New Arrival

Héctor Rivera pushed through a heavy crowd of foot-traffic, hoping to blend in. From somewhere behind him, he heard his name get called again. The farther he got from Shantytown, the more eyes followed his progress as he continued on his journey, still thoroughly uncomfortable by their open stares even after all this time.

It had been ten years since de la Cruz had outed himself as the vicious criminal he was. It was at his Sunrise Spectacular concert. He had revealed, on camera (though he had no way of knowing that he was being broadcast live) that he had murdered Héctor for his songs. While the whole world watched in horror, Ernesto de la Cruz had flung from the top of the arena a living child, Héctor's great-great-grandson, to his presumed death. Ironically, he had done this because Miguel knew what de la Cruz had done and was sure to reveal it should he return to the living world.

And he had! Miguel had miraculously survived, thanks to the assistance of Pepita, the spirit guide of Héctor's wife, Imelda. Once he had returned to the living world, Miguel had found Héctor's letters to his daughter Coco, that he had sent while he was on tour with Ernesto, before he had been murdered. These letters, alongside the one picture of Héctor that Coco had managed to hide from her mother's wrath, had been enough to prove that Héctor was the real man behind the music, not Ernesto de la Cruz.

It had been ten years… and Héctor was still not used to the looks he got as he walked down the street. Many faces in the crowd who sought out Héctor had come recently, having made their own journey from the Land of the Living. There, the scandal had broadcast in a more dubious light. Many had had a hard time believing that their beloved singer simply was not who he'd said he was.

If there were any doubts, they vanished here. In the Land of the Dead, the whole fiasco had broadcast live. Everyone knew the truth, without a doubt. Ernesto was still locked up in a jail cell, as he'd be for another 60 years. And while Héctor felt no ill-will to the former nonbelievers, they all seemed to think they owed him some kind of apology.

Héctor had long since moved on from the disaster. To the best of his ability, he maintained a happy afterlife with his familia. His wife and daughter had forgiven him for his part in their ordeal, and over the years he'd gotten to know the rest of his relatives. They had been joined only by two members in the last ten years, something the Riveras counted as good fortune. The first was Héctor's own daughter, Coco. He had spent nearly a century trying to get to her, only to have failed at every turn. Seeing her had been like having ice water dumped on him. So, so stunning. He'd held on to her for so long. He simply could not let go, not ever again. The second had been his great-grandson, Berto, who had passed at the young age of 54 from a random heart attack. Both now resided in the hogar where the deceased Rivera family made their home.

It was a hot day in the Land of the Dead. Héctor cherished the warmth on his bones. Typically, at a time like this, he'd be out in the Shantytown volunteering. Most of his friends he'd made there had long since faded away, but there was a never-ending stream of the nearly forgotten who flooded the streets at the very bottom of the Land of the Dead. Héctor was no longer considered one of them, and in fact, was not the most welcome figure. Although he and his familia did volunteer work there, making shoes, donating goods, even just spending time with those who had no one else, the residents of Shantytown did not like prolonged interactions with those whose memories were in good standing. Héctor didn't blame them. It was scary, knowing that at any given moment you were liable to disappear. One time, that had been him.

So today, he had decided to give the residents of Shantytown some space. He'd left them some goods earlier, but had not stuck around past his welcome. He entered the casa familia, shutting the door behind him with a snap.

The rest of the family was in the zapatería filling orders or making shoes. Héctor had tried, really he had, to get to know the shoemaking side of his family. After all, shoes had held his family together when he was not there. Oddly, they all seemed to enjoy it. But Héctor was not a shoemaker at heart, and Imelda knew it. Eventually, she had told him that he was so bad at making shoes, that maybe it'd be better if he stayed away from the shop altogether.

Which is how Héctor was the only one home when the phone call came in. Héctor expected it was an order for shoes. He couldn't make them, but he could certainly pass the message on to those that could.

"Familia Rivera," he answered.

"Héctor!" said the voice on the other end of the line. With a sinking heart, he recognized immediately that this was no shoe order. "?Cómo estás?"

"Bien, gracias. Carla," he said after a moment. "I wasn't expecting a call from you. I swear I haven't done anything." Carla had been an agent for the border of the Land of the Dead for half as long as Héctor's afterlife. It had been her who had foiled his many plans to cross the Marigold Bridge and see his daughter.

"It's not that, Héctor." She sounded distinctly awkward, as if she, too, were remembering all the embarrassing tricks Héctor had used to try to cross. Knowing now what he'd been through, he knew that Carla felt very bad for his predicament those many years, and her role in it. "It's just… we have an arrival here from your family."

His non-existent heart dropped. This might have been a disappointment, but it wasn't entirely unexpected. For the last several years, his daughter had been awaiting her daughter's arrival. The entire family had seen Elena's decline on their annual visits, especially in the last year.

The border agents would usually greet the incomers from the Land of the Living, and see if there were any deceased relatives who could come and pick them up. Often, it was better if a family member came, because it was easier for the newly departed if somebody they knew was there to guide them.

He had never met Elena in person. In fact, he knew that she'd been taught to hate him her whole life, up to a point. In the letters he would occasionally send to and receive from Miguel via Dante, Héctor knew that Elena had changed her tune dramatically in the last ten years.

But still. He should get Coco. His daughter would want to be the one to welcome Elena to her afterlife.

"Héctor?" Carla interrupted his thoughts. "We'd really appreciate it if you could come right away."

"I'll get Coco."

"What do you mean Coco's not here?" Héctor gasped at Rosita. "Where is she? Where is everybody?"

Rosita sat, perched at the edge of her workbench. "I told you, Julio and Coco are at the dance studio, and Imelda's delivering an important order. The twins are here if you want to see them."

"What about Victoria?" Héctor gestured towards his nieta's empty workspace. "Where did she go?"

"She's off with André again," Rosita giggled.

This was no time for giggling. "Then who's going to get Elena?" he asked desperately. Immediately Rosita turned serious.

"She's here?"

"Sí! And she's waiting at the Department of Family Reunions for someone to come to get her!"

A troubled look came over Rosita's face. "I must finish this order today!" she exclaimed. "Everyone else is gone… you'll have to go, Héctor."

"But Elena doesn't know me," he explained. "Shouldn't she be picked up by someone she knows?"

Rosita flashed him a look. "She's not a child, Héctor. You're her abuelo. Surely you can greet her! Besides," she added. "We'll all be here to welcome her when you get back."

Héctor was not sure he liked this plan. From what he understood of his nieta, she was just as fierce as his wife. What would she say to him when they met face-to-face for the first time? Would she even be comfortable with him, all things considered?

But there was no time to argue. Elena was waiting. So Héctor rushed from the zapatería to the Department of Family Reunions to pick up his granddaughter, hoping the entire way that this would go quickly and smoothly. By the time he got there, his nerves were a wreck. He needed to do this right for his nieta to ease her journey into death.

He burst into the Department. He was so concerned with finding Elena that he completely missed the scene waiting for him. He did a complete look around, but did not see Elena anywhere. Would he even recognize her if he did?

"Héctor!" called the familiar voice of Carla. "Over here!"

"Where is she?" he demanded, walking over to join her. She say at her computer, looking up at him with a look of surprise. "Where's Elena?"

"?Quién?" Carla tilted her head, perplexed. Quickly she looked at her screen, then back to Héctor. "There are no Elenas here."

"You called me for an arrival!"

"Ah, sí, but not for Elena," she explained. "I called you for- "

"Papá Héctor!"

Something skinny but solid smashed into Héctor, making his bones rattle. The person who had been sitting across from Carla had jumped up and pulled Héctor into a bone crushing hug. It took him a moment to recognize the person squeezing him like a vice. When he did, shock and disappointment seeped through his skeleton.

It was Miguel.