#YOUR actions have CONSEQUENCES !! (i have to write a report arguing what the upper part probably consisted of | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bcdrawsandwrites · 5 years

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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 16: The Statement Summary: In which Dante's actions have consequences, and Héctor must say something... so to speak.

The sun was just barely starting to rise as Rosita made her way back home, basket full of pan dulce in hand. Up ahead, Pepita paused in her hurried steps to look back at her, wings and tail twitching in agitation.

“Is everything all right, Pepita?” she asked, looking up at the cat in concern.

Pepita only hurried on ahead, and Rosita did her best to keep up.

The alebrije had been like this all morning, insisting on following her as she made a quick trip into town. A few times she’d even prevented her from taking certain streets, lying down obstinately in the middle of the sidewalk. Rosita couldn’t understand it—she’d only gone out to get a treat for everyone, as she usually did when everyone was stressed out, but Pepita was acting like it was quite the dangerous undertaking.

Whatever the case was, Rosita was not going to argue with a giant winged jaguar.

While nothing seemed out of place when they reached the hacienda, Pepita was no less agitated, hurriedly taking her spot in the yard and standing next to the house like a watchdog. Rosita reached into her basket, pulling out an alebrije treat she’d purchased and holding it out to the cat. Pepita perked up, stooping down to sniff at the colorful fish-shaped treat before taking it into her mouth in one gentle bite. Finally she let out a short purr, and Rosita smiled.

As she expected, Victoria was already up, having fixed a pot of coffee. “Buenas dias, Victoria!” Rosita said as she set the basket of pastries down. “Were you up late again last night?”

“A bit,” Victoria mumbled, reaching out to grab a chocolate concha. “I was just thinking.”

“You could always do your thinking during the day instead. Nothing to do about it now, though... When you’re done with that, would you like to help me with breakfast?”

“Sí.”

The next hour or so passed by quickly as the others made their way downstairs: first the twins, who were passing a sketchbook back and forth, and then Coco and Julio, the latter looking like he had had a harder time sleeping than his wife. Strangely, Imelda did not come downstairs with any of the others.

“Is Mamá not up yet?” Coco asked, looking around the dining room and then back up the stairs.

“I haven’t seen her,” Victoria answered from the kitchen. “She could use the extra rest, though.”

Rosita couldn’t argue with that. She stepped out into the dining room, looking around for a certain alebrije. “What about Dante? I bought a treat for him.”

“I let him out late last night. He probably went back to Miguel.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Digging through the basket, she found the bone-shaped alebrije treat she’d picked out for the dog and took it into the kitchen. As she did so, however, she felt a strange tug of worry. “Pepita seemed anxious this morning. Do you think something could have happened to Dante?”

“Oh, something definitely happened to Dante,” Óscar said, glancing up from his sketchbook.

“He probably chased a chicken alebrije halfway across town,” Felipe said, reaching over to write something on the paper.

“Or he got himself stuck in a fake tree.”

“Or ran into a wall.”

“Or—”

Julio cleared his throat. “Dante is an alebrije. I’m sure he’s fine, hermana.”

Before she could say anything else, the stairs creaked with the sound of unsteady footfalls. The family exchanged glances before quickly realizing what that meant, and craned their necks toward the stairs. Sure enough, Imelda and Héctor were slowly making their way downstairs, Héctor with his good arm thrown over Imelda’s shoulders and Imelda with her arm over his shoulders as she helped him limp down. They were both focused on the task (not an easy one with Héctor’s injured leg), but the second they reached the floor, everyone quickly went back to whatever they had been doing before, as though they hadn’t just been staring.

Well, everyone but Rosita, anyway. “So good to see you, Papá Héctor!” she said. Her smile wavered when he flinched, but returned when he gave a shaky smile back. “Did you sleep well?”

Héctor waved his hand in an uncertain gesture.

“Está bien. You’ll have all day today to rest up—”

“After we get back from the police station,” Imelda cut in, and Héctor glanced away. She squeezed his upper arm in return. “But she is right, Héctor. This won’t take long, and then you can take it easy.”

The gentle gesture did not go unnoticed, and Rosita and Coco exchanged knowing, delighted glances. Any bit of progress between those two was good!

“Sit down,” Rosita implored. “We have breakfast ready, and coffee, and I bought everyone’s favorite pan dulce.”

“Very well, but we won’t be too long,” Imelda replied, helping Héctor over to the table. “We’d like to get to the police station early. Best to get this over with as soon as possible.”

As expected, Héctor ate very little food, seeming to have trouble with swallowing. It hurt Rosita’s throat even to watch, but she refilled his coffee mug, hoping that the warm drink and the caffeine would be enough to help him this morning. He had a difficult task ahead, and it would be even more difficult on an empty stomach… so to speak.

While Rosita and Coco chatted a little, breakfast was oddly quiet, with the twins absorbed in their work, Victoria and Imelda lost in their thoughts, and Héctor and Julio seeming focused on staying awake. At one point Rosita thought she heard her brother whispering something to Héctor, but decided it wouldn’t be best to pry.

The relative silence, however, was suddenly broken by a low growling from outside. Héctor tensed up, and Imelda twisted herself around to look at the door. “Pepita?” she murmured.

“She was very tense this morning... I’m not sure why,” Rosita remarked. “She followed me all the way to the pasteleria and back.”

Héctor and Julio exchanged fearful glances, but Rosita laughed. “Oh, you two. You know she wouldn’t attack one of us.”

“Whatever the problem is,” Imelda said, stepping away from the table to open the door, “we can figure it out after we’ve—” And she jerked back in surprise to see a police officer standing at their doorstep. His hand was outstretched as though he were just about to knock at the door, and Pepita was looming behind him.

The man looked just as surprised as Imelda did, but quickly recovered, glancing down at the notepad he carried. “¿Rivera Familia de Zapateros?”

The rest of the family slowly began to gather behind Imelda, aside from Héctor, who stayed rooted at the table, and Julio, who stood near Héctor, watching the officer from a distance.

“Sí,” Imelda answered, crossing her arms. “We’re closed on Sundays.”

Undeterred, the officer flipped to another page on his notepad. “Are any of you in ownership of a winged canine alebrije?”

Rosita’s ribcage tightened. “Dante?” she whispered.

“...We are,” Victoria said, eying the police officer cautiously. “What’s this about?”

“We received a report early this morning that an alebrije matching the description broke into an apartment, caused extensive damage, and attacked no less than two people.”

“What?!” Felipe cried.

“That doesn’t sound like our alebrije!” Óscar went on.

Wringing her hands, Rosita stepped forward. “There must be some mistake... Dante is a good dog. He wouldn’t—”

“Dante?” The man looked up at her, brow furrowing, and dug into his pocket, pulling out a thin blue object. “This was found in the apartment after the alebrije escaped.”

When he held it out for them to see, the family collectively gasped. It was indeed a torn blue dog collar, with a tag reading “DANTE — RIVERA FAMILIA DE ZAPATEROS” still dangling from it.

Pepita let out another low growl behind the officer, while Rosita covered her mouth in horror. “Oh, no!”

“But he was just helping Papá last night,” Coco said, glancing back at Héctor. Rosita followed her gaze, alarmed to see that Héctor was breathing quickly. Without another word, the two of them hurried to his side, Coco placing a hand on his shoulder and Rosita taking a seat next to him.

“Tranquilo, Papá Héctor,” she said, stealing a glance back at the front door. “Mamá Imelda will get this sorted out.”

“This can’t be right!” Imelda snatched the collar away, examining it. “Dante is not a violent alebrije by any means. An idiot, to be sure, but not violent.”

“She’s right.”

“He wouldn’t attack someone unprovoked.”

“An alebrije should not be attacking anyone, except when it is directly defending its owner,” the officer said, growing more firm. “Unless any of you were present at an apartment building two towers away from here last night, and you were being threatened, your alebrije had no cause to attack any person. Were any of you there?”

Imelda’s eyes narrowed, her grip tightening around the collar. “No.”

“The apartment owner claims they were attacked unprovoked. The xolo alebrije chased another alebrije into their apartment and then proceeded to attack the owner. Others witnessed the attack as well.”

Rosita couldn’t help herself, sitting up straight in her chair. “Is—is he all right?” Part of her wanted to walk back to the officer, but she didn’t want to leave Héctor, who looked to be in the middle of a mild panic attack. “Where is he now?”

“The alebrije fled the scene, jumping out the window,” the officer answered, jotting something down in his notepad. “We have several officers searching for him now.”

“What will happen when he is found?” Imelda asked, looking at the officer again.

“He’ll need to be quarantined for at least a week, during which he will need to stay within your property at all times. If he is found outside of this property during the quarantine period, we will need to take action.” Before anyone could ask just what that “action” entailed, he turned to another page in his notebook. “And right now, you will be required to pay for the damages done to the victim’s property as soon as possible.”

“And who is this victim?” Victoria asked, crossing her arms.

“The afflicted party wishes to remain anonymous.” Clicking his pen, the officer looked back up at Imelda. “Now, regarding the damages...”

While Imelda talked with the officer about working out a payment, Rosita looked back to Julio, Coco, and Héctor. Coco was leaning into her papá, wrapping her arm around him, while Julio whispered something to him. She had to admit, she didn’t expect to see Julio talking with Héctor much, given how uneasy he’d been around his father-in-law these past couple months, but she wasn’t going to complain.

“Papá, can you hear me?” Coco asked, and Héctor gave a short nod. “Are you worried about Dante?”

Héctor nodded again, shutting his eyes.

“I think he’ll be all right.” Rosita patted Héctor gently on the shoulder. “We’ll just have to find him and keep an eye on him for a while. Oh, poor Miguelito, though...” The thought of him not being able to see his pet for a week, without knowing where he was, and without being able to send messages back to them, was an upsetting one.

“Don’t worry about it, though, Héctor,” Julio said quickly, and Héctor looked up at him. “We’ll take care of this stuff with Dante. You... you need to just focus on your statement.”

“He’s right,” Coco affirmed. “We’ll figure out what happened with Dante. I’m sure he’s fine.”

Héctor gave Coco a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, giving Rosita the feeling that he didn’t quite believe them.

Even so, Rosita nodded. “Dante will be all right, Papá Héctor. You just worry about yourself right now.”

Gracias, he mouthed in response, looking down at the floor.

It was several more minutes as Imelda worked out more details with the police officer, but eventually she finished. The officer left the hacienda, Pepita growling at him the entire way, and Imelda turned around to face the others once more. “Well, you heard what he said. If we find Dante, he has to stay on our property for a week. I want you all to keep an eye out for him wherever you go, and bring him home as soon as you find him.”

“Sí, Mamá Imelda,” Victoria said quietly, still staring out after the police officer.

“As for us...” Imelda approached Héctor, laying a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder. “We do need to get going. Are you ready, Héctor?”

Shuddering, Héctor looked up at her and waved his one good hand in an uncertain gesture, giving a shaky grin.

“Well, you won’t feel any more ready if we waste time around here.” Reaching down, she helped Héctor up, letting him lean on her as he limped toward the door.

“Good luck, Papá Héctor!” Rosita called after him. “You’ll be fine! Just tell them what you need to and you’ll be home before you know it.”

Héctor swallowed and tried to give her a smile, and finally they were gone, Imelda shutting the door behind them. Shortly after, they could hear Pepita taking to the skies.

Looking out the window, Rosita watched them leave, finding herself heaving a deep sigh. She wasn’t one to worry often, but when she did, she didn’t like her worries to be right.

She hoped both Dante and Papá Héctor would return home soon.

Imelda led Héctor toward Pepita, and the alebrije gave a soft, short purr, stepping closer to them. Héctor took an uncertain step back, but Pepita lowered her head and lightly touched the top of her head against Héctor’s side—a much more gentle version of her usual affectionate headbutt.

When Héctor only blinked in bewilderment, Imelda rubbed his arm. “She likes you,” she said, and helped him onto the alebrije’s back.

However, in spite of Pepita’s friendly behavior, Rosita had not been wrong about her. Not entirely wrong, anyway. Imelda could feel the tension in the alebrije’s muscles, and even the vibration of a soft, inaudible growl from within her chest. Pepita was more than tense—she was angry. It may have had something to do with the police officer, or something to do with Dante, but unfortunately she had no way of knowing for sure.

Perhaps they could go looking for Dante later on, but this needed to be taken care of first. Making sure she had a good grip on Héctor, Imelda nudged Pepita’s sides with her heels. “We’re going to the police station, Pepita,” she said, and the cat’s muscles coiled beneath her just before she sprung into the air.

Héctor tensed up, gripping a clump of Pepita’s fur with his good hand and ducking his head, and Imelda carefully tightened her grip around him. “I’ve got you, don’t worry,” she called above the wind as they flew.

Even without everything that had just happened with the police officer, the morning had been... strange. She’d woken up and immediately confronted Héctor, who had looked like he’d maybe gotten an hour or so of sleep, if that. When she’d announced that they would be going to the police station this morning, he had been surprisingly compliant, in spite of how stubborn he’d been the day prior. Part of her found it strange, but the other part of her chalked it up to his insomnia and exhaustion making it hard for him to keep fighting.

Hopefully it would be done with after this, and he could finally get some rest.

“Do you know what you’re going to write?” Imelda asked, and Héctor turned his head toward her, more to acknowledge her than to actually look at her. After a moment, he shook his head and lowered it. “You’ll just need to figure it out when we get there. Anything you can tell them will help.”

Héctor wheezed out a sigh, which she felt more than heard. She tried to understand why he was so hesitant to tell them—perhaps it was like how she had avoided music for so long, since it brought her so much pain. But while this would bring him pain, ultimately it would help him, wouldn’t it?

This will be good for him, she told herself, subconsciously pulling him a little closer. The sooner he gets this out of the way, the better.

Pepita’s wings shifted, and they began their descent.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Óscar grumbled, sketching furiously into the book he held. “Dante is hardly violent!”

“Aside from that time he knocked the head off a security guard,” Felipe countered, snatching the sketchbook away and leaving his brother to attempt to draw on thin air for a moment. Frowning at the page, he began to make some of his own adjustments. “No, no, that’s too big, try...”

“He was protecting Miguel, that doesn’t count! And it’s not too big, what are you... oh...”

Coco shook her head at her tíos, turning instead to Julio, who appeared deep in thought. He’d woken up quite tired that morning, but insisted on getting up regardless. She got the feeling he hadn’t had a full night’s sleep, but there were more important matters at hand. “I still can’t believe Dante would do something like that,” she said, and her husband looked up. “Even when Dante caused trouble in the living world, he never hurt anyone. I remember.”

“And he was acting just fine last night,” Julio said, fiddling with his hat. “I wonder...” And he trailed off, rubbing his head in thought.

“Wonder what?” Coco prodded. ”Do you think he had a reason for attacking a stranger?”

“Assuming he attacked them at all.” Frowning, Victoria kept her gaze out the window. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was a disgruntled fan of his, trying to knock us down a few pegs.”

“I don’t know, mija,” Julio said, crossing his arms. “Stealing a collar from an alebrije so they can frame him seems, uh... farfetched. I’m wondering if... if he found something.”

Heart leaping, Coco straightened. “You mean with what happened to Papá?”

All eyes in the room turned to Julio, who gave a nervous laugh, ducking partially into his rib cage. “I mean... maybe. Dante is an alebrije... Don’t you think he would understand what’s going on?”

Turning to face her father, Victoria gave him a deadpan look. “Yesterday he flew into a wall trying to reach a door that was in the opposite direction. I don’t think he has enough brain cells to understand something is wrong.”

“I don’t think you’re giving him enough credit, mija,” Coco said. “Your papá is right—Dante is an alebrije.”

With an annoyed hum, Victoria looked out the window again, rubbing her wrist in irritation. It was a gesture that Coco caught immediately, as did Julio. The two exchanged glances before Coco placed her hand on her daughter’s back. “Why don’t we sit in the living room?”

Keeping silent, Victoria complied, following the two into the living room. Julio and Coco sat on the couch, while Victoria remained standing, still holding her arm and not looking at either of the two. When she didn’t talk, Julio was the one to speak up. “¿Qué pasa, mija?”

“We know it’s not about the dog,” Coco added, and Victoria’s frown deepened.

“It’s nothing important,” Victoria grumbled, gazing out the window again.

“You’re never this distracted unless something is bothering you.” Julio patted the seat next to him, knowing it was a futile effort. “Can you tell us what’s wrong?”

When Victoria didn’t immediately answer, Coco had to hold out a hand to keep Julio from standing up and approaching her. Victoria would talk when she was ready.

Sure enough, Victoria stamped her foot, glaring up at the sky through the window. “I don’t understand the point of taking him to the police when we know he won’t talk. All he’s ever going to do is dodge the point!”

Coco’s brows rose in surprise—she hadn’t expected that. “He’s been through a lot, mija. You can’t blame him for not wanting to tell us all the details.”

“But it’s not us he has to tell them to. It’s the police! And if he hasn’t said anything to us, how do we know he’ll say anything to them?��

“Well... we don’t,” Julio admitted, pulling off his hat and tugging on the brim of it. “But he could always surprise us.”

“I doubt it, especially if the police actually say anything to...” Victoria trailed off, then shook herself. “It just seems like a waste of time, and unnecessary stress on Mamá Imelda.”

Chuckling, Coco shook her head. “It would be unnecessary stress on Mamá if Papá did not go to the police. You know she’s been prodding him about getting his statement out.”

“Well, it’s...” Now looking down at the floor, Victoria sighed. “It’s unnecessary stress on him, too.”

Julio raised his brows and glanced at Coco, who returned the look.

Seeming to catch her parent’s expressions, Victoria went on: “And if he is stressed out, it’ll be awful for the rest of us.”

Though she tried to cover for it, Coco knew what her daughter was really saying. “Mija,” she said softly, beckoning her daughter closer. But Victoria remained stubborn, arms crossed tightly and head turned away, so she went on: “You’re allowed to be worried for Papá Héctor.”

“I’m not worried about him. I’m worried he’s going to cause more trouble for this family than he already has, that’s all.”

Coco gave her a knowing smile. “Of course, mija.”

“That perro isn’t much better,” Victoria went on. “It has to be one thing after another, doesn’t it?”

“That’s another thing,” Julio said, returning his hat to his head and staring down at the floor in concentration. “We don’t know they aren’t unrelated. Dante... perhaps he knows something we don’t. Maybe the person he tried to attack is...” He hesitated, tugging his hat down further. “...the one who attacked Héctor.”

Sensing something was wrong, Coco looked at her husband in concern. But he only glanced up at her briefly before reaching over and squeezing her hand—I can’t talk about it right now.

“Even if it isn’t, I’d like to know who it is.” Victoria was once more looking out the window. “I’m rather tired of people making things difficult for our family.”

“The police said the person wished to remain anonymous,” Coco pointed out, rubbing her thumb over Julio’s hand.

“It is strange, though,” Julio said. The other two waited for him to go on, but he remained quiet, squeezing Coco’s hand again.

Something was bothering him, and Coco was absolutely certain it wasn’t the news about Dante, or even Papá going to give his statement. She would have to resist trying to pry it out of him, at least for the time being—like Victoria, he would speak when he was ready. Usually.

“I’m going to go find him!” Rosita’s voice snapped them out if their thoughts, and Julio hopped out of his seat and rushed over to her.

“No, no, hermana, stay here for now,” he said as Coco and Victoria followed him back into the dining room. “Let’s... uh, we should wait until Mamá Imelda and Héctor get back.”

“Papá is right,” Victoria said with a nod. “They may come back with Dante, for all we know.”

“And perhaps they’ll return with news as well,” Coco agreed. “Let’s wait for now.”

Rosita sighed, wringing her hands. “I... I suppose you’re right. I just hope pobrecito Dante is okay.”

“And Papá.” Coco rubbed her wrist as she thought it over. “I hope he’ll be all right.”

“I’m sure he will be, mi amor,” Julio said quietly, taking her hand again. His expression told her he was less sure of himself than his words made him sound. “We’ll... just have to wait.”

“You can do what you like,” Victoria said, sighing as she moved toward the back of the house, toward door to the veranda. “I’m going to get some fresh air.”

“It’s not fresh—”

“—in the Land of the Dead,” the twins said, still poring over their sketchbook, resulting in an annoyed “ugh” from the back of the house, followed by the creak of an opening door.

“Should we join her?” Julio asked, and Coco glanced around the room. The twins were still focused on their sketchbook, ignoring the mess of the abandoned breakfast at the table, and Rosita was staring out the window, looking out into the yard as though she expected Dante to come scampering in at any moment.

Victoria probably needed time to herself right now, but Coco knew her sister-in-law wouldn’t do well if she was left to fret over the missing dog. “Rosita,” she said instead, and her sister-in-law glanced back at her. “Would you like some help cleaning up?”

“Oh! Uh, sí. Gracias.”

With that, the three of them got to work on clearing the table, Rosita already looking more relaxed. Coco smiled for a moment, but looked back at Julio, finding her husband still appearing deep in thought. While it had been clear what was bothering both Victoria and Rosita, Julio was mystifying Coco right now. Part of her wanted to question him about it immediately, but not while they were helping Rosita. Even so...

When Julio moved to bring a stack of plates into the kitchen, Coco leaned in close to him. “Is it bothering you that badly?” she whispered, and he froze. “You can talk to me, mi amor.”

Julio grimaced, shaking his head. “L-later,” he whispered back. “I promise I’ll tell you later.”

Nodding, Coco backed away. “Later” could mean after they were done cleaning, or after they heard back from Mamá and Papá.

But if it had anything to do with any of this mess going on—and she was sure it did—”later” was going to be before tonight. She would make sure of that.

The police station loomed in front of them, and his every instinct was screaming for him to get away.

He’d been here before—many, many times before—back when he was still working on his schemes to cross the bridge. More than a few times he’d even been held in a cell (sixty-three times, in fact, if he’d kept his tally marks accurate) for his escapades, including incidents that had nothing to do with Dia de Muertos.

The police were familiar with him. He was familiar with them. The building was familiar. The one cell he’d been held in was familiar. After the first few times, it had ceased being scary.

Until now, when it was suddenly the most terrifying thing he could think of.

Héctor’s legs quit working, his knees locking shortly after Imelda helped him dismount from Pepita. The sudden stop caused Imelda, who had been at his side and helping him walk, to stumble, which subsequently nearly knocked him over.

“Héctor,” she said firmly, without looking back, and his legs moved mechanically, forcing him closer to the last place he wanted to be right now.

I can’t do this, he thought, swallowing as Imelda helped him limp up the steps. Her touch was the only thing that kept him from completely shutting down.

I can’t be here. Yet here he was, being led into the lobby and up to the front desk. He could feel the stares of people on him and lowered his head, not wanting the woman behind the counter to look him in the eye. Was she one of the people in contact with...?

He felt a sick twist in his gut at the thought that Imelda could unknowingly be conversing with one of Ernesto’s friends—one of the people just waiting for him to slip up and say the wrong thing. Or write the wrong thing—whatever they expected him to do.

Maybe they wouldn’t expect him to do anything. Maybe they would see he was in no state to talk (given he literally couldn’t), no state to even discuss nonverbally what had happened to him. They could send him home, and then he could just... never go back. That would be fine with him.

“All right,” the woman behind the counter said, and Héctor blinked, suddenly realizing that she had been talking to Imelda. “I’ll let Officer Heraldez know you’re here, and your husband can give his statement to him.”

A weight sunk deep into Héctor’s middle, and it took all of his strength to remain standing upright. Imelda kept a grip on him, however, and squeezed his shoulder gently. “You can do this, Héctor, and then we can leave. You won’t have to come back.”

Maybe I’ll have to come back... in pieces, when they have to identify what’s left of me after Ernesto’s goons catch me again, Héctor thought. His chest heaved in a pained, suppressed laugh, before he instinctively reached out to grab at his bandaged throat at the sudden, stabbing ache it caused his vertebrae. But his arm was already held back--by a hand, they were holding him down, he couldn’t even grab at the man to stop the knife—

Imelda squeezed his right arm gently, and he gave a short gasp as he found himself back at the police station. She gave him a questioning look, and he glanced away.

What had he been… oh, right. Yeah, I’ll definitely come back here in pieces, he thought, a grim smile crossing his features, right before a darker voice within him added: Or to identify the pieces of whatever is left of—

His entire body shook audibly in an attempt to banish the thought, but it still hung there, in the back of his mind. That’s what’ll happen if you mess this up, amigo. So don’t.

Before he knew it, Imelda was helping him out of the lobby and into another room, where they sat at a desk across from two police officers. The familiar situation clicked, and he looked from one officer to the other. Heraldez—he knew that one. Heraldez had arrested him three years ago, after his attempt at using a femur bone (that he may or may not have gotten permission to borrow) as bait for an alebrije (that he also may or may not have gotten permission to borrow) that he attempted to ride across the bridge. It wasn’t his best plan, and Heraldez hadn’t exactly been impressed either. He wasn’t the worst officer Héctor had known, at least. As for the female officer next to Heraldez, her name was... Ade... Adelita? Yes, he remembered her from when he’d accidentally crashed on top of another skeleton when jumping off a roof—purely accidental, but the poor man he’d fallen onto had thought he was being attacked. Not one of his proudest moments.

He almost greeted them by name on reflex, but caught himself before he hurt his throat.

...Oh. Right. That’s why he was here.

“We meet again, Señor Rivera.” Officer Heraldez gave him a nod. “So you’re here to tell us what happened?”

“He is, yes,” Imelda said, frowning. “But as you can see, he is unable to talk at the moment.”

Adelita glanced at her partner. “Should... this be postponed?” she asked, and Héctor perked up, hope fluttering in his aching chest.

“If he’s able to write, that should do well enough,” Heraldez answered, pulling out a notebook and a pen and sliding it across the desk. Héctor’s heart promptly sank.

Adelita pulled out a notepad of her own, clicking her pen and preparing to write. Sitting on the table between the two officers was a file, which the female officer opened, looking over a few details. “Well, Señor Rivera, looks like you’re not on the criminal side of things for once.”

Héctor flinched, glancing back at Imelda, who didn’t seem amused by the statement. She didn’t exactly know about his criminal record—not all of it, anyway.

“You were assaulted two nights ago,” Adelita said, pointing to one line in the file. “Is that correct?”

Any comfort he had had at the familiarity of the situation melted away. They were starting already—?! No, no, he wasn’t ready yet, what was he supposed to say...?!

Ernesto’s words echoed in his mind: If you decide that the media or police should know about this… perhaps I’ll have to see about getting a new pair of shoes for the interview, hm?

No, no no no... He couldn’t do this.

He shouldn’t be here.

“Héctor?”

Imelda’s voice brought him back, and he shuddered. What had they asked, again?

“Señor Rivera, please answer the question. Is it true that you were assaulted two nights ago?”

Shuddering again, he gave the tiniest nod he could muster. That wouldn’t hurt, right? He was just confirming what they already knew. What was it Ernesto had told him... He’d said something about only saying what was “right?” So maybe he could tell them... some of it? So long as it didn’t incriminate Ernesto, maybe. That would have to be enough.

“What were you doing on that night?”

Héctor’s gaze fell on the pad and pen in front of him, and he reached out to it mechanically, his hand trembling as he wrote: Visiting shanties.

His heart ached at the memory—a couple nights ago, he had been so happy just to be around his nearly-forgotten family. At the time, he’d only been thinking about how much he enjoyed their company, and how he also needed to get home to his other family, right before...

When the pad was passed back to the officers, they both looked it over. “‘Visiting shanties.’ You were visiting the nearly-forgotten?” Heraldez asked. When Héctor gave a short nod, the officer passed the notepad back and regarded him evenly. “Were you alone when you were attacked?”

Immediately his mind went back to the alley he’d cut through, where he’d tripped over some garbage. There had been the huge pile there, and... and then...

“Señor Rivera?”

With a short gasp, he nodded quickly, and tugged on his hat with his free hand. Just answer the questions, he begged himself. Just answer the questions and don’t think about it, por favor. All you need to do is answer the questions.

“Did you see your attackers at all?”

He saw the outstretched hand, which he readily took, and seconds later found himself face-to-face with the stark white features of the man who had murdered him.

Another shudder rippled through his bones, and he shook his head.

Adelita scratched something into her notebook while Heraldez gazed at him. “Can you remember anything about your attackers?”

He could remember that there were three of them, that Ernesto had been dressed in that dark trench coat, his bones were still far too white, he didn’t have any signs of any previous injuries, and two of his stupid bodyguards were there, dressed in dark sweaters, wearing sunglasses that obscured their eyes...

Héctor’s non-existent stomach twisted, and he shook his head. He was certain Imelda was staring at him, but he didn’t want to look over to see what sort of expression she had.

“You’re certain that your attackers are no one that you personally know?”

Once again Ernesto’s face flashed through his mind, with that strange expression, one he wondered if he’d seen in life.

Hearing Imelda shift in her seat, he glanced over at her, surprised to see her glaring... at the officers? Quickly he stole a glance at them, finding that Officer Heraldez was looking at her. Perhaps Imelda thought they were being too harsh.

Regardless, he nodded, his skull aching from the weight of the unspoken lie.

“What happened when you were initially attacked?”

Ernesto caught him off-guard and he tried to get away by leaving his arm behind which was such a stupid idea, that was how Ernesto caught his hand in the first place, and he tried to pull his bones back but Ernesto stepped on his arm and squeezed his hand until it hurt and—

Biting his lip, Héctor scrawled onto the paper: Jumped me in the dark.

“And how did you lose your hand?”

Ernesto took his hand into the building and beckoned him to come in. When he refused...

Pain lanced through his missing hand, and he gasped, pulling his right wrist closer to his chest and gripping it protectively. Was that... was that real? Had that really just happened? Or...

“¿Estás bien?” Imelda asked, placing a hand on his left arm.

While Héctor appreciated the gesture, his eyes fell on the police officers, who exchanged looks he couldn’t read. Did they need to know what was done? Did Imelda? Did they need to know about... about... about the pain that spiked through his absent hand, the banging and snapping and the agony that consumed him until he lost consciousness, but even then it hurt, it hurt...!

“Señor Rivera, if this is too distressing to discuss, you can talk to us at a later time,” Adelita said, her concerned voice cutting through the memory.

He wanted to nod yes. He wanted to run out of that room and never come back. He...

Turning to Imelda, he found her looking back at him with a stern expression. Except it wasn’t truly stern—he could see it in the slight crease in her brows, in the way she held herself, that she was worried. Worried for him.

Some part of him wanted to tell her the truth, wanted to tell her what had really happened, wanted to stop hiding. But the rest of him knew he couldn’t. If he gave any incriminating evidence against Ernesto, then Ernesto would act. And even if he didn’t... how much did Imelda need to know? How much was it fair for her to know? She didn’t need to be worried over him. She didn’t need to be more distressed than she already was... or more angry. Would she be angry, if she knew everything that happened? Would she—

Imelda’s grip tightened into a gentle squeeze.

You know I’m on your side, ¿sí?

Héctor exhaled shakily, looking from her to the notepad. Finally he reached out, scratching into it quickly: They stole hand, broke it.

Next to him, Imelda drew in a sharp intake of air, and he shut his eyes, leaning back against his seat. Her hand moved away from his arm, and he heard her hissing a few curses under her breath. The officers, meanwhile, remained silent, and all at once he felt overcome with panic—had that been too much to tell them? Were they going to report to Ernesto that he’d said too much?

When he opened his eyes, he found Heraldez holding the notepad and looking at his partner, the both of them exchanging looks he couldn’t understand. He had to get out of here, he had to get out—

Heraldez slid the notebook across the table again. “Was that the only injury you sustained?”

“Of course it wasn’t—look at him!” Imelda snapped. She may have shouted something else, but it sounded like she’d moved into another room, or he’d moved into another room and they were holding him down, even as he fought to get away, and there was the hammer coming down on his rib cage, and the knife digging into his throat, and he couldn’t breathe, it hurt, he was going to suffocate, he couldn’t breathe, the knife was stuck—

Distantly someone called for him, and someone grabbed his hand, and he frantically pulled away before striking his fist at his attacker, pushing himself back with his feet—get away get away get away don’t do this to me again get away—

The world tipped, and something jarred his spine. For a brief moment he couldn’t distinguish up from down before he realized he was staring at the ceiling—not the dark ceiling of the abandoned building he’d been lured into, but the white ceiling of a well-lit room at the police station.

...Oh.

“Héctor? Can you hear me?” Even in his dazed state, he could hear the barely-concealed fear in Imelda’s voice—she was wincing as she knelt next to him, one hand reaching out, but not touching him, while the other was placed on her own cheek. Why was she doing that, though? She looked like someone had...

...oh no.

He tried to scramble upright, but realized he was still in his chair—he’d knocked it backward. Seeing this, Imelda grabbed the side of the chair with both hands, easing it upright, and Héctor with it. With her hand off of her face, he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but he knew—if she’d had flesh instead of just bone, there would have been a mark. Quickly he looked away, not wanting to meet her gaze, or that of the police officers. He needed to say something to her, if he could, but not here—he didn’t want to do anything around these police officers. He didn’t want to be around them anymore—he wanted out of this place.

“Señora Rivera,” Heraldez said at length, “I understand that time is of the essence, but I do not believe your husband is in any state to give us any further information.”

I’m right here, he thought bitterly as he glanced up at them. They were both looking at her, avoiding his gaze. Were they ignoring him? Or could they not meet his gaze for guilt...?

Imelda’s hand was suddenly at his back, and he drew in a short breath as she answered, “I understand.”

“If he recalls anything else, please let us know immediately.” Adelita slid a card over to Imelda. “Until then, he should stay at home and recover.”

Héctor almost nodded sharply to indicate that he was listening and that he could answer for himself, but he resisted the urge partly to spare his injured neck, and partly because he felt very, very drained.

“We’ll call you if we have any updates on the situation,” Heraldez added.

“Sí,” Imelda said stiffly. “I understand.”

She was angry, Héctor realized, and barely containing it. Sickness churned within his rib cage at the thought, but he would just have to deal with it—the only other option was telling her what he really did know, thus endangering her and the rest of the family.

Slowly she stood, and he winced as she helped him to his feet. Once again she wrapped her arm around his shoulders, and he did the same as she aided him in limping out of the room, down the hallway, out of the station. All the while, Héctor tried to think of what he could possibly do to apologize for the absolute mess he had caused back there, and... His eyes flicked over to her cheekbone, and he felt sick as he wondered how hard he had struck it.

They stepped out the door. Pepita was still outside, her tail lashing irritably, but she perked up upon seeing them, ears twitching forward.

They were alone, aside from the alebrije. When Imelda took her arm off of him in order to help him mount Pepita, he turned to face her, hesitantly reaching out for her face, where he’d hit her. He had to say something—it would hurt, but he had to say it: “L-lo... s...”

“No,” she said, her voice heavy with sorrow, and gently pushed his hand back down. “I’m sorry I brought you here, Héctor. I didn’t think that...” She stopped herself, her shoulders drooping.

You didn’t know, he wanted to say, but he had told her. He’d told her how he didn’t want to go through with this, even though he hadn’t said why. She’d known how uneasy he was about everything going on, yet she’d still pushed him to go through with this.

“I won’t give up,” Imelda went on, straightening again. “We will get your hand back, but I won’t force you to do something that will hurt you.”

While part of him wished that she’d determined that earlier, he found himself giving a faint smile before mouthing the word gracias.

Pepita scratched at the ground beneath her claws, her tail swishing. Sighing, Imelda turned to her alebrije, placing a hand on her, before turning back to Héctor. “Are you ready to head back?”

He nodded, and she helped him up onto Pepita once more.

It had been a terrible experience overall, but at least it was over... though he hoped he hadn’t said too much. As Pepita took off, fear bolted down his spine—his family could be in danger. For a moment he considered talking to Imelda about it, but he wasn’t sure how to communicate it to her, or what he could even say. Not to mention, he couldn’t do much while sitting on the back of a flying alebrije. He’d have to discuss it with her when they got back... somehow.

No one had followed her out back. Good.

Slowly shutting the side gate behind her, Victoria crept around the edge of the house, constantly keeping an eye on it to make sure no one glanced out the window and saw her. She knew her papá had said to make sure no one left to search for Dante until Mamá Imelda returned, since she could very well come back with Dante. So it was a good thing that Victoria wasn’t leaving to search for the dog, and if all went well, she could slip out and be back before anyone noticed she was gone.

Even if they noticed her absence, though, she couldn’t really bring herself to care, so long as they noticed it once she was far enough away. They’d have little to complain about once she got to the bottom of this mess with Dante. The incident surely wouldn’t have gone unnoticed, if there really was an attack that ended with an alebrije jumping out a window. Word would certainly travel about it, and she was going to figure out what she could.

Victoria was done with anyone messing with her familia.

#hector rivera #imelda rivera #coco rivera #coco #pixar coco #coco spoilers #rivera family #dante #pepita #fanfic #my writing #neither can you

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