Carolina Moon.

There are roughly seven-point-something billion people in the world today. All fiting into one of two categories friends-of or foes-to.

I fully recall,correctly, the night I met her. It was the first Sunday of the month, rain was stealing the air, too late and way too cold for anyone to be out. The sky had been as dark as the coffee I had been drinking. It was the night the lights went out in Georgia and the sheriff had blood stains on off-duty hands. 

Looking at her right, then and there, she had no hand out to flag down any of the numerous vehicles that had passed her before she came into sight and I saw her. She had her collar turned to the cold and damp air. She had no rain coat or umbrella; just an old leather jacket which looked amazing on her figure. It covered a white t-shirt, that had no bra beneath it's logo of some old rock band from the United Kingdom, that fit a little bit more than most. Thinking back on it I do not think she owned a pair of jeans that did not fit her just right. I did not ask her her name, this fallen angel melting like sugar in the rain, it wasn't important then at that moment.

She was about a mile south of the city, walking away from the neon lights, on an almost forgotten pass-through. I pulled over, out of curiosity, just out of the flow of traffic, up next to her; rolled down the window and offered a warm ride. She had no idea of where to go and how to get there--- if there was a there to go to. The woman was beautiful with eyes that seems to warm the cold mist amidst us; with a smile that possibly carried the gasoline: my life felt the flammability. Jenna seemed off, for lack of a better cliche of course, yet very much put together; in a way that was a candidate for perfection. She is stuck in my head writing the lines.

We set up on the tail gate of the old J-200, music playing in the background of the conversation, staring out into the structures of what made the skyline off in the distance between my heaven and her hell. We talked as an hour passed like old friends under an overcasted Carolina moon obstructed by a palm tree. There was something about that stormy southern sky, and the wind blowing her hair around, sitting up against that Carolina moon that went perfect with her eyes.Making the stars burn brighter than expected.

"Oh my goodness, this is my favorite song, Come with me." Turning up the radio through the window. Before I knew it she had my hands pulling me into the headlights. I held her close as we swayed against the wind. Her heart rate increases just a little bit more than mine or maybe it was mine: which could have been the case if it was not melting. Her body was something between lukewarm an lava.

"Play it again". Almost a wish for the radio frequency to grant, a whisper sweet to the ears of God, a desired pled. And I would have asked for a repeat of it if I hadn't gotten lost in the kiss. I was able to taste the midnight on her lips flavored with Bacardi; making me just wanna lean in for another kiss. I would have given the station my every penny to have a second round. The night looked good on her.

We drove for a while to a hotel, a place I knew well, and set at the bar. The bar tender did not reach for the beer or a glass instead he handed us the good stuff. For most the whiskey would have drowned the memories but with her the memories out done the liquor. It went from one to one of two too many. I hoped that she keeps flirting and painting pictures that were dirty in the back of my mind.

***

Once in the room we were just hanging around the fire place, Sipping on some coke-mixed, ice cold Jack Daniel's, When I pulled out my guitar plucking her favorite song by Alabama. she walks up and staddles my lap, as she bits my ear, while whispering between her teeth. The words I had to make sure I knew the meaning of.

"All I want to do is make love to you. Let's light it up and burn it all down like it is your last night to get a little tangled up right about now." Something about the way she was smiling told me the bottles of whiskey were singing temptations in our ears;it makes me want to lay her down. Because she knew that it was working.She was hitting the right switch so our shadows could dance.

Soft fingers slip through the tear in my t-shirt. Before laying tangled up naked in the hotel bed.

Passionately we made love like strangers

All night long.

I woke some time the next morning, later that usual, around eleven o'clock to a note taped to the pillow that still smelt like honeydew melon.

"Don't try to find me, please don't you dare, Just live in my memory, you'll always be there. I love it when you sing it makes me feel like an angel.You know that I loved loving you."

I found out at check out that she left around eight that morning, and took the two twenties I had in my wallet, after a man had approached her at her table during breakfast.

After unofficially flashing my official badge I told the head security guard a few lines, all lies of course, and was able to see the film from that time. I have seen the guy before, but wasn't sure where or as to why, and that made me feel uneasy. I re-rented the room for a few nights under the impression that a case had developed. One that was not yet on the books and I hoped would not get there.

On and off the clock, around the clock, I looked into what I felt was going to be a new missing persons posting. Jenna turned out to be Kimmie Scottsdale from North Carolina. She was only 25 and the wife to Boarhead counties' beloved sheriff: Sheriff Joshua "Logan" Scottsdale; who was 13 years older than her --- closer to my age of 36.

She had spent the last few months running from him. Everyone in their too-quite and cozy little-big town just thought she was off visiting a cancer-ridden mother in the costal area dotting the map as White Rapids, South Carolina, just north of Hurricane Valley, Georgia. She was there but not for the reasons told or believed. At the time I wondered if her family knew she was in the neighborhood. I wasn't looking forward to giving them the call... And more importantly the one I did give...

***

Determined to get answers I took every phone call that flooded my lines. That is how I got the call from the morgue, four stories below, about a body that was found in a storm drain by a crew from W.S..D. That matched with a missing persons report that magically disappeared from the A.P.Bs and B.O.L.Os. Doctor Westener only knew about it because he had a habit of printing out every one that floats in.

" Hey Mike I don't think it is or will be, (your missing girl, that you asked me to keep an eye out for, but I have...)"

" On my way down..." I'm not sure if I was speaking into the receiver at all.Before he could finish the sentence I was eight steps closer to the elevators. I ran from the lifts straight to lab three --- it was the one Doc set up and aside for Victims of special interest a.k.a missing persons.

I pulled back the sheet that fit the figure I knew was her's with out an ounce of doubt: I had spent a whole night tracing every line that made it unfortunately unforgivingly unforgettable. And if there was something of a doubt, for whatever reason, than the tattoo she had wasn't the only one out there worn by someone. It stuck out from the cover right next to the toe-tag reading Jane Doe/ Kimberly Summer Shultz who was not yet known as Mrs Scottsdale to us. I held up, leaning toward the cold lifeless body that I had felt the flames of God running through the veins beneath nights before, holding off on showing any effect on me at looking at her like she was now. Wes, as we called him, read the article on the status of what happened.

As he read I studied the only thing that was believed to be the same woman I knew, even my mind could not shake the fact that it was my Jenna, playing his words like a movie behind my eyes. "Vic was found in the back yard of what is being developed for Lutheran Church ( doc made sure to point out that was the guy's name and not a title for a building), between the wooded area dotting the map ( he handed me an shot of the land) and the golf course, halfway between the hours of 22 and 23 hundred." I studied the map, as much as I hate golf I have actually been there before and played a game with my old lieutenant--- I write it off as an undercover job --- and a mob boss, I'll get there as soon as I get out of the room. But first... He continues with the answers.

" A stab wound to the right of the neck followed by a served cut from right to left across the neck at a downward pulling". I had to open my eyes. "I can't be sure as to the correct cause for the brown markings on the neck, shoulders, back, inter thighs, and breast but it seems like the signature of a hell of a good time." Only if he knew, only if he knew the love we made, the way her skin tasted and melted in the warmth of my mouth. I tried to get rid of the image pleasuring my mind. She walked like an woman, looked like a Goddess, and fucked like the world on fire; tasted like heaven and was built for bedroom sins. And now my bloody valentine.

" You with us, Mikey?" Broke me from the list of things that were perfect about her. I looked up, blinked a few times, and motioned to carry on. " The finder, and only witness...."

"Witness..." I currently woke up, like I had been in a comma between life and death for centuries, reaching for the folder. Before flying through pages,with the gift of speed reading, faster than my fingers could flip the pages.

" Page 12. Second paragraph." Gloving his awkwardly long hands.

"Yeah... Yeah". Turning to p.12." status on", reading the name instently, " Amber Coatsweb".

***

She stood there watching me and my partner walk up the cobbler stone driveway lined with cedar trees that still held the Christmas spirit. Whyeck, my partner for the last ten years, looks out at the two twenty something year old joggers passing by on the trail of the community golf course. I pulled out my badge.

Flashing the shield," Ms. Coatsweb, I'm detective Michael Hawhyngsonn", pointing to the right, " that is detective Mitch Whyeck. We spoke on the phone about the other day. Can we come in."

The house was beyond well kept. Every wall was plastered with the rewards of having large money. A common theme was fishing... Deep water fish off shore. I had a feeling something about the way Ms Coatsweb liked things was not truly appreciate by anyone else. It looked like she lived alone and prefers it that way.

" That looks like it could do some real destruction to.... fish". Whyeck cleared his throat with pointing out the spear head hanging on the wall above the trophy it took that day. A nearby large cologe of picture captured the moment confirming the relationship between the two. Time stamp on the status read July the sixth of 2012.

With the witness talked to it was time to track down Kimberly's past. I was lead to a county in central North Carolina, a few hours and good miles away, and planned on heading there as soon as I could.

****

The sheriff, a big fella by the name of Logan, was very much interested in the opportunity to work with us. Little did I know was that he had a great deal of secrets to keep. And when I discovered that I wondered what he would do to keep them from coming to light.

Two days into the matter, All spent in the other Carolina, I was able to strike his name off of the list of potential suspects. Too much quickly lead me away from him even though he was more involved in this case than he should have been: but his off-record confession cleared him. In the morning I would be heading back, to the office, no closer to the answers: than I thought I would have been by now.

I was on I 95 heading south when I get the call. I drove, pass my exit, heading to the blood stained town in Georgia. Doc gave me a lead on the object use to murder his victim.

A spear head.

Ms Coatsweb happened to be shorter than Kimmie: the reason for the downward pulling of the weapon through the Vic's neck. And left handed: making the cut from right to left. More importantly she was the sheriff of the county of Hurricane Valley's township; she allowed the city boys to handle it: she wasn't counting on me showing up as a detective for the F.B.I. She would put out the missing persons bulletins hoping to close in on Kimberly and Kimberly's husband would take them down. Kimberly's husband was having an affair with Amber.... She wanted to take Kimmie's place. Kimberly left so that her husband could make his mind up... She was long-and-done with him long ago and returned to her maiden name of Shultz. Coatsweb wanted to make sure that he continues to choose her: at all costs. She followed Mrs Scottsdale and I with the new idea of framing me for murder--- again unknown to who or what I was. The morning my Jenna disappeared sheriff Coatsweb sent a message to Kimmie through a dangerous repeat offender; for crimes against women. Kimmie was his last known victim: the results was the meeting of the responding officer, at the time deputy, who would become her husband. Only thing was only three people were suppose to have known any of this...

... Until the night me and Jenna turned the lights out in Georgia... And the sheriff had blood stains on her hands. Under my Carolina Moon.