#mwpt

When they arrived at the train station, Abel and Rosa asked if he wanted them to go in. He thanked them, but decided he wanted to go in alone. I’m the one who messed things up. I should be the one to fix it.

Over the last few days, Miguel had grown used to being greeted by ghostly guitar music and Héctor calling his name. Today, he was met with only the rumbling bustle of the train station. Instead, Miguel scanned the crowd, hoping to see the ghost’s transparent head or floating feet. “Héctor?” he called. A few living men turned and glanced at him before shrugging and moving on, but no ghosts.

Suddenly, he felt something cold whoosh by him. He turned to his left to see Héctor materialize right before his eyes. The ghost gave the glass doors a determined look. He sped toward them, phased through, then rematerialized back inside. Héctor let out a frustrated huff and geared up to try again.

“Héctor?” Miguel tried again. “Ghost Héctor? What are you doing?”

The ghost looked up and his eyes widened when he saw who called his name. A trickle of blood at his lips suddenly disappeared. “Miguel!” He rushed forward and threw his arms around his friend. “I am so sorry, Miguel.”

“You’re sorry?” Miguel asked. A cold tingling enveloped him under the ghost’s attempt at an embrace.

“When I saw you were gone, I was afraid I scared you away, but then I started thinking about how awful you felt when I looked into your soul. I spent all night trying to get out and find you but…”

“Héctor, it’s okay. I’m okay,” Miguel said, hearing himself imitate his father’s comforting tones. “I actually came here to apologize to you.”

“Apologize?”

“For not believing you and…” he swallowed, “for not telling you everything.”

“What are you talking about, Miguel?”

He moved toward a bench by the windows. “You might want to sit down if you can. There’s a lot to go over.”

“Okay, you’re starting to worry me with that face,” Héctor said with a nervous laugh as he perched on the bench beside Miguel. “What’s going on?”

Miguel let out a heavy breath and looked at the floor. He wanted to stare at the tiles for the whole confession, but he heard his mother’s voice in his head. Look them in the eyes. It doesn’t count unless you look them in the eyes. He looked up. “First of all, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you about being Ernesto’s music partner, and I’m sorry I didn’t believe you wrote your songs.”

“What changed your mind?

“My cousins and I did some research,” he explained. “We found old newspaper ads from Ernesto’s first tour and for every ad up until he left Mexico City, there’s a Héctor listed right next to his name. But that’s not all. You know that songbook I told you about? They’ve actually compared the writing in it with samples of his and it didn’t match. They even compared it with examples of his handwriting from the time the book was written, but it still wasn’t a match. There’s a lot of people who think he lied about writing the songs. I never believed it, but now, with you claiming you wrote them, when you have nothing to gain by it and weren’t even alive when he was famous… it just makes too much sense.”

He went quite for a short moment. “If you knew this already, why did it take you a day to believe me?”

A lump formed in Miguel’s throat. He knew the answer, but it seemed so stupid compared to what the ghost had to go through all these years.

“Because I wasn’t ready,” he admitted. The shame pulled his eyes away. “I’ve looked up to de la Cruz practically my whole life. You see, a long time ago, my great-great grandfather abandoned his family to pursue his dream of becoming a famous musician. He never came back. Ever since then, my entire family hated music. They think music is what tore our family apart. But, I just can’t help it. I love music. It just… The way it makes me feel… When I hear a great song or I play my guitar, my imagination goes wild and I feel a fire in my chest. Not like heartburn or something, but more like… the sun is coming from inside me.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Héctor answered. “It is your passion, a part of you.”

Miguel’s face lit up. “Yeah, and that rush you get when performing, or that feeling when you finally find the right note or the right word… With music, I can say things I can’t say any other way. There’s nothing like it.”

“You are an artist, Miguel.” Warmth radiated from Héctor’s smile. “That is why you feel this way. You can’t help being a musician."

“Well, my family doesn’t want me to be a musician,” Miguel huffed, crossing his arms. “That’s why I idealized de la Cruz so much. I’d hear his songs or watch his interviews and I’d think, ‘He gets it. He would understand how I’m feeling.’ Sometimes, before my cousins found out, I’d think he was the only person in the world who would support my dream. When it became clear he was just a liar and a thief, even when the evidence was staring me in the face, I couldn’t accept it.”

“I see, but you understand there are more musicians in the world than him, ones who share your drive to create.”

“Like you.” Miguel could hardly believe it. He was finally having the kind of conversations he hoped to have one day. He always wanted someone, another musician, who shared his passion, who would understand. Who’d have thought he’d find that in a hundred-year-old ghost?

Then he remembered. He wasn’t here to talk music. He was here on business. “I’ve always wanted someone to talk about this stuff with, but I’m afraid there’s more to tell.”

“Okay, uh, you look serious again…”

Miguel swallowed. There’s no good way to do this. “Héctor, do you remember much about how you died?”

“Let’s see…” He closed his eyes to concentrate. When he opened them again, they glowed white. “I was walking to the train station when I felt a pain in my stomach.  I remember falling to my knees, but after some time, the pain passed and I felt fine again. I got up and kept walking. I made it to the station but no one could see me or talk to me. It took me a while to accept it, but eventually I realized I was dead and I was a ghost.” The light went out of his eyes and he turned back to Miguel. “That’s all I remember.”

“What about before? You said Ernesto was there and he gave you a toast.”

“He did, that’s true.”

“Do you remember what he said?”

“You mean that he would move heaven and earth for me?” Héctor answered bitterly. “Instead, all he did was steal my music and try to erase my existence.”

Miguel nodded slowly. Now came the hard part. “Yeah, well, the thing is, Ernesto de la Cruz wasn’t just famous for his music. He also starred in a lot of films.” Does he know what films are? No time to explain, just move on. He quickly pulled up a video on his phone. “In one of them, there’s a character who says something very similar and, look.” He turned the phone so that Héctor could see it.

I would move heaven and earth for you mi amigo. Salud!

Gah! Poison!

As he heard the clip play out, Miguel looked away, hoping to give the ghost some semblance of privacy. He wasn’t sure what the proper protocol was when telling someone they may have been murdered. Would Héctor want privacy? Would he want to talk about it or be left alone? Would he even understand what Miguel was trying to show him?

“Poison?”

Miguel looked back.

The tears on the ghost’s face dried in an instant. “He poisoned me…”

“There’s no way to be sure-”

“No I can be sure.” Héctor’s voice remained quiet. “I remember now, wondering what could have caused my death, if it was something I ate or drank. Now I know. That drink was the last thing I had before I died. Come to think of it, he hid the glasses while he poured it. I thought nothing of it. I never imagined…” His face melted into rage and he rose up toward the ceiling. “How could he do that to me?!”

Miguel opened his mouth then shut it again. What could he say? What was there to say?

The lights flickered rapidly as Héctor continued his tirade. “We were friends! Our whole lives! I never saw my family again! I’ve been trapped here for over a century! All for a few songs? Was that all my life was worth to him?”

“Héctor? Maybe you should…”

“He took my songs! He took my future, my life, my family! He took everything from me!”

The florescent lights overhead burst and the smell of smoke filled the train station. Miguel thought he could feel a sharp shard prick him as it fell. The people around them muttered frantically and the station staff hurried to try to fix the problem.

“Héctor?” Miguel tried again.

The ghost looked down at Miguel. The rage on his face faded and he descended back down to earth, deflated. “I’m sorry, Miguel.”

“No, don’t be. If there were ever a time to blow-up the lights…”

“It’s my fault,” Héctor said. He slumped on the bench, hunched over, eyes toward the floor. “I should have seen Ernesto for what he was. I should have left him sooner. In fact, I never should have left my family at all.”

“It’s not your fault.” Miguel tried to put a hand on Héctor’s back but it went right through. Instead, he held his hand where the specter’s body began and let the cold nip at his hand. “You said you and Ernesto were friends for your whole lives. You should have been able to trust him. He’s the one who betrayed you.”

Héctor looked up. A weak smile tugged at his lip, then disappeared.

“Have you noticed you stopped crying?”

“It seems I have,” the ghost said as he put a hand to his cheek. “Poison tequila, right? I guess, in some way, I always knew.”

“So, no more uncontrollable crying, no more bleeding from the mouth,” Miguel said with an attempt at a smile. “Those must be good signs, right?”

“Maybe,” Héctor looked down at his transparent hands and flexed his fingers. “I know now who I am and why I’m here.”

“But something’s still wrong.”

“Of course there is!” He rose up off the bench. “I just found out my best friend murdered me! I spent a century tapped here! Is this all there is for me?” He sighed and deflated, lowering himself back down again. “I always thought, once I remembered my past, I’d cross over. At least then, I’d get to see my family again. I could tell them how sorry I was that I left, that I stayed away so long. I never came back to them. They never knew I was dead. Do they think I abandoned them? That I didn’t love them enough to come home? They must hate me…”

“Héctor…”

“If I could just see them again, I could tell them that all I wanted was to come home. Every day on that tour, I wished I could be home with them.” He closed his eyes and clutched his hands at his chest. “I love them so much, Miguel. I love them so much that it hurts. I used to never feel anything before but now, it hurts just knowing I may never see them again.”

Miguel chewed his lip as he thought. Héctor had his memories back, at least the important ones, but it still wasn’t enough. Something still had to happen, but what? Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together. “You will,” he said firmly.

Héctor looked up. “What?”

“We’re going to make that happen.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We’re going to figure out whatever it takes to get you to the afterlife.” He tried to put his hand on Héctor’s shoulder, but it phased through. He accepted the cold tingles on his hand and he continued.  “You’re going to see your family again and I’m not going to give up until that happens.”

Héctor flashed a weak smile, but it quickly dissolved. “But when I first met you, you said you had to go home at the end of the week. How much time do you have left? The days run together in here so…”

“I don’t have to go home.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m staying with my grandparents and I’m going to live with them while I go to university. I’m coming back in a few months so I might as well just stay. I’m sure they won’t mind.”

“But…”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s settled. I’m staying in Mexico City.”

A familiar scolding tone sounded from behind him. “What do you mean you’re staying?”

Miguel turned to see his cousins standing behind him. Rosa hand her arms crossed and glared at him in a way that reminded him of Abuelita’s stories about Mamá Imelda. “Rosa?” Miguel said with a shaky laugh. “I thought you guys were outside.”

“We saw the lights flickering and got concerned,” Abel answered. He didn’t look as mad as his sister, but he was giving Miguel a sorry-but-I’m-siding-with-her kind of look.

“Oh yeah, well there’s good news,” Miguel piped up, hoping to add some levity to the situation. “Héctor remembered his death and he was definitely murdered by de la Cruz.” He paused and cringed as he heard what he just said. “I realize that doesn’t sound like good news now that I’ve said it out loud but…”

“Forget it,” Rosa snapped. She softened her glare as she turned her attention to Héctor. “I’m glad you’re getting your memories back, but we need to talk to Miguel real quick.”

Rosa grabbed his hand and pulled him away leaving Héctor floating by the bench. “What’s this about staying in Mexico City?” Rosa said, once they were out of the ghost’s earshot. “Our family expects us back in Santa Cecelia in 2 days.”

“I know but I can’t just leave anymore,” Miguel replied. “Héctor needs my help.”

“With what?” Rosa snapped in a hushed tone. “He remembers his past and he’s still here. What more can we do?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll figure something out. I promised him.”

“You promised Abuelita, remember?”

“It’s just a little bit longer.”

“It’s just a little bit now,” Abel cut in, “but then it’ll be a little bit more and a little bit more until you never come home.”

“You don’t know that,” Miguel argued. What was with them? He was only going to stay a few extra days or weeks. Sure, didn’t know exactly how much longer he’d be here, but it wasn’t like…

“Remember Mamá Coco?”

Miguel’s blood went cold as soon as those words left Rosa’s lips.

“Rosa…” Abel said in a warning tone.

She ignored him and pressed on. “Remember how, toward the end, she used to stare at the door and say she was waiting for her Papa to come home? Remember how painful that was for Abuelita to watch? You want to leave her like that? Staring at the door, hoping that maybe one day you’ll walk though it? Maybe it’ll be little Coco waiting for you.”

Her words sent a sharp pain through his heart. “That’s a low blow, Rosa. I’m not going to be like him. I’m coming back, just not now.”

“Maybe you won’t be like him and maybe you will. That’s up to you,” Rosa said sternly with a steady stare. “But if you don’t want to be like him, you need to start by keeping your promises. You can’t just say you’re coming home, you need to do it and you need to do it when you promised you would.”

“Miguel, go home.”

Miguel turned to see Héctor hovering just over his shoulder. “Héctor, I…”

“It sounds like you have an important promise to keep,” he continued.  

“Helping you is important.” Miguel felt a lump form in his throat. How could Héctor be saying this? He’d been alone for a hundred years. Was he really willing to go back to that again?

“Miguel, all I want is to see my family again,” Héctor said softly. “I can’t keep you from seeing yours. You might think you’ll never run out of chances to be with them, but the fact is you will, and you never know when that day will come.”

Miguel blinked back the tears forming in the rims of his eyes. “I can’t leave you.”

Héctor smiled and floated down to Miguel’s eye level. “I’ll be alright,” he said, putting a hand on Miguel’s shoulder. “It’s only a few months. I’ve lasted this long, haven’t I?”

“But-”

“Miguel, you’ve already helped me more than I can ever repay. Go, see your family. I’ll be alright.”

Miguel leapt forward and put his arms around his friend as best as he could. “I’m coming back for you. I won’t let you be all alone again, I promise. I’ll help you cross over. You’ll see your family again, whatever it takes.”