Page 19 of Espíritu

“Life … it’s precious, and I’ll miss it immensely.” Bartolomé released another handful of crumbs into the wind. “But I’d rather go now, on my terms. I trust Enrique, and if he worries, so do I.”

Julian frowned. He knew the threat of turning maligno was something all spirits faced from overstaying in the land of the living, but what did Bartolomé mean by Enrique worrying?

He looked to Yadriel and Maritza for clarification, but they were both too focused on the task at hand.

Yadriel nodded solemnly, the corners of his mouth twitching downward as if he could feel the weight of Bartolomé’s words. Julian watched, feeling the echo of loss in his own chest.

Carefully, Julian picked up the guitar Lita had safeguarded, his hand tightening around the neck. It was surprisingly heavy.

He stepped forward, the guitar extended. “Here,” Julian said, his voice steady despite the swirl of emotions within him. “Lita’s been keeping it safe for you.”

Bartolomé turned toward him, and the air seemed to vibrate as their hands met, the guitar passing from living skin to ghostly fingers. The touch sent a chill down Julian’s spine and goose bumps racing up his arm. The old man’s smile was a sunrise of gratitude, the lines on his face deepening with joy.

“Ah, my guitar,” he murmured, running his fingers along the fretboard. “I’ve missed it.”

With a practiced ease, Bartolomé began to play, coaxing a melancholic melody from the strings. The notes hung in the air, beautiful and heartbreaking.

Julian closed his eyes, letting the music envelop him. It spoke of love and loss, of joy and sorrow—of a life fully lived and a goodbye long overdue.

“That’s beautiful,” Maritza whispered, her usually sharp tone softened by the serenade.

Yadriel only nodded in agreement, his eyes bright.

They stood there, united in silence, as Bartolomé played. Each note was a farewell, a release of what had been and what could never be again. When the last chord faded into the twilight, Bartolomé lowered the guitar and looked at them with a serene finality.

“It’s time,” he declared.

A lump formed in Julian’s throat. He scrubbed his fist against his eyes impatiently. This was somehow Yadriel’s fault. Having a boyfriend was making him soft.

Bartolomé sat quietly on the bench now, his guitar resting in his lap, his fingers still curled gently around the frets. The ducks wandered off.

Yadriel lifted his portaje, hand steady.

Something shifted in the air, as though the space between worlds had gone paper-thin.

Yadriel approached Bartolomé, his face open and solemn. “¿Estás listo?” he asked gently.

Bartolomé gave a slow, sure nod. “Listo,” he confirmed with a tired smile, his spectral form shimmering.

Julian didn’t know how this worked, not really, but everything about the moment soothed his restless mind.

“Muéstrame el enlace,” Yadriel said.

A golden thread sparked to life between the guitar and Bartolomé’s heart, gleaming against the darkening sky. It pulsed with its own heartbeat.

The thread hovered in the air, beautiful and fragile, impossibly real.

Julian held his breath. His chest went tight—not with fear, exactly. With that familiar awe that always showed up when Yadriel moved as though Lady Death had carved him for moments like this.

Yadriel hesitated for a fraction of a second, then brought the dagger down, slicing through the golden thread connecting spirit to guitar.

For a moment, Bartolomé’s spirit, once blurry and faded, gleamed with golden light. He stared out at the lake and at the ducks one final time. A soft smile graced his features.

Then as if a dam had broken, marigolds burst forth in a vibrant rush, showering golden hues that painted the world in warmth and light. The scent of cempasúchil filled the air. And then, with a soft sigh, Bartolomé was gone, released into the embrace of whatever lay beyond, leaving nothing but the gentle rustle of marigold petals.

“Adiós, Bartolomé,” Yadriel murmured.

Maritza wiped away a tear. Julian felt something catch in his throat. They had helped a soul find peace. It was heavy, this mix of sadness and pride, like saying goodbye to a friend while cheering for the new life waiting for them.