Nothing to say here.

On with the story.

…

"Well, you're cursed," the agent informed them.

No one seemed surprised. Just annoyed and disappointed.

"Another curse?" Tía Violeta scoffed before pinching where the bridge of her nose would be. "That's just what this family needs..."

The agent shrugged, with a sympathetic smile. "These things happen when you steal from the dead." Her gaze shifted to Marco. "Especially on Día de los Muertos."

Marco glared at her. "I was gonna bring it back!"

"Easy now, mijo," Mamá Rosa said, gently putting a hand on his shoulder. "How do we undo it?"

"It should be easy enough," the agent assured them, leaning forward a bit on her desk and clasping her hands together. "You just need to return the guitar to whoever you stole it from."

Mamá Gabi gave an inhuman snarl. "I would rather die than see that…musician." She had censored herself for Marco's sake it seemed. Or maybe it was for the agent. It didn't really matter either way.

"You're already dead," Marco mumbled bitterly.

"Well, you better change your mind before sunrise," the agent noted nervously.

"And why should I?" Gabriella challenged.

"If this boy doesn't get home before sunrise then…well…" She gestured at Marco's hand.

He brought said hand to his face and felt his heart stop at the sight.

Bones.

About half of his index finger didn't have skin. Or at least it didn't look like it did.

But he wasn't dead…

The room began to spin as the agent's words set in.
He was going to die at sunrise.

His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he began to fall.

Somebody called his name and caught him before he hit the ground.

…

He didn't stay that way for long. Marco wondered if it was all a dream as he slowly awoke to muffled arguing.

"Marco?" a voice asked as he stirred. It was much clearer than the rest. It seemed much closer too. "Can you hear me?" The voice was warm and comforting. But why was it singing?

Marco groaned as he woke up more. He realized that the voice calling for him didn't sound like anyone in his living family. He opened his eyes to find the skull of his Mamá Rosa staring back at him. She looked relieved, but Marco almost wanted to cry. He brought his hand into view once more, seeing that half of his index finger was still skeletal. He sat up and swallowed nervously as a wave of nausea crashed over him.

But it passed soon enough. His hands flew to his hoodie as he searched for the guitar strap. "Where's the guitar?" he whispered shouted, remembering his promise to Mamá Rosa.

Luckily, the small family couldn't hear him over their musical bickering.
"Don't worry," she assured him, while gesturing next to her. "It's right here."
Marco seized the guitar and slid it over his back once more. He looked to his dead relatives. He'd been dragged away from the agent's desk after he'd fainted apparently. They were arguing about something, Marco couldn't really tell what, while Manuel cowered in a corner.

Mamá Rosa grabbed him by his shoulders, snatching his attention away from them. "Now's your chance mijo," she whispered harshly. "You need to get out of here and find De la Cruz!"
"But-"

"Please Marco. You won't have a chance at all if you stay here."
Despite the almost comical singing that accompanied it, Marco could hear the genuine concern in her voice. He took a deep breath and nodded.

Rosamaria gave an airy laugh. "Good. But getting to him won't be easy. There's a celebrity tour bus that stops by his mansion. You'll still have to find a way in, but at least you'll be there."
Marco nodded again. Sounded simple enough.
Mamá Rosa's smile grew. "Good luck mijo," she said as she pulled him into a final hug. "I'll do my best to hold them off."
Marco returned the hug.

"Thank you."
…

Marco soon found himself forcing his way through massive crowds. He didn't really know where he supposed was going, but there was a promising set of doors that weren't too far away.
"MARCO!" came the cry of his aunt after a while, further pushing him towards the doors.

Marco, at last, pushed his way through the last of the sea of skeletons as he finally reached the doors. And there was a bus too! Maybe it was the one he was looking for!

Violeta's voice rose once more and Marco pushed the doors open and rushed down the steps. His panic only grew as the bus's doors closed. No no no no no! "Wait!" he cried as he finally reached it, stopping in front of the closed doors. "Don't leave!"
The doors opened once more, and a rather disheveled looking skeleton stepped into view. "What do you want kid?"

"Does this bus go by De la Cruz's house?"

That just seemed to agitate the skeleton, whose name was apparently Héctor according to his name tag, further. But his anger soon switched to intrigue. "Yes, actually!" he declared, suddenly seeming like a much different person.

"Marco!" came the cry of his uncle.
"Great!" Marco exclaimed as he pushed his way past Héctor and onto the bus. "Then let's go."

…

Turned out the tour bus that supposedly stopped by De la Cruz's mansion wasn't that popular, for Marco was the only one on the bus. As Marco silently wondered if he'd just gotten kidnapped, Héctor decided to pull out an accordion and play straight into the microphone that fed into the speakers on the bus. Marco winced as the instrument's sound got amplified. But it was soon tossed aside.

"Bienvenidos y feliz Día de los Muertos!" Héctor greeted, as if he were talking to a crowd larger than just one person. "You seem like a great crowd, better than my last group. What a bunch of stiffs."
Marco just looked at him. Who was he talking to?

"A bunch of stiffs," Héctor repeated, after receiving no laughter.

The repetition didn't work either.

"Buenas noches, señor!" Héctor continued speaking to no one as he read from a set of cards. "What's your name? How did you die?" He held the microphone up to an empty bus seat. "Ouch."

Marco looked for an emergency brake. Even if this was the right bus, this skeleton didn't seem to be mentally sound.

"And you, señora, what's your name? How did you die?" He paused for the invisible woman to respond, and nodded along to her answer.

Marco looked at him with bewilderment once more, after having no success in finding a brake. "Who are you talking to?"

"Please hold all questions," was Héctor's response. "Who's ready to have a good time?" "Can I get off?"

"I can't hear you!"

"What is your deal?!"

"Louder!"

"SHUT UP!"

"That's more-" He flipped cards. "Like it!"

Marco groaned and dug his fingers into his hood as he pulled it over his face.
"Memory," Héctor continued like nothing was wrong. "It's what keeps us all alive."

That piqued Marco's interest.

"As long as our families back home remember us, we live on in this beautiful city."
The statement was perfectly timed with a beautiful view of the Land of the Dead which had Marco hypnotized for a second or two.

It was immediately followed by a less than ideal view of some trashy part of the city which broke him from the spell.

"But time passes, memories fade, people get forgotten. But the great ones live on in the hearts of millions."

And he'd had enough of Héctor's speech. "How long is this gonna take?"

Héctor paused to send him a glare. "Montezuma, Kahlo, Montalban. They will live on forever."

"Can't this go any faster?"

"Do you mind?" Héctor asked, clearly frustrated. "This is my craft. This is what I do. The tour, it builds. And every time you interrupt me, I have to start over."
Marco rolled his eyes. "Can't we just skip to the De la Cruz part? I'm kind of on a tight schedule."

"There is no De la Cruz part!" Héctor finally admitted.

""What?!" Marco cried and groaned again. He'd gotten on the wrong bus!

"There. Fine. Now you know," the skeleton said as he plopped down into a seat. "De la Cruz is not on the tour. I suppose you wanna leave now, like everyone else does."

Marco glared at him. "You lied to me!"
"It's not like I had much of a choice, ok?! Ever since he asked me to stop driving by his house, and I stupidly said yes, my business hasn't been doing all that great!"
"Wait, you've talked to him before?" That could be useful.
"Why does it matter?"

"Are you guys friends?"
Héctor thought about it for a moment. "I guess you could call it that," he sighed, defeated.

Good enough. "Do you think you could get me to him?"

…

Is it out of character that Héctor isn't desperately trying to cross the bridge? Yes. Yes it is. Maybe he just gave up a lot sooner in this universe. Who knows?

Thanks for reading!