It was October 2005.  I had just moved to San Diego.  For the second time.  I lived at Palm Ave. and the 805, two exits from Tijuana.  And I was an alcoholic and addict.  A friend of mine told me about a brothel down there that was a “must check out”.  I didn’t really know much about Tijuana, and despite my roommate, Dale's, warnings, I threw on some nice clothes, had a pocket full of cash, jumped in the company vehicle and drove down to the border. 
 
I parked on the U.S. side and decided just to walk over through the entry gate.  There was a sea of taxi cabs, peddlers selling everything from gum to fake Rolexes, and border patrol.  I was greeted by a taxi driver, “where to?” he said.  “Adelitas”, I replied.  And the guy smiled really big.  “Ahhhh yes.  Adelitas.  Very good choice mi amigo.”  And at the time I thought it was.
 
I arrived at the bar, and walked into something that felt like the old west, except all of the cocktail servers were gorgeous women wearing lingerie.  There were two-seater booths throughout the whole place.  I took a seat and in less than ten seconds I was accompanied by one of the “servers”.  We engaged in conversation, she served me beers, and after a few beers, she pointed to an entrance beside the bar that was guarded by a big muscle guy.  She said “$40, we go there”.  So we went, I paid the guy and we went upstairs to a floor of little hotel rooms.  We went into the room.  I came out about 4 hours later. 
 
                                                                 EXIT BAR TO STREET 
 
As I walked down the sidewalk, I came across a guy with a backpack that just repeated names of various drugs over and over again, advertising what he had to offer.  I was already flying high, so I opted for a $40 bag of coke and a $40 bag of meth.  Right there on the streets of the Revolucion District in Tijuana, dressed nicely, I pulled out a wad of cash to pay the man.  Huge mistake.
 
I bought the goods and proceeded down the sidewalk.  The first bar I came to about a block away was guarded by two big dudes.  They checked my ID and I went in.  I went straight to the bathroom stall.  I sat on the toilet and went into my pocket and pulled out the coke.  Right when I got the bag open and about to partake, the stall door was kicked in by one of the two guys that guarded the door out front.  They both stormed in the stall, and grabbed me up and drug me through the bar to throw me out.  Well, I thought that’s all that was happening. 
 
They drug me to the alley and proceeded to beat the crap out of me.  Taking my jacket, my watch, my money, my shoes.  The only thing they didn’t take was my ID, my keys, my pants, and my t-shirt.  While I was down, one of them kicked me with his pointed-toe boot right on my eyebrow.  Almost blacking out from the blow, I lay there in the alley in a puddle of water.  They grabbed my feet and drug me through the alley on my face.  I was limp.  Almost lifeless.  There was some loud talking and whistling, then a car pulled up.  They opened the door and tossed me in the backseat.  Spoke some Spanish then slammed the door.  The car sped off.  I just knew I was dead.  No telling where they were taking me to get dismembered, starting with my toenails.  I just knew it.
 
Suddenly, the car stopped, the door opened, and I was yanked out of the car, smashing my head on the concrete.  The car sped off.  I laid there for a minute, completely out of it and then managed to raise my head, and barely open my eyes.  There was a cab speeding away.  I was at the border.  They had robbed me and paid for my cab ride back to the border with my own cash.  All they left me with was my ID (which you had to have to get back across the border) and my keys. 
 
I stumbled across the border, covered in blood.  People stood back in horror as I walked into the turnstile area to get into the US.  “Do you need a doctor?!  Let’s get this guy a doctor!”  I aggressively just yelled, “let me across, I’m fine!  I live two exits up and my car is right there in that parking lot, I’m fine!”  So they let me through the gate.
 
My little sister at that very moment had been driving all night from Dallas to come live and work with me in San Diego.  A straight through drive.  I got home, walked in the door and my roommates were freaking out.  My head was gashed and I was covered in blood.  Literally 2 minutes after walking in the door, there was a knock at the door.  It was my sister.  “Welcome to California” all covered in blood, I said.  She flipped out and drove me straight to the ER for stitches.
 
What I came to find later blew me away.  At the exact moment I was taking a beating from those guys, my mom, states away in Texas, was awoke from a sound sleep, fell out of bed, hit her knees and just started bawling and frantically praying for me and had no idea why.  Now we know why.

Hey everyone!  Thanks for stopping by!  This first memoir I'd like to share is entirely true, and the absolute scariest thing (well, there's a close second) that has ever happened to me.  A near death experience will wake you up!  Or, will it?

                                                               SOME RANDOM DAY IN 2001

The red laser from a high powered scope hit my chest as I looked out the living room window of my second floor apartment.  Then another.  My heart skipped several beats as I glared across the parking lot at two men sitting on the trunk of a car aiming assault rifles at me.  In the parking space below the window sat two men in a Lexus staring up and pointing at me.  They jumped out of the car.  I dove across the living room in a sweat, did an LAPD cop roll and sprung to my feet.  I heard them coming up the stairs.  I knew I was dead.  Was it them?  Had they really come back for me?

I looked out the peep hole like an idiot and there were two guys on my porch holding assault rifles, one looking around for potential witnesses.  The window to my guest bedroom, where my dog was chillin, suddenly smashed in.  "Let's go, Let's go!" they said - bursting into the room.  My dog began to squeal in what sounded like a cry of torture, like they were squeezing him hard.  I heard spray paint cans shake, then start spraying.  I backed up and stood in silence.  In complete terror.  Heart pounding out of my chest, I began to cry as I heard my dog struggle to breathe.  Then I heard what sounded like a fire being started.  OH NO!  Jacob, the little boy that lived in the apartment above me with his single mother, slept right above that room.  

An orange glow was visible under the door and smoke started to billow out in a steady stream of certain death.  It was them.  This is how it all ends.  Pumped full of lead in my own living room over a stolen cell phone, that I didn't even steal.  Everything turned black and I slipped off to two weeks ago in my mind...

                                                                       TWO WEEKS AGO 

We just got home from shooting pool at the bar, and the freezer was full of Jack, Johnny, Crown and Seagram's 7.  My buddy was in town from college, and he was convinced we'd load the place up with ladies, play drinking games, and then, well.. ya know.

He pulled out a cell phone from his pocket that didn't belong to him.  "Haha dumb ass.. I snatched some dude's phone off the table that was next to ours."  "Dude!  You're the dumb ass", I said, frustrated.  And knocked back a couple shots.  He started making calls and leaving detailed messages.  People called back and left messages, too.  Would've been all good I think, except the guy who owned the phone happened to have the same name as me.  

I flashback to a couple days later, I was back at the bar.  My friend was the bartender and called me by name.  She also called the guy next to me by name.  It was the same name as mine.  I went cold and my heart dropped.  He grinned at me, slammed his drink, paid his tab, and left out the front door.  I immediately told my friend what happened.  And I thought it was him.  She confirmed it.  He had told her the story, too.  Before I got there.  

I had a couple more drinks to get extra loose and decided by now the coast should be clear, and left out the back door to walk across the street to my house.  Out of the shadows, he jumped out and tackled me to the ground.  He pinned me down and began to choke me.  My keys fell out of my pocket and he scooped them up.  "Try anything and I'll shoot you", and he put his hands on a bulge in his waistband.  "Call the cops and I'll shoot you in your home."  "I know where you live motherf&$ker!"  And he ran off around to the front of the building.  That next day I had the locks changed.  Scared.  I knew I was going to die.

                                                                 BACK TO THE DEBACLE

I snapped out of the daze and did a ninja-like stealth dart to my room and shut the door quietly.  I could still hear them torturing my dog, and the smoke had gotten very thick in the living room.  I dove over my bed against the wall, pulled the mattress over me, and positioned my body to where my head was at the foot of the bed and I could peek out and see the door.  Two minutes later, footsteps, then shadows underneath the door were visible.  The shadows got darker as if someone was squatting down, then BAM!  A red dot hit me!  They were pointing their guns at me underneath the door!  I was so scared, I couldn't register the thought of "why aren't they just busting down the door and lighting me up??"  I pulled back to where I was no longer visible and their red dots were hitting the wall two feet in front of me.  I played hero, and jumped out and over the bed and ran into my closet, grabbing the only items I could think of.  A desk lamp from an antique roll-top desk, and my .22 caliber Ruger pistol.

In the closet, I prayed and prayed.  My heart was racing and thumping so hard it was like the hard-hitting bass from an old RUN-DMC track.  I was sweating profusely.  If I didn't die from the lead unloaded at me, I most certainly was going to have a heart attack.  I stuck my head out of the closet and walked out.  Two more red dots hit my chest that were coming from outside my bedroom window, which faced the same way as the window that was in my living room.  The guys on the trunk! -  I thought.  Jesus, please!  These dudes are going freakin Pablo Escobar on me.  All over a damn cell phone!  

I went back into the closet, gripping my weapons of choice.  My kitchen was on the other side of the back wall of my closet.  Now I heard them in my kitchen, going through cabinets, smashing dishes.  I could not hear my dog.  I was sure he was dead by now.  After a few minutes of destroying my kitchen, I heard a loud crash.. it was the front door!  It was kicked in!  "DALLAS POLICE!!  DROP YOUR WEAPONS!  GET ON THE GROUND!!  HANDS IN THE AIR, DO IT!  DO IT NOW!!"  There were lots of loud noises, but surprisingly no gun shots.  I heard them going down the outside stairs toward the parking lot, car doors slam, then... dead silence.  An eerie ghost town silence you only see in movies when the old west bad guys finish their run and ride outta town as the townspeople quietly look on to the devastation their town had experienced.  

I walked out of the closet, stood still and turned and faced the window.  No dots.  Only red and blue lights bleeding in-between the blinds.  Then suddenly the parking lot turned dark and all was completely silent.  All I could hear was my heart pounding something vicious.  I was alive.  They were gone.  Taken away in the blink of an eye.  A more powerful divine intervention than what Jules (Samuel L. Jackson) and Vincent (John Travolta) experienced in Pulp Fiction, I remember thinking.  I actually started laughing at the thought.  The words rung in my head "...and I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and fuuurrrrrious anger, those who attempt to poison and destroy my brother..."  

I crept slowly toward my bedroom door and slowly turned the handle.  It was quiet.  I stepped out and glanced around.  Everything was in perfect shape.  No smoke.  No smashed dishes.  No destruction.  I thought to myself, "you've got to be kidding me!"  I walked slowly to the guest bedroom that had been set on fire and where my dog was tortured.  I tapped on the door knob a few times, it was perfectly cool.  I opened the door and my dog set right there, staring up at me.  Flopping his tongue, jumping up on me and wagging his tail.  The room was in perfect condition.

I had been awake for four days on meth.  It was all a hallucination.  Just a figment of my spun imagination.  And crazily enough... that was not my last time to do meth.  Addiction is one hell of a scary thing.  Recovery works.  If you are struggling, please get help somewhere.

With love and light,

Lyndol Keith
​Speaker / Storyteller / Event Host