Chapter Text
Scene: Dexter’s Condo - Two days since Rita’s Death
Dexter sat in the armchair in his living room uncomfortably, not knowing how he was going to break the news to Cody and Astor.
When he heard the knock he prepared himself with a deep breath and opened the door.
“Dexter!” Cody yelled, running in and giving him a leg-hug.
“Hi Dexter,” Astor said, a small smile on her face, contrasted by the looks on their grandparents’ faces.
“Dexter what’s wrong, you usually pick me up when I see you?” Cody asked.
“And why are we here and not at home?” Astor asked.
Dexter’s face remained blank as he struggled to find the words.
“How about we all sit down and I can tell you,” Dexter said as they all went to sit.
Dexter cleared his throat, “Your Mom, something happened and she was in an accident,” he paused, the words sticking in his throat momentarily, “She died.”
The rest of the day was blurred into tears and resentment as the children packed to move to Orlando with their grandparents.
“They’ll be better off in Orlando… Far from me.”
Dexter waved goodbye, his face still unreadable as they left.
Scene: Dexter’s Condo - One week since Rita’s death
Deb sighed and muttered to herself, “Fucking A Dex, I said I’d help, not do the whole damn thing.”
Deb sat at Dexter’s counter, which was littered with papers. Legal documents, flower catalogs, funeral home brochures. If you could name it, it was probably there.
Just then, the door opened and in walked Dexter, Harrison in hand.
“Hey,” Dexter said, “How’s it going?”
“Hey yourself,” Deb responded, “Its going, I guess… How about you, any luck?”
“Nope,” Dexter replied dryly.
“Dude what the he-… heck?,” she said, wanting to watch her language around Harrison, “I mean that’s gotta be… what like the 15th nanny you’ve interviewed? I think your standards might be too high.”
“I just want the absolute best for Harrison,” Dexter said, his tone only sounding warm nowadays when talking about Harrison, “I need someone I can trust.”
“Yeah,” Deb sighs, “I know, I could just use some help with this… crud.”
She gestured to the mess on his counter.
Dexter paused for a moment, “Do you think anyone at the station knows someone?”
Debra shrugged, “Not sure, but it’s not a bad idea,” she paused, “Come to think of it, have you scheduled that FBI interview yet?”
Dexter flexed his jaw, “Not yet, but I will.”
“Dex!”
He holds his hands up in surrender, “Okay. I’ll go down to the station and get that sorted and while I’m there I’ll ask around about a nanny. Alright?”
“Good,” Deb sighed, “Now go.”
He strapped Harrison into his car seat and started the engine of his Ford Escape. As he passed the impound lot, he eyed it, always curious about what vehicles were in there. Soon, he pulled into the parking lot.
Walking back into the bullpen he received many odd looks, most notably from Quinn. On his way to where the FBI had set up, he was stopped by Angel.
“Woah Amigo, what are you doing here?” he asked, a bit concerned.
“Gotta schedule an interview with the FBI,” Dexter said dryly.
“Ay dios mío,” Angel shook his head, “Listen to me, the whole department is with you and it’s only FBI protocol, you’ll be in and out in 5 minutes top.”
“Unless the FBI figures out who Kyle Butler really is…”
“Yeah I know…” Dexter sighed, “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know any good nannies? I’m gonna need one for Harrison.”
“Actually you’re in luck, my friend,” Angel smiled, trying to lighten the mood, “my kid sister, Jaime, has been looking for a nanny job. Here’s her number,” he wrote the number down on a piece of paper, tearing it from the pad and handing it to Dexter.
“Great, I’ll set something up,” Dexter said taking the paper, “Thanks Angel.”
“Anytime, Dex” Angel patted him on the shoulder.
Dexter nodded and continued towards the FBI’s room of operation.
“Dexter Morgan,” Agent Ross said, “Finally going to schedule your interview?”
“Yep,” Dexter nodded, “Next Friday work?”
“Its less than ideal,” Ross said, “but yes.”
“Great,” Dexter said already turning to leave, “See you then.”
Walking past the bullpen, he felt a pair of eyes on him, glancing over he didn’t see anyone looking.
“Quinn looks busy, too busy”
Dexter narrowed his eyes and left, Quinn looking back up when he saw Dexter walk away from the corner of his eye.
Scene: Dexter’s Apartment – Two days later
Dexter sat across from Jaime, Harrison on his lap, ready to grill her.
“Do you work well with kids?” Dexter asked his eyebrows furrowed.
“Oh for sure, especially this cutie,” Jaime smiled at Harrison, eliciting a smile back from the infant.
“Do you know how to change a diaper?”
“Yep, done it a million times.”
“Do you have reliable transportation?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what to do if a child begins to choke.”
“Sure do, learned that in a nanny class.”
“Do you have a reference for your character?”
Jaime chuckled a bit, but then realized Dexter was serious, “Yeah, you can ask Angel.”
Dexter nodded, “Are you available all week?”
“Yes,” Jaime answered, sighing a bit.
“Do yo-”
“Jesus Dex,” Deb cut him off, “What is this, an interview or an interrogation? I’m pretty sure Angel wouldn’t have recommended her if he didn’t feel she was up to the job.”
Jaime looked over at her and smiled, “Thanks”
“Don’t worry about it, he’s just mega protective of him,” Deb said.
“I can tell,” Jaime chuckled.
Dexter sat uncomfortably, “How can I be sure Harrison likes her?”
Debra rolled her eyes, “Hand him to her fucknuck,” she clasped her hand over her mouth, “sorry…”
Dexter reluctantly got up and handed Harrison to Jaime as if he were made of glass. Taking him equally as gingerly.
“Aren’t you just the cutest,” Jaime said rocking him gently.
Harrison cooed and reached his hands up at Jaime.
Deb elbowed Dexter and whispered in his ear, “That means he likes her, fuckwad.”
With Dexter’s fears being somewhat alleviated, Jaime and him worked out her schedule and pay before she left.
“Goodbye Harrison,” she waved walking out, the door closing with a click.
“What do you think, Deb?”
“What do I think? I think you’re lucky she put up with your BS,” Deb scoffed, “She’s gonna be a great nanny.”
Scene: Forever Cemetery, Miami – Almost two weeks after Rita’s Death
“Rita was the sun. No matter what happened, what I was going through she was always there. A light bright enough to dispel any darkness. But not just for me, for her friends, and of course her family. She was a fighter, a protector, a wife, and a mother. Without her, I feel as if I’ve lost a part of myself, like I’m hollow. Without her, it seems as if the world is dull, lost it’s color,” he paused for a moment, “It’s now that I’d like to take a moment of silence to not just remember and honor her, but to celebrate her accomplishments, including her three amazing children,” Dexter said.
The small crowd, which included: Deb, Jaime with Harrison, Sylvia, Cody, Astor, and their grandparents, were silent for many moments.
Dexter cleared his throat and said, “Thank you,” stepping down from the podium.
As Rita’s casket was lowered into the grave, Dexter thought, “What is it that I’m feeling? Is this grief? No, just regret.”
Astor, and by extension, Cody wouldn’t look at Dexter as they filed back into to go back to Orlando for the final time. Dexter watched them go with a swirl of sensations in his chest.
Deb snapped Dexter out of his trance-like state, rubbing his back supportively, “You did a great job Dex, that speech was touching.”
She wiped lingering tears from her eyes as Sylvia walked up, “I’m very sorry for your loss Dexter, I know how much she meant to you.”
Not saying anything, Dexter nodded and Sylvia left. In truth, Dexter didn’t really know how he felt, he definitely felt something but what that was? A mystery to him. He was just trying his best to live up to Harry’s code and blend in, and if that meant playing the part of grieving widower, then so be it.
Scene: Miami Metro Homicide Interrogation Room – Two weeks after Rita’s death
“Thank you for coming in, Mr. Morgan,” Agent Ross said, taking a seat at the metal table, the harsh fluorescent light reflecting off its many scratches, “I just have a few questions and you’ll be out of here.”
“Alright.”
“Firstly, where were you at the time of your wife’s death,” he asked, leaning forward slightly.
“On my boat. Fishing.”
“Alone?”
“Yes, alone. There are cameras at the marina, you can see me leaving and returning.”
“I’ve seen the footage Mr. Morgan. The only problem is according to the coroner’s report, your wife was dead before you got on the boat.”
“Anger is much easier to fake than grief.”
“Is that what this is about?” Dexter slams the table and starts to shout, “Are you fucking serious!”
Ross backed up slightly, startled by Dexter’s sudden outburst.
Taking a quick breath, he spoke again, “Are you seriously suggesting that I had anything to do with the murder of my wife? That I’d kill her in my own house?”
“Mr. Morgan, I know that you were at Arthur Mitchel’s house…”
“This is it… its over”
“… at the time of your wife’s death, you were a part of the team that raided the house.”
“Right,” Dexter exhaled, “Of course.”
“The FBI is just looking for a reason that Arthur Mitchel would have targeted her.”
Dexter put on his best confused, grieving face, “Because… hes a serial killer….?”
Dexter silently let out a relieved sigh as he walked out of the room, dismissed, no further questioning.
“How’d it go?” Deb asked, standing in the bullpen.
“Fine,” he said, “I didn’t tell them anything they didn’t already know.”
“We miss you here brotha,” Masuka said walking up.
“How’s handling the whole department by yourself?”
“What? You mean like normal,” he said, breaking out into his trademark laugh.
Dexter laughed and said his goodbyes. As he was exiting he glanced at the impound lot once more. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
“Is my dark passenger trying to tell me something?”
He pulled up and parked outside, grabbing the spare forensics kit he always kept in his ford, he flashed his laminate and walked in.
His eyes narrowed as he walked slowly, scanning all of the vehicles, looking for something, anything, out of the ordinary. None of the vehicles looked out of place, mostly economy cars with a few sports or muscle cars, probably idiots who tried to run from cops. Just as he was about to turn around and leave he spotted something.
A white panel van, the left side crumpled, it was obviously in a bad accident. Dexter noted the plate number as he stepped closer. He opened the back doors, it was almost as if a switch was flipped and he was in total forensic inspector mode.
“It was obviously used by some sort of contractor. Toolbox, blowtorch, copper pipe fittings… odds are plumber.”
Dexter furrowed his brows, he was missing something, he could feel it. On that hunch, he opened his kit, grabbing his fingerprint dust. His brows furrowed impossibly further as he checked all the normal spots in a vehicle: wheel, gearshift, A/C and radio controls. But no prints.
“No prints?” Dexter thought, raising an eyebrow, “What are you hiding?”
Dexter checked more thoroughly, dusting seams and edges, places often overlooked when quickly rubbing prints, as Dexter suspected was done.
Not too long after Dexter found something.
“Its not perfect, a roughly 60% partial. But if I can find this, they must have missed something else, something I can use.”
After a few more minutes of searching the interior of the van for any more prints, fiber, any sort of forensic evidence, Dexter was getting frustrated.
“Maybe they knew what they were doing after all…” Dexter thought, climbing out of the van. But as he was closing the door, the afternoon sun caught a reflection of something red.
Dexter stopped instantly, looking closer, on the inside lip of the back doors, a small red smudge was visible.
“It seems my dark passenger was right,” Dexter thought as he carefully scraped the dried blood into a vial.
Driving home, Dexter was conflicted. It was this very double life he was living that put everything he cared about in danger. But his dark passenger, his need, was growing everyday. But then again, maybe he needed this distraction, needed to channel the urges, or his thirst for blood would slip into his normal life, into Harrison.
“Harrison will, no, he has to remain untouched by my darkness.”
Later that night, a while after he sent Jaime home, and Harrison was finally down for the night, Dexter sat at the desk in his condo. His home was so much more quiet than he was used to. No Astor and Cody running around bickering, Harrison finally sleeping through the night reliably, and Rita wasn’t there talking to him about each other’s day or finally happy to have some ‘alone time’ with her husband.
“Peace and quiet. I’ve always preferred it,” Dexter thinks, but his chest feels as if its sinking.
He shrugs it off and picks up his phone.
“Hey Deb, you wanna come over for a beer?”
Half an hour later, Deb was sitting at the counter opposite Dexter, who was standing.
Deb, finally breaking the silence, “Well I had quite the fucking day,” taking a swig from the beer.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah the whole station is a fucking shit-show since the FBI are still there. Getting in everyone’s goddamn way,” she pauses to take a sip, “And there’s something going on with Joey.”
Dexter pays more attention, recalling the suspicious glances, “What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know,” she shakes her head, “It’s probably nothing but he’s just seemed so aggravated lately but I can’t tell why.”
“Hm,” Dexter nods, “Very weird.”
“Is Quinn onto me?”
“And there’s this case I’m on, some slimy fucker in a van killed a woman in a hit-and-run and we’ve got no leads. Because of course it happened at the one goddamn intersection of Miami with no traffic cameras!”
Dexter raised his eyebrows, “Forensic team didn’t find anything?”
“No, the fucker wiped his prints before running, or at least that’s what we assume, maybe he’s just a freak that drives with gloves all the time.”
“Once again, I’m saved by the incompetence of Masuka. But knowing my sister, she’ll find something. I’m on the clock now.”
“You sure it wasn’t a ghost driving?” Dexter asked, cracking a smile.
“Fuck off,” she rolled her eyes.
After a brief moment of silence Dexter speaks again, “So I’ve actually been thinking I might go back to work on Monday.”
Deb instantly furrows her eyebrows, “Fucking A! Are you sure you want to, Dex?”
“Yeah,” he nods, “Everything is in order now, Harrison has a reliable sitter, Astor and Cody are moved into their grandparents, and the funeral is over.”
“But that doesn’t mean you have to go back to work. Take the rest of the time to, I dunno, deal with your shit!”
Dexter sighs lightly, “Well I’m sure that right now Vince is drowning in work. And honestly Deb? I’d like some work to get lost in right now.”
“I can think of a great place to start when I get back,” he rubs the vial in his pocket.
“Vince can manage,” Deb retorts, “Besides throwing yourself into work isn’t gonna make you feel any better.”
“That’s what you do,” Dexter shrugs.
“First of all,” Deb says, holding her index finger up, “Fuck you,” she pauses, “But if that’s what you really want, I’m not gonna stop you. And LaGuerta certainly isn’t either. You’re right, the lab is taking forever to get results back.”
She purses her lips, wondering if she really wants to say whats been on her mind for weeks, “Dex… what is going on with you?”
Dexter looks confused, “What do you mean?”
“Christ, what do you think I mean? Your wife was murdered and it’s like you’ve completely shut me out!” she says, exasperated, “I never really know whats going on in your head, but I generally have some sort of idea, but the past few weeks… just nothing.”
“Deb, I-” he began to speak but was cut off.
“It’s exactly the same as when Dad died. You just shrink back inside your shell and I can’t get anything out of you. You never cried after Dad died. But I know you cared about him, you two were fucking thick as thieves. You’re all that I got Dex… let me in. Just a little. Please?”
Dexter was quiet as he gathered his thoughts, trying to decipher the storm of sensations in his chest, “Losing Harry… felt like losing a part of myself. I knew it was coming, but it still changed everything. Harry was always there to… steady the ship, without him, I thought I was going to capsize,” Dexter said, a small quiver in his voice, “And now losing Rita… it’s like losing Harry all over again. Except this time, it’s my fault.”
Debra grasped one of Dexter’s hand with both of hers, Dexter slightly flinching as she did, “Dex it’s not your fault. Get that through your thick fucking skull, okay?”
Dexter opened his mouth as if he was going to speak, but slowly closed it. Deb squeezed his hand before withdrawing it.
“It’s okay, I know you don’t like talking about feeling and stuff. Thank you for letting me in, even if it was just a little.” Deb said gently, “You know you can talk to me anytime?”
Dexter nodded.
“Good.”
Dexter strolled into the station on Monday, wearing his typical blue button up with the sleeves rolled, bag slung over his shoulder.
“Hey socio, what are you doing here? Aren’t you still on leave?” Angel asked, intercepting Dexter as he was walking to his lab.
“Yeah but there’s still criminals to catch, and I don’t think they take leave,” Dexter joked.
“If you’re up to it, I’m not gonna complain,” Angel smiled, patting him on the shoulder, “Nice to have you back, amigo.”
After being interrupted a few more times, he finally got to his lab, closing the door and praying he could get a few moments to himself to deal with his extracurricular project.
He withdrew the vial of dried blood from his shirt pocket and placed it into the vial rack on his desk and after a few minutes, Dexter had the sample ready and started the search for matches.
Then, he started to run the partial that he got through the AFIS database. But just as he hit the enter key to initiate the search, fingerprints flashing rapidly on his screen, the system searching for matching features, there was a quick knock before his lab door began to open.
Quickly, he minimized the application, leaving just his wallpaper; a picture of him, Rita, and the kids visible on the screen.
Dexter looked up at who had entered, “Hey Deb, what’s up?”
“Well… I was kinda hoping for a favor,” she said nervously chewing on her lip, “I know you just got back so you can tell me to fuck off…”
“Let’s hear it,” Dexter responded.
“Okay, I really got nothin’ with this hit-and-run case and I was wondering if you’d do a forensic sweep of the van. Find anything the other team might have missed, fresh pair of eyes, y’know? Or maybe you’d get a hunch or something.”
“It’ll be a while before either the blood sample or print has any results, I could kill some time.”
Dexter nodded, “Sure. But don’t get your hopes up.”
“You’re the fucking best,” Deb said, beaming.
And so Dexter and Debra went down to the impound lot and he did another sweep, subtly cleaning the rest of the bloodstain. He wanted to hunt alone, not wanting to have to compete with Miami Metro PD.
Emerging from the van, Dexter shook his head, “The perp must have known what he was doing, I didn’t find anything.”
“Sorry Deb, even if it means torpedo-ing your investigation. This prey is mine.”
“Fuck. Thanks anyways for looking bro.”
The rest of Dexter’s day just consisted of lab work. It seemed the good people of Miami had decided to give Dexter an easy first day back by not murdering each other. That, or they were getting better at covering it up.
Nearing the end of the day, Dexter received a notification in the bottom right of his lab computer’s screen. A match had been found.
“Patrick Wheeler, picked up back in ‘07 for suspected murder, acquitted due to lack of evidence.”
Dexter quickly ran his name through a search, gathering more information. Patrick was in his early 30’s, height listed as 5’8” on his mugshot. He was a chubby man, if Dexter had to guess he was between 170 and 190 lbs. Just as the contents of the van suggested, he was a plumber, and his last known address was listed.
“I’ll have to pay Patrick a visit tomorrow.”
Just before leaving, Dexter checked the fingerprint search, it had thrown a few possible matches but was still checking against the database, so he left it to search overnight.
The next day during his lunch break, Dexter slipped out of the office and headed to Patrick’s address. It was out in the sticks, and crucially, there was no car in the dirt driveway.
“Not a bad place to commit a murder. Quiet, isolated.” Dexter thought as he parked far enough away behind the cover of some brush. He slipped on his gloves and began to slink towards the house.
The house itself was modest. It’s one story was painted blue, and didn’t look to be terribly larger than Dexter’s own condo. It certainly was a fixer-upper, the stucco pealing in many places and a heaping trash pile in the side yard, adorned with many old water heaters, refrigerators, washing machines.
“A plumbing graveyard” Dexter chuckled to himself as he silently approached the front door, picking the lock and slipping inside easily.
He took in the inside of the humble abode. The kitchen was filthy, dirty dished piled high, discarded cans of Chef Boyardee lying on the counter. He was honestly surprised not to see any cockroaches.
Dexter searched the house, looking for something, anything to give away Patrick’s own dark deeds. Though he honestly didn’t have much to go on, sure he was sure of his guilt on the hit-and-run, but Dexter had a gut feeling. A feeling he was hiding something much more sinister.
Looking at a bookshelf, filled with plenty of plumbing related books, Dexter paused. He looked around the room once more, everything ajar, askew, nothing orderly. Except the bookshelf. He scanned the titles again until one jumped out at him, a bible, a black sheep when compared to it’s shelf-mates. He slid it off the bookshelf, it seeming light in his grasp. Opening it, Dexter’s dark passenger’s whispers grew to a dull roar.
Polaroid Pictures. 13 of them. All of young, attractive women. All of the women unaware that they were the subjects of the photos. He flipped one over, a ‘7’ written on the back. He flipped the others, each labeled with their own number. He could make out the faces in some, but others like ‘13’ she was turned away, her golden locks shimmering in the Miami sunlight.
Just as he was about to pry further, finally getting his finger on the right figurative thread to pull, he heard a car pull up, skidding to a stop in the dirt. Quickly, he placed the photos back in the bible back on the shelf and silently moved to the back door, noting a door to the basement he hadn’t yet seen, a padlock securing it shut. What he also didn’t see was the pair of hazel eyes peeking through the minuscule gap between the bottom of the cellar door and the threshold.
As he silently crept back to his car, hidden a few hundred feet away, he noted the license plate of the white pickup that had pulled up, likely Patrick’s personal vehicle. But one detail about the truck stood out to him for some reason. Strapped down in the bed was another water heater. It was something that shouldn’t have been out of the ordinary for a plumber, but knowing Patrick’s dark secret, it could be anything but ordinary. Dexter glanced again at the pile of trash next to the house, silently counting the number of water heaters he could see.
“12 in the side yard, and a 13th in the truck. Sure, it could be a coincidence. But I don’t believe in those.”
Dexter’s dark passenger whispered to him, breathing up the back of his neck, giving him goosebumps, urging him to let go. But he remained in control and firmly grasping the reigns, ensuring the dark passenger remained out of the driver’s seat.
On his ride back to the station, the sudden arrival of Patrick with another water heater in tow ate at him. If his hunch was right, and they were more often than not, then Patrick was going to kill again. He had already selected his target it seemed, but had he made his move already? Dexter slammed his steering wheel in frustration. Maybe Rita’s death had shaken him more than he thought. This blonde woman, ‘13’, he was not going to let her die. He would save her, he had to.
He returned to Miami Metro P.D. only slightly over the duration of his lunch break and on edge. He hadn’t accounted enough for midday traffic.
Deb flagged him down as he walked past her desk, “Hey bro, what’s up? You look tense.”
Dexter realized his mask had slipped and quickly re-affixed it, “Oh nothing, just Miami drivers,” he said with a chuckle and a smile, “Hey, any luck on that hit-and-run case?” he inserted, needing to know it’s status.
“Ugh, nothing yet,” she said exasperated, “Nobody saw anything, no evidence on the van. I’m having Masuka take a look at the vehicle that got hit, really just throwing shit at the wall and seeing if it sticks.”
“Good, she has nothing. Which means Patrick and I get to spend a night alone.”
“Sorry Deb, that’s just how it rolls sometimes,” Dexter shrugged, walking off to his lab.
He sat down and logged into his computer, checking on the results of the fingerprint search. It had finally finished, comparing the partial to millions of prints in the database. Coming up with a few dozen of potential matches, Patrick Wheeler not among them, causing Dexter’s eyebrows to raise.
“I certainly have homework to do, but I know that she’s in here, number 13.”
But first, Dexter had to something to attend to. He took out his phone, dialing Jaime.
“Hey, Jaime!” Dexter said enthusiastically.
“Hey Dexter, what’s up?” she responded.
“Yeah I was just calling to ask you, do you think you could stay late tonight? I’m really swamped with work here, it’s definitely going to be a late one.”
“Sure, I don’t mind. That just means I get to spend some more time with this cutie,” Jaime said, lightly pinching Harrison’s cheek, making him laugh.
Dexter smiled hearing his child’s laughter, “Thanks Jaime, you’re the best.”
Dexter said goodbye and hung up the phone.
“Are you going to kill Patrick tonight Dexter?”
“I have to, or else number 13 is as good as dead,” Dexter turned to face the corner of his lab, responding to Harry.
“You don’t know that for sure, those pictures don’t even prove he’s a killer. Besides, its too hasty, you’re not prepared, Dex.”
“I’ll have all the proof I need when I open one of those water heaters and find one of the first 12.”
“You mustn't forget the code,” Harry urged.
“Yeah I know; Don’t get caught. But isn’t this the reason you gave me the code in the first place? To rid the world of monsters like Patrick Wheeler?”
Dexter arrived back at Patrick’s house, in a rental car from the motor pool, just after dusk. Patrick’s truck was nowhere to be seen. Parking it out of sight, Dexter, walked over to the side yard, crowbar in hand. His eyes adjusted to the darkness as he approached a water heater which was sitting upright. With some effort, he jammed the crowbar into the seam between the lid and tank, and pried it off.
Just as he expected, inside the water heater floated the corpse of a woman. The stench of formaldehyde hit his nose only moments after the lid was cracked.
“Embalming fluid. He’s preserving them.”
The body was preserved surprisingly well. Dexter wouldn’t be able to estimate a time of death without more thorough investigation.
But now with Patrick’s guilt confirmed without a shadow of a doubt, Dexter had work to do. He put the lid back on the water heater and began to set up the kill room in Patrick’s living room. While he was assembling the last place Patrick would ever see, Dexter kept glancing at the locked cellar door just across the hall. Curiosity drawing him towards it, but he knew he had to be ready as soon as possible, Patrick could be back any moment.
Finally, when it was nearing half past nine, Dexter saw the headlights of Patrick’s truck approaching and got in place, uncapping his syringe of M-99.
Patrick stepped in and closed the door, and before he could react, Dexter lunged out from the shadow of the door, thrusting the needle into his neck and pressing the plunger down.
Within moments, Patrick was unconscious, naked, and strapped to the kill table with plastic wrap.
With all the preparations complete, Dexter cracked a packet of smelling salts right under Patrick’s nose, waking him up.
Patrick groggily came to, “W-where am I? Who the fuck are you!?”
Patrick started to struggle against the plastic as Dexter’s scalpel came close to his cheek.
He stopped millimeters from his skin, slapping his cheek with his other hand, “None of that,” he said authoritatively.
Patrick swallowed hard, nodding the best he could with his head strapped down.
Once he was still, Dexter sliced through the flesh of his cheek like a hot knife through butter, taking a drop of his blood and depositing it onto a slide.
“Fuck!” Patrick cried out in pain, “What do you want?! Money? I have money, I swear!”
Dexter calmly put the scalpel and blood slide down before answering, “What I want, Patrick, is to know how many women you’ve killed.”
“I haven’t killed any!” he retorted.
Dexter narrowed his eyes, standing over Patrick imposingly, “The women in your side yard would beg to differ. Now I’ll say this one more time. How many?”
“Fine! Twelve!” Patrick relented, grimacing as he said it.
“Well that’s interesting, because I was having a look at your little photo collection and there were more than 12. So then where is number 13? Is she dead? Are you lying to me again, Patrick?” Dexter asked dangerously.
Patrick tensed his jaw, “Fuck. You.”
“Well, I guess it was a bit optimistic to expect anything else from someone like you,” Dexter said as he grabbed a 12-inch chef knife. Holding it above his heart.
“WAIT, WAIT, WA-”
Dexter inhaled deeply, head tilted upwards, his eyes closing as he plunged the blade into Patrick’s left ventricle. He stood still like that for a few seconds, reveling in the feeling of release, the anticipation turning into satisfaction. Opening his eyes and seeing the blood pooling on the plastic wrap, Dexter exhaled, feeling the dark passenger’s contentment.
Just as he opened his eyes, he heard a gasp, head instantly snapping towards the direction of the sound, for the first time, he actually saw the pair of eyes that had been observing him from under the cellar door.
He moved quickly, but with purpose. He left the knife sticking out of the man’s chest as he moved to the cellar door, picking the lock in mere moments. As the door swung open, the small column of light from the living room penetrated the darkness of the cellar, illuminating the figure which had seen Dexter’s dark passenger on full display.
He recognized her build, her blonde hair; it was number 13.