out damned spot 🥀

FULL NAME  Mateo Morales

NICKNAMES Matt

GENDER Cismale

PRONOUNS He/Him

AGE 45

BIRTHPLACE Paraiso, Arizona

CURRENT LOCATION Paraiso, Arizona.

SEXUALITY Homosexual. 

LANGUAGES English, Spanish

ZODIAC SIGN Scorpio  

OCCUPATION Police officer

TRAITS - 

Positive - Loyal, loving, hard working, thorough, discreet, imaginative

Negative - Violent, impulsive, erratic, patronising, obsessive, exhausted 

Written Aesthetics: trembling hands, easily irritated, worn down by the monotony of routine, nauseating guilt, soft breeze at twilight, eyes dark from tiredness, long forgotten plans to escape, the sound of water boiling over, sleep is for the weak, going by unnoticed, 3am news bulletin, wrinkles in the corners of your eyes, sweet packets in the glove compartment, lonely cigarettes

TLDR; Worn out cop Mateo grew up in Paraiso, and had always intended to leave. His youth was spent tortured by an unrequited love, his best friend Jose. When Jose got married and took Mateo on a celebratory hunting trip, Mateo was overcome by jealousy and seized the opportunity of a moment alone with Jose’s wife to end her life. Mateo claimed to have lost her in the woods, becoming lost himself for days afterwards and no one has questioned him since. The crime haunts him, and he's constructed the image for himself of a hard working cop, in some effort to be at peace with his crime. These days he’s usually exhaustedly following the trail of the MC’s criminal activity, irritating his coworkers with his know-it-all attitude. 

BIO

Small-town boy, from a home full of love. Mum and dad were not rich but they got by, sending Mateo and his warm faced siblings out into the desert to entertain themselves, bikes scuffing up red dust, sticking to their ankles to be trailed in home later. His big brown eyes pointed to the sun as Mateo threw his head back laughing. A pile of them, energetic and itching to grow, to crack out of this town. He planned to drive one day and keep driving, speakers blasting tinny promises of somewhere else. 

Jose had always been Mateo's best friend, that man whose presence Mateo hung around for. His shoulders were strong, hands gentle. He was kind to everyone, in this town of people often too hardened. Mateo watched him grow alongside him, his body stretching out and folding into the soft shape of a man. Muted stares pointed at Jose’s body marked Mateo out as friends swam together by the creek, drinking beer and laughing. There were moments, the smallest defining moments, that let Mateo know it wasn’t entirely unrequited. Silent squeezes of a hand, that one drunken kiss mixed with slurred apologies. For the longest time Mateo told himself it was a friendship, a bond. As if that explains the way Mateo could be woken up by the mere thought of Jose’s name.

People dropped like flies into domesticity. Mateo worked hard to avoid it, getting his police training done at a sensible age, words full of promise exchanged with Jose at the bar kept him motivated. They were going to travel together. Maybe just to the two of them and the road would let things fall into place. Those red roads of dust neverending, Jose would be forced to look at Mateo properly, and finally realise. If they could just hold out till then.

Suburbia claimed Jose all too quickly. All starting with that girl and her shock white smile. She moved with mother’s warmth, all hips and honeysuckle scent. She looked at Jose with hunger, like she had a plan for him. She looked at him the same way Mateo did. These days Jose spoke less of travel, more of local spots and weekend plans. Her name stayed in his mouth, until they moved in together.

Mateo couldn’t realise this was his time to go it alone. But it was too late, unrequited teenage love had maligned into something stagnant.  An ugly obsession that bubbled under the surface in Mateo, bringing violence to his fingertips. He was left wandering, seemingly in circles, the same town he had for years, nothing to pull him away anymore. 

A sticky hot Sunday in June, Jose and his now-wife invited Mateo on a hunting trip. Mateo and a few friends went along, and Mateo spent the weekend the same way he’d always spent them with Jose, making sure no one noticed how long he stared.

Mateo wishes the situation had never arisen, he and her separated from the group, feet heavy snapping fresh branches. It was too easy for them to get lost, forest darkening as it swallowed the two of them. It happened in a very distinct set of moments. Mateo looked down at his gun, realizing how alone they were. Mateo watched her hands trace the edge of the leaves as she passed, and he thought about all the times the same hands have caressed Jose’s face. How she listens to his sleepy late night confessions, his concerns. She stands strong for Jose, which is all Mateo felt he was born to do.

It was over so quickly, a bullet to the head. Mateo took a deep inhale afterwards. It was just Mateo and Jose alone in the world again now. Space for things to settle into the way they should be. At last. Mateo was careful, using his experience in the worst way. He hid the body so no one would find her, and camped up in the forest for a few days. He returned later, bedraggled and confused, mumbling stories of beasts and chases, starving in the darkness. 

They presumed him too dehydrated to recall anything accurately. All he could recall for sure was that he lost her to the forest, heaving through sobs of fake grief. They searched for her for days. It was hard for Mateo to look at Jose through his mourning. If only Mateo could have explained this was for his own good, that this would end up well for him. For them. 

Things didn’t go to plan. Jose crumbled into the shell of a man, drinking and grieving at the same time. He certainly didn’t speak to Mateo anymore. Other people thought this was understandable, as Mateo was the last person to see her alive. Mateo thought this an injustice. 

It’s been 25 years since Mateo killed Jose’s wife. He’s remorseful now. He knows he was blinded by jealousy and he wants nothing from Jose. The only things that linger are the sounds of the gunshots that wake him with a start. Those too long looks from people that make Mateo feel like a suspect. A suspect in a crime that was never questioned, never even labelled a crime. He thinks about her a lot these days, what her life would have looked like, how happy she could have made Jose.

Mateo formed a life for himself still in Paraiso, doing the right thing every day as a worn out police officer. He holds himself highly, a man of esteem, not a man who would kill in cold blood. This self image is pervasive, the good cop, he clings to it desperately. It’s the only thing that tackles the horror that lines him. That trickles to the surface late at night. 

HC’s 

Years after the murder, Mateo started to think about his place in the world. He realised he was never leaving paraiso, and deep down he would probably have liked to settle down with someone. But he’d never allow himself that, a self inflicted prison sentence - justified. Occasionally it’s visible in flowers brought home and left to dry out, making the bed neatly as if someone might see it

Mateo exists on coffee and junk food

He has a soft spot for the cinema, and can be found there if he ever has a shift off.He’s demonised the activity of the MC and has endless energy to work against them

WC’s

Siblings? Hmu, maybe even a sibling who suspects his crime.

Old Friends? People who grew up with him, who knew Mateo and Jose long term