#chich ain't gonna sugar coat your death

[whattimeisitintokyo]

I Could Never Hate You (Part 2)

Heeeeeeey, did you miss me? Probably not. I have no excuses, but here’s the rest of the chapter. Bleep!

“Im… Imelda?”

“Héctor!” Imelda reached over and cupped his face with her hand, looking deep into his blurry eyes. “Are you here with me? Do you understand me?”

“S-si… I can’t… I can’t move my arms. Agh, Dios, my head!”

“Hold on.” Imelda made quick work to unlatch the thick straps wrapped around his wrists, and once one was free his hand immediately went up to his forehead to try to soothe the pounding ache. When she had finished with the other one she was back close to his face. “Héctor, I need you to relax and tell me what you remember last.”

It took a few seconds, as Héctor gazed dully at his wife, before the memories started to flood back. “Ernesto…” he choked out, lowering his hand over his eyes as he bitterly wept. “I saw him… He’s-”

“Okay.” Imelda shushed him and ran a hand through his dirty hair. “Okay, you don’t need to say anything else.”

Héctor blinked up at the harsh lighting and his gaze went around the room, recognition settling in and disgust coming in quickly. He recognized this place. This was where his little girl had wasted away into nothing while he foolishly believed that she was getting the help she needed. And anger was a much better feeling to have than despair. It helped him, gave him strength. It would do. “Why am I in this hospital?” he growled. “Why am I here?”

Imelda’s face hardened and she looked at him with exasperation and anger, making him shrink back. “Why are you here? Héctor, you… You brought yourself here! You’ve been drinking so much that your body nearly shut down when you stopped. You haven’t been eating, you are ten pounds underweight! Your lungs are so congested that I-… I watched you nearly choke to death Héctor! How could you have neglected your health so much?! Were you trying to kill yourself?!”

Did you try to kill yourself Ernesto?

With a shake of his head he turned away from his wife with a snarl as he focused on anything else but her and that horrible thought of his brother. “Of course not! I would never do anything so… so cowardly! What do you care anyway?”

She didn’t answer, but Héctor heard the sharp inhale before there was a quiet still. It lasted far too long, until finally the metallic screech of the chair she was sitting on startled him into looking at her again. Imelda had stood up and patted her dress down, refusing to look at him, and cleared her throat. “I must tell the doctor that you are awake and aware.”

As she quickly walked towards the door, each click of her heels sent a sharp stab of pain directly into Héctor’s heart. She was leaving him. Again. And this time he knew why. He shouldn’t have snapped at her. But his head was throbbing just as terribly as the ache in his chest, and he had lashed out in his pain and suffering. But it wasn’t just this. The past few years of distance, that had eventually grown into separation, had been on him.

It was all his fault. It had to be.

“I’m sorry Imelda.”

His desperate, whimpering voice reached her just as she had opened the door, making her pause. She turned her head towards him so he could see her beautiful profile, but still wouldn’t look him in the eye. Still, he had gotten her attention, and he could work with that.

Make her listen.

“This is all my fault… Not yours.” Héctor said softly, his vision slowly becoming even more blurry with tears. His head only felt worse, and it hurt to breathe, but he continued anyway. “I’ve been a t-terrible husband… and father, and a… a terrible friend. I couldn’t see how bad Ernesto was because I was only caring about myself, and now he’s… He’s gone. And it’s all my fault.”

It was at this point Héctor had dissolved into sobs and what he was saying could easily be described as blubbering. But he couldn’t stop. “I should have been stronger, I should have made him go to a doctor, or just have kept him in the room, just not on the stage. But I was too weak. I’m too weak. It’s all my fault. He’s dead… I couldn’t keep him off the stage, and I couldn’t make Matty stay at home, I couldn’t make you-… I’m so sorry, Imelda!”

He broke off into a fit of weeping, trying and failing to keep it at a low volume. Trying not to look as truly pathetic as he felt. With his eyes still squeezed shut in misery he heard the door solidly close, and his heart shattered. It didn’t work. He had poured his heart out to Imelda, and she still left him. He had finally talked to her, tried for one last time, and he had still failed. Curling as much as his IVs would allow, he buried his face into his pillow and continued to cry. So lost in his misery he didn’t even realize that he wasn’t alone, until a soft voice startled him.

“Who said that you were a terrible husband and father?”

With a gasp he looked up and saw Imelda staring down at him, with an unreadable yet soft expression. His breath stuttered to halt at seeing her look at him like that, and for the life of him he couldn’t answer her. His voice was stuck in his throat as he gaped at her with tears still spilling silently down his cheeks. Luckily for him Imelda continued on her own.

“You have been nothing but a loving and devoted father.” Imelda said as she sat down on the side of the bed, and now that she was closer Héctor could read the expression past his blurry gaze. She looked so… sad. “Our children couldn’t adore you more if they tried. Never think differently.”

With a sniffle, Héctor smothered a cough as he swiped at his eyes. “But… But Matty. I let him go. If he dies…”

“Then it will be the fault of whoever kills him. Not his, not yours.” With a bowed head she looked down at he clasped hands in her lap. “And you didn’t let him do anything. Mateo does what he wants.” Then, suddenly, Imelda did something that Héctor had not seen from her in quite some time and made his heart flutter. She smiled. “Remember when he wanted to join the fútbol team, and I was afraid that he would fail, or hurt himself? I refused to sign the permission slip, and what did he do?”

Héctor was surprised when, despite all his sorrow, the corner of his mouth twitched upward at the memory. “He forged your signature.”

“And despite my concerns, he surpassed my expectations an succeeded in it. Even kicked the winning goal in his first game. Probably just to prove to me that I worried over nothing.”

“This isn’t a fútbol game.” Héctor whispered, the fleeting lightness of mirth vanished. “I sent him off to war.”

“No.” Imelda shook her head firmly. “No he was already going, you sent him off with a lighter heart. With the knowledge that you didn’t hate him for his decision.  I… didn’t realize that until afterwards. It’s what I should have done.”

“That’s why you sent him boots?”

“Si.” Imelda nodded and smiled again. “He is still an idiota, but I wanted him to know that I still love him with all of my heart… Like you did. I am sorry Héctor. I never should have said those things to you when it happened.”

Héctor sniffled again, the tight vice around his heart lessening just a little at her words. Knowing that she didn’t blame him for Matty’s actions made him feel a little better, but he still had to know the full truth. “But… you said it. Because you… wanted me to leave… Didn’t you?”

“…Si.”

Héctor sank deeper into the pillow and turned his gaze away from her. He knew it. She didn’t love him anymore. She truly didn’t want him with her. That was it. It was over.

“It’s for the best. You deserve so much better.”

Héctor’s head snapped back to stare at Imelda in confusion. A little too fast as his aching head protested against the harsh movement, but he struggled through the pain just as he struggled through his confusion. “Better?” he whispered. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

Imelda looked away and crossed her arms across her chest tightly, almost as if she was hugging herself. Or maybe to prevent herself from touching him. “You’re a successful man, Héctor. And you’re still young. Young enough to find another woman who would be more than happy to start a new life with you.”

“Y-young?!” Héctor choked out in disbelief. “Imelda, I’m a grandfather.”

Imelda waved a hand at him dismissively. “That means nothing to a man. You’ll be as virile now until the day you die. You can expand your legacy even more with someone else. I’m finished Héctor. I have nothing more I can give you.”

Héctor’s brow furrowed in utter confusion, his weakened mind slowly trying to piece together what Imelda was saying.  “What are you talking about? Imelda, you’ve given me so much. How can you say you have nothing-”

“I am old, Héctor.” Imelda cut him off, and for the first time Héctor saw her cold façade crack into something vulnerable. “I am sagging and wrinkled. And not only that I am broken. Everything that made me worthy of being your wife is gone. Cut from me never to be replaced. I am a shadow of what I once was, and I am no use to you anymore.”

With a slow blink, Héctor suddenly understood.  “Imelda… Are you talking about the surgery?” She didn’t answer, but her silence was answer enough. “Imelda! You nearly died! The surgery saved your life!”

“And it ruined my body!” Imelda choked out, and she finally started to cry. “I see that scar everyday Héctor. It’s hideous and it’s disgusting. I’ve never felt so disgusted, and so… So embarrassed! And ashamed! I am not a woman anymore, at least not one that can bear you children!”

“I don’t want more children!” Héctor shouted, and the strain of the outburst proved too much as his chest was seized with a fit of deep hacking coughs.

Imelda was at his side in a second pressing a soft rag against his mouth as the violent coughs shook him. After what seemed like too long, to the point she was afraid that he would pass out again, Héctor finally drew in enough air to gasp and collapsed back onto the bed in exhaustion. As she wiped at his lips gently and shushed him, Héctor locked eyes with her and held her gaze.

“Imelda, I love you.” He whispered, his voice rough from his fit. “I’ve loved you since I was eleven years old… The angelic girl in the creek who sang La Llorona so… hauntingly beautiful… You’re all I ever wanted. But I wanted you for you, not as a… a baby factory.”

Imelda laughed softly, bitterly, as she stood up to walk towards the trash bin. “Some factory!” she sneered as she tossed the soiled rag into the bin. “I couldn’t even carry our child to term. I was just too old, and Miguel nearly died before he had a chance to live.”

“But he is alive! You’re alive! Everything is fine!”

“And I gave you the most beautiful little girl.” She whimpered and lowered her head into a dry sob. “Leticia… with flowers in her hair… and in the end she rotted away.”

Héctor choked on tears as he struggled to sit up. “No. Imelda, that’s not true.”

“And I made you give up on her!”

“That’s not true!”

“How could you love a woman who killed her own daughter?!”

“Enough! Imelda, I –UGH!”

It wasn’t until he had crashed to the ground did Héctor realize that he had forced himself out of the bed, desperate to reach his hysterical wife. His weakened limbs couldn’t bear even his own meager weight and landed heavily on his knees and arms in an awkward, painful kneel. He hissed as sharp pain shot through him and collapsed to his side, his ringing ears preventing him from hearing Imelda’s terrified gasp.

“Héctor!”

And then suddenly he felt her hands on him, pulling him up into sitting position and muttering frantically that he had to get back into bed. As the pain slowly subsided he managed to grab her hand with his, squeezing hard and trying to draw strength from her. When she stilled and looked at him, he brought her hand up to his face and nuzzled it. Dios, he missed her. And being so close to her he could actually smell her again. And her kiss her palm, and-

Ay, mierda. I kissed her palm!

With a start he looked up at Imelda, expecting to hear a barrage of curses or maybe even being on the receiving end of a few indignant slaps. But what he saw stole his breath away. She just looked at him with profound sadness in her eyes, tears still running down her cheeks, and there was something else. Something that pulled at his heart and gave him the courage to keep pressing forward.

It was longing.

“Imelda.” Héctor whispered as he again pressed her hand against his face. “You didn’t kill her. She was too sick, and you did not make her sick. And you didn’t make me give up on her.  You were right. All I was doing was hurting Leti. And you… You did it first.”

Imelda blinked. “Did what first?”

Héctor smiled. “You said I let Matty go with a lighter heart. Well… You did it first, to our little girl. She didn’t have to fight anymore. She died peacefully with her family at home. That was because of you, and I am forever grateful for that.”

“And I don’t want more children, or a young mistress, or anything like that. All I ever wanted was a real family. Ever since I was a little boy, after realizing that my Mamá and Papá were never going to come back for me. And when I saw the bossy, snooty girl who always made fun of me for being too short, sing my favorite song in the most beautiful way… I knew I wanted to start one with you. I don’t care if you can’t have any more children. I just want you to be healthy, Imelda. And no matter how many scars or wrinkles or gray hairs you’ll get, you will always be the most beautiful girl in the world to me. I don’t want you to hate yourself Imelda, and if you do I’ll just have to love you twice as much to make up for it. Because, when I married you… I was ready to be with you… for life.”

Imelda closed her eyes and nodded, fresh tears falling and a trembling smile suppressing her weeping. With a shaking hand Héctor wiped the tears off of her face, and soon she too was nuzzling his hand. Slowly they came closer together until their foreheads were resting against each other, noses barely touching, and they just stared at each other and cried.

“Imelda… Mi amor… Mi diosa… Please tell me you still love me… Por favor…”

…

…

“You are the love of my life.”

When the nurse came in several minutes later for a routine check on her patient, she was startled into a near heart attack and horrified at what she saw: Héctor Rivera, the man who all of Mexico had been waiting on with bated breath to wake up from Death’s door, and Imelda Rivera, the fashion mogul and shrewd businesswoman who had been coldly separated from her husband for months, were on the cold hard ground in a twist of IV tubes and blankets. Laughing, crying hysterically, and kissing each other with intense fervor.

The nurse frantically called for orderlies and doctors to come lift Héctor of the floor and back into the bed, difficult to do when he and his wife couldn’t stop clinging to each other. Once he was settled back into bed, and the doctors tried to treat him and question his wellbeing between all the kissing a crying, did they finally leave them alone again.

Ernesto was dead. He would have to be buried. Héctor would have to watch his friend be placed into his eternal resting place. It was the lowest he had ever felt in his life. But as his wife peppered his face with kisses and whispered words of love and apologies, that she did love him, that she wanted him to come home as soon as he was well, that she missed him and that Miguel missed him too, Héctor finally started to feel himself slowly rise from the pit of rock bottom.

It was a tragedy, but things couldn’t get worse than they were now.

Now it was time for things to start looking up.

“I can’t believe you’re kissing me!” Héctor said as he giggled.

“I can’t help it.” Imelda said as she kissed him for what seemed like the thousandth time in the last hour.  “I love you. And I miss you. Anyone would kiss their husband in this situation.”

“No, I meant that I’ve been the hospital for days! I must stink and taste too terrible to kiss!”

“I don’t care.” Imelda kissed him again, this time on the brow, and nuzzled his forehead. “I want you to come home Héctor.”

“Si, of course.” Héctor whispered. “I’ve wanted to come home for so long.”

“As long as you don’t mind sharing the bed with someone else… Someone younger. Like I have for the past few months.”

There was a beat of silence, before Héctor leaned back to look Imelda in the eyes again, a cold feeling of dread starting to creep back into his heart. “What?”

Imelda held his gaze for a second, before a sly smile curled her lips. “I got a new cat… Her name is Pepita.”

“….. You are so lucky I’m in a hospital right now. I think I just had a stroke.”

Imelda laughed again, with Héctor joining her, and they resumed kissing, and crying, and kissing some more. When the nurse came back in again later, she was once again shocked and exasperated at the sight of the both of them, cramped together on the small hospital bed, sound asleep in each other’s arms.

————————————————————

Ay! AY! This is terrible! Mierda! Basura! I can’t eat any more of this!

It had been a week since Héctor had woken up in the hospital and it had been a week since he had regained the love of his wife. With the promise that they would be together again, that he would finally get to go home, that he would get be with his adorable Miguelito and that that Coco would also be coming back with him, Héctor was ready to leave the hospital as soon as he had showered and shaved. The doctor, however, had abruptly dashed those hopes away.

‘Well Señor Rivera, I must say that you have some amazing lungs.’

‘Ha, you see Imelda? I’m fine! When can I-’

‘Amazing due to the fact that they’re both so full of fluid it’s a miracle that they’ve been able to absorb as much oxygen as they have been.’

‘… Ah…’

‘I’m sorry señor, but it’s going to be a while until you are properly discharged. But if you want to get out of here faster I suggest you rest as much as you can and eat everything that is put in front of you. You need to put on some weight.’

And so he had. It wasn’t hard to sleep; he was so weak nowadays that he could fall asleep at the drop of a hat despite the glaring lights and sunny rays pouring through his window. The eating, on the other hand, that was the challenge. Granted, since he had finally finished enduring a painful withdrawal from the alcohol and he was finally back with his family, Héctor had gotten back his appetite tenfold. He was still gaining weight painfully slow, which had always been a problem for him, but he had become a bottomless pit.

There was just one problem.

Hospital food was made in Hell by el Diablo himself.

With a hard swallow Héctor gulped down the mouthful of food he had been chewing on for two full minutes, and with a pleading whine and smile he held out the bowl to his two judges sitting on either side of him on the bed. Said judges being his youngest son and his granddaughter.

Miguel looked into the bowl and then shook his head. “Uh-uh.”

“There’s still some left.” Victoria piped up. “Finish it, or no dessert.”

Héctor groaned and looked up for any potential allies in the three adults sitting in the room with him. But Imelda, Coco and Vicente just stared at him with crossed arms and hard expressions, silently demanding that he finish his meal. Except for Coco. No, fire flashed in her eyes and Héctor shrunk away from her intense gaze, combining the last two bites into one huge glob and shoveling it into his mouth. He gagged a little at the taste and struggled to chew the large mass, but he did it. Anything to placate his sweet, terrifying little Coco.

Coco had always taken after him in temperament. Kind, motherly, always willing to help out others, and very gentle. But when she got really riled up, that was when the Imelda in her rose to prominence and blasted her ire at anyone in the wrong. So when Coco had visited him after he had woken up, had seen both him and her mother together and happy again, and was reassured that he would be all right, she had sighed in relief and smiled with happy tears.

‘Ay, gracias a Dios. I had prayed for so long… that you two… IDIOTS!… WOULD STOP THIS FOOLISHNESS!’

And so Héctor and Imelda had sat there in shocked silence while their little girl screamed and bellowed at them, and called them names, and shamed them to the point where in the end they could do nothing more than slump in pure dejection and just accept everything their daughter yelled at them like she was their own mother and they were the naughty children.

‘For months! NO! For years! YEEEAAARS! I have watched you sulk and whine and piddle and cry and not even try stand up for yourself while Mamá treated you like dirt! No, instead you drank yourself into a hospital bed and made all of us worry for your health when you didn’t care at all! What an wonderful example you’ve set for your son and granddaughter! No, you’re not a grandfather! You’re just a kicked puppy trailing after Mamá! And you Mamá, are the puppy kicker! Imelda Rivera, kicker of puppies! You should be ashamed of yourself! And why?! Because you were depressed about the surgery! All- of-this-could-have-been-prevented-if-you-had-just-TOLD-US!’

After she had finished, and making her parents vow that they would never do this to her or the family again, she had dragged an amazed Julio off by the wrist and had gone back to the mansion for the night. When they had returned the next morning to visit, no one mentioned the fact they both had suspicious marks and scratches on their necks and arms or that they were wearing the same clothes from the previous day.

With a heaving gulp and a disgusted groan, Héctor collapsed back onto the propped up pillows and let the bowl clatter to his side. Miguel picked the bowl up to inspect, and then held it up triumphantly. “It’s empty!”

Everyone cheered and clapped in such a patronizing way that Héctor growled and rolled his eyes in annoyance. “That was the worst one yet.” He groaned and held onto his gurgling stomach. “How can you screw up corn and beans so much?” He watched a Miguel curiously ran a finger through the lingering blob of gravy left in the bowl to taste it, smiling as the little boy’s face screwed up in disgust.

Vicente chuckled , stood up and walked over to the huge pile of flowers, balloons, gift baskets and presents that took up the whole side of the room. It had taken him and Julio several trips to bring up all of the gifts from the fans and Mexico’s elite, and the room was so overpowering with the scent of flowers. “I don’t think hospitals put seasoning in their food. It’s to nourish you, not upset a weak stomach. However, I think a little treat won’t hurt you.” He picked out an ivory box and brought it over to the bed. “Esther Fernández sent you a box of chocolates from Switzerland, along with a sweet note to get well soon.”

“Chocolate!” Miguel shouted and reached for the box, Victoria preventing him from flinging the lid away and placing it gently next to her. “Can we have some too, Papá?”

“Of course, but save some for me!” Héctor said as he plucked one out of the box. “Anything to get the taste out of my mouth.”

Vicente went back over to the pile of gifts and pulled out another, wooden box and handled it nervously. “Also, Emilio Fernández sent you this box of cigars. Very poor taste for someone getting over pneumonia, and… I thought since you don’t smoke I could give them to a friend of mine who would appreciate them more?”

Héctor waved him off and stuffed two chocolates in his mouth. “Take them, they’re yours. I can’t stand the smell of them.”

“Gracias, Señor.” Vicente said and sat back down with a drawn out sigh, rubbing the back of his neck and closing his eyes.

His exhaustion wasn’t unnoticed by the rest of the adults in the room, and when the three of them exchanged knowing looks Coco reached out to touch his arm gently. “Chente, you look so tired.”

Vicente blinked his eyes open. “Me? No no, I’m fine. It’s just… been very hectic for everyone this past week. We’ve finally settled on a burial site for Señor de la Cruz in Santa Cecilia and construction of a tomb for him is underway, but… there’s still so much to do. Like canceling the production on the movie, sending back the funding to the investors, a massive retooling for the new year’s schedual, and worst of all… I can’t find Señor de la Cruz’s Chihuahuas anywhere!”

Victoria gasped. “Oh, poor puppies!”

Héctor listened to Vicente’s woes in silence, nodding and smiling solemnly. “I’m sorry Chente. You’ve been under a lot of pressure for a long time.”

Vicente shook his head. “It’s all right. You’ve been sick.”

“Not just now.” Héctor said. “The whole time you’ve been my assistant you’ve been doing my workload as well as your own, while I’ve been wallowing in my own self-pity. I didn’t realize it but I took you for granted, and for that I’m truly sorry. You’ve been absolutely wonderful and I am very grateful for it.”

Vicente’s face flushed red at the praise, and he bowed his head humbly. “W-well… Gracias Señor Rivera. I would do anything to help you and your company. When you’re well again everything will be waiting for you back in tip top shape, I promise.”

Héctor smiled. “Oh, I’m not coming back.”

“… Que?”

Héctor looked at Imelda, who took his hand lovingly and nodded encouragingly, and continued. “I’m not an executive, Chente. I have no talent for business, and numbers. You do. Now I’ll still be the sole head of the company, but I’ll be leaving all those boring aspects to you. I’m retiring and going home to live with my family, and you’ll be the new CEO of Rivera de la Cruz Productions and Records.”

“… Que?”

“But don’t panic, Chente. It’s not going to be overnight. You’re going to get all of the training you need, set you up with an excellent team and board, get you all nice and settled in. You won’t be alone in all of this.” Héctor smiled warmly and held out his hand to the poor man. “You’ve helped me and the company so much this last year, it’s high time you get the right pay and a title to go with it. I hope you say yes, because there’s no one else I trust more than you.”

Vicente sputtered for a few seconds, his face turning from a burning red into a pallid white, before with a jerking nod he robotically grasped Héctor’s hand and shook it once. “Yeah… Yes! S-si! Gracias, Señor Rivera! Héctor! I won’t let you down- AY! What am I saying?! Yes I will! How can I run a company when I can’t even find four dogs and make sure that you eat?!”

“Don’t you worry about him, Vicente.” Imelda said as she squeezed Héctor’s hand. “I’ll make sure that he eats. You take care of the less important stuff.”

“O-kay. Okay, okay, okay, okay…” Vicente mumbled, standing up on shaking feet and walking over to Héctor’s unused oxygen cylinder. “Please excuse me. I think I’m going to pass out.” With trembling hands he strapped the mask over his face and cracked the valve open to full blast, taking in deep gulping breaths and sliding down onto the floor.

Miguel jumped off the bed and walked over to where Vicente laid slumped against the wall, gently patting his head. “You’ll be okay.” Miguel reached down, pried open Vicente’s shaking hands, and placed a half melted piece of chocolate into it, smiling sweetly.

A few minutes later, once it was determined that Vicente definitely would take the promotion and definitely wouldn’t throw up, Julio walked in with a large wooden box under his arm. “Hola Papá Héctor. How are you feeling? Did you eat?”

Héctor rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, I ate! Dios mio, I’ll eat mud if it means these quacks will just let me out of here.”

“Well, I know how bored you are, so I brought you this!” Turning the box over, Julio showed everyone that it was in fact a small radio. “I thought that maybe if you could listen to the news or some programs it’ll make your stay seem shorter.”

“What a wonderful idea, mi amor.” Coco said.

“Gracias. It’s a wireless one and portable too!” Julio said as he tried to find a place to set it down amongst all of the gifts. “Ay… Chente, can I just move some of these on the ground?”

Vicente, staring off into space, barely acknowledged him with an affirmative grunt.

Once a spot had been cleared and the box switched on, Julio fiddled with the knobs until the radio static finally began to tune into a station. “Alright then, just a few more adjustments and here… we… go!”

“-you cry!”

“For even if I’m far away I hold you in my heart”

“I sing a secret song to you-“

Julio sighed. “Ay, they’re still playing his songs nonstop. It’s understandable, but still.”

Coco nodded. “Si, Tio Nesto endeared himself to a whole nation. It warms my heart to know how much he’s touched everyone so-”

“Héctor?!”

At Imelda’s cry, both Julio and Coco turned to see Imelda hovering over the bed as Héctor was… rocking back and forth, trembling violently and cramming the heels of his hands into his ears as hard as he could. His breathing became labored and a low, keening sound was coming out of his throat. His eyes were so wide and pinpricked, and even though the others couldn’t see it, all Héctor could see was red.

Blood! So much blood!

It’s all torn up! What happened?! Where are you?!

Ernesto!

The song won’t stop playing!

The bell won’t stop ringing!

It’s all over me!

STOP THE SONG! STOP THE SONG! STOPTHESONGSTOPTHESONGSTOPTHESONGSTOPTHESONG

“JULIO, TURN IT OFF!”

STOPTHESONGSTOPTHESONGSTOPTHESONGSTOP THESONGSTOPTHE-

“HÉCTOR STOP! Héctor, stop! It’s off! It’s off! Cálmese, mi amor. Cálmese… Shhhhh….”

With a sharp gasp, Héctor found himself lying back down of the bed. Imelda was hovering over him with a terrified expression, and the doctor was next to him drawing back an empty syringe and checking his pulse. As his eyes roamed around the room he saw Coco holding onto Victoria as the little girl cried into her mother’s shoulder, and Vicente was holding onto a wide-eyed Miguel.

As a wave of drowsiness started to engulf him, Héctor turned back to Imelda and stared up at her in anguish.

“It’s alright, Héctor.” Imelda said gently.

Héctor shook his head slowly as the sedative took effect, tears falling down his face. “No… it’s not… No more… ’Melda… no more… mu-…”

As he drifted off into a drugged state of unconsciousness, he didn’t notice the worried looks that the adults exchanged with one another, and he didn’t hear the innocent question his son asked them all. A question they couldn’t really answer.

“No more what, Mamá?”

———————————————————————

“~MEEEEEEEEEE!~”

“AAAAAARGH!”

Instead of the rapturous applause he was expecting after belting out the last note of his song, Ernesto was startled by the sound of a hoarse, raspy scream of an old man. His eyes shot opened and he flinched back in confusion at his surroundings. The stage, the lights, the orchestra, the audience, the theater! Vanished! In the blink of an eye they were all gone! Instead he was in a rather sterile looking room not unlike what you would find in a hospital, and he wasn’t standing anymore either, but sitting up on a simple fold-out gurney.

Where am I?

“Puta Madre! What the hell?! Who the hell wakes up singing like that?!”

Ernesto turned towards the gravelly voice of the only other occupant in the room with him: a short, stubby old man currently trying to totter over towards his head on the ground, wearing clothes common of either a bank teller or some other kind of office worker-

His head?

…

On the ground?

…

This man’s head was on the ground.

…

How much did I take?!

Finally, when the old man finally reached his head and plopped it back on his neck, Ernesto realized it wasn’t a head at all. It was a skull. A skull currently glaring daggers at him with eyeballs suspended in the inky blackness of his eye sockets. This was no drug trip. This wasn’t even a dream. Ernesto knew himself enough to know that there was no way he could dream up something so ugly or terrifying in his life.

“AAAAH!” Ernesto screamed and scooted himself back as far as he could on the bed, plastering himself to the wall. He continued to scream as the skeleton slowly walked towards his desk with a sigh.

“That’s more like it. This I can work with.” The skeleton said as he held up a clipboard.

“S-stay away! Stay away from me!”

“Please remain calm.” It said in a bored tone as it read from the clipboard. “You are safe now. Rejoice, for all of your worldly pains and ailments are a thing of the past.”

“Wh-what?!” Ernesto croaked out and continued to press against the wall, trying his all to get away from this skeleton. From this monster.

“We welcome you to your final resting place- heh, final, yeah right- where as long as you remain well remembered in the hearts of your loved ones you will live on far longer than you did in lif… Lif? Ay joder, they still haven’t fixed this typo?!”

Ernesto continued to gasp in terror as he stared transfixed at the skeleton before him. “Don’t come any closer!”

It rolled his eyes. “I’m not even moving.”

“Yes, you are! You’re creeping up to me right now!”

“No, you’re pushing against the wall and moving the gurney towards me, cabron!”

Ernesto paused at that and looked down, seeing that the bed was now two feet away from the wall and his hands were still pressed against it. “Oh.”

And then he looked up towards his hands.

…

…

“Oooohhh…..”

“There ya go.” The old skeleton chuckled hoarsely as he watched Ernesto stare at his new boney appendages in quiet, awed horror and went back to his clipboard. “Bienvenidos, Señor de la Cruz. Welcome to the Land of the Dead. Now, since the requirement to be here is to be dead, I must inform you that that’s what happened. You are now dead. My name is Chicharrón and I will be death counselor for this eve- and there you go, pat yourself down. Down the ribs, to the stomach- ay, no stomach!- and then the face. Every time, just like clockwork.”

Ernesto tore his hands away from pawing at his own cheekbones and glared at Chicharrón. “This is not funny!”

Chich smiled at him. “You know I always thought your bulbous chin was just fat, but nope,” and he smirked and tapped his own protruding chin with a pen. “You’re just as chiseled as I am.”

“How?!”

“How?… Ay, I don’t know. Genetics, I guess? I took after my Papá.”

“HOW DID I DIE?!”

As he cried out that choked, desperate plea Ernesto already knew deep down what had caused his far too early demise. The drugs. What else could it have been? What else could have affected him so suddenly during such an enthusiastic, triumphant performance. As he had belted out that last note, it was obvious his heart couldn’t take the strain. After gambling with his body for so long with copious amounts of drugs and sex, it had finally caught up with him. With one last song to his familia, he had perished right in front of his eyes. It was sudden, but strangely poetic. As tragic and as horrifying as he found his current predicament, he could not ask for a better way to go-

“Oh, that! According to reports, a giant two-ton bell fell from a stage fixture and flattened you into a tortilla.”

“………. What?”

“To save you some embarrassment I took the liberty of putting it down as ‘Acto de Dios’ as the cause of death.” Chich said, pointing it out on the file before placing it in Ernesto’s numb hands. “In hindsight maybe you should have sprung for papier-mâché props, eh?”

When Ernesto continued to just stare at the file in shocked silence, Chich made his way over to the telephone on his desk. “You’ve been dead for about three weeks now, but your body was just now buried. Guess they had to either build a fancy tomb for you or they had to finish scraping you all up. But it’s givin’ me plenty of time to finish the bulk of your paperwork. No deceased blood relatives on this side I’m afraid, they’ve all been forgotten, but I promised your goddaughter I’d call her the second you’d arrive.”

The mention of that word shocked Ernesto out of his stupor, and he glanced at Chich with wide eyes. “M-… M-my… goddaughter?” he whispered breathlessly.

“Uh-huh.”

“… Leticia… She’s dead.”

Chich quirked an eye ridge at him. “Like I said, it’s a requirement for being here.”

“Sh-she’s dead… I’m dead… Oh! Oh no, no!”

With a frustrated sigh Chich placed the phone back on the receiver and rose up to deal with de la Cruz’s breakdown. “Easy, amigo.”

“I can’t die. Not now.”

Chich snorted. “If you’re worried about missin’ out on your fans and fame, don’t worry. There’s plenty of people here just foamin’ at the mouth to see the great Ernesto de la Cruz. A lot of the office ladies here are actually jealous I was assigned to you. You’ll be fine-”

“Héctor…”

Chich blinked at the deep sorrow and pain that he heard in de la Cruz’s voice and frowned. “Your writing partner? Leticia’s Papá?”

Ernesto brought a hand over his mouth and, seemingly to overcome to hold himself any longer, collapsed back onto the dead to stare morosely up at the ceiling. “Héctor… I can’t die. I can’t be dead, not now.”

He had promised. He had promised years ago, as he had looked two little babies in the eyes, that he would never hurt Héctor again for as long as he lived. He had stood by his side throughout all of their successes, fame, riches, pain, loss, suffering. Anything to even try to make up for what he had tried to do.

He had promised.

“… I was going to tell you everything…”