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“Come on, just go into the interrogation room,” Angel nudges him in the back.
“Tell your little sister she's cool and strong and like a rock,” Masuka adds, avoiding the usual jokes. Dexter thinks they better be, the release of serotonin relieves the nervousness that so rarely occurs that you don't know what to do.
“Morgan!”
Here comes the backup. Doakes is somehow better at figuring out what to do when, sometimes his suggestions are better than Angel's. But now it's gotten too complicated...
“Sit next to her. To her objections, say you're the one who's restless and worried,” the sergeant instructed literally. That's the kind of wording Dexter likes, it's the most accurate and doesn't lie. “Try to hold her hand.”
“Go, you can do it,” Angel hurries in as the door behind Debra and Lundy begins to close. And Dexter is literally pushed in after them by these sort of "only colleagues" who once there at the beginning of their work together shunned and unsure of how to communicate and whether it was necessary at all.
Unusually disheveled Dexter stops on the doorstep as they look back at him. Lundy is surprised: having the cops pile up in front of the cameras was expected, but having her brother in interrogation wasn't originally part of the plan. Deb's eyes are flushed, but overall her sister seems calm. Certainly better than on that fucking table where another undervigilante had decided to put her.
Ken Olson was the first wannabe who decided he like his idol could do anything. Without Code, but with a zeal for fame and a desire to attract the attention of his mastermind, he made a move.
When the media started talking about the Dark Defender Dexter realized that sooner or later he would face two problems. One - a follower, the other - it was likely that he would not be the only one. While Frank was checking the personnel files of the homicide cops, he pondered annoyingly how clever the copycat would turn out to be, who would get to him first, and did even the abnormal men need understanding? Why is it that some are not eager to unite and are inclined to attack a fellow man (hello Biney) while the opposite is true of others?
These same thoughts crossed his mind as he administered the M99 to the underdog, who somehow managed to drag Deb into his house and lay her on the table. Thank the gods everything else didn't match, there were ropes instead of plastic, no knives. On the plus side, Dexter was secretly following Olson. The minus was that he was too late, knocked out the follower in front of her, and then under her gaze he couldn't rationally weigh and figure out whether to tranquilize, repeating Brian, or kill in front of her, which wouldn't add to the composure. To ask Ken in person why exactly her, or to spit and stab him in the heart.
Dexter had always had a problem with empathy. It was getting easier with his sister, he was learning from her what normal people were experiencing, but it was different now. It was as if a heavy stone was turning over in his chest as Deb stared up at him with horror from the table. She wouldn't have recognised him in the mask, no, it was the fact that she realised: there was another serial killer standing nearby, and once again no one could help.
“Tell us what happened, in order,” Lundy softens intonation as much as possible. His sister's fingers dig painfully into Dexter's palm.
He is sitting ostensibly to find out the details so he doesn't slip up later. As always, logically and to his own advantage.
But, really, he's here to support her.
What is better, the long and dull or the short-term dagger pain? Any patient would have chosen an analgesic. Right now, however, there was none for Deb. Wouldn't leave Olson alive, would he?
Dexter hastily cut off victim's clothes, taped the unconscious body to another table with plastic and duct tape, glanced around the room and realized what was missing. Today was a modified ritual, not for killing but for protection. The felt-tip and paper completed the preparations.
“I asked Ken questions instead him.”
This doesn't lead Lundy to suspect the brother, though it clearly surprises. “Probably he's being overly cautious,” he says thoughtfully under his breath, pondering. “All we've learned is height and race - too little.”
Olson's interrogation after the cut on his cheek went quickly.
Dexter was the first to write one word with his left hand. At first, Debra was formulating all the wrong questions: "Why did you start killing? Why here?" - but she quickly figured out what was needed.
“Why did you do it?”
And out of Ken came an unstoppable torrent of words that made Deb's already pale face turn dead white.
“Because you were the Ice Truck Killer's bride. You should have known spending so much time with him!” Olson jerked his head, trying desperately to look into Butcher's eyes, to convince. “You smiled calmly at the camera when you were called out. Glad to be rid of the accusation!”
“What did the Butcher do to that?” Frank asks.
“Wrote "Evidences?"”
“Which there wasn't.”
Dexter had much to explain to the empty-headed wannabe. He partly questioned whether he was right not to put his sister to sleep and perform a full-blown ritual, but the idea of drugging her seemed sacrilegious.
A more or less valid option was to string a rope in the middle of the room and set up a makeshift screen. He drew the knife over Olson, seeing the bound body twitch desperately, and... stopped, knowing that Deb was hearding and understanding. The Dark Passenger grunted disappointedly, urging him to give M99 to the sister, but Dexter couldn't exercise either option. He was shaking with the desire to kill. He felt sick with contradictions. Harry came before him in his mind, and then Angel, Doakes, Maria.
Suddenly everything became clear.
He put the knife down, urging himself to be patient until the next - other - victim, hastily gathered his things, carried them to the car. His insides itched, he fought the shroud in front of his eyes, the thrown slide with blood on fainted Ken beckoned, but each step came easier and easier. After all, the ritual had been broken and Dexter would not feel the gamut of feelings he needed. Finally he dialed 911 and put the phone by Deb's side, then left in a hurry, waited for the call and came back when the dispatcher gave him the address.
This time she refuses to stay at Lundy's. Embarrassed, she hides her eyes, but insists on spending the night at her brother's. Dexter is supportive, anticipating nightmares and soothing conversations. It's no big deal. Now that he has someone to consult with, it's much easier to help his loved ones.
Angel nods approvingly, Masuka distracts Debra with extraneous conversation while she packs her things and Doakes looks after them. Tomorrow he'll have to write reports, search for relatives of the murdered man, check for evidence and get off the FBI's radar, but it's the little things, since the forensic scientist wins again. The only important thing he won't forget is to say thank for their support.