Somewhere In Mexico

Chapter 3

Marcus slung his backpack over his shoulder and left the dining room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. He returned to his room after breakfast to grab the package Eric had entrusted him with.

As he reached for it, the backpack slipped from his hands, landing hard on the floor. The seal tore open, spilling fine white powder across the hardwood with a sickening hiss.

“What the hell is this?” he muttered, crouching to inspect the contents. He brought it closer to his nose and inhaled deeply. The smell burned his sinuses. His eyes widened in panic. “Shit… this is cocaine.”

His chest tightened. Eric had promised him a clean job. No drugs. Just delivery.

Before he could process the situation further, Emma and Aiden barged in, rummaging through his wardrobe, eyes wide with shock.

Aiden caught sight of the package. "What the hell, Marcus?" he hissed.

Emma gasped, but Aiden was quicker, his palm slapping over her mouth to prevent any sound. "Shh!" he urged. "We need to follow him. We need to know where he's going."

Emma nodded hesitantly.

Marcus, still in shock, scooped up the spilled powder, stuffing it hastily back into the bag before sealing it shut. He glanced out the window and bolted out the back door, taking a route he didn't usually use.

They followed him from a distance, staying low. Their hearts hammered in their chests as they trailed him through back alleys and empty streets until he stopped at a dilapidated warehouse. He knocked twice—sharp and deliberate—and a man with bloodshot eyes and a permanent scowl opened the door. Marcus stepped inside.

Emma and Aiden ducked behind a nearby car, their breath shallow, hearts pounding in their ears.

Scene: The Confrontation

Inside the warehouse, Marcus placed the backpack on a dust-covered table and opened it carefully, revealing the white powder.

“What the hell happened to it?” Fregley demanded, his voice gravelly, like broken glass. He glared at the package.

“It dropped,” Marcus said, his voice strained. “It tore, but I fixed it. No one saw. It’s fine.”

Suddenly, without warning, Fregley’s fist connected with Marcus’s face, snapping his head back. The force of the blow sent him crashing into the table, the sharp edge digging into his ribs. Marcus let out a strangled gasp as pain exploded across his skull. Blood dripped from his lip, staining his shirt.

Emma flinched at the sound from the window. “What the hell was that?” she whispered, her voice tight with fear.

“They’re hurting him,” Aiden muttered, clenching his fists in helpless anger.

Inside, Mackey and Keith hauled Marcus upright, his swollen face a mask of blood. His eye was already turning a sickly shade of purple.

“You saw what was inside, didn’t you?” Mackey hissed, his hot breath stinking of liquor. He shoved Marcus against the wall, his face inches from Marcus’s. “Tell me what you saw!”

“I swear, I didn’t know what it was!” Marcus pleaded, his voice breaking. “It was just powder… I swear, that’s all I know!”

Keith responded with a slap that sent Marcus’s head snapping sideways, the sound of the impact filling the room. Marcus's vision blurred, his legs wobbling beneath him as he struggled to stay conscious.

Emma’s eyes burned with fury as she and Aiden watched through the grimy window. "What do we do now?" Aiden whispered.

“Do you have your phone?” Emma’s voice was trembling, eyes fixed on Marcus.

“Dad took mine days ago,” Aiden muttered bitterly, his gaze never leaving Marcus. “Still haven’t given it back.”

“Damn it,” Emma whispered. “What now? Marcus is getting beaten to hell in there.”

Her gaze flicked across the street to a parked BMW. "What about the alarm? If we trigger it, they’ll think someone’s coming," she suggested, desperation in her voice.

Aiden hesitated, his face pale, before nodding. "It’s risky, but we don’t have any choice.”

Inside, the panic was escalating. Fregley’s fingers brushed the cold metal of his pistol, and his eyes darkened with intent. "They heard something. Keith, Mackey—grab him. We’re moving out."

Marcus’s limbs were yanked painfully behind him, his head lolling like a rag doll. They dragged him outside. Emma and Aiden ducked lower, struggling to keep their breath silent.

Marcus, his face battered and bloodied, locked eyes with them for a brief moment. His lips moved, but the words were lost in a gurgle of blood.

Then, Fregley swung his pistol in a swift arc, bringing the butt of it down with brutal force on Marcus’s temple. The sickening crack echoed through the street. Marcus’s body crumpled, falling limp in their grasp, and he collapsed into unconsciousness.

“No!” Emma gasped, horror flooding her chest. She lurched forward, but Aiden caught her, holding her back with desperate force.

They shoved Marcus into the back of a black Chevrolet SUV, the tires squealing as they tore away.

The two kids chased after them, their lungs burning with the effort. Coughing and crying, they were helpless in the face of the kidnapping.

“We can’t just stand here,” Aiden shouted, panic threatening to overtake him.

“We’re going to the police. Now,” Emma said, her voice grim with resolve.

They sprinted to the nearest station, stumbling into the quiet lobby, their faces pale and drawn. They approached the counter.

“Good morning, sir,” Emma panted, her voice cracking with emotion.

The officer behind the desk looked up with surprise. "Something wrong, kids?"

Emma opened her mouth, but her words dissolved into a flood of tears. She hated crying, especially in front of strangers, but she couldn’t stop the tears now.

Aiden stepped forward, his voice steady but filled with panic. “Three men… they took our brother.”

The officer straightened, grabbing the phone. He made a quick call, and then returned to them. "Breathe. It's going to be okay. Someone will be here to help you."

Moments later, a woman in a smart suit entered. She smiled warmly, but her eyes were sharp as she took in the kids’ disheveled appearance.

“Hey there,” she greeted, kneeling beside them. “I’m Miss Carmella. You two doing okay?”

“I’m Emma,” she whispered. “This is my brother, Aiden. Marcus—our older brother—was taken.”

Carmella nodded, pulling out a notepad. “Let’s take it from the top. What happened, exactly?”

Emma explained everything—the warehouse, the fight, the names she remembered. Carmella scribbled down every detail, listening intently.

“Did you get a good look at them?” she asked.

Emma nodded. “Keith—tall, skinny, tattoos, scar under his eye. Mackey..."

Emma’s voice trembled as she continued. “Mackey… heavier, mean-looking, always smirking like he enjoys hurting people.”

“And the one in charge?” Carmella asked, pen still scratching against the paper.

Emma’s eyes narrowed as she relived the moment. “Fregley. He gave the orders. Had a pistol. Hit Marcus with it. He... he could’ve killed him.”

Aiden cut in, his voice raw. “We tried to stop it, but we’re just kids. We couldn’t… we didn’t know what else to do.”

Carmella nodded slowly, folding her notebook. “You did the right thing. Both of you.”

Another officer approached, handing Carmella a printed page. She scanned it, frowning slightly. “There was a report two weeks ago—same names, same van—tied to drug movement near the river. We’ve been watching that crew. You may have just given us the last piece we needed.”

Emma’s head snapped up. “So you’ll find Marcus?”

“We’re going to try,” Carmella assured her, standing. “But if he’s been taken into cartel territory or moved across state lines, it gets harder.”

“H-he’s just a kid,” Emma stammered.

“I know. That’s what makes this urgent.” Carmella motioned to an officer nearby. “Get their statements logged, then take them to protective holding. If this cartel knows they were seen—these two could be targets too.”

Aiden's face turned pale. "You think they’ll come after us?"

Carmella didn’t sugarcoat it. “If they saw you, it’s a possibility.”

***

Back at the station, Emma sat curled in the corner of the cinderblock room, her arms wrapped around her knees. Aiden paced restlessly.

“I should’ve done more,” he muttered. “Should’ve had my phone. Should’ve jumped in.”

“You would’ve gotten killed,” Emma said flatly. “You saw what they did to Marcus. One hit and he was out cold.”

Silence settled between them.

Then the door opened. Carmella stepped in, her face tight.

“We’ve got eyes on the van, heading south on the 117. But they’re moving fast, and they’ve got backup. We don’t have time to wait for federal support.”

“So you’re letting them get away?” Aiden snapped.

“No,” Carmella said firmly. “We’re going in after them. But this isn’t a simple rescue. These guys… they don’t play by rules. If we go in wrong, Marcus dies.”

Emma looked up, her eyes wet but fierce. “Then go in right. Please.”

Carmella gave a single, solemn nod. “We’ll do everything we can.”

Moments passed like hours.

Emma sat still, watching the slant of golden light on the wall shift as the sun began to dip. The distant hum of voices from officers outside sounded dull, meaningless. The weight of the waiting was unbearable. Every second that passed, Marcus could be bleeding, suffering, or already…

She pushed the thought away.

Across from her, Aiden stared at the metal door, jaw clenched, fingers twitching like he couldn’t hold still.

Finally, Emma stood. Quietly. Deliberately.

“What are you doing?” Aiden asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“We’re wasting time,” she murmured. “If they were going to save him, they would’ve done it already.”

“We’re in protective custody. They said we’d be safe here.”

“And Marcus isn’t.”

Aiden looked at her, studying her face. What he saw in her eyes made him rise to his feet.

They didn’t say another word.

Emma moved to the far wall, crouched, and pressed her ear against the lower hinge of the door. She heard footsteps down the hall—but faint, not close. She turned and nodded to Aiden.

They crept out.

***

The station wasn’t built for prisoners, and the holding room door hadn’t been locked. No one expected two teenagers, traumatized and exhausted, to try slipping out. But they did.

They moved like shadows, down the hall, past desks and coffee-stained folders, past half-eaten dinners left on corners of cluttered tables.

They ducked behind a row of filing cabinets when a uniformed officer passed by, talking on his radio. Emma held her breath until the sound faded.

Aiden nudged her. “Window,” he whispered, pointing to one with a faulty latch.

They lifted it open and slipped out into the cold air of dusk.

***

They made it home by foot, cutting through alleys and side streets, their clothes dusty and faces drawn with exhaustion. Emma’s legs ached, and her head throbbed from holding back tears. But she didn’t stop.

Inside the house, it was too quiet. Their parents were at the station, still trying to coordinate with police. The silence hit Emma like a wave of guilt.

“Ten minutes,” she said. “We grab what we need and go.”

She grabbed her backpack and moved like she was on autopilot: water bottles, protein bars, her cell phone charger, a flashlight. Then a hunting knife from the drawer—one their father used on fishing trips. Her hands shook as she held it, then stuffed it into her pack.

Aiden returned with a change of clothes, duct tape, a pocketknife, and a handful of bills from their dad’s emergency cash tin.

Emma looked at him. “You good?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.”

They left a note on the kitchen counter, scribbled quickly but full of weight.

MOM, DAD—

We couldn’t wait.

The police are trying, but they’re too slow. Marcus needs us.

We’re going to find him.

We love you.

Please don’t be mad. Just… understand.

– Emma & Aiden

Emma placed the note next to a framed photo of the three of them—smiling at the beach last summer, sand in their hair, Marcus squinting in the sun.

She swallowed hard.

Then they were gone.

***

Outside, the streetlights flickered on. The air was cold and carried the scent of rain.

They moved fast, cutting through neighborhoods and old train yards. Emma had a plan, as rough and desperate as it was. The van had gone south, the same route they used on past delivery runs. If she could retrace it—remember the stops Marcus mentioned—they could find something. Anything.

They reached the bus station just as the last southbound was loading. Emma handed the driver the crumpled cash with trembling hands.

“Two tickets.”

The driver looked at them, frowning. “Parents with you?”

Emma didn’t blink. “They’re meeting us there.”

He sighed, then waved them aboard.

As they sat in the back row, the bus gave a slow hiss, pulling away from the curb like it was reluctant to carry two kids into a storm.

Emma pressed her forehead to the cold glass, watching the familiar streets fade behind them. The orange glow of street lamps shimmered across her vision like ghosts. She bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to cry. She couldn’t afford to. Not now.

Aiden sat beside her, hunched over his knees, eyes locked on the floor. His fingers traced invisible lines on the seat. He was shaking—but quietly. Controlled. Emma reached over, rested her hand over his.

“We’re doing the right thing,” she said, not entirely sure who she was trying to convince—him or herself.

“I know,” he whispered. “I just… I keep thinking about what they’re doing to him.”

Emma didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

She just tightened her grip.

***

The road stretched out ahead, endless and dim under the flicker of passing lights. The hum of the tires against asphalt was hypnotic, almost soothing if not for the storm raging in their minds.

Emma closed her eyes and tried to remember everything Marcus ever said about his routes—every offhand comment, every road name he’d mumbled when coming home late. The southern highway. The warehouse near the border. The motel with the broken neon sign where “we wait if things get hot.”

Pieces. Puzzle fragments. If she could just fit them together—

Aiden nudged her.

“Look,” he said, pointing to the newspaper a man two rows up was reading.

A small headline, buried beneath election chatter and weather forecasts:

Local Man Missing After Alleged Drug Run – Authorities Investigating Possible Cartel Link

Emma’s breath caught.

It was beginning. The world was starting to notice. But too slowly. The article would help no one. By the time police connected the dots, Marcus would be buried somewhere no one could find.

“We’re ahead of them,” she said quietly. “That means something.”

Aiden nodded, though the tension in his jaw didn’t ease.

***

They got off the bus hours later, in a dusty gas station town two cities south of home. The air was dry, the stars swallowed by a ceiling of clouds. A buzzing neon sign blinked “OPEN” above the station shop, casting the parking lot in a sickly green light.

Emma stepped off the bus first. Her legs were stiff, her back sore, but her mind sharpened the second her feet hit the ground.

“We’re close,” she said. “I can feel it.”

“How do we even start?” Aiden asked.

“We ask questions. We look for signs. Marcus came this way. Someone saw him.”

They walked up the road, their packs heavy on their backs. The buildings were low and scattered—motels, truck stops, small diners. The kind of places that didn’t ask too many questions. The kind of places people disappeared in.

Aiden pointed to a small diner across the street. “We could start there.”

Emma hesitated, then nodded. “One question at a time.”

As they crossed the road, a single thought pulsed through Emma’s skull like a war drum:

Don’t stop. Don’t slow down. Marcus is alive. He has to be.

And wherever he was—she’d find him.

Or die trying.