The Moon and the Mustache

Chapter 1: The Fall

Billy

The moon was bright that night, a perfect silver coin cast against an endless stretch of a dark, blue night sky. Not a single cloud drifted to obscure its glow, leaving the world beneath it bathed in pale, ghostly light. The wind cut through my raven hair as I ran, my bare feet whispering over the cool, damp earth. Each breath I took carried the scent of pine, wet moss, and the distant brine of the ocean. This was home. The wildness. The solitude.

I wasn't running from anything—not exactly. I loved my pack, but I craved moments like this, where my thoughts were mine alone. No shared consciousness, no voices bleeding into my own. Just me, the night, and the rhythmic pounding of my heartbeat against my ribs.

The trees thinned as I neared Incinerator Rock. The cliffs stood tall and proud, their jagged edges softened by centuries of wind and waves. This was where the boys of the tribe took their leap, proving themselves to the pack. A rite of passage. The night I jumped, I'd been fearless, adrenaline flooding my veins as I plummeted into the abyss. I still remembered the way the cold water had swallowed me whole, the way my lungs had burned as I fought for the surface, emerging victorious, baptized by the sea.

Tonight, though, the tide was too low. The jagged teeth of the rocks below were bared, waiting.

I exhaled, long and slow, closing my eyes to hold onto the memory a little longer. But just as I let the breath go, something snapped. A twig.

My muscles tensed as I whipped around, heart hammering. No one should have followed me here. My instincts, honed by years of hunting, screamed at me.

Then I saw her.

She was pale, unnaturally so, as if the moonlight had seeped into her skin and never left. Her black eyes were soulless pits, a predator's gaze locked onto me. Her lips, thin and bloodless, curled into a tight grin. Her hair, fire red and unruly with curls, rippled unnaturally in the still night air. Had she been watching me? Following me?

Before I could react, she was there—too close, too fast. Her breath was ice against my skin, her touch colder still. Then, with a cruel smile, she pressed her lips to mine. A parody of a kiss.

And then—

I was airborne.

Falling.

The wind roared in my ears, the rocks rushed toward me. My body twisted, bracing for impact, but there was no time—

And then, nothing.

No water, no pain, no breath.

When people ask me what I remember from that night, I tell them the truth.

Nothing.

Nothing except that damn mustache.

Charlie

"Hey, Charlie!" Sheriff Harris called from his desk. "Head down to the res for me, would ya? Got a report about some shifty figures."

I looked up from the paperwork in front of me, my coffee long gone cold. I wasn't one to question orders—not yet, anyway. "Alright," I said, pushing back my chair and tightening my belt.

Harris leaned back, folding his hands behind his head. "Those folks down at the res, they can handle themselves. Probably just some skittish tourist seeing shadows. If it's nothing, head straight back."

There was something in his tone that stuck with me, but I let it slide.

Forks was small, quiet. Crime here was little more than shoplifting and the occasional drunk-and-disorderly. Our force was thin, just a handful of us, and anything bigger than a domestic dispute, we called in the state boys. But I wanted to be more than that. I wanted to be the kind of cop people could rely on.