A/N: Sorry guys! I mixed the chapters up between two stories and accidentally posted them in the wrong place. This is the real chapter 5 for Birth of a Warrior.

XxX

V. Vanished

Miami, Florida.

1984.

"I think they went back to Mexico. Phil probably sold those guns, huh? Probably sold them to some other gang or something, and they went home. I bet they took a boat, just sailed down the coast back home. White sand beaches and shit, right, Mikey?"

It had nine days since I had walked into the Reyes house and found it vacated. Everything was gone. Furniture, pictures, shampoo, drink coasters. Mr. and Mrs. Reyes had vanished, and their shed was hanging wide open, and no one had seen or heard anything the night before. Nobody had seen them leave, and nobody knew where they were – not the police, not their family, not even their landlord. So their house stood there, not up for sale, but empty, and their car sat in the driveway, a payment due in a few days, but no owner in sight, and their mailbox hung open from all the mail they had never collected. Newspapers piled up on the front steps.

"Mikey, I bet they went home. The Muerte would never follow them all the way there, just for a few guns. You know they got plenty of guns, and plenty of money."

I spent the first few days looking for them, because as much as I wanted to believe that being seventeen made me a man, I still had this childish sense of goodness inside, like things could not possibly turn out this badly. I was overcome with a feverish need to find them, turning over every rock in Miami, forgetting caution, forgetting to sleep. I asked everyone I could think of, every single family member I had ever heard them mention, and even walked fourteen miles to the upper-class neighborhood where their nieces lived – the Grotto.

It was there, standing in my sandals, getting rained on for the third time that day, with wet, flat hair and purple-ringed eyes, that the truth finally came to me.

They were gone. It went through me like a chill, like a fever breaking, and suddenly the rain was a whole lot colder, this quiet neighborhood a whole lot lonelier. Life had been tough so far and I considered myself pretty grown up already, but standing there I felt like a lost little boy. I had been so invested in helping them, so determined I could solve this problem of theirs, only to have the rug swept out from under me.

I must have looked pretty terrible, because a kindly old police officer – one who I had never seen, who patrolled nice neighborhoods like this – picked me up and delivered me home. I confessed stiffly that I had just gotten lost, but could not put words to the truth.

Mom was waiting for me when I got home, a cigarette in one hand and a scowl on her face. She had seen my dropped off by the police one too many times. When we got inside she wrapped me in a hard, smoky hug, but said nothing, only half-understanding my mood. She knew the Reyes family was gone, too, but the depth of it was lost on her. So I blamed her for not knowing, and slammed every door I could, frustrated enough to crack the frame in the bathroom.

For a long, long time I stayed there in front of the mirror, looking into my own bloodshot eyes and wondering what I could have done differently, to stop this from happening. If I could have been more convincing with Phil, or if I had gone to the police, or if I had handled Peter second, and focused on the Muerte problem first, maybe they would still be here.

And where had they gone, anyway?

I was so convinced they had been killed and carted off in the middle of the night, but could Andre be right? Could they be sailing home?

It stayed in my mind for days, even as I walked mechanically across the stage at graduation, and even at the bus station, where Mom and Nate gave me long, tearful hugs, and Mom made me promise to call her every chance I got, and Nate looked pitiful and forgotten.

I settled into my seat, ignored the kid sitting next to me – my age, and headed for the same fate – and stared out the window, watching my Mom and brother grow smaller as the bus pulled away, and clutching my backpack to my chest. It was everything I was told to bring: fifty dollars, a change of clothes, and my permission and health slips. I was allowed to bring one personal photo, and most guys, I figured, would bring pictures of their girlfriends, but I didn't have any with Rebecca. Guys without girlfriends would probably bring pictures of their families, but all of our pictures were bad memories for me, and I left them behind.

As the bus rattled on toward Fort Benning, the anger and confusion surrounding the Reyes' disappearance began to dissipate, letting in excitement and anxiety, and also curiosity. I used to think I was so good at reading people because of Dad, because of the kind of life I had, but when it came to Phil I had been dead wrong.

I looked around the bus at the other boys, the ones who had backpacks like mine and nervous smiles on their faces, and wondered if it would be the same way with them, with everyone. Were people all just hiding beneath smiles? Did everyone have secrets as big as those?