This story is about me. About how I did terrible in school. That I failed the 9th grade more times than I could possibly count. I was married at the age of 21. Nowhere near mature. Without knowing which way to go in life. My thoughts where that once you where married, the next best thing to do was to get a job and settle down. I was wrong.I have been wrong, so many times. I was never advised by my father, or by anyone. I ended up getting a job at Tyson foods as a shag driver. I worked there for two years, bringing home just enough money to feed my newly bride. And im not going to lie, times where tough.

Somewhere along that time, my brother Abraham was driving a mustang and so my “love” for race cars began. I would dream about having my own mustang. That my brother and I would be at the local drag strip, and that we would be very high competition to anyone that challenged us. And so I started digging down a rabbit hole, I purchased an older camero that had more problems than a college calculas math book. I left my job in order to pursue my dream to become a mechanic, and eventually work on “race cars”. I was hired at a local transmission shop and it was there that I would spend the next 4 years of my life, plus another 6 years working at different transmission shops and having my own shop.

My own shop was a total failure. We always struggled. My overhead doubled and it was very hard to make ends meet. Heck there was multiple times when i had the electricity cut off at the shop and at the house! I was always making late payments, borrowing money, then having lenders calling the people who where the closest to me, wondering why i never answered the phone. Haha, those where the days.

I left to Midland and found some success as a diesel mechanic. I was paid well, arguably the highest paid mechanic there. But i was never happy. I wanted to be able to work with my mind, I wanted to be a developer. And so I purchased a MacBook Air and began taking online courses. Blogging courses and copywriting courses.

I then bought an iPad and wanted to journal. And not only journal, but actually journal with a purpose. And that is how I stumbled across an app called writing prompts. And so my journey as a writer began. I want to be a better writer. I want to be an author this upcoming year.

And so i submitted my first story called “the learning loop”

It was a crappy story. Like i said before, my writing experience is probably close to zero.

But i didnt care, i still submitted my story.

I received an email a couple days later and i was thinking that it was a notification for constructive criticism. Boy was i in for a surprise.

I won first place, and probably not for the actual writing. I think they had some empathy on my and picked me first in order to give me motivation.

I should have never gone down that rabbit hole. The never-ending hole filled with betrayal and death.

It all began when my brother was kidnapped here in Juarez.

We where both beginning our careers in journalism, even against all the horror stories we often heard of Mexican journalists getting assassinated every day. Being a journalist, meant having a target placed on your back. It meant that not only you where in danger, but you placed all of your closest friends in family in danger too. That was no easy choice for anyone to make. However my brother and I where aware of this, and in our minds, we always thought that if for any reason one of us was killed in the line of duty, it was a honor at its highest grade. We would often fantasize about what it meant to have an honorable death. Dying for a cause greater than our own. Every journalist held the most deepest respect for anyone that died on duty. Although it brought great pain to the loved ones, for us, the journalists in Mexico, it was a badge of Honor.

That was before.

Before Abraham was gone.

He had vanished from thin air, as if he had some sort of magical powers to teleport to a different dimension.

He was last seen leaving his office, and after that, no one knows what happened. Nobody saw anything, or perhaps maybe there was someone that just happened to be there, maybe he saw just a glimpse. Maybe he saw what kind of car it was. Maybe he saw how many men had snatched my brother.

Nobody was going to come forward. I already knew that. If there had been any kind of witnesses, fear had already payed them a visit, and they where now aware of what would happen if anyone dared come forward.

I knew the police was not going to open or do any sort of investigating. I knew that they where only going to implement a pretend search, maybe run a little campaign just so they could look good in the public’s eyes, or just to cover their butts just in case.

Then the threats began arriving at my home even more consistent than the daily newspaper. One after another. ‘If you want to happen to you, what happened to your brother keep investigating’ one read. The others where the same, some more aggressive than others but with the same message ‘ We are coming for you and your family’

I would pretend to be unafraid. Even though i had endless nightmares of my brother. Was he dead?? Was he buried in the mountains of Juarez? Or did they dismember him like they have all the others? They idea of him being tortured would keep me up all night.

For whatever reason, I couldn’t let this go. The rest of my family had been granted asylum in El Paso and I had too, but I chose to stay. I couldn’t leave. He was my brother. I know if I had been the one that had been kidnapped my brother wouldn’t have let me just rot out there in the desert like a dead animal. He would do anything to find me, he would not rest until he found my remains. And now i had to the same for him. I was going to find him. Even if it meant that the only way i could identify him was through DNA analysis, i would find him. He was out there somewhere.

I began by offering my personal money for any information. Maybe if i got lucky i could find a good lead. Someone that could point me in the right direction.

I received a phone call that stating that they knew where my brother was and that he was alive. I couldn’t trust the source, but what other choice did i have? I had two options, One, i could play it safe and not trust whoever was on the other end of that line, after all he could possibly be the same killer. Two: i could risk it and possible find my brother.

I agreed to meet with him, in the middle of the day, in a heavily populated parking lot, in case anything bad should happen, there was plenty of witnesses.

I was waiting when a black 90’s van came screeching to a halt, the side door swung wide open and two men rushed out, grabbed me and threw me inside the van. Someone was already waiting inside the van as soon as my body was slammed inside. A dark head cover was rapidly placed on my head and some i could hear the zip ties closing as my hands began getting tighter behind my back.

I didn’t think anything would happen. It was broad daylight! There was hundreds of people walking outside! And yet here i was, inside a van, my hands zip tied behind my back and being taken to a safe house to get tortured and then killed.

I was never going to find my brother.

And now my family was never going to find me either.

I should have left, i should have listened to everyone that told me to run away, that these men where evil and that they would never stop.

I should have never gone down this rabbit hole.

José Pablo Carrillo 12/8/21

Jose had just got off work and was heading home. He roofing job demanded a lot from him, be awake at 4 a.m just so he could drive through the labyrinth that is Dallas, and make it to the yard at 5 a.m. He usually listened to old school Mexican music, Los Tigres Del Norte, Los Cadets, where always among his favorites. The drive in the early morning through Dallas wasn’t so bad. Jose would set the cruise control on, turn up his favorite song “El Jefe de Jefes”, and he was instantly teleported to a town more than 3,000 miles south of him. Those songs and that peaceful drive always reminded him of home. Of his true home. The home he left when he was 16 years old because he was unable to find work, and the work that he did find, he was unable to provide any help for himself let alone his family. He would picture his padres asleep at the rancho while he drove. He would wonder when he would see them again, or how the circumstances would be the next time he saw them. Would it be when his parents had passed away, and he would feel forced to travel and say his final goodbye? Or maybe somehow he would get deported and be forced to go back to where he came from? He dream was that someway, somehow, maybe he would find true love with a woman that could help him with his citizenship. That would be perfect, Jose thought. Then his mind would come rushing through the mountains of Mexico at the speed of light, and he would begin to dream about the perfect wife. The beautiful, American girl, the one with blue eyes and blonde hair brighter than the sun.

Jose was to busy fantasizing and didn’t notice the red and blue flashing lights behind him. When he finally saw them, he was scared! “Hijiole” he said frightened. How long has this cop been following me? He slowly turned down the music, tapped on the brake pedal and began to slow down while looking for a place to pullover.

Crap! He thought, there is no shoulder on this highway! And Jose kept driving. By now the Police officer had grown impatient and was pressing all kinds of buttons in his car blaring different types of sirens. When Jose finally found a decent shoulder, away from traffic, he slowly pulled over, and whispered a prayer in Spanish. When he finally came to a stop, it was still pitch dark outside, and to make matter worst, the officer had turned on his spot lights on him and all he could see was a bright white lights almost as if the heavens had opened up and a stream of light was pouring out of the heavens.

Que hago? Que hago?, he thought to himself. Yo no hice nada, porque me detuvo?

Open the door and get out of the car slowly! The officers intercom blared. I’m not going to tell you again, Open the door and get out of the car slowly!!.

Jose understood a little of what he was hearing, but he the main problem was that he could not speak English nor did he have a drivers license.

He nervously opened the door and crept out slowly while saying, “me no speak English”, “disculpe Official, me no espeak”

“Get your hands where i can see them and get on the ground now!!” The Officer barked through his intercom.

Jose, now frighten to what was happening, tried to tell the officer once again, “ Senor, plis….mi no spiiiike ingles,” then he thought, what if i call my boss and have him explain to the officer, that he was on his way to work, and that he wasn’t able to communicate.

And so Jose slowly reached in his back pocket to retrieve his cellphone…. The next thing he felt was like someone had pinched him very hard and aggressively in his chest. Then he felt another pinch, this time in his upper belly.

All of a sudden he felt his knees grow weak and buckle. Then slowly like a weak spring, his legs gave out, and he collapsed on the floor. Not quite grasping what had just taken place. He had told the officer that he didn’t speak English. He had begged him that he didn’t know what was going on. Then, slowly, the light he had seen began to fade away, and he began to get drowsy.