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Dexter looks at the house he and Rita had once shared, remembering the laughter of Astor and Cody, the morning pancakes, and the late evenings with Rita. He misses it.
This feeling is unknown to him; it makes him curious as to what more he can feel. He’s used to feeling nothing, and he’s finally feeling something, but he wishes he didn’t have to feel like this, because that would mean that Rita would still be alive.
He hadn’t felt satisfied when he killed Arthur; he didn’t even get any pleasure from it, he just killed him because that is all he knows how to do, he thinks, he’s still new to all these feelings.
The evening is cold; his hands are freezing as he stands in sweatpants and a T-shirt. Will Rita feel the cold of the morgue, too? He knows she doesn’t because she’s dead because of him; she didn’t deserve to suffer, unlike him. He doesn’t regret killing people, no, he needs to, but he didn’t mean for Rita to be a casualty.
Would he risk staying alive, risk hurting Deb? He clenches and unclenches his fist. No more good mornings from Rita, no more good nights, no more laughter, all because of him. He shouldn’t have used Rita, one side of his brain says; the other side says that she was needed, it’s unlucky that she had to die so quickly, but he can find someone new, keep his cover, keep killing, but does he want to?
Does he want to hurt Deb, Angel, and Masuka, hell, even Laguearta, he doesn’t know. The past few days have left him feeling empty, sending Astor and Cody away with their grandmother. Astor's words ring in his ear ‘’were better off without you!’’ Dexter takes a breath as he takes a step towards the house. He doesn’t want to enter without Rita.
Why does her death affect him so much? He deals with death daily, he has brought death to people, he has watched the light go out in people’s eyes, watched as they took their last breath, yet he feels so incredibly tired when he thinks about her final moment.
How scared she would have been, what would her last thoughts have been like, did Arthur say something to her? He wishes he could get the answers. Then he thinks about Deb, again, he will hurt her too. By staying with her, he’s no fool. A monster like him will never get a happy ending; either he dies, or everyone around him will grow miserable and die horrible deaths, all because of him.
Why did Harry teach him the code? He wants to blame Harry, but he can’t; he still kept killing after the man's death, after all, it was his decision to keep killing.
He enters the house, Elliot, the neighbour had tried to get his attention, but he simply ignored the man, not having the energy to deal with him.
He’d spend his whole life getting rid of monsters; the price he paid is losing the people around him; it’s time he gets rid of the biggest problem around him, himself. He should’ve done this sooner, then maybe Rita would still be alive.
He stands still in the house, it’s weird. He feels what others might call sadness. Looking around at the silent house that once was full of laughter, full of hope and futures, futures he ruined.
Should he leave a note behind? Should he say that he’s actually the Bay Harbour butcher? He sighs. He shouldný, it’ll cause Deb and the kids a lot of trouble. Dexter walks towards the bathroom, the same one where Rita spent her last moments. Pressed against Arthur in the bathtub, it makes him angry, so, so angry. Rita didn’t deserve to go that way, certainly not because of a mistake he made.
He should’ve torn Arthur's eyelids off, tortured him just to make him feel the pain the same way Dexter is feeling the pain right now. But it’s too late now. He's always too late.
Suddenly, the phone in his pants buzzes, he grabs the phone and sees that Deb is calling. He debates whether he should pick up or not, but decides to pick up one last conversation with his sister.
‘’Hey Deb’’ he says. A weird sensation is in his throat, like something is blocking it. Dexter decides to ignore the uncomfortable feeling. ‘’Hey, Dex’’ Debra replies, sounding tired; she always sounds tired these days.
‘’Did Cody and Astor leave with their grandparents yet?’’ Deb asks, ‘’Yes.’’ Dexter replies, he wants to say more, but the words die in his mouth. He will never have another pancake with Cody and Astor.
‘’Alright.’’ It’s silent for a moment. ‘’Hey Deb’’ he says, ‘’yes?’’ Debra replies ‘’Thank you’’ he says, it’s strange, just saying those words feels sorrow. ‘’What the fuck did I do for you to say thank you?’’ Deb asks, and he hears some uneasiness under her normal tone.
‘’Just you know… being there for me since we were young.’’ What is he even saying? He’s never the one to dwell on the past, he has also never thought about taking his life. He wonders if Masuka would examine the crime scene; probably not.
‘’Ah Shit. Listen, I need to go. I wanted to have some fucking steak with you, but it looks like I have to stay late. We'll do it another time, yeah?’’ She asks. Dexter clears his throat. He would love some steak. ‘’Yeah, sure. Good luck at work, staying late and all.’’ ‘’Thanks, bye Dex’’ Debra hangs up, but he still whispers into his phone ‘’Goodbye Deb.’’
He puts the phone on the counter. He walks towards the bath and turns the handle for warm water. He stares at the bathtub slowly filling up, it’s like a time counting down the remaining minutes of his life.
He hesitates for a moment, wondering if this is really what he wants, but does it really matter what he wants? He’s sure that if he keeps breathing on this earth, Debra will be forcefully stopped from breathing, that she’ll die because of him, he’s sure of it.
So he ignores the ugly sour feeling in his chest and grabs the knife from his pocket. It has to be this way. He then strips himself of his clothing, the bathtub is about halfway full, and he turns off the water.
His feet go in first. The hot water makes his skin prickle with unease. He ignores the feeling and slides the rest of his body into the water. He sighs, he doesn’t wait, he shouldn’t feel sorry for himself. It’s his own fault for not being able to live without killing people. It’s the only thing he’s good at, killing monsters. So, he grabs the knife, looks at his wrist that is still untouched.
He presses the knife into his wrist, and in one fluid motion, he slices his skin with the knife. A sharp and painful sensation spreads through his arm, and he grunts as he looks at the blood that immediately pools out like sticky water.
His hands are shaking, but he still grabs the knife with his now bleeding wrist. He slashes his other wrist as neatly as possible, but seeing that his hands are shaking as much as they are, the cut looks wonky. He deserves the worst, he deserves more pain, to be more scared, just like Rita was.
He already feels light in his head. He looks at the knife in his hand, completely covered in red. He doesn’t feel his arms anymore. He tries to stab himself in the stomach, but the knife falls out of his hands and is caught by the water, his arms falling limply beside him.
He lets out a shuddering breath as his whole body shivers along. The warm steaming water feels cold to his skin, so he knows he’s dying in the next minute or so.
Breathing becomes harder, he feels his breathing slow down, it feels weird to analyse his body, but he does it unconsciously, almost like he’s at work. Just like he did with Rita when he called 911.
Rita, he misses Rita. He’ll miss Debra, well, not really, since he’ll be dead, but he sure misses her now. The cold feeling spreads through his body, and his eyes start closing on their own, without his permission. But this had been his intention all along, yet he feels… regretful, perhaps guilt-ridden, or maybe even afraid.
His eyes close fully now, His body stops shivering as he lets out one final sight, and maybe, if Dexter hadn't slashed both of his wrist, he’d have time over to grab a towel, call an ambulance and not regret that he’d tried to take his life, maybe then he would accept help, would help Debra, not make her life harder by taking his life, not even leaving an explanation for her, though it would be obvious to everyone around him why he did it, because ofRita ofcourse.
No one would suspect that Dexter had taken his life because he can’t handle the fact that he’s a serial killer and that his wife died because of him, that he’d killed the man who had taken the life of his wife, that he didn’t even enjoy it as he did with his other killings.
That Dexter Morgan died afraid, lonely, and full of regret, wishing he had more time.
Dexter Morgan; born in blood and died in blood.