Somewhere In Mexico

Chapter 6

The morning was crisp when the cops arrived at Beacon High School, their presence as unavoidable as the stares of curious students. Agent Thomas and Officer Jones moved through the halls with a sense of purpose, escorted by the principal, Mrs. Daniels, who appeared as composed as ever. She guided them to her office, her heels clicking on the polished floor. As they entered, the air seemed to thicken with anticipation, the smell of fresh ink and old paper lingering in the corners.

“Good day, ma’am. I’m Agent Thomas, and this is my partner, Officer Jones. We’re from the NYPD’s 19th precinct. How are you today?” Agent Thomas asked, his tone professional yet gentle, as if to reassure her.

Principal Daniels didn’t flinch, offering a tight but polite smile. She sat behind her desk, glancing at the piles of papers as though to make sure she had control of the room. “I’m well, thank you. I assume you’re here about the missing children. I’m glad to see you’re taking this seriously.” Her voice was calm, but the slight tremor in her hands betrayed her anxiety.

“We appreciate you taking the time to meet with us,” Officer Jones replied, his voice smoother than the silence that followed. “We need to speak with a few students—those closest to Marcus and the others who disappeared. Any help would be appreciated.”

She nodded and made a brief phone call. Within moments, Miss Clark, Marcus’s grade 12 instructor, appeared at the door, a subtle unease hanging around her. She was efficient, but her eyes betrayed the wear of someone who had seen too much.

"Miss Clark," Agent Thomas began, motioning for her to sit. "I understand you’re Marcus’s form teacher. We need to know if you’ve noticed anything out of the ordinary lately. Anything that could explain his involvement with people who might be a threat to him—or to others."

Miss Clark shifted uncomfortably, her eyes flickering to the side. “Marcus was... different in the weeks leading up to his disappearance. Not like the kid I knew,” she confessed, her voice tight with reluctance. “He used to be bright—focused. But he started showing up to class late, and his grades plummeted. He started acting... distracted, like he was hiding something. He even got a tattoo—a skull on his arm. Totally out of character for him.”

Agent Thomas leaned forward, his gaze sharpened. “A tattoo. Did he mention anything about why he was getting it? Any signs of pressure from outside forces?”

Miss Clark hesitated, clearly wrestling with the decision to say more. “There was someone... a kid named Eric. Marcus started hanging out with him a lot. Eric was a troublemaker, but Marcus was a good kid—he wasn’t like that before.”

“Where is Eric now?” Officer Jones pressed, his voice turning colder, more insistent.

Miss Clark visibly flinched. “I... I don’t know. He’s been absent from school for a few days. I haven’t seen him.”

“Right. We’ll need to speak with him,” Agent Thomas said, his voice clipped. He gestured for Miss Clark to leave the room.

When she returned with Eric, he looked like a deer caught in headlights. His face was pale, eyes darting nervously between the officers, unwilling to meet their stares. There was an air of desperation about him.

“Eric,” Agent Thomas began, his voice low and commanding, “We need to know about Marcus. Was he involved in anything—anything illegal?”

Eric’s lips trembled as he swallowed hard, his hands twitching at his sides. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered. “Marcus was just... my friend. We didn’t get involved in anything bad.”

“Cut the crap, Eric,” Officer Jones snapped, his tone cold and menacing. “We know you were hanging out with him. Was he involved in drugs? Guns? What was he into?”

Eric recoiled, his eyes wide with panic, as if the words themselves might physically harm him. His gaze dropped to the floor as though it held the answer, but he remained silent.

“Eric,” Agent Thomas said, his voice suddenly softer but no less dangerous. “You don’t want to be on the wrong side of this, trust me. You’re only making things worse for yourself.”

Eric clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms, but he refused to speak. The silence was suffocating, and the weight of it bore down on him until he finally broke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t know much. Just that he was trying to impress some people, you know? He was changing... and he didn’t talk to me the way he used to. But I didn’t have anything to do with it. I swear.”

Agent Thomas leaned back, his eyes narrowing. Something was off, but there was no proof yet.

“You’re free to go,” Officer Jones said, though his tone was far from reassuring. “But don’t think we’re done with you, Eric.”

As the kid left the office, Agent Thomas turned to Officer Jones. “Something’s not right. Keep an eye on him.”

Outside, Emma and Aiden wandered the streets, their phones dead, the chilling realization that they were truly alone settling in. The cold air bit at their skin as they approached a woman pushing a stroller, her eyes wary but compassionate.

“Excuse me,” Emma said, her voice polite but edged with desperation. “We’re lost. Our phones are dead, and we can’t reach our parents. Could you help us?”

The woman eyed them for a moment, assessing their sincerity. “Of course. I can help. Let me call the police for you.”

As the woman dialed 911, Emma and Aiden exchanged nervous glances, both wondering if they would ever see their parents again.

Burdett stood in the kitchen, stirring a pot of stew, when the phone rang. Carla reached for it with trembling fingers, her pulse racing as she answered.

“This is the New York Police,” the voice on the other end said. “We’re calling to inform you that your children, Emma and Aiden, have been found. Please come to the Midtown Precinct at 357 W 35th Street.”

Carla froze, the weight of the words sinking in, but Burdett had already taken the phone from her hands, his eyes dark with anxiety.

“Thank you. We’ll be there as soon as we can,” he said, his voice tight with a mixture of relief and dread.

Meanwhile, Marcus lay in the trunk of a van, a needle of tranquilizer deep in his veins. His body, limp and unresponsive, was wrapped in a body bag—unaware of the journey that awaited him.

The men in the front of the van, Alejandro and Sergio, were the drivers of his fate. Alejandro was focused on the road ahead, but Sergio’s eyes flicked nervously toward the back of the van.

“We can’t take too long,” Sergio muttered, glancing back at the unconscious form of Marcus. “Once he’s in Mexico, he’s theirs. But we need to make sure nothing happens on the way.”

Alejandro’s hand tightened on the wheel, the seriousness of the situation reflected in his expression. “We’re almost there. Once we’re past the border, we don’t need to worry about anything.”

The Cartel's influence reached further than anyone could imagine. Él Ligeró, the cold and calculating mastermind, was the one pulling the strings. His empire sprawled across borders, and his cruelty was legendary.

Marcus would soon find himself not just a pawn in a drug cartel’s game, but an expendable piece—no more than a tool to be broken and discarded when the job was done. He wasn’t aware yet, but his life as he knew it was over. Soon, he would find himself enslaved to a power so ruthless that escaping it would be impossible.

Él Ligeró’s empire was built on fear, blood, and betrayal. His rise had been swift, born of cold ambition and the willingness to do whatever necessary to seize control. Now, at 45, he ruled with a brutal hand, his name synonymous with terror in every city he touched.

Marcus’s future would soon be intertwined with that of Él Ligeró—and it would be a future marked by pain, violence, and a series of choices he would never be able to undo.