Chapter 12

The Final Death

"Won't they follow us?" Rosa uneasily peeped back at the zip line they'd left behind, Dante having already caught up.

Despite the chilling realization that she'd just escaped the police, she couldn't help the upwards quirk of her lips.

"There were only three handles," Héctor explained, "Believe when I say that it takes some time for those to be brought back up. By the time those guys reach this part of la ciudad, they'll have no idea where we are."

He then grinned at Miguel. "Fast thinking, chamaco! I gotta thank you both for saving me back there."

"It was a team effort." The boy beamed as he pulled his prima close.

Rosa's heart tripled in size.

It felt so good to see him be himself again.

The boy's face suddenly contorted in pain and he whined, lifting his left forearm. To her angst, his sleeve had been slightly ripped near his elbow.

"Hey!" He protested when Héctor gently yet firmly took hold of his hand before bunching up the sleeve to reveal a cut with oozing droplets of blood, which luckily wasn't deep.

"It must've been a broken spring from the mattress." Miguel assumed while the man examined the wound.

Héctor's eyes darted around until he finally spotted a fountain close by.

"Héctor! It's just a scratch!" The youngest Rivera struggled in his grip, trying to pry the bony fingers off.

"If we don't clean it, you'll get an infection."

Rosa threw her cousin a look that implied she took their guide's side.

"It will be gone soon anyway. We're wasting our time!" Miguel contradicted.

Héctor turned to him with a gaze that could freeze waters. "Taking care of you could never be considered time-wasting, chamaco."

The boy went speechless, allowing himself to be guided to the fountain, where they sat on the ledge. There weren't any other skeletons around, otherwise they would have been busted.

The man opened the tiny pouch that was sealed to his rope belt, snatching out a small roll of bandage and a couple of band aids.

"I keep these with me in case something happens."

Judging by his taped tibia and ulna, Rosa understood why. Trouble pretty much followed him. She briefly wondered how it felt for skeletons to see blood when they didn't have it anymore.

She took the opportunity to get a napkin out of her pocket and partly dip it into the water of the fountain – which was clear thankfully – before dabbing the cut clean. Héctor then wrapped the bandage around Miguel's arm, keeping it in place with the band aids. He was working deftly, and she couldn't help comparing his fingers to professional musicians' ones when they danced across the strings of an instrument.

Héctor caught Miguel's eyes studying his broken rib; the boy immediately switched his gaze to something else upon noticing he'd been busted, embarrassed.

"It happened years ago," Héctor apprised, "Another one of my attempts to cross the bridge. Didn't end too well."

"Does it hurt?"

"Chamaco, that was a long time ago. It hurt then, sure, but not anymore."

"Why didn't it heal?" Rosa asked pitifully. "I suppose skeletons are able to heal, right?"

"Yes, we are, but it's just that…" He sighed, unwilling to reveal the grim truth to two innocent kids as to why his bones hadn't done their job. "Things are different with me."

Both cousins could tell he was lying, yet they didn't pressure him any further about the matter. It was obvious he was reliving a past heartache.

"How long have you been trying to cross the bridge?" Rosa's tongue slipped, and Miguel elbowed her.

The skeleton's eyes were wide as if he were pondering whether or not to tell them, but he eventually answered: "The two of you weren't even born at that time."

The response was vague, but it was enough for them. In their perception, the fact that this man might have been planning schemes to cross over for more than thirteen years was a pretty long time. It could very well have been more than thirteen years…

"Who… who is it in the Land of the Living that you want to visit?" Miguel questioned shyly.

"My daughter."

From his forlorn face, Rosa interpreted that he truly missed her, whoever and wherever she was. Although she'd seen skeletons get emotional when they visited their living relatives, this guy's amount of dejection was immense. She wanted to say something comforting or encouraging, but Héctor had already regained his sense of liveliness.

"There! All done, chamaco!"

Miguel admired his neat work before tucking his sleeve back down. "¡Gracias! Can we go now please?"

Héctor chuckled, ruffling his bangs. "Of course we can."

It was a weird thing to be able to see your skeleton while you were still alive. Seeing less flesh and more bone weirded Rosa out, the sight making her stomach do a twisting backflip, while Miguel looked half-sickened, half-disbelieving by the incessant advance of their transformation.

It totally didn't help that they were climbing down a myriad of narrow stairs made out of rotten wooden planks, where a misplaced step could be fatal for the two of them.

Miguel skipped a set of three stairs.

"Primo, you're gonna fall and crack your skull." she scolded.

"You know, Rosa,I already have Abuelita and Mamá Imelda fuss over me and repeat the same things over and over again. I don't need a third worrying figure."

"Hadn't it been for me, you would have already lost your head somewhere."

She unwittingly glimpsed her hands again. Miguel continued the descent, but she was unable to follow him. Her body stiffened, her breath rhythm increased and she stumbled backwards, overtaken by a vertigo.

So much bone…

We won't make it.

We'll die here.

We'll never see our family again…

She yelped her cousin's name as her spine collided with a plank, causing a dull ache to soar in her back. She couldn't see, her hands were numb… Her heart wanted to leap from her chest…

Someone who Rosa assumed was Miguel shook her, but all she could do was gasp for air. His voice called for help while cradling her close for support. He desperately asked what was wrong, but the words were stuck in her throat. She tried focusing on his warmth, fighting the panic attack by latching onto the last bits of consciousness.

Another hand tilted her chin, and Rosa dazedly met Héctor's concerned face, which startled her. He knelt down in front of her, feeling her forehead. He then enveloped her in his arms. She froze for a split second, but sighed in relief as she grasped his torn vest. She was vaguely aware of a hand stroking her head while Miguel hugged her from behind.

"We won't… make it…" she gulped, refraining from tearing up and making strenuous efforts to regain her breath.

"Of course, we will, prima! There's plenty of time until sunrise." Her cousin whispered in her ear, squeezing her hand in a silent message.

I'm here. I'm not leaving you.

"It's okay, Rosa. Don't think about that. Just breathe." Héctor advised softly. She had a sense of déjà vu of her papá comforting her similarly when she felt troubled.

Gradually, the speed of her heartbeat lessened to a less agitated rate. The sensation in her hands was slowly coming back.

Realising what she was doing, Rosa recoiled from Héctor as if he'd burnt her. The man was eyeing her alarmed, just like her primo hated being pitied, but this time, it was different. It wasn't pity, but rather genuine concern.

"I'm sorry…"

The skeleton shook his head. "Don't be sorry, Rosa. It's alright. The most important thing is, what happened?"

She shifted, biting her lip. "I… I had a moment of despair about this." She held up her hands, but Héctor lowered them.

"We'll get through this, okay? We'll manage, chiquita. Stop thinking about the transformation, or I'll catapult you both to Ernesto's tower with my own arms."

That brought a small smile onto her face, and Héctor grinned, satisfied, before helping them up. She couldn't shake away the feeling of being watched. He steadied her despite her assurances that she was fine.

Miguel's tone softened. "Lo siento, prima. I dragged you into this."

"No, Miguel. No. Don't say that! We're in this together, and we'll pull this whole thing off just fine." She clasped her hand around his fingers. "Héctor, how far is this guitar?"

"We're almost there."

They climbed down the last of stairs, Héctor keeping one arm looped around each of them. Rosa didn't like to be babied, but accepted his help due to her slight light-headedness. Miguel eyed him scornfully.

"Don't look at me like that, chamaco. It's for your own safety."

Miguel slithered out of his hold as soon as they stepped onto the ground again, with Rosa doing the same shortly after.

"I can take care of myself. I'm fine now."

Héctor nodded and whistled, guiding them through a stone archway. The stones at the very top portrayed angel skeletons with marigold wings. Not only was the drawing strange, but it evoked a keen sense of misery through their crying faces.

After leaving the archway behind, they noticed a group of buoyant skeletons laugh gladly around a fire. They yelled: "Cousin Héctor!"

"Hey! These guys!" Héctor matched their enthusiasm. "¡Ey, tío! ¡Qué onda!"

"These people are all your family?" Miguel spoke.

"Eh, in a way," he replied, "We're all the ones with no photos or ofrendas, no family to go home to. Nearly forgotten, you know? So we all call each other cousins or tíos or whatever."

This place had the appearance of a shanty town. Its people were mostly in low spirits in comparison to the ones in the main city. Some skeletons were playing cards, cheering when they won and grunting when they lost a match, and the sole source of light, along with a few fires here and there, were some faint fairy lights which hung from rooftops and on poorly built walls.

The sturdiness of the bungalows appeared to be threatened by any bite of wind, even if they were supported by stilts, while the "ground" was actually made out of rotten wooden planks that were also propped up on poles, since water travelled throughout the entire area.

The skeletons' clothes were ragged and fried; their bones, yellow and brittle. Suddenly, Héctor didn't stand out anymore, looking like he belonged.

It hurt Rosa to even make the connection.

This must be his home.

How had these people ended up here?

And then, it clicked.

Héctor didn't have a photo on an altar, he'd been attempting to cross the bridge for a long time, and looked much more different that the skeletons in the upper parts of the Land of the Dead, just like his primos and tíos here did.

Did that mean that he - they - weren't as well-remembered as the skeletons who lived in decent homes and had healthy bones?

A duo - a violinist and a singer - were lost in their own world as they shared a song with whoever was willing to listen. Some enthusiastic ones began dancing jovially near the two, clapping their hands or tapping their feet to the beat. The music wasn't particularly good, but still enjoyable; Rosa was grateful for it nevertheless. She allowed herself to vibe to it, for she definitely wouldn't be granted that chance at home.

A couple of women turned their skulls in their direction, but she ignored their stares.

There were alebrijes jumping about. One of them halted at her feet with big pleading eyes. The girl scratched the fat bunny-like creature with big claws before it dived into the water, causing both her and Dante to shield themselves from the splash.

This shanty town was undoubtedly the crummiest, most melancholic place Rosa had ever seen in her life.

Héctor happily greeted everybody they passed by. He grabbed a bottle of tequila before heading to a group of women playing cards. One of them called out to him: "Héctor!"

"¡Tía Chelo!" He doffed his hat at the three ladies.

The women giggled, pouring the drink in several glasses, two of which Héctor clasped.

They acted in such a familial way with each other.

"Is Chicharrón around?" He questioned, and the ladies rolled their eyes except for Chelo.

"He's in the bungalow." She gestured with her chin to a run-down shack behind them. "I don't think he's in the mood for visitors." she added carefully, one of the fellow ladies shaking her head as if to affirm her words.

Héctor neglected the warning. "Who doesn't like a visit from Cousin Héctor?"

He banged the door open, disregarding the "NO ENTRADA" sign. He momentarily looked unsure of himself as he entered. Miguel and Rosa followed suit.

Chicharrón's bungalow was dark and confined, filled with all imaginable possessions scattered everywhere or placed in boxes: dishes, cutlery, lamps, pillows and so many more. Exasperated, Rosa wondered how one could live in such a disorderly room, let alone why keep so much stuff around, the majority of which appeared to be pieces of junk. Miguel nearly knocked one stack of boxes over, but managed to catch it just in time.

The hut was missing the fourth wall, the moonlight glistening in the water below.

Héctor set the glasses of tequila on a chair next to a hammock that was almost hanging above the water, where a lot of other old things were heaped. With a wide smile, he lifted a big hat to reveal the grumpy face of a short bald man.

"¡Buenas noches, Chicharrón!"

The man's bones, like everyone else's in this corner of the world, were faded; his markings, nearly invisible, with only their outlines still showing.

"I don't want to see your stupid face, Héctor!" he snarked.

But Héctor didn't back down. "Oh, come on! It's Día de Muertos! I brought you a little offering." He gestured to the drinks.

"Get out of here!"

"I would, Chich, but the thing is, me, my friends Miguel and Rosa…" Héctor glimpsed the fingerboard of a guitar amongst the tens of other possessions in the hammock, "…we really need to borrow your guitar."

Chicharrón immediately hugged the instrument to his chest. "My guitar?!"

"Yes?"

Héctor's pleading face reminded Rosa of the way she, Miguel and Abel would sometimes beg for extra sweets from Abuelita.

"My prized, beloved guitar?"

"I promise we'll bring it right back."

"Like that time you promised to bring back my van?"

"Eh…"

"Or my mini fridge?"

"Oh, you see…"

"Or my good napkins? My lasso? My femur?!"

The old man raised his right leg to bare a metal femur instead of a bony one.

How on earth did the rest of his leg stay attached to it?!

"No, not like those times…"

Chicharrón's rage spurred as he grappled Héctor's bandana, yanking him closer.

"Where's my femur?! You—"

Golden flashes suddenly shook his being, and he dropped back into his hammock, looking weakened. The cousins exchanged questioning glances.

"Oh, oh! You okay, amigo?" Héctor fretted, reaching out a helpful hand, but it remained suspended.

When he spoke, the other skeleton's voice was barely above a murmur; his brows were curved in dismay. "I'm fading, Héctor. I can feel it. I couldn't even play that thing if I wanted to."

Several beats passed until he regained his breath. "You… play me something?"

Héctor backed away, raising his hands in denial. "You know I don't play anymore, Chich. The guitar is for the boy."

"You want it, you gotta earn it."

With a prolonged sigh, Héctor gripped the guitar. "Ay… Only for you, amigo."

He tuned the instrument and leaned on the edge of the hammock with a gentle smile. "Any requests?"

Chich chuckled weakly, but managed a smile of his own. "You know my favourite."

Héctor's fingers started plucking the strings as Rosa sat down beside Miguel on a wooden box, listening intently.

He began singing, to their utter astonishment. His voice was gentle, just perfect for the calm song.

"Well everyone knows Juanita,

Her eyes each a different color.

Her teeth stick out,

And her chin goes in,

And her…"

Héctor caught sight of the kids' smiling faces. He proceeded after the short interruption:

"…knuckles they drag on the floor…"

Chicharrón shook his head. "Those aren't the words!"

"There are children present." Héctor asserted before going on:

"Her hair is like a briar,

She stands in a bow-legged stance…"

Rosa studied his way of playing the instrument. She could tell that Héctor was an experienced guitar player by the fluidity of his fingers, how he needn't even glance at the guitar to hit the right notes. This song seemed to be a piece of cake for him to perform.

Meanwhile, Miguel was mesmerized, but also thrilled to know that their new friend was a musician. Rosa admitted that she was entranced herself. Besides Miguel, she'd only heard a few mariachis play the guitar and, obviously, de la Cruz.

Yet Héctor wasn't like Ernesto. There was something there, something that she was able to discover in Héctor which she was sure that De la Cruz lacked, albeit she couldn't pin-point what exactly that was.

Her heart jolted when she thought that maybe he'd understand her and Miguel's passion for music, but part of her excitement dimmed out when she remembered how he viewed musicians.

Wait. Could his words mean that… since he claimed to detest musicians, he might have as well loathed… himself?!

Well, that was absurd.

"And if I weren't so ugly,

She'd possibly give me a chance!"

The song ended. Rosa would've clapped, but the atmosphere was too wonderfully peaceful to be disrupted.

Chicharrón laughed, looking truly content. "Brings back memories." He took off his hat. "Gracias…"

He closed his eyes. His bones began glowing again, only this time, the light didn't flicker. It was steady and brighter than the one before, engulfing him until he disappeared, leaving behind a trail of emptiness and disconcerting silence.

Rosa subconsciously clutched Miguel's hand, a gesture that he fiercely returned.

Héctor got up, silently toasting to his friend. He drank one of the tequila glasses, leaving the other one behind, as if Chich could still empty it anytime. With slumped shoulders and the guitar in hand, he headed to the door.

"Wait… What happened?" Miguel queried, concerned, both of them close behind.

"He's been forgotten. When there's no one left in the Living World who remembers you, you disappear from this world. We call it the Final Death."

"Where did he go?" Rosa said.

"No one knows."

Miguel frowned in concentration. "But we've met him. We could remember him when we go back."

"Yeah!" she hyped up.

"No, it doesn't work like that, chamaco." Héctor smiled sadly. "Our memories… they have to be passed down by those who knew us in life. In the stories they tell about us. But there's no one left alive to pass down Chich's stories…"

None of them spoke for several moments. Miguel was lost in his thoughts, gazing at the hammock with teary eyes while Rosa found it impossible to do the same. They hadn't known the man, yet his vanishing had left a gaping hole in their stomachs, one they weren't sure what to fill with.

She had to get out. She couldn't bear to be here any longer.

She threw the hanging aside, striding with forceful steps and overlooking the questioning looks she received once again.

When she'd gone past him, it seemed that Héctor had wanted to say something. She then heard: "Hey! It happens to everyone eventually. ¡Venga, chamaco! You've got a contest to win."

After they exited, one of the women approached Héctor and enquired something in a discrete voice. Her face blanched at his regretful nod and sprinted into the bungalow, other skeletons also catching up to the distressing news.

The sight was too much. Knowing that so many skeletons would soon meet the same fate, knowing that there was nothing Rosa could do about it made her legs enhance their speed. She only stopped once outside of the archway to wait for Miguel and Héctor. Her eyes drifted one last time to the slums, lingering on them for a short while before she quickly turned on her heels.

She wished she could do something about all of this so badly.

They continued their walk in silence. Miguel was sorrowful, while Héctor had a lost look on his face. He patted her shoulder.

"You okay, chica?"

"Sí." she lied.

Dante suddenly dashed ahead, with Miguel playfully skipping after him up the stairs. He probably wanted to distract himself from what they'd witnessed in some sort of way; he sometimes did that when he was upset.

Héctor called out to him: "Be careful and don't hurry, chamaco! Stay where we can see you!"

Rosa remained with him as they climbed up the sets of stairs. She snorted.

"You're talking in vain, you know that, right?"

He chuckled. "I had a feeling about that."

After mere quiet moments, she said: "Héctor?"

"Hm? Yes, what is it?"

"I didn't thank you… for helping my cousin and I earlier. And I'm sorry for being salty to begin with. I usually have a hard time warming up to strangers."

Rosa looked up at him, hoping that her repentance would be clear in her eyes and taken seriously. The eyes are the mirror of the soul, aren't they?

Héctor was astounded by her unanticipated yet genuine confession. He grinned, but his face still held a note of solemnity.

"Ah… You needn't thank me, chica. I just did what I knew I had to do. I also understand your reservations, don't worry; it's good to know stranger danger. Almost forgotten people like me aren't seen well."

"But they should help you." Rosa felt conflicted. "Many remembered skeletons are rich, so they should at least offer you some better places to stay in until the Final Death. No offence, but your home kinda needs an upgrade."

Héctor giggled somewhat darkly. "I know it does, but we manage and make do with what we got. Besides, some of them do come to help."

"And how often is that?" She crossed her arms.

He didn't respond.

"I knew it!"

"Calm down, Rosa! It's not worth your while to worry about us. Like I said, the Final Death comes for everyone, sooner or later."

"But it's not fair!"

"Life isn't fair. Neither is Death. There's nothing you can do about it but accept everything as it is. Let me tell you what I wish I knew when I was young and alive."

He eyed her almost sternly.

"Be grateful for everything you have, for you don't know when it will be taken away from you. Especially your family."

His gaze followed Miguel's smiling figure as he was play-fighting with Dante. Longing entered his heart again.

Rosa lovingly watched her cousin as Miguel waved at them.

"I am."

A/N:

It was time for some fluff! I really wanted Héctor to take care of his unknown great-great-grandchildren. Officially, Rosa's uneasiness regarding Héctor has vanished; she finally starts to trust him. There's a lot more to this man than she first thought.

I headcanon that she loves helping people, thus seeing all those poor skeletons in danger of ceasing to exist has a major impact on her. That's why she felt the need to leave immediately after Chicharrón's Final Death.

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Feedback would be appreciated!