Ch 40: Parting Words of Regret

With a loud clatter and a few more pathetic twangs, the guitar shattered into more chunks and splinters as it was flung in front of Matty and Coco's feet. Most of the crowd had already dispersed with the promise that the contest would continue an hour later to give everyone a chance to calm down. A few annoying onlookers still hung about, wanting to witness the drama unfold with morbid curiosity. Oscar and Felipe's vain attempts to get them to leave proved to be fruitless, but Imelda's threat of a well-placed boot to the face seemed to finally convince them to go on their merry way.

The family was now alone in the plaza, able to talk peacefully and calmly.

Unfortunately, "peace" and "calm" were two words that Héctor Rivera was entirely incapable of utilizing at the moment.

"A guitar!" He snarled as he paced back and forth in front of his two oldest children, the rest of the adults standing behind them ready to offer some form of support. "You taught him to play the guitar. And here I thought he went over to your house all those times to have some sibling bonding. I was so happy that you two were so close despite the age gap. Instead you were teaching him how to play that-that… Dios, of all the things you had to teach him it was that good for nothing-"

"I did not teach him to play the guitar Papá. I play the violin, not the guitar." Coco said softly, hoping that if she remained calm then maybe her father would too. "He taught himself how to play it, by watching Tio Nesto's films and listening to his records. To your records Papá. He's practically following in your footsteps."

"Oh sí, my footsteps." Héctor murmured, turning his intense gaze over to Vicente. "That reminds me, was that your intentions yesterday, Chente? When you convinced me that Miguel would want to work with Rivera de la Cruz? Did you know he could play music as well, trying to churn out another throwaway musician like you do every year?"

Leaning back slightly as Héctor started to bear down on him, Vincente was able to stay calm and looked at him. "No Señor Rivera, that was not my intention. We've always known he has looked up to you, practically idolized el Señor de la Cruz. I just thought he would want to work someday in the company his father and godfather personally founded. I had no idea he had any musical talents of his own."

Héctor stared at him for a moment longer then nodded, chuckling bitterly. "Ha… That's good to hear. That is very good, I am glad you were honest with me, seeing as how your employment depended on your answer."

"Now just hold on!" a voice popped up, and Javier came between Vicente and Héctor. Flicking ash from his cigar at Héctor's feet, he pointed it towards him with emphasis. "You can't threaten to fire someone over something as stupid as that. Especially when that someone has more than doubled your profits in the music industry in the last year while you sat here in Santa Cecilia. And who has produced more groundbreaking movies in three years that Señor se la Cruz ever did in his entire tenure."

Héctor stared at Javier, completely dumbfounded at being talked to like that, and exploded. "Who exactly are you, cabrón?!"

With a click of his tongue, Javier smirked. "I'm the guy who makes those movies look good."

"I meant who are you in this conversation?" Héctor said. "This is a family matter, and you are not our family! So why don't you and Vicente head back to the house and stay out of this!"

"Actually, Señor Rivera, I believe that I will get Señor Barbero and I a couple of rooms at a nearby inn for the night." Vicente said. He spoke calmly and coolly, almost as if in a business meeting, but everyone could tell that he was just masking some hurt. "We have to leave very early in the morning to go back to work soon, we wouldn't want to disturb anyone. If you are done with me, then-"

"Yes, go!"

With a short nod Vicente mumbled quietly to Imelda. "Thank you for your hospitality, Señora Rivera." With a turn he made his way down the street, with Javier following close behind. Javier made a point to flick the end of his cigar towards the ground out of spite before he left, but it was lost to Héctor as his attention was back on his family.

"You knew how I felt." Héctor said to Coco. "All of you know how I feel about this garbage. And yet you went behind my back and nurtured this fixation on music and fame, despite all that has happened to us. What goes on in that house of yours?!"

"I dance Abuelito!" Victoria spoke up boldly, trying to diffuse the situation a little. Or at least take the heat off of Miguel in some way. Make her grandfather see that he was not the only one who had messed up. When Héctor's gaze fixed onto hers, his face twisting a little in surprise and pain before seetling back down to anger, her confidence dropped. She ducked her head to look to ground, and to her shame clung to her mother's skirt like a child. "I d-dance… ballet. Miguel and I practice…"

"Well that's just perfect, isn't it?!" Héctor ran a hand through his gray hair and balled a fist into it, letting go to point viciously at his daughter. "Well guess what? He's not allowed to come over to your house anymore. You want to see him, then you come to us! You are enabling not only your brother but your daughter as well, and you've got your husband trying to keep up the charade. Elena is the only one to make any sense in your messed-up family!"

"Héctor!" Imelda gasped.

"You're one to talk about messed up, Héctor!" Julio said angrily as he held his wife and daughter close to him, both of his girls close to tears. "You don't talk to my wife like that!"

"I'll talk to my daughter anyway I like!" Héctor shouted back. "If you were a real husband and father you would have tried to stop this before they got hurt!"

"Héctor!" Imelda gasped, but before she could intervene Matty spoke up.

"I told you, Papá!" Matty shouted as he pointed at Héctor. Wanda tried to hold him back, whispering at him to just leave it, but he kept on. "I told you that you were shell-shocked. All it took was a song and Miguel performing and look at you! You're out of control, screaming and raving at your family. You probably feel sick and trapped and are lashing out. I know how you feel, but this isn't how you deal with it."

"Don't tell me how to deal with my family!"

"Papá, don't you see?! The only one whose hurting anyone is you! You're hurting not only yourself but the people around you! Just like I hurt my son, now you've gone and hurt yours."

Héctor laughed. "Oh please! This is completely different. My son screwed up, yours didn't." Héctor then leaned in close, sneering. "And I'm pretty sure when Miguel ran off all of his bones were still intact!"

"HÉCTOR!"

Imelda's shout, as well as the horrified gasps of everyone around them, caused Héctor to draw back a little. In an instant he knew that he had gone too far, and if he didn't know then he would have realized it less then a second later: When Wanda came up and slapped him hard across the face. Staggering back slightly and reaching up to his stinging cheek, he could barely make out Wanda standing before him past the flashing colors and white spots.

"How dare you?!" Wanda screamed as Héctor shook his head to clear his vision. "How dare you throw that in his face?! Your own son! You stupid bastard!"

"I need to leave."

Wanda turned back to Matty, instantly by his side and murmuring soothing words to her husband. Matty stood their trembling, clutching his cane for dear life and trying not to raise it in order to attack his father. So many emotions rushed over his face: Shock, fury, despair, shame. He looked like he was at war with his emotions and about to lose control, but through his pain he could only managed a choked-out whisper. "Wanda, I need to leave. I need to leave. I need to leave…"

"Shh shh, it's alright darling. We're going now. It'll be alright." Guiding her shaking husband away from everyone else, Wanda turned back to Héctor. Despite his back being towards her, she still shouted at him. "You should be ashamed of yourself! We're leaving too, and we're not waiting until morning! We'll take the private plane out tonight! And don't even bother coming to Thanksgiving dinner, you are not wanted! Goodbye Mamá Imelda. Coco. I'll let you know when we've landed."

Watching Wanda lead her distraught son away from the plaza, seeing Julio try to console his wife and daughter, Rosita and her twin brothers standing there not knowing what to do, Imelda decided she had seen enough. Walking up to the three other unaffected members of the family, she spoke as calmly and sternly as always. "Rosita, go back to the museum to your husband. Make sure that the children haven't killed him, bueno? Oscar, Felipe, please escort Coco and her family back home safely and then you all come back to the mansion. I'll handle Héctor."

Rosita wrung her hands worriedly. "Are you sure, Mamá Imelda?"

"Sí, are you sure hermana?'

"If you want we can stay with you-"

"-So you won't be alone to deal with him."

"I'll be fine. Gracias." Imelda said. "But Mateo is right: This needs to end. Go on home." Watching the rest of her family walk off in dejection, Imelda turned to glower at Héctor who was still facing away from her and holding his cheek. "Well I hope you're happy, Héctor Rivera! You have blown this whole mess way out of proportion and now-"

A sniffle broke through her tirade and she stopped to listen. Another sniffle and then a shudder throughout Héctor's body immediately diminished much of Imelda's anger towards her husband. Héctor had gone way out of line, humiliated his youngest child on his birthday and had pretty much alienated the entire family in the span of five minutes, but he wasn't totally without sympathy. He was in a great deal of pain, and Imelda found herself gently placing her hands on his shoulders as he gently wept. "Oh Héctor. My sweet Héctor… It'll be all right, mi amor."

Lifting his head up Héctor looked at Imelda with his eyes full of tears, taking his hand off of his reddened cheek. "Imelda, please tell me you didn't know about this." He whispered. "Please."

With a small sigh Imelda gazed away, but Héctor already saw the look of guilt and started to draw away again. "I knew he was listening to music at Coco's… I didn't know that he knew how to play an instrument."

"Dios mio, it's ruined…" Héctor moaned out, walking away from her to start pacing the ground again. "It's all ruined! Everything! I hate this stupid day and everything about it!"

"I know you do Héctor."

"You think I don't know, Imelda?!" Héctor yelled at her, his anger quickly flaring back up as he paced. "You think I don't know how much everyone laughs at me?! The company, the whole industry, even the people of Santa Cecilia? 'Ay, there goes Señor Rivera. Made his fortune with his music but can't even stand to listen to a creaky old music box.' 'If he doesn't like music then maybe he should give his money away to the people who actually want to make music.' I bet they even wish that Ernesto was the one who… who survived. He was the face of the entertainment industry, the entertainer. Everyone loved him and tolerated me because I was a package deal."

Imelda shook her head. "That's not true!"

"They all laughed at me, but I had hoped… That my family would understand my feelings." Héctor sniffled again, but with a harsh brush across his eyes he continued. "That they would understand that music has brought me nothing but pain and misery. How much I can't stand it. I thought they would but that ended up being wishful thinking, didn't it? They went behind my back because they think I'm foolish just like everyone else. They don't care that it hurts me, that they hurt me. They don't care."

"They do care about you, Héctor." Imelda said softly, taking him by the arm. "They love you. But you know you don't really hate music."

"I do!"

"No, mi amor. I know that you are traumatized by what happened to Ernesto and you link music to it, but you don't truly hate it."

"I hate it! I swear that I hate it. Why doesn't anyone understand that?! I hate-"

"Héctor, you sing in your sleep."

Héctor stopped as the air was sucked out of his lungs. He stood there for a moment, trying to really process what was just said to him. He stood frozen until finally, with a choked gasp that was almost a sob, he looked at Imelda. He tried to find any hint of a lie in her face, but she just smiled sadly at him. Wistfully. His face crinkled in confusion. "What?" he whispered.

"You sing in your sleep." She repeated. Rubbing his arm soothingly, she leaned into him for comfort. "Sometimes you sing songs that you've written before, sometimes they're ones that I've never heard of. Not whole songs, just a random verse or two. Mostly you just hum out what's in your head. And yes, they're all wonderful melodies. Beautiful. After all these years you haven't lost your touch."

As Héctor continued to stare at her incredulously, as if she had just told him that he might as well have killed someone, she smiled again and brushed back his hair into place. "You don't do it every night, just sometimes. You did last night. I think you only do it on nights that you're upset. I think you do it to make yourself feel better."

At that comment Héctor suddenly found himself flashing back to a long-forgotten memory of his youth. Perched on a branch of an old tree by the cemetery, with an ancient guitar on its last legs resting in his lap as he plucked at the strings. And sulking. Not about the tragedies of his life, the tragic death of his youngest daughter, the brutal demise of his best friend. No, just the minor grievances of a teenage boy that would be forgotten about not long after.

"Why so down, hermanito?"

"Ay, I tried to speak to Imelda today, but she won't talk to me. I think she's still mad that I ruined her quince años. Not that I blame her. I did knock the punch bowl all over her."

"Well I see that your foul mood hasn't affected your playing."

"Eh, when life gets me down I play my guitar."

"… That's really corny, Héctor."

"It's poetic. You're just jealous that you didn't come up with it."

"Whatever. Now skooch over and teach me that scale you just did."

No no NO! He did not need to think about nonsense like that! With a hard shake and a jerk he wrenched himself from Imelda's gentle hold, his anger returning to warm him back up after being left so icy cold from that revelation. To give him strength.

"I asked for one thing Imelda." He said with a snarl. "I have provided for my family quite well and provided for other families quite well. I have sacrificed so much to get where I am today, and the one favor I ask for myself is scoffed at and completely ignored. By my own family."

Imelda reached out for him again. "Héctor, please-"

"If it had been you who would have said 'no music', everyone would have bent over backwards to please you. But since it was me who asked, well, he must not really mean it, sí?" The thought of that clicked inside of Héctor, made things seem clearer to him. And it also started to curl something dark and ugly inside his belly. His glare darkening to something fiercer, he snarled. "Maybe… if my family feared me like they feared you… If I was as cold and unyielding as you… Then I would have some respect around here."

Imelda's eyes widened in shock and hurt, then it was her turn to glare. "Cold and unyielding? How can you say that?"

"You made me believe, for three years, that you didn't love me. And then kicked me out of my own house." Héctor hissed out. "I can't think of anything colder than that."

Imelda gasped at that, and her anger turned to hurt once again. Her eyes lowered, ashamed, she sighed sadly. "Héctor… that was years ago. I was hurt and confused… and I apologized to you. Several times. Are you saying that you've never forgiven me for that?"

"All I know is that if the roles were switched, that I had abandoned you, there would be no apologies or forgiveness. I would be persona non grata in my own family." Crossing his arms, he stood tall over his wife as he stared her down. "Look me in the eye and tell me I'm wrong."

Héctor gave her a moment to try to come up with an answer, a very generous moment. A full ten seconds, even. But when she continued to stare at the ground, Héctor smiled and nodded bitterly. With a shake of his head, he waved her away as if done with her, and started to walk away. But then finally her voice spoke up again, firmly and with no emotion.

"Trying to burn as many bridges as you can tonight, Héctor?"

Turning back, he shook his head. "I'm trying to get the respect I deserve as patriarch and provider for this family. And if that means a total change in attitude, to be stricter and less forgiving, then so be it. Go back to the house, Imelda."

"We have to find Miguel."

"We don't need to find him, I know exactly where he's going." Héctor said. "Chente said Miguel idolized Ernesto, then there's only one place he'd be at this time of night and on this day: The cemetery. Now go home, Imelda. Now."

"Héctor, please don't punish your son!" Imelda pleaded, trying one last time to push some sense into her husband. "You've already publicly humiliated him on his birthday, isn't that enough?"

"…Apparently not." Héctor said, and with that he started towards the cemetery. Not listening to his wife's weakening pleads and calls for him to come back, he was on a mission. And nothing would stop him.

In an alley next to the plaza, a small cat and a hairless Xolo dog watched as the irate man left his mate alone next to the gazebo. Dante whined as he watched the woman start to weep softly into her hands, but was cut off when a soft nudge jostled him. Looking down he saw Pepita staring up at him with half-lidded yellow eyes, then, with a quick tilt of her head, gestured at him to follow the old man.

With a yip and a goofy wag of a tail Dante bolted like a bat out of hell after Héctor, tripping a little and then smacking into the gazebo stairs, before just as quickly shaking it off and continuing on. With a slight exhale of a sigh coming out of her nose, Pepita made her way over to her desolate soul. Her task now was to watch over her: to comfort her throughout the night, maybe even comfort the rest of the family as well. Aside from a few grabby children trying to pull her tail, her job for the night was relatively easy.

Dante's, though, was just beginning.

"Buena suerte, pelón…"

As Héctor walked down the streets of Santa Cecilia towards the cemetery, many thoughts were running through his fury-addled brain. 'How could they?', 'Doesn't anyone care about how I feel?', and 'I'll show them not to disrespect me!'

But there was one other thought that was just beneath the surface of his anger, something that he couldn't shake off or ignore:

'What have I done?'

Because despite all the self-righteous anger coursing throughout his body, the acrid bubbling of guilt was threatening to come up. He could still see his family's horror, their sadness, their rage. He could see Coco ashamed and cowed, Matty shocked into a dumbed stupor, Imelda's quiet sadness. He could see Miguel's absolute heartbreak as he had cried and ran away from him. All of that because of him.

But every time the guilt made its presence known to him, anger and pride would push it right back down. No, it was not because of him. Not entirely. His family had disregarded his feelings. They kept secrets from him. They had betrayed him. It was high time that got the respect that he deserved, even if he had to force it upon everyone.

Before he knew it he had reached the cemetery. It was beautiful to behold, just like it was every year. Hundreds of softly glowing candles on every grave, thousands of cempazuchitl flowers gathered in bunches and petals littering the ground. The scents of freshly baked foods and incense, the quiet murmurings of the townspeople crowding the area. Such a warm and inviting atmosphere in a normally morbid environment.

But Héctor's attention was solely on the mausoleum. Weaving his way through the gravestones, tilting this way and that so as not to disturb anyone on his trek, Héctor kept an eye out for Miguel. But as he got closer, close enough to see Ernesto's smug grinning bust atop the obscene eyesore of his final resting place, there was no sign of his son. His brow crinkled in confusion. He was so sure that he would be here. With his hands on his hips he glanced around the cemetery, then back to the mausoleum. Where in the world could he be?

Then he saw the window.

It was open. And it looked like it was opened by force. Slowly he made his way towards the open window, and as he got closely he heard something: A soft voice near whisper but echoing slightly in the almost empty crypt. An awfully familiar voice. Peering inside, Héctor was shocked by what he saw. It was Miguel, alright, kneeling on top of the crypt where Ernesto's remains laid, staring reverently up at the painted portrait and the golden guitar supported on the wall pegs.

"-don't be mad. I-I'm Miguel. Your godson, remember? I was smaller than when you last saw me, heh... But I'm in trouble and I need your help." Then, to Héctor's horror, Miguel reached up to grab the guitar. "I-I need to borrow this."

"MIGUEL!"

With a gasp Miguel whipped around, tucking his hands back to his sides without ever having touched the guitar. He shrunk back in horrified panic at who he saw. "Papá!"

"What the hell are you doing?!" Héctor said as he forced his way up and through the window. It wasn't easy for his fifty-year old body, and he was sure he felt something pop, but he ignored it as he came inside and headed straight for Miguel. "Have you lost your mind?! Get down from there now!"

Gasping in panic Miguel scurried down off of the crypt and in his hurry landed hard on his backside, but Héctor just went over to the crypt to make sure everything was in order. "Dios mio, you moved the lid! How?! You only weigh-Ay!" With a choked off gasp Héctor backed away from the crypt in terror. The lid was slightly moved to the side, almost cracking open. Almost revealing what was inside. The very thought of Ernesto's body inside of it made him painfully nauseous. His body was in there, and he almost saw it again. Saw all that blood again. All over him. All-

"What are you doing here?!" Miguel shouted at his father, breaking Héctor out of his downward spiral.

"What am-what am I doing here?!" Héctor asked in disbelief. "What are you doing in here?! Better yet, what were you about to do? And-" Suddenly something caught his eyes as he looked over his son, something he had never noticed until now. Horror and disgust filling him, he numbly pointed at his wrists. "What are those?..."

Looking down at his new wristbands, Miguel held them protectively to his chest and glared back at Héctor. "They're my de la Cruz wristbands."

"Take them off."

"No!" Miguel shouted. "Everyone wears them! They were his signature look! And Victoria made them for my birth-"

"TAKE THEM OFF NOW!"

At Héctor's thundering yell Miguel ripped them off quickly, scraping his wrists in the process, and flung them to the other side of the mausoleum. There was some whispered mutterings of the people outside, someone saying that they should get the groundskeeper to unlock the tomb to see what was going on, but the two occupants paid them no mind. They just stared at each other: one in terror, the other in anger.

"So what?" Héctor finally asked, causing Miguel to flinch. "You a grave robber now?"

"N-no!" Miguel stammered out. "I'm not a grave robber. I was just taking it… from his… grave."

"That's grave robbing."

"No, I was just going to borrow it!" Miguel said. "For the contest! Then I was going to put it back."

"You're not playing in the contest, Miguel. You're not going to play ever." Héctor said. "I forbid it."

"What is wrong with you?!" Miguel shouted, angry tears forming in his eyes. "Why do you hate music so much?! You were the greatest songwriter of all time. People sing your songs every day. They made you famous! They made you rich! How can you hate music?"

"Because it took my best friend away from me!" Héctor shouted back.

"No it didn't! A giant bell did!"

"And what put him under that bell, huh?!" Héctor asked, then shook his head. "You know what? No. No, you're right. A giant bell did kill him. But really it only sped up what was going to happen to him anyway."

At Miguel's confused look, Héctor walked over to where the wristbands laid and picked them up, holding them in front of his son. "Guess what these were for, huh? Why Ernesto always wore them, even on hot summer days?"

Thinking about it a little, Miguel couldn't do more than shrug. "Th-they… They were cool. I don't kn-"

"He used them to hide his slit wrists. I saw them myself, and he admitted to it." Throwing them back to the ground, he made his way over to the portrait. Gazing at his friend's proud smiling face, he whispered painfully, "He tried to kill himself."

"What?..."

"He tried to end his own life. But that's not all…" Héctor kept looking at the portrait, even when the picture before him started to blur more and more. "He was also on drugs. The bad ones Miguel: cocaine, heroin, pills. I don't know what he didn't take." He held his tongue about all the women who had come forth to try and get a piece out of the de la Cruz estate after his death. And a few men as well. Miguel didn't need to know about that. "And I know why he did it too. Why he tried to kill himself."

"You do?"

"Si… It's because it was too much for him." Turning back towards Miguel, Héctor continued. "The fame, the paparazzi, working nonstop on music and movies. Sometimes it just causes a man to wear too thin. That's what happened to him, Miguel. I can't let the same thing happen to you, claro? It's for your own good."

Miguel looked at his father, then at the portrait of Ernesto, before his face hardened. "No… No, it's for your own good!"

"What?"

"Everything has been for your own good and I'm sick of it! Especially on my own birthday, it's Héctor Rivera's birthday instead!" Miguel shouted. "We don't play music, we don't even listen to music. We can't watch Tio Nesto's movies, we can't even talk about him! You don't talk about Leti, everything I know about her I've heard from someone else, never from you! It's like you don't even like them!"

"I loved them!" Héctor shouted back, his rage boiling over again. "I loved them more than anything else on Earth! They were taken from me, and I would give every centavo I have just to get them back!"

"And you're rich because of music!" Miguel kept on, ignoring Héctor. "Saying you hate music after it's made you rich, and makes you richer every day, makes you a hypocrite! You don't care about what's good for me! You don't care about anyone but yourself! You're a coward, a terrible father, and I don't want to be a part of your family anymore!"

Héctor couldn't believe this. Was everyone out to get him tonight? Did no one respect him at all? He couldn't stand it anymore. He was the patriarch of the Rivera family, it was high time he started to act like it. No more pushover Héctor. It was time to put his foot down.

"I'm a terrible father?" Héctor asked. "Oh no no no… No, I'm not the terrible father. You know who was a terrible father? My father. And I had a terrible mother too. I was left alone on the steps of the church as a newborn, thrown away by the people who I depended on the most. My whole life I craved a family that I never had, and in the end I got it. And I gave my family everything I never had and more. But it's not enough for you is it? You have the nicest clothes, a full stomach every day, a huge bedroom all to yourself filled with toys and games. And it's not enough for you. You're spoiled rotten."

Bowing his head, tears finally fell down Miguel's face at the insult. He shook his head and weakly squeaked out, "No, I'm not…"

"Well I am done being the nice parent. The nice husband. The nice little brother who does what he's told." Héctor hissed. "I couldn't stop your brother from going off to war. I couldn't stop your mother from kicking me out. I couldn't stop Ernesto from going on that stage that night. I tried to stop them, and I couldn't. But I'm certain that I can stop you from going down the same path that he did."

"So first of all, you can forget going to that new school on the weekends, and you can forget waiting for the next school year. Because as soon as we get home we're packing your belongings and setting you up first thing Monday morning. And you will stay there until summer break!"

Miguel's eyes widened in horror, and cried out, "No! You can't!"

"And I'll make sure that you never come in contact with music while you're there as well! No guitars, no radios, no record players, nothing! I don't care if I have to pay extra nor if you're under lock and key 24/7, you will never play or hear music again! Ever!"

Ignoring his son's broken sobs and wails, Héctor turned on his heel to glare at Ernesto's golden guitar mounted on the wall underneath his stupid fat face. A gift that he had given him out the love for his brother, now the bane of his existence and an unwanted temptation to his son. "And the first thing I'm going to do is get rid of this stupid thing once and for all!"

He grabbed the guitar and swung it off the pegs. It must have been a little too hard, or maybe he just didn't know his own strength, because when he did the force of it sent a flourish of golden petals to drift and float in the air with a loud whoosh! And if was paying a little more attention he would have noticed that the petals seemed to have glowed a little brighter. Turning back, he gestured at Miguel with hard jerk of the guitar. "Now get up. We're going home."

Miguel didn't say anything. He just stared at him silently, mouth agape. He wasn't even crying anymore. Just staring up, a little vacantly and with his eyes darting slightly. Finally, just as Héctor felt himself getting more annoyed and angrier by his silence, Miguel whispered, "…Papá?..."

Héctor sighed and shook his head. "We're done talking about this. I've made up my mind and you won't-"

"Papá?! PAPÁ!"

Now Miguel wasn't even staring at him, instead looking frantically around the mausoleum, and now Héctor was getting fed up. "Enough of this! Miguel, we're going home now! Miguel stop screaming! Miguel!"

Suddenly the sound of a metal key grating through the door lock was heard, and both Héctor and Miguel turned to see a pock-marked teenager walking inside with a flashlight. "Alright, who's in here?" he asked in a squeaky voice.

Héctor stepped around Miguel and held up a hand towards the young teen. "It's all right chamaco. I'm handling this, we'll be on our way shortly."

"Miguel?" the teenager said surprised. "What are you doing in here? Where's de la Cruz's guitar?"

Miguel said nothing, just stood there shaking in terror and struggling to breathe. Héctor held the guitar up for him to see. "I have it, and I'll be taking it with me for the time being, so if you'll excuse-"

"Ay, mi abuelo is going to kill me if he finds out you took it on my watch!" the teenager moaned, then walked towards Miguel. "Come on, you shouldn't be here. I'll take you home."

Héctor stood firmly in front of Miguel, stopping him from coming closer. "Oye, I said I'll handle it! What is with everyone?! Why does no one ever listen to-"

*whoosh*

"-meEe?..."

With a sickening feeling, and a hot and cold sensation, Héctor felt the young boy walk through his body and out the other side. Clutching his stomach at the feeling, he whipped around to see the teenage boy grab Miguel by the arm and start to pull him away. "Hey, let go of him!"

He reached out to pull the boy's hand off of his son, but as soon as he made contact his hand phased through the arm like a wisp of smoke before forming solid again. Staring at it disbelief, Héctor twisted his hand side to side to look at it. And to his horror, he found that he could actually see through it. And his hand, as well as his arm, his leg, his whole body… was glowing gold.

He kept staring at it, mesmerized and confused, until his son's voice broke through his mental short. Miguel was screaming as he tried to break free of the older boy's grip, and what he screamed made Héctor's insides run cold.

"No, stop! Please! My papá disappeared! He's gone! He vanished into thin air!"

No.

No, I'm still here.

"Hey stop!" Héctor shouted as he followed them out into the cemetery. "Give me back my son! I'm right here! Can't you see- aah!"

Suddenly another person bumped into him, or rather through him, and Héctor was once again bombarded with that nauseating sensation of cold and heat. Then another came. And another. Apparently everyone thought it was a good idea to crowd around the mausoleum to see what all the commotion was about, but all it was doing was knocking Héctor's world off course.

Trying to weave through the mass of people, trying to locate Miguel by his shouting over the rush of blood through his ears, Héctor finally made it through the crowd. He had practically swam through all of them, and not one of them ever looked at him.

No one could see him at all.

Another shout from Miguel brought his attention back to what was important. The teenager had now almost dragged Miguel to the exit, but the path was clear now. Dodging through the maze of gravestones, Héctor was getting closer and closer towards his son. "Oye kid! Let him go! You hear me?! Let him-"

With another whoosh, and another nauseating tilt as a random woman walked into his direction, Héctor's legs folded out from under him and he planted hard on his face. Laying on the ground for a few moments, trying to get his bearings and his breathing back under control, Héctor didn't notice the shadow loom over him. Not until a sweet voice called out and a gentle hand touched his shoulder.

"Dios mio! Señor, are you okay? You fell pretty hard! Here, let me help you up."

As he felt the hands grip his arms and his body lift off the ground, Héctor sighed in relief. Someone could see him, and he could be touched. He was normal again. Probably was normal to begin with. He had been so angry before; it must have popped a few screws loose. His brain had been a little addled, but it was all just a simple mind trick. Nothing was wrong. He was seen and heard. All was well.

"Ay, gracias a Dios."

"Are you all right now, Señor?" the woman asked, brushing the dirt off of his jacket with gloved hands. Héctor nodded and smiled, looking up.

"Sí. Gracias Señoritaa-aaa-ha-AAA-HAAA-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"