#Abuela will ease the angst the realization found in that time brought him

[watchyourbuck]

Tia Pepa said “I thought you just dressed alike” with a funny face so Abuela could say “it’s okay to love him” in a serious one

[bcdrawsandwrites]

Neither Can You Rating: T Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Family Characters: Héctor, Ernesto, Imelda, Coco, Julio, Pepita, Dante, Miguel, Óscar, Felipe, Victoria, Rosita… possibly others. Warnings: Violence, broken bones Description: “Do you care about your familia… more than your music?” Héctor didn’t have to think twice to answer yes. But the grin on Ernesto’s face sent a chill down his spine as the man continued, “Are you willing to put that to the test?” View all chapters here! FFN Link | AO3 Link | dA Link

Chapter 20: Aftermath Summary: In which the Rivera family deals with the immediate aftermath of a very, very long night.

---~~~---

“…and that’s when you broke free? Right? …¿Señora?”

Blinking, Victoria adjusted her glasses again. The officer was staring at her expectantly, and she realized she must have zoned out. It was getting hard to focus, with the police talking to her family in the street and investigating the building nearby, and everyone talking, and the beams from the flashlights occasionally flashing off her glasses and nearly blinding her, and it was getting past midnight, and—dios her wrist still hurt. She rubbed at it absently, where that horrid black band had been. Thankfully the police had a device they could use to remove it, since it worked with the same technology as their handcuffs. But something was still missing…

“¿Señora?” the officer asked, and she inwardly groaned at the fact that she’d just zoned out, again. “If this is hard for you to talk about right now, we can discuss it at the station at a later time.”

“No, it’s fine,” she said, straightening her back. “I was saying… when I heard the other two step out, I broke out of those plastic ties, and fought the other man while he was caught off-guard.” She might have grinned, but the memory of fighting the man tooth and nail to give herself a chance to escape gave her a strange anxiety. “I knocked him out, escaped out the window, and ran to a store to call the police.”

Nodding, the officer finished jotting the last few notes in his notepad. “And that’s when you called for us.” He looked up at her, sympathetic. “You’ve had a very rough night. You and your familia should go home and rest.”

That did sound nice, but her hand clenched against her wrist. “What about my arm?”

The sharpness in her voice caught the attention of the others—her mamá, papá, tíos, and other officers.

“Oh, we got word from Señora Imelda Rivera!” another officer called, jogging up to them. “They have the missing bone.”

Sighing, Victoria nodded, and turned to look at Pepita behind her. The big cat lowered her head, allowing Victoria to stroke the soft fur between her horns. But feeling a hand suddenly at her back, she stiffened, spinning around, only to see her mamá looking up at her. She forced herself to relax, inwardly chiding herself for being so jumpy.

“Are you ready to go home, mija?” Mamá Coco asked.

Please. “Have you and papá given your statements?”

“I think we have all the information we need for now, señora,” another officer said with a confirmatory nod. “If we need anything else, we’ll call your residence to let you know.”

That sounded good. Without a second thought, she turned to board Pepita.

It wasn’t an action she was used to—she rode Pepita very rarely—but on top of that—

Stay still, now. We’ll just be taking this, and if you and your abuelo are good, that’s all we’ll take.

Pain jolted up her bad arm, and she gasped, taking a step back.

Another hand was at her side, and she swung her fist quickly. Her papá jumped back just in time to avoid the punch, and it took her a moment to piece together what had just happened. “L-lo siento. You startled me,” she said, hating the way her voice shook. Behind her papá, Óscar and Felipe stared at her in clear worry before realizing she was looking at them, and quickly glanced in opposite directions.

“Th-that’s all right, mija,” her Papá Julio said, and she had to turn away to avoid seeing the pain in his eyes.

Wordlessly her mamá climbed aboard Pepita, and reached down to help Victoria up. As the others boarded behind them, Victoria clutched fistfuls of the cat’s fur—so she wouldn’t get jostled during takeoff, and not to hide the fact that her hands were shaking.

It was over. She was going to get her missing ulna bone back, and that would be that.

She was fine.

---~~~---

We can’t seem to get anything out of him right now, Señora. But visit us first thing tomorrow, if you’re able, and we may get some information out of him then.

Heaving a shuddering sigh, Imelda pulled Héctor’s chilled frame closer to herself as she marched home. Normally they would have taken Pepita, but the alebrije was still with Coco’s group, who was a greater distance out. At the very least, they hadn’t been an unreasonable distance from the hacienda, and now it was within sight.

That was good, because Héctor was getting difficult to carry, the chill in his bones spreading to her own. Héctor himself had grown dazed and exhausted shortly after they’d confronted Ernesto, and she could hardly blame him. But at the same time, it brought back memories from only a few months ago, when his body was losing its warmth, and golden light flickered over it…

“Oh!” Rosita called, hurrying up to her side. Dante was barking, charging ahead of them. “Look!”

Glancing upward, Imelda smiled at the sight of Pepita descending into the front yard, a total of five skeletons on her back. The smile faded when she saw the way Pepita drooped upon landing, however; even the great alebrije was worn out.

Rosita opened the gates, and Imelda hurried past, immediately approaching Victoria, who was carefully dismounting. “Mija, are you all right?”

“Fine,” Victoria answered a little too quickly, brushing some stray fur off of her apron. “Do you…” She trailed off, seeing Héctor in her arms.

“Papá!” Coco cried, hurrying up to them. She placed a hand on her father’s shoulder, only to pull it away in shock. “Que—?!”

Héctor stirred at the touch, opening his eyes a fraction and glancing over at Coco, giving her a weak smile.

Julio and the twins approached them as well, all of them about to question Héctor’s state, but Imelda cut them off. “That cabrón did something to him. I’ll sort it out,” she said quickly, before adjusting her grip on Héctor to pull something out of her apron pocket. “But first, Victoria…”

Eyes widening, Victoria took the wrapped-up bone into her shaking hands, carefully unwrapping it. She held her bad arm upward and let go of the bone, biting back a yelp when it snapped back into place. She rubbed it carefully, but there was relief in her eyes. “Gracias, abuela.”

Nodding, Imelda stepped over to Pepita and leaned her head against the cat’s forehead, eliciting a faint purr from her. “Rest now, Pepita,” she said, and the cat eased herself onto the ground, Dante immediately curling up next to her.

She would have to talk to the others later, especially Victoria, but for now she had something else that required immediate attention. Carrying Héctor up the two flights of stairs, she brought him into the third floor bathroom—the only one with a tub. “Wake up, mi amor,” she said, easing him onto the floor next to the tub.

Héctor winced, bracing his back against the wall as he opened his eyes wearily. The shaking of his bones grew more obnoxious as they clattered against the floor and wall.

Imelda took a moment to rub her hands and arms furiously, trying to get some warmth back into them before stooping near the bathtub to turn on the faucet. “We need to get you warm,” she said, sticking her hand beneath the running water so she could watch its temperature. “Can you disrobe?”

The question caught him off-guard, and he glanced at her warily, grimacing. (We’re married and we’re skeletons, Imelda thought in exasperation.) But the desire to be warm won over anything else, and he shakily began to pull off his vest. His probably-numb, single hand had a harder time loosening the rope that served as his belt, and Imelda paused to help him untie it.

Finally the water ran hot, and steam rose out of the tub as Imelda plugged the drain to allow the tub to fill. “Let’s get you in here,” she said, carefully lifting Héctor and easing him into the warm water. He initially recoiled from the heat, but quickly relaxed as the water covered him. “If this doesn’t warm you up…” She shook her head. “I’ll be just outside—let me know if you need help.”

With that, she stepped out of the bathroom and shut the door.

...And to her surprise, found herself sinking to the floor as the exhaustion and stress from the night hit her all at once. She was glad she’d decided to leave Héctor alone as she rested her arms and head against her knees, pressing her face into her apron to muffle sobs that wracked her frame.

---~~~---

Rosita’s first instinct had been to fuss over Victoria, but she held herself back for the time being; her niece was not one for physical contact even at the best of times. As everyone filed into the house and dragged themselves to their usual spots in the living room, however, Rosita kept a close eye on Victoria. Everyone had had a stressful night, but her niece, undoubtedly, had the worst of it.

“I didn’t see Papá’s hand,” Coco said, breaking the silence.

“We… haven’t gotten it back yet,” Rosita answered. “Ernesto didn’t have it, and we don’t know where it is yet.”

Everyone around her gave quiet sounds ranging from disgust, to anger, to dismay. “You can’t be serious?” Óscar cried.

“This still isn’t over?!” Felipe rubbed his hand over his face.

“They’ll be interrogating that man later. Mamá Imelda will check back with the police in the morning, and then we’ll know what happened.”

As the twins and Coco began talking this over, Rosita turned her attention back to Victoria, who had been quiet this whole time as she sat at the far end of the couch, as close to the arm rest as she could manage. Usually she would have put in a remark or two by this point, but she didn’t seem focused on the conversation at all, instead staring down at the floor and keeping one hand clenched around her arm—the one that had gone missing. Other than that, Rosita couldn’t see anything that seemed to be physically amiss with her, though she knew she’d heard that muffled scream over the radio.

She nearly said something, but Julio beat her to it. “Mija?” he asked quietly, scooting closer. “Are you… do you need to talk about—”

“No,” Victoria snapped. “No, I don’t need anything.”

Rosita winced, noticing that the other conversation had stopped, and all eyes were on Victoria. This was going to turn out very badly very soon—she had to do something. “Victoria, I think you could—”

“No, gracias,” she said sharply, though Rosita did not miss the slight waver to her voice. With that she stood up, hurrying out and up the stairs. The door to her room slammed shortly afterward.

“…Oh.” Flinching, Rosita wrung her hands as the others exchanged worried glances. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Está bien,” Julio said, though the pain in his expression said otherwise.

“I’ll check on her.” Coco slid off the couch, slowly making her way up the stairs. After a moment, Rosita and Julio found themselves standing simultaneously, following her.

Even with Victoria’s door shut, they could faintly hear a muffled, keening noise from within the room. The last time she’d seen her like this was when she’d first died, and Imelda and Julio had been the ones to comfort her then. But now Victoria was even snapping at Julio…

“Mija?” Coco asked, rapping gently on the door. The sound within got a little quieter, but there was no response otherwise—Victoria wasn’t telling them to leave. Hesitating for only a moment, Coco opened the door, slipping inside. Before she shut the door again, Rosita caught a glimpse of her niece sitting curled up at the edge of her bed.

Rosita looked down at her brother as he heaved a heavy sigh. “Should we…?”

“It’d probably overwhelm her,” Julio replied, shaking his head, then rubbing an eye socket with the heel of his hand. “Socorro can take care of her for now.”

Nodding, Rosita wrapped an arm around her brother, pausing a moment to listen to the sounds on the other side of the door. Coco was speaking quietly, and she couldn’t make out any words. “She’ll be all right,” she said softly.

“I hope so,” he muttered, then grit his teeth. “What they did to her—!”

“I think we already got them back for that.” She managed a smile.

After a moment, he managed a half-smile back. “Sí, we did. Though uh… four against two made it a little easier.”

“One against one for each of us.” Rosita paused in thought. “Not counting Dante…”

Julio had fallen quiet again, staring sullenly at the door as he listened.

Tugging at his shoulder, Rosita guided him to the stairs. “Now’s not the time for standing around,” she said. “Come help me make something.”

“¿Qué?” he stammered. “But it’s nearly one in the morning!”

“Yes, but I think we could use some food… especially Papá Héctor.” The memory of when she put a hand to his forehead made her shudder; the poor man had felt like ice. “He’ll need something to warm him up.”

“Oh… Th-that’s true.”

Truth be told, Rosita mainly needed something to keep herself busy, or she would lose her mind just sitting around. But this was something she could do that would help everyone else as well. “Come on! I think we may still have some leftover soup we can heat up.” With that, she dragged her brother into the kitchen; the sooner they started, the better.

---~~~---

He couldn’t see what he was doing—the room was too dark, and he couldn’t discern any doors or windows anywhere. He could feel the hardwood beneath his feet, but it wasn’t… it couldn’t be…

And then he heard it—a faint, muffled scream.

Victoria! They still had to find her, but where was she? Where was he? It seemed like that room where…

Imelda? Where had she gone? Hadn’t she come with them? He couldn’t remember—but Victoria was here, somewhere, and he had to help her, he had to—

Something caught around his throat, a tight pressure, and he yelped, automatically grabbing at it with his hands—hand. He couldn’t find whatever was strangling him—strangely, there didn’t seem to be anything at his throat, but he was certain it was… it was Ernesto grabbing him, again, it had to be—

It was getting hard to breathe, he felt like he was choking, but on what? He had to breathe, he had to…

His hand caught something, and he tugged on it, which only made his throat hurt worse. Whatever it was was clearly choking him, though, and he had to get it away, so he continued tugging at it, he had to get it off, get it off, get it—why was it so cold? He didn’t remember it being so cold here, it was so cold, it was so cold—

Shivering, he opened his eyes, only to squint at the sting of water surrounding them.

…Water?

With a great amount of flailing, Héctor managed to sit upright and out of the water, gasping for air, only to cough and hack and gag. He was sitting in a tub of cool water that was rapidly getting colder, and there was still something tugging at his throat. Putting his hand to his neck, he found the strands of some kind of material hanging off of him—the bandage that the doctor had wrapped around his vertebrae. He’d pulled it loose.

The door creaked open, and Imelda slipped into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. “Are you all right?” she asked, her voice sounding strangely rough.

He struggled to remember what had happened, having trouble separating the dream from the actual events. Remembering the scream he’d heard, he looked at Imelda in alarm. “V-Vi…c…t…”

“Victoria will be fine, Héctor,” she said, sighing as she stooped down near the tub. “She’s safe. Coco and the others brought her home, remember?”

He didn’t—everything that had happened toward the end was a blur—but he nodded anyway, taking her word for it.

“Did your bath help?” Imelda asked. When he shook his head, she dipped her hand into the water, and frowned. “It’s already cold…” Sighing, she helped him out of the tub and dried him carefully with a towel before wrapping him in it. She then eyed his neck for a moment before carefully removing the mangled remains of the bandage that had been around his cervical vertebrae.

Even when he was out of the cold water, Héctor still felt himself shivering, clinging to his towel as he leaned into Imelda. This wasn’t helping—the water had warmed him for a moment, but now he was freezing all over again. Maybe he just needed some actual clothes on…

Imelda put her arm around him as she helped him walk to his bedroom, keeping him from falling whenever his feet stumbled. Once he was seated at his bed, she rifled through his drawers, pulling out night clothes for him to wear. Any other time Héctor might have felt ashamed at needing help with such basic tasks, but now he was too cold and exhausted to care. Getting the clothing on was a terrible endeavor as the pain in his ribs cut through his numbness, but they managed. Yet even so, he still found himself shaking, already feeling colder. Once again, he could barely feel his hands and feet.

“Better?” Imelda asked, only to wince when Héctor shook his head. He was sitting at the edge of his bed as Imelda prepared it for him. “Héctor,” she went on, biting her lip. “You’re not… you don’t feel like you did when you… you were…”

Though she couldn’t bring herself to say it, Héctor recognized what she was trying to convey, and shook his head. No, the feeling of being forgotten was nothing like this. That was a pain that had wracked him to his marrow—he had felt like he was falling apart, like his bones were crumbling into dust, like his stomach was being torn to shreds. This, meanwhile, was a terrible, numbing cold, nothing more.

His response seemed to satisfy Imelda, at least a little. She pulled back the sheets and quilt, easing him against the pillows piled up at the head of his bed, and covered him. “How do you feel now?”

Still banged up, sore, and cold, was the answer, but all he could do was shiver, huddling up on himself.

Muttering curses against Ernesto under her breath, Imelda glanced aside before placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be back,” she said, and hurried out of the room.

For lack of anything else to do, Héctor tried to will himself to sleep, but the icy coldness he felt made it impossible; the most he could do was shiver under the covers. Fortunately Imelda was gone for only a moment, returning with more blankets and a smaller, cloth-covered thing with an electrical cord trailing out of it. “Stay still,” she said, as she pulled his covers back and gently slipped the object into his rib cage. It could have been worse, Héctor supposed, as he shifted around the bizarre feeling of the cloth within his chest cavity. Imelda plugged the cord in before covering Héctor back up and piling on a few more blankets.

“That should help,” Imelda said with a sigh, brushing his hair out of his face.

He nodded, but couldn’t help but wonder just what the point was of slipping something into his rib cage. He was too tired to argue, however, shutting his eyes as he slumped against the pillows. Soon after, however, he found what the purpose of the thing was, as it rapidly grew warm, heating his chilled bones and soothing the soreness. It didn’t fully chase away the cold, but it was more bearable now, at least. “Gra…cias…” he wheezed, managing a faint smile up at Imelda.

She smiled back, running a hand gently through his hair. “I’m going to talk with the others for a little while,” she said, and he nodded. “Try to sleep, if you can.”

He could certainly try.

As she stepped out and turned off the light, he stared down at his right wrist, and where his hand should have been. Now that the problem of the chill in his bones was at least temporarily taken care of, his mind drifted back to his other problem: His hand was still missing. He’d thought this would be the end of it, now that Ernesto had finally been taken care of… but apparently not. Sighing, he tried to settle into his bed, shutting his eyes.

Maybe tomorrow.

---~~~---

Coco seated herself next to her daughter as the family sat in the living room, eating the quick dinner that Rosita had prepared. Even though everyone was quite tired, the food seemed to revive the group somewhat. Imelda sat in her usual chair, the twins occupying the loveseat, and her, Victoria, and Julio kept to the couch. The rocking chair that Rosita preferred was empty—she had gone upstairs to bring Héctor some food.

Glancing over at Victoria, she found her gaze trained on Imelda. She showed no sign of having broken down earlier, looking more like her usual self. It was a mask, of course, but Coco knew she was dealing with things as best as she could. The fact that she’d held together at all until they got home was incredible. Even so… she would still need support. While Coco didn’t make physical contact with Victoria, she did keep relatively close by. She knew well how her daughter tended to shy away from touch, and she would continue to respect those boundaries.

“Will you tell us what happened to Héctor, then?” Victoria asked suddenly.

It was likely she was asking about Héctor specifically in order to avoid anything that would lead to talking about her situation, but Coco nodded. “Yes, I’d like to hear what happened to Papá as well.”

Her mamá regarded them for a moment before sighing. “We don’t know,” she admitted. “After you took care of those brutes and relayed us the message, Ernesto turned tail and ran.”

Óscar and Felipe gave a couple faint snickers at that, and Coco gave them a half-smile; she’d been too angry and desperate to appreciate their antics at the time.

“Héctor ran after him, and… he hasn’t told me what happened.” Imelda shook her head. “All we know is that Dante led us to him, and he was dragging himself on the ground.” Now she looked away, staring blankly at a spot on the opposite wall. “His bones are still cold as ice.”

“He didn’t tell you?” Óscar repeated.

“But why not?” Felipe went on. “If he told us, we might know how to help!”

“I don’t think he knows what happened, either,” Imelda said. “He was just as confused as me.”

“We’d better find out soon,” Victoria growled. “I’ll talk to that man myself if I have to.”

“Victoria, no!” Julio said. “You’ve done a lot already—don’t you think you should—”

“I’ll talk to that man myself,” she repeated, her gaze narrowing as she looked away.

Imelda turned back to look at her, nodding in understanding. “You can come with me to the police tomorrow if you like.”

“¡Bueno!” the twins cried in unison, before Óscar went on: “And we’ll open the shop—”

“No. I’m closing the shop for now.”

Coco stared at her mother in amazement. For the whole week? For as long as she could remember in her whole century of life, her mother never closed the shop for that long. “¿Qué? Mamá, are you really…?”

“We only have so long to get Héctor’s hand back. If the police haven’t found it by the time we get there, then we are all going to search for it until it is found.”

“But we don’t even know where to look!” Julio cried. “It could be anywhere!”

“We’ll scour every inch of the Land of the Dead if we have to.” And with the firmness she spoke, Coco knew she wasn’t exaggerating. “We will not stop until every piece of him is back in this house.”

“How long do we have?” Coco asked, rubbing her wrist.

“Five days.” And Imelda gazed around at everyone in the room, looking each of them in the eye before continuing: “We start tomorrow.”

---~~~---

And start tomorrow they certainly would—early tomorrow.

Imelda got very little sleep that night, finding herself checking on Héctor every few hours. From what she could tell, he was either sleeping relatively well in spite of his chills, or was very good at faking it. At least one of them was getting some rest.

Just before dawn, she found herself giving up the matter of sleep and got ready for the day before heading downstairs. Much to her lack of surprise, Victoria was awake as well, sitting at the table when Imelda walked down the stairs. When she stepped out of the house, Victoria followed, and they boarded Pepita together.

Victoria tensed after she pulled herself up, staring down intently at the colorful fur beneath her. Both Imelda and Pepita waited, Imelda checking behind herself every so often until she saw her granddaughter’s breathing slow down to a normal pace. “Ready?” she asked, as though nothing had happened.

“Of—of course, abuelita,” Victoria replied with a sharp nod.

With that, Pepita sprang into the air, her great wings carrying them to the police station. Neither of them said anything as they flew, not even when they touched down just outside the station. Though Imelda did wordlessly reach out to help Victoria down this time—a gesture she clearly appreciated.

The second they stepped into the building, the receptionist perked up, immediately calling for someone to come up front. Moments later, the officer that Imelda had spoken to several hours ago approached her. From the stained coffee mug in his hand and the way his eyes drooped, Imelda suspected he hadn’t slept at all since then. “Buenos dias, señoras,” he said, rubbing at his eyes. “We’ve had… quite the busy night.”

“I can see that,” Imelda replied. “What have you—”

“Where is he?” Victoria snapped, and Imelda and the officer looked to her in surprise. Her breathing had quickened again, her shoulders tense and hands clenched, as though she were prepared to fight.

The officer sighed. “Señor de la Cruz is being held for now, until we can arrange for a sentencing. You won’t have to worry about him.”

Something about that nagged at her, but it wasn’t important now. “You’ve already interrogated him?”

“Sí.” Before he could elaborate, he led them into a smaller office and offered them each a chair before shutting the door and sitting at his desk, where an array of papers was spread out—much of it handwritten. He then rubbed his hands over his face, and finally looked Imelda in the eye. “First, I need to tell you that the officers you spoke to the other day are currently under investigation.”

If Imelda had not been fully alert before, she was now, the shock jolting her. “What?”

“The ones we spoke to last night?” Victoria asked, her eyes wide.

“No, no, the ones Señor and Señora Rivera gave their statements to. We believe they may have been involved in helping Señor de la Cruz cover up what happened to Señor Rivera, among other illegal activities.”

Imelda stared down at her lap, one hand on her forehead as she tried to process this. They were the same officers she’d given her statement to—the same officers who had brought up old records of her chasing off Héctor. They had done that—trying to pin the blame on her, trying to guilt her into thinking this was somehow her fault—while knowing full well who had attacked Héctor. They’d seen Héctor and the state he was in, all the while aiding his attacker, his murderer, and they’d pushed him to the point of sending him into a panic attack, and…!

Victoria spat out a curse, speaking for her, and Imelda grit her teeth with a nod.

“It will be taken care of,” the officer said firmly, snapping Imelda out of her thoughts. “I would like to sincerely apologize on behalf of the police department.”

Drawing in a breath, Imelda forced herself to calm as she straightened her back and looked into the officer’s eyes. “No apology will undo the damage they did, officer,” she replied curtly.

“No,” he agreed, leaning back in his chair. “But that does bring me to the next thing I need you to know.”

Victoria and Imelda exchanged glances before looking back to the officer. “Yes?”

“Our interrogation of Señor de la Cruz revealed what happened to your husband last night.”

Immediately Imelda was on her feet, her hands pressed against the desk. “What happened? Where is his hand? He’s been freezing since last night, and we can barely keep him warm—”

“One of the men working under Señor de la Cruz is still at large,” the officer said, making a motion for Imelda to sit. She did not. “Last night, de la Cruz ordered him to put Señor Rivera’s hand into a weighted box, and throw it into the sea.”

The words felt like a punch to her gut. “The… sea?” she repeated, sinking down into her chair. That… would certainly explain why Héctor was freezing—if he was still affected by what was happening to his hand, and his hand was resting somewhere in the deep, cold water… But still, the sea? Could they have any hope of…?

“Where is it?” Victoria asked, rubbing her right arm. “He gave the order, so he must know where it is.”

“That was our thought as well,” the officer said. “We pressed him, but he evidently told the man to throw it somewhere where it would not be found. Even Señor de la Cruz himself doesn’t know where it is.”

“Then what are we sitting around here for?!” Imelda cried, rising to her feet again. “Do you have anyone searching for it?”

“We do—we have two small teams searching for the criminal and the box.”

“Two small teams?! In this vast of a place, with only five days left until—”

“Sí, Señora Rivera.” The officer leaned forward, giving her a hard look. “You are not the only one in the Land of the Dead who has been affected by crime.” Sighing, he stared back down at the papers on his desk. “Nonetheless, know that we are trying to help.”

“…Yes, I understand.” Even so, Imelda turned away for a moment, her brow furrowed, before looking back at the officer. “Is there anything else you learned?”

“Nothing that you don’t know already, I’m afraid. But we will be sure to call you if we find anything new, or have any further questions.”

“Are we allowed to investigate on our own?” Imelda asked, which didn’t seem to surprise the officer at all.

“So long as you do not impede on our own investigation, yes.”

“Then we’ve no time to waste. Gracias for your time.” With that, she hurried out of the room, only to pause when she saw Victoria lingering in the doorway. When she turned to look at her granddaughter, she found her staring back at the officer.

“…When is the trial?” Victoria asked, and Imelda stepped closer to her again; this was something she was interested in hearing as well.

“Trial?” the officer repeated. “What trial?”

Victoria gave him a look, and Imelda knew she was wondering if the man’s insomnia was affecting his thinking skills, or if he really was that dumb. She herself was thinking the same thing. “Ernesto’s trial.”

“There will be no trial,” he said, and went on before they could react:

“Señor de la Cruz pleaded guilty.”