PART 3: Into the Dark
The sound broke something deep inside my soul. It wasn't just a voice; it was a fragile thread pulling me back from eleven months of living death.
Without hesitation, I dropped flat onto my stomach, sliding my upper body into the dark crawlspace beneath the house. The clearance was barely two feet high. The dirt floor was cold and damp against my chest, sticking to my shirt. Cobwebs brushed against my face, and the air was so thick it burned my lungs, but I didn't care.
—Mateo! Keep talking to me, buddy! Keep talking to your dad! —I called out, stretching my hands blindly into the blackness.
—Over here... under the kitchen... —the tiny voice whimpered, sounding impossibly small.
I began to crawl, dragging myself forward by my elbows, ignoring the sharp rocks and debris scraping against my skin. My mind raced in a frantic, terrifying loop. How? Why here? Verónica’s house in Querétaro... Mateo disappeared from Guadalajara, 300 miles away. How could he be beneath this floor?
The pieces didn't fit, but the reality was right here in front of me. Someone had hidden him. Someone had built a sealed compartment beneath this house. Someone in my own family.
—Andrés! Get out of there! You're going to ruin everything! —Verónica's voice echoed faintly from above, shrill and frantic.
I ignored her. I pushed past a concrete support pillar, my hand brushing against something cold and metallic. A small chain. I followed it with my fingertips until my hand brushed against a patch of rough, matted fabric.
Then, my fingers grazed a tiny, ice-cold hand.
—I found you! —I sobbed, grabbing his wrist. —I've got you, Mateo!
May you like
—Dad... you came. You really came.
I pulled with all my might, dragging a frail, feather-light body out from the narrow alcove toward the light of the opening. When I finally dragged him into the space beneath the broken living room floor, the sight of him nearly stopped my heart completely.
