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Neon Moon
chapter three

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❛ i watch the sun dry out the
grass, hear the silence shatter
glass. feel perfection swerve and
crash, but that's alright. ❜
— Pretty Little Distance, As It Is

ORANGE FLAMES KISSED THE SKYLINE. A second firetruck and an ambulance had joined the chase not long after she had caught up with them. She parked on the opposite side of the road and threw off her seatbelt. Black smoke lingered in the air as the water choked the flames.

          She clattered out of her car as quickly as she could and approached the scene. "Miss, stand back!" an officer demanded, intercepting her before she could reach anyone. Her eyes snapped toward the older gentleman. "I'm an officer," she replied, her voice strong. "Let me through."

          She scanned the chaos. A body was on a stretcher, two girls were sitting in the back of an ambulance being checked out. They trembled despite the heat blistering their skin. She attempted another step forward, only for an arm to usher her back. Swiftly, she took his wrist and pinned it back, brows pinched in disbelief.

          "I need to see a badge!" the man yelped. Her grip tightened. Another officer began to approach, hand hovering over his holster. She met his worried gaze. "It's in my car," she tried to explain. "I'm in a hurry here. If you'd let me talk to someone, find out what happened—"

          Squealing tires came from around the bend. Their heads turned toward the sound. An SUV approached, pulling in a few feet away from where the barriers sat. She met the eyes of a rinche. He looked her up and down, brows pinched, mouth turned downward into a frown.

          "Let him go." His tone was strong. He got out of the vehicle gracefully, taking purchase of the gun in his holster. She scoffed, but reluctantly released him. He brought his wrist to his chest with a whimper. "He touched me first." Her argument fell on deaf ears.

          "What happened here?" There was a pause. The corners of his mouth twitched upward. "A fire," he deadpanned. Slowly, he returned his gun to his hip. Her teeth ground together in annoyance.

She noticed the officer from earlier trudging toward the group of squad cars. His pale skin was red from the sun's gaze. Before the ranger could walk away, she took another step forward. "As an agent of the law, I believe I deserve an actual answer."

"An agent? Earlier you said that you were an officer?" Her eyes narrowed toward the other officer loitering behind. "So?"

          Now you've done it, the voice in her head scolded her venomously. She glanced back toward the ranger with distaste. His own expression seemed to match her. "An agent," she answered. "My badge is in my car. But, like I said earlier, I don't have time to waste."

          His head bounced in a slow nod, hands finding purchase on his hips. "Sure," he chuckled humorlessly. "So, if I may ask, what the hell is a federal agent doing at a small fire in McDade, Texas?"

"When has a federal agent ever had to give answers to a Texas Ranger?" she retorted. The cocky grin he wore faltered for a short second. Anger fueled the fire behind his eyes. She stared back without fear. "I'm investigated a string of bodies," she answered reluctantly. "I have reason to believe the killer has gone through here. I just want to check my facts first before bringing it to my superior."

His expression blanked. Marisol watched as the color seemed to drain from his face. Without another word, he turned on his heels, motioning for her to follow him. She did just that, dust kicking up at her ankles. Sprinkles of water stung her skin as they avoided the dark clouds of smoke.

She met the eyes of a blonde girl sitting in the ambulance. Mascara stained the underside of her baby blue eyes. She sniffed upon noticing Marisol, a fresh wave of emotions overtaking her. The brunette smiled warmly toward the girl, stopping in front of her. "Y'all okay?" he asked the girls. The blonde nodded, her friend remaining silent.

"Hi," Marisol interrupted. Three sets of eyes transferred to her face. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably inside of her. "My name is Marisol. Is it okay if I ask you two a few questions?" The ranger's jaw clenched. She glanced toward him a moment before meeting the brunette's eyes. "Are you some kind of shock counselor?" she asked, tone sharp and laced with venom.

          "Jess," the blonde hissed, elbowing her friend. Marisol only smiled. "That's okay," she sighed. "Most people react the same way after a traumatic experience. I know I did."

          A pair of green eyes were suddenly on her. They were wet with glossy tears. A shaky breath left her parted lips. "What exactly went down in there?" Marisol asked. The brunette wiped the stray tears from her face with a hesitant huff.

          The blonde wrapped her arms around her friend, the bulky blanket over her shifting. "I just turned twenty one... so we came out here so I could buy my first drink, but this creepy guy started talking to me," she explained shakily. Marisol nodded her head with a warm smile.

          "At first it was okay. I even thought he was kinda cute, but then he just... changed? He started mouthing off at me and being weird, so I got my drink and we went to check out. But then... then he blocked the front door and he–"

          Her teeth dug painfully into her bottom lip. The blonde shed a few tears remembering the moment. "He had a gun," she finished for her friend. Gently, Marisol pressed her palm against the brunette's head and smooth down her mused hair. "It's okay," she said. "Take your time. Don't rush yourself."

          I thought you were in a hurry, that small, irritable voice taunted her dangerously low. "Then the ranger guy came in and he sho– shot him! And he shot Pete!" The ranger visibly flinched at the mention of one of his own being wounded. Marisol knew that if she were in his position, she would react the same way. "Is there anything you can remember that will help me pick this guy out? A tattoo, scar..."

          "How about their names?" Her head snapped toward the ranger in surprise. The muscle in his jaw was tense. She nodded dumbly. His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth. "The assholes who harassed these girls and killed two good men... It was Seth and Richie Gecko."

The ground beneath her feet shifted. She looked back to the girls curiously. "Is that true?" she asked, hiding the waver in her voice with a cough. The brunette nodded with a sour face. Once again, she felt the ground shift. She silently hoped that the ground would open up and swallow her whole in that moment.

Two more men were added to their kill list. Her tongue darted over her dry lips. "Did they say anything about where they were going?" Marisol asked.

She was starting to feel breathless. The heat climbed under her skin. Sweat trickled down the side of her face, down her shirt, into the back of her pants. Her fingertips tingled.

"Seth, the normal one, he kept going into the back to talk to some guy named Carlos," the blonde explained. Carlos?, she thought. Who the fuck is Carlos?

"Y'all happen to catch a last name?" the ranger questioned, hands firm on his hips. Both girls shook their heads. "The other one... Richie. He was just psychotic," the brunette said through gritted teeth. Marisol teetered on her feet. "The freak drew on us with a marker."

Both girls held up their hands and, sure enough, black marker stood out against the skin. Two eyes were drawn messily with black sharpie. Marisol sucked in a breath, taking two wobbly steps back. Their eyes followed her curiously. "Thank you," she blurted out suddenly. "You've been a big help. I need to... I need to go."

She turned sharply, only to run into a firefighter. Her steps faltered just enough to almost send her onto the ground. "I'm sorry," she apologized, face void of color. She pushed off of the man and toward her car sitting on the opposite side of the road.

Richie... Her stomach twisted painfully inside of her. Richie, what happened to you? Her hands pressed flat against the trunk of her car, keeping her steady on her feet. What is going on?

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4:00pm. Or 16:00, in some people's case.

A blue blanket was spread across the soft grass. Three teens took their places on said blanket, doing their own thing. One lay on his back, sunglasses perched on his face. His denim clad arms were folded comfortably behind his head, his stomach full from the meal she had prepared.

Another had a large textbook in his lap, using it as a makeshift desk. A stack of papers sat atop, literary questions type in black ink. His glasses had slid down the bridge of his nose, a permanent pucker between his eyebrows. A number two pencil spun between his deft fingers as he tried to concentrate on his homework.

The third sat back,face turned up toward the sun. Her hair was pinned back and out of her face, warm skin glowing beneath the sun's gaze. Sweat collected at her hairline, sparkling over her skin. An empty plate sat beside her, pie crust crumbs decorating the surface. Her stomach felt entirely too full. Perhaps she shouldn't have opted for a third slice of cheesecake.

Richie stretched out his legs and released a hefty sigh. Both Seth and Marisol glanced toward the younger boy. "Montressor echoes Fortunato's cries for help. "I replied to the wells of him who clamored. I re-echoed – I aided – I surpassed them in volume and in strength". Explain why you believe Montressor did this," he read aloud from the page. His frown deepened.

"How are we supposed to know?" Seth asked, confused. "You read the thing." Marisol shoved Seth's hip with her foot. A warning flashed behind her earthy eyes. Richie, however, rolled his eyes at his brother. "Rizo?"

She drew in a deep, thoughtful breath. Her eyes flickered from Seth to his younger brother. "This is The Cask of Amontillado, right?" He nodded his head. Her lips pursed. It had been a few years since she herself had read the work. Her eyes closed for a moment as she tried to remember the text.

          "Well, Rich, what do you think?" she asked him curiously. He paused. Literature had never been his strong suit. He always had the worst problem with deciphering text. He tapped the eraser of his pencil against the page, eyes cast downward toward the paper. "Fortunato was a dick," he sighed. "Maybe he did it to taunt him? Make him realize that he was screwed, you know?"

          He had a good idea, she had concluded. She brushed the hair framing her face back before sitting up, her legs crossing beneath her. Richie met her eyes curiously. "There's one thing about literature that you need to know, okay?"

          Seth's interest grew and he found himself looking over at the girl. "Everything is open for discussion. You could read something and take it one way, while I could read the same thing and take it a different way. Seth could even read it and find something different to believe than ours."

          Richie snorted suddenly. Amusement flushed over his sun burnt skin. Marisol found herself smiling, as well. "Seth? Read?" he joked. A slight giggle slipped past her smiling lips. Seth, now sitting up straight, glared at the two. "I read!" he snapped. Their laughter continued, forcing warmth to spread under his skin.

          His eyes flickered from his brother to the girl beside him. Her hand cradled her face, eyes shining. Her shoulders shook with her laughter. In that moment, he was reminded of the day they met. She was so full of life, a life that he found himself wanting to experience.

          "Okay, then," Seth cleared his throat with determination. "Fortunato embarrassed him, right? Am I remembering that right?" Richie's smile faltered, but he nodded nonetheless. There was a rush of air into Seth's ego balloon. "Okay. Then, maybe, the guy was crazy? Who else buries someone in their fucking wine cellar?" Marisol hid her smile behind her hand.

          His eyes moved from hers to her hand. There was a silver ring that sat on her middle finger. It resembled two vines wrapping around one another. It had been a gift from her father, originally having been owned by her aunt who passed. The sweat building on his skin slipped down the collar of his shirt.

          "It's pretty obvious he's crazy," Richie muttered. "But why did he feel the need to mock him?" Marisol's head snapped toward the younger boy. She quickly shook her head. "Who said he was mocking him?" she questioned. "Perhaps he was starting to feel the grasp of guilt, but the anger that pushed him to go this far was too strong for him to escape. Maybe this was his last change at redemption."

          A small smile founds its way onto Seth's face. Richie, however, looked even more confused. "But Fortunato deserved it," he argued. "He was a jerk. He humiliated him, hurt him several times."

          "No one deserves death, Richie." Her tone was soft. It sent a chill through Seth's veins. He drew in a small breath. "Maybe they do," he chimed in nonchalantly. He leaned back on his hands, excitement igniting inside him when her curious eyes met his. "Name one person who deserves death."

          "John Wayne Gacy," Richie immediately blurted out. "Ted Bundy, Jeffery Dahmer, Larry Eyler, to name a few."

          She fell silent. Both Seth and Richie shared a look before turning their attention back onto her. She looked thoughtful, like she was arguing with herself. "Some people are just bad people," Seth spoke up. "And bad people deserve the worst."

          "You don't think death is easy, though?" she asked. "I mean, think about it. Death is just taking the easy way out. Those men should suffer for what they did."

          Richie shrugged his shoulders. "Death can be painful. People say that drowning is one of the most agonizing ways to die." Seth made a noise of disgust. Marisol grimaced. She glanced toward Richie with a slight laugh. "It's kind of weird how much you know about these things, Rich." He felt his heart drop. "But I guess everyone has their interests."

          She placed her hand at the back of his head and smoothed down his hair with a smile. Suddenly, a blazing hot fire erupted through his skin. Seth laughed upon noticing the blush on his cheeks. "Yeah? What's yours then?" he asked.

          She shrugged her shoulders. There were many small things that she liked, but was there anything that she'd feel was worth sharing? Richie had an obsession with the dark stuff, and Seth was really into cars. What could her niche be?

          "I don't know," she admitted. "I think I prefer to live in the moment. Maybe my thing is just being present." Richie laughed. His eyes twinkled. She nudged his side with her fingers, a pout evident on her face. "You'll find it one day," Seth told her.

          Maybe, she thought. "There's no need to rush it." She scoffed, the pout vanishing and in turn being replaced with a smile. "Maybe it's cheesecake," Richie suggested. "She did eat three pieces."

          "You little shit," she teased, pushing the boy over onto his side. He gasped as he tumbled over. "Hey!" he replied. "I was just saying!

═══════ ❃ ═══════

          There weren't many things in life she hated. She had learned to accept even the worst of circumstances and turn them into strength, but there were three things she couldn't do that with. One of them was vomiting.

Curling in on herself, her throat burning as the contents in her stomach reappeared. The cold sweat that covered her skin, the trembling of her legs. It all made her want to cry, want to scream and curse God for making her this way.

          The moment she left the scene, she couldn't hold it back anymore. She pulled over and let everything in her body force itself out. She heaved, cried, shook with fervor. Her brain couldn't wrap around the idea of Richie doing such a thing. What had triggered this? What had made him change so drastically and turned him into a killer?

          Never in a million years had she thought that sweet Richie could maim a body so violently. She had never thought he could strangle someone, rip their eyes out, and vandalize the bodies. The thought of it continued to make her sick to her stomach.

          She had figured out that they were going to try and escape to Mexico. Why else would they have been in such a vacant place in Texas? Ever since, she had driven as fast as she could to reach the border. She swerved in and out of the occasional traffic, her eyes never leaving the sandy road.

She hadn't stopped, white knuckling the steering wheel, eyes dry from lack of blinking. She genuinely thought she would reach the border before nightfall, until smoke began to billow out from under her car hood.

The engine began to splutter, the speed decreasing at a fast pace. Her eyes widened in surprise. "No, no, no," she chanted, pressing her foot harder against the gas. A terrible shriek sounded from her car, resembling a wounded animal.

An old bar resided on her right side. Slowly, she made her way into the parking lot before her car died. White smoke hindered her view from the windshield. She released an angry groan before throwing off her seatbelt and getting out of her car. The door slammed closed behind her.

Mechanics was never something she could get into. As she stared at her car, she felt every sliver of hope inside of her dwindle. Her shoulders sagged forward in defeat. "Are you fucking kidding me?" she muttered, teeth biting into the inside of her cheek.

"You give me a sign and then screw me... Sadistic bastard." With one swift motion, she kicked the front tire hard. A slight pain jolted up to her knee, but she brushed it off with a grunt. She turned to face the old bar with cars and a single motorcycle out front. On the opposite side of the road was an RV.

Two people stood in front of it, the hood propped open. Her head tilted a bit until she noticed the tools in the dirt. "Okay," she spoke up, brushing her hands through her hair. "Maybe you didn't screw me completely. Sorry, big guy."

She jogged over to the two men. Inside, she spotted a young girl looking through the windshield. "Excuse me!" she called out to them, a nervous smile cracked across her mouth. The older man turned sharply, stunned by her appearance. "Car trouble?" She weakly pointed at the exposed engine.

The younger man nodded his head with a slight smile. "You know anything about cars?" he asked. She sucked in a quick breath, her hands coming to rest at her hips. "No. I was actually hoping you two do." They both looked at her with confusion. "My Camry just died on me, over there. And I have to get somewhere really fast. Could one of you give it a once over and tell me what I need to do to get back on the road?"

          The old man teetered on his feet. His glass eyes stared back at her blankly. "Sure. I can take a look." Her eyes snapped toward the younger man and she forced a thankful smile onto her face.

          She risked a second glance at the old man. His cheeks were s fresh pink, hair mused under his hat. His hand pressed flat against the side of the RV. "She's over here," she muttered, deciding to ignore the matter. The girl looked old enough to drive, anyway.

          She lead the guy back to her still smoking car. It looked pitiful. He whistled upon approaching it. "Yeah, that's not good." She fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Can you pop the hood for me?"

          He placed his tool box at his feet while she leaned into her car to open the front hood. Once he had gotten it propped up, he began his search for the problem. Marisol felt her eyes drift back toward the stationary RV.

          "What was going on there?" she asked, arms crossed, back pressed to the hot car. He didn't look up. "Busted hose. They should be on their way out right about now," he answered. Marisol's interest grew. "Did they say where they're headed?"

Curiously, he glanced around the hood of her car. "Family trip to Mexico." Her brows raised. She could catch a ride with them, maybe. If her car seems to have gone to motor heaven, that is. "Shit!"

Her head snapped back to the man kind enough to work on her car. He reeled away from the smoke, shaking his left hand with a grimace. "I think you're engine's overheated," he told her. "You're gonna be stuck here for a little while."

          "Seriously?" She pushed off of the car door harshly, hands flying to her already dampening hair. She exhaled heavily through her nose. "It's nice and cool inside. You could sit and wait in there, but its gonna take some time for this baby to cool down."

          Great, she thought. You did screw me over. Just as she was about ready to trudge inside, a scream erupted from a short distance. Her head whirled toward the sound to find that same girl on the ground, the RV inches away from rolling over her. Swiftly, Marisol sprinted in her direction.

          The old man stumbled out of the vehicle, following an Asian boy that looked a few years younger than the girl on the ground. She approached cautiously, grabbing the girl by her wrists and helping her up. "Are you okay?" she asked, not at all fazed by the confused stare she got in return.

          "Yeah," the girl responded, pushing her dark hair back behind her ears. Her eyes flickered toward her father before meeting Marisol's eyes again. "Thanks. I'm okay."

          "Katey, I'm so sorry," the old man rushed out anxiously. The girl frowned at her father. "I think I'm gonna drive," she sighed, holding her hands out for the keys. The old man reluctantly dug into his pockets and let the keys drop into her small hand.

          How was she supposed to bring this up? Marisol teetered on the heel of her foot before deciding to just get it over with. The worst that could happen is they say no.

          "I heard y'all were headed across the border." She cringed at how cheerful her voice sounded. All eyes turned to her in confusion. "I was, um, actually headed there myself, but my car died on me..." Kate shuffled the keys between her hands. "I'm sorry," the old man replied halfheartedly.

          She nodded her head and continued, "Yeah, I'm going to meet some old friends of mine. And I'm kind of on a time limit. Is there any way I could catch a ride with you?" The two teens turned to look at the old man, expecting him to answer. When he didn't, the young girl did. "Sure, but I'm not sure we're gonna make it to the border tonight."

          "That's fine! You can drop me off at a bus station or somewhere that doesn't smell like piss and liquor." The dark haired girl smiled, amused by Marisol. The boy watched silently, sizing her up. "I'm Marisol, by the way," she introduced herself, holding her hand out between she and the girl.

          "Kate," she answered, finally placing a name to a face. "That's my brother, Scott, and my dad, Jacob." Scott shook her hand, as well, but Jacob remained still. It wasn't until Kate uttered his title that he broke the intense stare he had pointed toward Marisol.

          "Let's go," Kate sighed, ushering her father back toward the door of the RV. "Let me go and grab my bag real quick." The older woman ran toward her car and threw open the backseat. Inside a duffle bag was a few changes of clothes, her phone charger, her badge, and her gun. After she checked to make sure she had everything, she slammed the door closed and locked the car.

          Marisol followed at the end of the group as they approached the door. It seemed that they had waited up for her. How sweet, she thought. "Thanks," she blurted out, startling the young girl. "I appreciate the kindness. You don't see much of that these days."

          "You're welcome," Kate answered with a smile only angels could make. Without another word, they all boarded the big vehicle and set off on their way.

rumi says . . .
this chapter was so much harder to write
but the ot3 flashback??? 😭
my heart beats for this trio

the fullers have been officially
introduced!! i bet you guys didn't
see this comin', huh? (;

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