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Neon Moon
chapter one

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❛ i'm a motherfucking woman, baby,
alright. i don't need a man to be holding
me too tight. ❜
— woman, kesha

                    IT WAS JUST LIKE A REGULAR DAY. The building was buzzing with life. The scent of stale cigarettes, rich coffee, and rain filled the air. Marisol Rojas stepped into the Bureau with a large coffee in her hand and dark sunglasses covering her eyes. She nodded her head to everyone who acknowledged her until she reached the office of her favorite person, her mentor.

          "Buenos días," greeted Elena Rodriguez. Her chestnut hair was pinned back today, curled strays tickling at the base of her neck. Her eyes were smudged with eyeliner from the day before. Marisol snorted at her partner in crime before setting the coffee cup down onto the table. Elena's eyes widened and gazed up at her questioningly. "For me?"

          "Mhm. Paul called me last night to let me know you were having a slumber party in the bullpen." She leaned forward toward the file Elena had closed moments before Marisol had crept up. She was silent, sipping carefully at the scalding liquid with a pleased expression. "What are we working on now? Are they assigning us to it?" Her fingers inched toward the file with a sudden flood of curiosity sloshing inside of her.

          "I knew I couldn't trust Paul." Her words were strained, her brows puckered. The lipstick left on her top lip was now swiped away with the back of her hand. "You can trust Paul," Marisol argued, finally snagging the folder. "You just can't trust yourself."

          When Elena made no move to stop her, she flipped open the manila folder. The content inside was unsettling. Right away, vulgar images of mutilated bodies stared back at her. Crimson stained skin dirtying white sheets. Eyes gouged cleanly out of their skulls and inserted into holes in their palms. Her stomach churned at the sight.

          "Asqueroso. The sick fuck has been doing this for months," Elena explained, her coffee cup frozen on its way to her mouth. She grimaced at the photographs paper clipped to the folder. Marisol shook her head in disbelief. "He's perfecting his ritual," she muttered. Pulling up a seat, she sat down to better observe the case file. "Have they figured out what it symbolizes? The eyes... in the hands, I mean."

She scanned over the police report on the first body. She had been found in a motel not far from her hometown. "Nope," Elena sighed. "The cops investigating gave us nothing but an abundance of pictures. It's like they were sitting there, heads up their asses." The reports were strange, Marisol had to agree, but not in the way everyone else would have thought.

No, the voice in her head whispered. She flipped through the pages, eyes zeroing in on the same detail on every sheet. Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, Louisiana, Arkansas, Mississippi. It was a clear line through the states. Thoughtfully, Marisol bit down on the tip of her thumb. Something flashed inside of her head. Look at me! it called out to her. Look at me!

          She flipped the folder closed and slid it away from her. A hand suddenly appeared on her shoulder, startling her. She turned to meet Elena's worried eyes. "You alright, mija?" Marisol swept the hair from her face. It was starting to tingle with anticipation. "Something," she began, brows furrowed, "something isn't right." Swiftly, she stood from her seat and beckoned her friend to follow her. If she trusted anyone, it would be Elena Rodriguez.

          Elena followed the girl closely, coffee held tight in her hand. They smiled at every person they passed until they came across the file room. Once inside, Marisol locked the door behind her. "Wait," Elena began, watching as Marisol sped toward one of the aisles. "Wait, do you think this case is related to another one? Has this hijo de puta been killing for longer than we thought?"

          "I don't know," Marisol sighed. Her fingers glided over the boxes tenderly, carefully. She scanned over the names written in print on the sides. "Maybe not killing." Taking one out, she knelt to the concrete floor. Elena hesitated in her spot. "What do you mean "not killing"? You don't just become a monster over night."

"True," Marisol agreed, "but some monsters aren't killers." She took off the lid of the box and set it aside with a hesitant breath. A single name stared back at her. Gecko.

Elena finally stalked over to where Marisol knelt and dropped to her knees. She looked over Marisol's shoulder curiously. Confusion blanked on her features. "The Gecko brothers?" She noticed the muscle in Marisol's jaw go taut. "There's no way. These are two completely different sides of the criminal spectrum."

          Ignoring the part of her that agreed with Elena, she took out the thick folder and placed it on her knees. She hurriedly flipped it open, immediately searching for the map. "Maybe," she sighed. "But the trail is identical. Look."

          Every argument began to die within her head. "It's Richie," she whispered sadly. "It can't be Seth, he's in prison, but Richie..." Her head started to grow light. How could Richie – Richie Gecko, the boy she helped ride his first bike — mutilate and murder so many people? How could he have gone from bank robberies to homicide.

          "Marisol." Elena's soft voice tore her out of the fog in her head. She snapped the folder closed and tossed it back into the box impatiently. "'Lena," she replied, a seriousness drowning in her eyes. "I'm going to ask something of you that might get you into trouble in the end."

          She abruptly stood to her feet, the box in hand. Elena followed suit, wobbling on her heels. "If anyone asks where I went, tell them that you don't know. Tell them that I disappeared, okay?" Her eyes bulged in surprise at the request. "Dis–Disappeared? Marisol, what—"

          "I can't tell you any more in case they question you." She brushed past her friend, only to be stopped by a hand on her arm. "Marisol, wait. You have to tell me something or else I can't help."

          Her chest was suddenly too full. Her heart hammered against her ribs, smothering her lungs, depriving them of much needed oxygen. A drop of sweat trickled down her back. She frowned. "I can't. I'm sorry." Knowing that she wouldn't back down, Elena dropped it. She pushed away her questions and decided to trust her. With a stiff smile, she nodded. "Okay. I'll cover for you for as long as I can."

          How selfish. Marisol sucked in a sharp breath. She avoided Elena's eyes. She knew that if she did, guilt would erupt inside of her and eat away at her. Instead, she nodded her head in thanks and walked away, carrying the box along with her.

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Black smoke surrounded her, suffocating the pale moonlight. The echo of her pulse filled her ears, throbbed under her skin uncomfortably fast. Her eyes flickered around her surroundings, trying to figure out just where she was, and only failing to do just that.

The air burned her lungs. It stained her skin with black ash, fogged her vision. Slivers of light fought against the darkness, breaking through one small pinprick at a time.

"Marisol!"

Her name echoed around her from all sides. She choked on her breath, her head spinning uncontrollably. The ground beneath her feet was soft and cold, wet. Another call of her name pushed her into a sprint in a random direction.

"Marisol!" the voice called out to her. The beating of her heart sped up. Her throat swelled, eyes brimming with emotion. The air cut her as she went. A name laid on her tongue, teetering toward the edge.

An orange light beamed in the distance. It danced in her vision like a serpent. Her footing faltered beneath her. "Seth!" she cried out suddenly as a black silhouette climbed from the embers. She jostled forward, knees buckling, falling into the wet earth.

          The air grew hotter as the flames doubled in size. Her tears dried to her face.

          "I heard that the boys left their poor father in the house and watched it burn to the ground."

          "I wouldn't put it past them. That Richie always seemed unstable."

          "The older one must have finally snapped. It was no secret the old man was abusive."

          "Marisol." She crawled through the sluggish dirt. It pulled at her limbs, dragging her deeper into the surface. "Seth," she breathed out. Her breath wheezed with every intake. Her fingers clawed at the roots in the ground. "Seth, you have to go."

          "You have to find me," he whispered, his voice swirling around her like that of a phantom. Her movements paused. Fire licked at her skin. Smoke coated the back of her throat, the inside of her lungs. She coughed painfully.

          "I can't," she croaked out. "I can't, I can't, I can't." Slowly, she felt her skin bury within the dirt. She fell limp, accepting the darkness that flooded her vision. "Find me," he repeated gently. A soft caress pressed to the apple of her cheeks. "Mari, you have to find me."

          She couldn't open her eyes. Cold encased her skin, burying her up to her waist. She wheezed noisily, scratching at the ground beneath her. "You have to find me." Her chest filled with fiery annoyance. How could she find him when he had left her behind?

"You lied to me," she screamed. Her voice reverberated in the distance. Her muscles tensed under her skin. "You lied to me. You left me. You broke me." Slowly, she began to pull herself out. Sloshing filled her ears along with the menacing song of the flames. "This is your fault. Why should I be the one to save you?"

Anger jumpstarted her muscles. At a quicker pace, she began to slide away from her prison. It filled her hands, pulled at her knees. She crawled and crawled, wheezing and coughing against the thick smoke. She navigated blindly, ignoring the stinging in her eyes. "Fuck you, Seth," she cried out. "Fuck you for leaving me, and for making me feel so small."

Slowly, her eyes cracked open. The dancing flame appeared closer, biting at the skin of her face. She grit her teeth painfully, using the last of her strength to free herself. "It isn't fair," she spat out.

Do it for Richie, she thought. This isn't for Seth. This was for Richie. This was for the boy who bought her chocolates on Valentine's Day because he loved her. This was for the boy who made her cards for every birthday, ones signed "Your favorite brother". "Fuck you, Seth Gecko," she grumbled, finally breaking free of her restraints.

She pulled herself into the fire and into the light ahead of her. Pain happened first. A pain that felt like her skin was being cut out of her body. A pain like burning metal branding into her throat. A pain unlike any other thing she had ever felt before, and then nothing.

Sweet, beautiful nothing.

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          Sixteen long hours. Sixteen hours one after the other, accompanied by the gas station bathrooms, honey buns, of caffeine. Marisol had forgotten just how tiring being on the road could be; how freeing it was to ignore the things that kept you tied to one spot. The wind flying through the windows and chilling her skin, the lack of light flying down winding roads.

          She had gone sixteen hours when she stopped in the Lake Charles, Louisiana to sleep. And it only took her an hour to wake up from a dream that felt all too real. It was 5AM when she got back on the road and stopped at a Denny's. Coffee had become her best friend on the road, along with iced honey buns and spearmint gum. It was nice to finally have a hot meal instead of reheated gas station food.

          The breakfast joint was full of life. Workers stood behind the counter while the booths were taken up by the elderly and what appeared to be college students with their laptops open and big mugs of coffee at their sides. It was loud, buzzing with conversation and the clicking of pens, or the ringing of phones. It was much better than the switching of music stations and conversations she had with herself to keep her from falling asleep.

The case files were spread out in front of her, a mug of coffee safely tucked away in the corner. Ripped up sugar packets decorated the surface. Her fingers ran along the lines marked on the map. She had tried her best to follow it, though she had started from a different place. If she timed it right, perhaps she could make it back to Texas in time to visit Seth during visiting hours and ask just where Richie might be.

If Seth would ever tell her. Or if she could even walk in there in the first place. She wasn't so sure she could face him after everything that had happened. She took hold of her mug and took a long drink from the warm liquid. It tickled her throat, warmed her insides as it traveled down to her empty stomach.

"Hi! Are you ready to order?"

          She startled in fright at the voice. A young girl stood at the end of her table in the typical Denny's uniform. Her wild, blonde hair was pushed back in a bun and a pair of wide glasses sat on the bridge of her nose. Her green eyes were lit up, casted down toward the table. "Wow, that is gross," she exclaimed, nose crinkling in disgust.

A heavy blush carried across the woman's features as she scrambled to hide the files from prying eyes. "Are you a cop?" the waitress asked, interest peaked. Marisol cleared her throat, closing the files and stacking them to the side. "Yeah, I'm trying to be," she responded. "I was just looking over... some old files. To study up on." The lie tasted sour on her tongue.

"Damn. How do you sleep at night after studying something like that?" She twisted the pen between her fingers before clicking the end. "It takes practice," Marisol revealed with a soft sigh. "What's the best thing to order here? I'm starving and haven't had a proper meal in forever."

"Personally, I love the All-American Slam. It's got your toast, bacon, eggs, hash browns, and sausage. And it's super big so you can take it home and eat it later." She spoke with her hands. With every high in her tone, her hands waved quicker and every low, they slowed. Marisol hummed, pleased with the option. "Then I'll take that."

"I hope you pass," the waitress blurted out after a moment of scrawling her order onto the notepad. Marisol's eyebrows rose. "We need good people on the force." A warmth spread deep within her chest, guilt creeping along her insides. She frowned. "Yeah," she agreed. "You're not wrong there."

That tight feeling remained as she sat there, now alone, and stared down into her coffee cup. It had begun to go cold the more it sat there, the longer she stared into nothing and allowed her thoughts to run free.

How will he react to seeing me?, she thought. Will I finally get the answers I had searched for? Will he explain to me why? Slowly, she slipped his file to the top and placed it before her. She had yet to open Seth's file, deciding that it was probably best if she focused on Richie. Maybe she'd remember something that could lead her back to him, or spot a mistake that would exonerate him from this heinous crime.

The longer she looked through his case, however, the less she felt like she knew him. She was seventeen when he and Seth vanished. She had only known him for ten years of their lives. So much time had passed since she last saw him. So much has obviously changed about the both of them.

Her hand hovered over the file labeled Gecko, Seth. Her pulse quickened in anticipation, maybe even excitement. It was only a mug shot, but this photo would be the only thing that would absolve his teenage image she continues to picture. She'd forget about his adolescent charm, and focus on the now. She'd see him for who he is; a criminal.

There would be no more of him sneaking her out of her window to stargaze by the giant oak tree in her backyard. The would be no more of his crooked smirks when he'd beat her at air hockey over and over again in the theater lobby. There would be no more of his loving gaze as he leaned into her, tasting her lip gloss before saying his goodnight. There would only be deception, violence, and thievery. He's changed, and so has she.

In one fluid motion, she flipped the case over. Just as fast, her eyes screwed shut. Doubt washed over her in waves. There was no doubt that Seth would grow up handsome. Being as attractive as he was when they were kids, it was almost inevitable. It was destiny that he would become a smoke show, a womanizer. She took an agonizing breath, attempting to slow down the speed of her heart.

"He's not your Seth anymore," she whispered sadly. Counting down from five, her eyelids began to flutter. She gripped the seat tight and finally took a peek. His mug shot was paper clipped to the folder. Dark, paper eyes peered back at her under thick brows. His hair was shorter than she'd ever seen it. Though his face was bruised, he still wore the same cocky smirk.

Sadness, a sense of longing, dread; it all filled her at once. Her eyes began to sting as her trembling fingers ran across the paper. He sure looked like her Seth, though much more mature. She bit down on her bottom lip to cease its trembling.

          Oh, Seth, she sighed inwardly. She had hoped taking a peek would satiate her curiosity. She would be seeing him in thirteen hours. And yet, it felt as if it had the opposite affect. Now, she felt even more anxious to see him.

          "Coming in." She snapped the folder closed and slipped it back under the others. The plate clattered against the table a bit before it slid easily in front of her, followed by her silverware. "Do you need any more coffee? I could top you off." Marisol silently nodded, hastily unrolling the napkin around her fork and knife. "Okay, be right back."

The smell of fresh eggs and meat swam in her senses. Her mouth involuntarily began to water. Once they were free, she began to cut into the fluffy eggs and sausage links. The waitress returned moments after with a steaming pot of coffee. "When was the last time you ate?" she asked, her question innocent though it sounded a bit narrowed. Marisol wiped at the corner of her mouth.

          She left Virginia at noon. She ate dinner around 7pm while on the road. It had been about nine hours since she had a proper meal. Her stomach gurgled in anger at the realization. "A long time," she replied, moving her mug toward the waitress. "I've been driving for a while. I don't think I've eaten since seven last night." The waitress whistled.

The steam of the mug created a safe atmosphere for Marisol. She let the warmth seep into her palms before bringing the lip up to her mouth. The steam filled her nose as she drew in a deep breath. "What are you out this way for? Do you stay in Louisiana?"

          She snorted. "No," she replied. "No, I'm not from here. I'm originally from Kansas, but I moved to Virginia a few years ago." It was a surprise to watch the blonde slip into the seat across from her. It wasn't until that moment did she realize the color in her cheeks. "Virginia? So, you're trying to get into the, like, FBI, right?"

          She shoveled a forkful of eggs into her mouth to hide her grimace. "What's the process like? Going through the academy and stuff." Her question inflicted confusion on the agent. Her brows furrowed questioningly as she chewed the food in her mouth.

Realization dawned on the blonde and the color slowly grew across her skin. "I'm sorry! I'm probably prying too much. I'm just trying to write a script for this movie I've been wanting to..." Her head fell into her hands out of embarrassment.

A movie?, Marisol thought. "What's it about?" Her curiosity got the better of her. She'd listen to anything if it meant that she didn't have to think about her visit with Seth, or the questions she knew were gonna hurt not only her but him as well.

rumi says . . .
this takes place before the bank
robbery in abilene!

the lovely elena rodriguez was created
by my absolute best friend & soulmate
Iuvrots . thank her for her brilliance.

the longer i write, and the more i write
for things that truly inspire me, the more
i start to enjoy writing first chapters.
there's something about this chapter that
just makes me so happy?

i hope you guys enjoyed it!
feedback is seriously appreciated!