Ernesto had imagined many ways that killing Héctor could come back to haunt him. Nosy reporters poking through his things and finding out what he did, Imelda tracking him down and demanding he confess his lies, even Héctor coming back from the dead and invading his life like he did when he was alive (it was one of the reasons Ernesto never put Héctor's picture up during Día de los Muertos-- even staring at the photocopied version of the man's face was too much for him).
What he'd never imagined, one thing he never thought would be possible, was he and Héctor hesitantly resuming their relationship, talking and joking around into the late afternoon like they hadn't done in years.
Ernesto rolled his eyes and glared as his frined continued giggling. "It's not that big of a deal, Héctor. They made me do it; I couldn't refuse them!"
From Ernesto's left side came gasping breaths as Héctor calmed down, a wide grin on his face. He took a long swig of the soda that sat next to him and leaned back, regarding Ernesto with his eyebrows raised. "I always knew you were crazy, Ernesto. But flying through the air while playing guitar? ¿En serio? Even I would've said no!"
Ernesto smacked Héctor's arm and looked away, annoyed at how embarrassed he was feeling. "Everyone agreed it would be a good stunt to put in the movie, okay? And it was one of my most popular moments! If you saw it for yourself, you'd understand why I had to do it."
Héctor shook his head, putting his hand on his forehead and laughing slightly again. "From what you're telling me, it's a good thing I haven't seen it."
They'd been together since early that morning. Ernesto hadn't really wanted to talk to anyone after Héctor and Lorenzo's fight, but he didn't want to be alone either. Héctor seemed to feel the same way, probably still dwelling on the event himself and avoiding anyone who might try to talk to him about it. Ernesto decided that he would give in to the nostalgia he felt when he saw Héctor sitting outside and strumming his guitar, a pensive look on his face. Héctor had been surprised and wary when Ernesto asked if he could join him, but even in the tension and bitterness between them, his former amigo responded to Ernesto's unspoken sadness and accepted his request.
They would never be close again. Ernesto had no interest in staying in contact with Héctor after his mansion was finished, and even though Héctor had given him this small opening (and many others), Ernesto could tell that Héctor would never forgive him for what he did. But this was the most amicable they'd been with each other in a long time, longer than the twenty-one years of separation Ernesto had caused, and while this moment was more awkward than anything, Ernesto welcomed the rescue from the dreary day he would otherwise be submerged in.
Ernesto reached for his own drink and tilted his head back, swallowing the last of it and avoiding the amused look Héctor kept giving him. "Listen, when you have fans, you do anything to make them respect you. They told me they wanted an exciting scence, so I gave them one."
"Exciting or embarrassing?"
Ernesto slammed the bottle down on the wood step and threw up his hands. "Whatever. You wouldn't know. You have no idea how to be a good musician like me."
Héctor turned to stare at Ernesto and smirked, raising his eyebrows as he crossed his arms over his knees. "I know how to be a good musician; I'm just not a remembered one. I'm pretty sure you of all people know the reason why."
Ernesto scoffed and turned away, ignoring the feeling of guilt that formed over the awkward silence that followed.
He faced forward and watched the action of the town at this hour: the old women playing cards off to the side, one of the shorter ones smacking her friend's arm and accusing of making a dumb move; Carlos standing by the entryway to the town and flirting with one of the newer residents; voices rising over the sounds of out-of-tune instruments as they argued about how the next part of a song went; the old man scowling out his window as he hit his radio again and again to try and find a station without static.
Although Ernesto tried not to care, he kept feeling that same stab of guilt he'd felt after he'd accused Héctor and his friends of pretending to be family. This place was far from horrible; yes, it had a momentus amount of downsides and failiures, but the close and easy way everyone fit together reminded Ernesto of his life in Santa Cecilia, whrre even complete strangers made an effort to be friends to one another. But something about this-- the fact that Ernesto was the one everyone loved and dreamed of being whereas Héctor was the person everyone avoided and sneered at-- felt wrong for reasons Ernesto didn't understand and didn't like at all.
Everything was Héctor's fault. He's the one who abandoned their friendship to start a family with the woman he shouldn't have had anything to do with. He's the one who tried to give up on the dream they'd had since they were small children. He's the one who saw Ernesto suffer to the point of depression and still decided to choose his family over helping his best friend, the person who'd been with him the longest even when it would've been easier to cut ties with him.
The choices Ernesto made were all prompted by Héctor's foolish decisions. No one could blame him. So why was he feeling guilty now when everything was said and done? It made no sense to him, and the longer he sat with that sensation, the more uncomfortable it made him.
Turning to Héctor again, the setting sun and lights from both the town and the above city painting the area around him in a soft glow, Ernesto felt the impulse to apologize, even if he knew he wasn't in the wrong. He opened his mouth, clearing his throat and preparing the sentences in his mind. But when Héctor turned toward him with a concerned look on his face, the words wouldn't come.
What he said instead was, "Do you have any more drinks? I ran out." The impulse faded as quickly as it came, and he inwardly kicked himself.
Héctor nodded slowly, and Ernesto got up and dashed inside, trying to put distance between him and Héctor as quickly as possible.
He used the lights from the doorway and from Héctor's window, hunting for the minifridge Héctor kept his soda and tequila bottles in. When he opened it, there were way more of the former than the latter, which sent a deep pang through Ernesto's chest. He remembered Héctor's disgusted face when the two of them had tried their first sip of their mother's tequila and Héctor tried to wash the taste out by gulping down four cans of soda at once, vibrating with manic energy for the rest of the day.
Ernesto closed the fridge, almost slamming it as he pushed the memory from his mind. He stood up to go back outside, but just as he turned to leave, something caught his eye on the wall behind him.
Taped above the empty bottles Héctor kept next to his hammock were several scraps of paper, each with a vague sketch and a description to go along with them. The papers fluttered in the breeze, and Héctor's neat, swirly writing could be seen on each one. Ernesto didn't want to look at them, but his curiosity got the better of him and he walked over to read them, making sure to step lightly so Héctor wouldn't hear him sneaking around.
The first piece of paper had a date on it-- November of 1931. Underneath, there was a pencil drawing of two security guards, one on either side of one of the gates to the Land of the Living. Written below their feet as if they were standing on the letters, Héctor had written: Ask Lorenzo for some ways to sneak past unnoticed. He has to know something.
The second paper was dated three years later. A sketch of a beat-up van with lines behind it showing its speed. Once again, Héctor made the letters the ground when he wrote, Maybe driving would work? I'm sure Chicharrón would let me borrow his van if I can talk him into it.
Ernesto looked across the wall, noticing numerous papers above and below those two, starting at 1930 and continuing until now. Drawings of stunts that ranged from ridiculous to dangerous and both at the same time, with words underneath dictating what to use and who to ask for it, growing more desperate and pathetic from one year to the next.
As Ernesto read each one, running his finger over each paper, a heavy feeling of dread settled where his heart used to be, getting stronger when he got to the last one, the one for this year. It depicted a drawing of the guards identical to the first one Ernesto looked at. And in it, Héctor drew himself sprinting toward them, half of him jumping over and the other half sliding under. But it wasn't the eager stupidity the drawing showed that got to him, it was the note underneath. No objects were needed, no one in town was mentioned; the note made Ernesto's heart clench as he read it.
Don't forget to bring the letter and the gifts for Imelda and Coco. I don't care if they told me it wouldn't work; I have to try and give these to them. They have to know I'm still here.
Before Ernesto realized what was happening, his vision blurred with tears, and he forced his gaze away from the wall as he dropped to the ground. He shook his head as he wiped his eyes, trying to get the feeling to go away.
It made no sense. Ernesto hadn't felt anything for his actions in years. He had no reason to; Héctor was the one who led him to drastic measures. Héctor brought this on himself. Ernesto had no reason to feel upset for what happened between them. Everything was Héctor's fault, and he deserved to suffer the consequences.
Yet even as those thoughts rolled through Ernesto's mind, he couldn't stop the tears that continued to fall. He didn't know why he cared after all these years, but he did nonetheless, and the guilt and regret was hitting him harder than it ever had.
He stood up to go back outside when he heard a collective scream so loud it sounded like it was right outside Héctor's doorway. His first thought was that another fight had broken out between Héctor and one of his amigos, and he rushed to the door to look out, preparing himself to fight if he needed to before he knew what he was doing.
But what he saw in front of him stunned him too much to move.
Héctor's drink had been knocked over, the cup cracked and the soda darkening the wood steps. Now he stood with five of his friends in front of the house across town, all of them crowded around one of the residents as she collapsed to the ground, an eerie golden light flickering through her bones, so bright it showed through her gray dress.
Ernesto stood frozen as he saw the woman's strained expression, her teeth clenched in pain and her shivers growing more violent by the minute. The sight of her made Ernesto remember Héctor's death, the way she curled into herself provoking the image of Héctor doubled over, his eyes squeezed shut in agony.
Then, almost as soon as the tremors picked up speed, they slowed down until what was left was a bright golden glow covering her entire body. Her face and posture went slack in her amigos' arms, like she was falling asleep. And just as that thought crossed Ernesto's mind, she dissolved into dust, leaving nothing behind but her clothes.
Ernesto leaned against the doorframe, trying to stop his own body from shaking as a few tears fell once again. He didn't know what he just witnessed, but with the way the dread in his mind came through again, he knew it wasn't good.
He took the mournful and disbelieving cries as an opportunity to sneak away, trying not to be heard as he walked away from the group.
He caught Héctor looking at him, the leftover tears in his eyes a reflection of the ones Ernesto roughly wiped away upon eye contact.
After a minute passed, Ernesto glared and turned away, trudging back to his own house as he brushed more tears away. The grief in Héctor's eyes haunted Ernesto the rest of the day even more now that he understood where it really came from.