anything, staring up at the bright lights of the Land of the Dead above him, the space he imagined his mansion will fill inside the sprawl of the buildings.
The man turned his back to Ernesto, walking back down the stairs. "You have two choices, Ernesto: you can stay here and accept it, or you can stay here and be dramatic like this, act like this is the worst feeling in the world." He stopped on the second level and turned to stare at Ernesto again. His expression almost resembled sympathy, his eyes shining in the faint light of the town now that he was closer to it again. "But you are not leaving," he said firmly, "and you are going to start being nicer to Héctor and the others. And if you don't, I'll track you down again."
Ernesto rolled his eyes, but the man didn't take back his words. His look hardened in the darkness as he waited for Ernesto's response.
Ernesto sighed, throwing up his hands in defeat. He didn't want to go along with this, but he had no choice.
"Fine."
Appearing satisfied, the man nodded and turned around to face the town again. "You coming or what?" he called over his shoulder as he slowly stalked down the stairs, the tapping noise of his cane on the wood.
Dejected and too angry to protest, Ernesto followed him back down the steps. He did not attempt to make conversation, partly because he was angry at the thought of his plan to leave being foiled and mostly because he was the thought of Héctor's reaction and evryone else's when they found out threatened to consume him and make him fall through the stairs and to the floor.
"I've got him," the man called as they entered the town again. Ernesto trudged behind him and glared at the people around them. He saw Héctor staring and averted his eyes quickly, his hands clenched to fists once again.
The man let go of Ernesto's arm, which he'd been gripping tightly as they walked back down the stairs, and adressed the small crowd, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to indicate Ernesto standing there. "He's all yours," the man said with a sarcastic grin.
"Gracias, Chicharrón," Héctor said greatfully as he stood on the side of the gathered crowd, his arms crossed as he leaned against one of the shacks while watching them. He and Ernesto made eye contact again, and Héctor's relieved look faded quickly. His hand gripped his right wrist as if he regretted something.
Ernesto tensed as Héctor stood up straight and walked towards him, uncrossing his arms. Ernesto could feel people staring him down as a careful silence hung in the air between everyone. The only sounds were the crackling of the different bonfires lit around them and the static of a radio someone had turned on in their house.
Héctor broke the silence after a moment, looking away from Ernesto's gaze briefly. "I sent him after you," he confessed quietly, his voice almost a whisper.
Ernesto narrowed his eyes. "I figured that out," he said tightly.
Héctor didn't flinch or cringe this time. He let go of his wrist and stared at Ernesto stubbornly. Through the unwavering look in his eyes, Ernesto could also see a hint of anticipation, which made him roll his own eyes and cross his arms.
"I'm not apologizing for what I said," he snapped. "I hope you understand that."
Héctor nodded and sighed tiredly. "I know."
Ernesto leaned in and lowered his voice, making sure to communicate his rage. "If you want to lie like that, go ahead. But it's not my fault. I meant what I said. I'm not taking it back."
Héctor inhaled sharply, his look showing a sternness and loyalty that Ernesto was momentarily thrown by. "I know you're upset, Ernesto," he said. "And I don't blame you for it. As long as you're here, you can be as frustrated as you want. But you do not insult mi familia like that. Do you understand?"
Ernesto didn't say anything, but he nodded stiffly, uncrossing his arms as he watched Héctor walk away slowly. Before he was too far away, he stopped and regarded Ernesto again. "You can trust us, Superhero. If you let us, we can help you."
Finally he turned to leave, walking away from Ernesto and the rest of the group. No one said anything else, and the quiet air spread through them again.
Ernesto looked at the others surrounding him. Lorenzo glowered at him and swiftly turned away, storming off in Héctor's direction. Carlos gaver Ernesto a look that almost looked exactly like Héctor's but with less intensity to it. He turned to follow Lorenzo after shaking his head exasperatedly. The older women he'd seen playing cards that morning looked at him with pity, also shaking there heads a few times.
Ernesto started to head back to his house, but he startled when he felt someone staring at him. He looked to his right and saw Ramiro staring at him, leaning against one of the shacks just like Héctor had. Ernesto recognized the shirt that pushed at his ribs, his wavy shoulder-length hair disrupted by three strands of grey, the horizontal crack across his skull. Everything looked the same from the time Ernesto had first seen him while Héctor was showing Ernesto where his house was.
Ramiro noticed Ernesto staring at him and startled, straightening and dashing away. Ernesto tried to forget the stunned, fearful look in Ramiro's stare as he slwly continued his walk to his place, the events of the day swirling in his head as he walked.