Summary: Dexter, blood, Rita and the kids… some ingredients weren't meant to be mixed together. Set during Season one. Rated M, of course. It is a Dexter-fic, after all.
A/N: The show Dexter, its ideas, concepts and amazing characters all belong to a number of people and none of them happen to be me. Please don't sue me for borrowing them for a short stint. Please read and review and if you've never watched or heard of this excellent series from Showtime, I would highly suggest that you give it a chance. You might even try reading this fic to see if it intrigues you - not that I contend that this in any way compares to the real deal. I'm just trying to add to its fan base and willing to help any way that I can.
The phone call comes seemingly minutes after I've finally drifted off into a dreamless sleep. I fight waking, knowing that I'll resent the lost hours that will undoubtedly result from the problem voiced by the person on the other end of the line. The persistent ringing finally wins the battle against my sleeping mind and I give in, realizing that I'll never find rest without knowing who needs me at such a late hour.
"Dexter?"
I almost don't recognize Astor's voice, she's speaking so quietly.
"Astor? Where's your mom?"
I know that all is not well with my adopted family - there has been a rift that has been growing between Rita and her children ever since their darling father has reappeared in their lives. I sense that I'm about to be pulled further into that rift.
"She's on the floor and she won't wake up. Can you please help her?"
Her voice had strengthened with the plea and now I can plainly hear the fear behind her words.
"I'm on my way," I mutter as I rise quickly from the bed. Ending the call, I try not to think about what might have happened to Rita. In fact, I probably should have asked Astor a few more questions before rushing out and driving across Miami at this late hour. I look at my cell phone as I head out the door but dismiss the idea quickly. She's too young and I'm pretty sure that my questions will only serve to scare her even more.
The Miami night barely registers as I drive. Its familiar darkness almost unsettling. Unusual, considering that I normally would find the dark soothing… a sort of home away from home. The kind of place where monsters go and everyone knows their name.
But not now. Now there is this discomfort with the night that has settled along side an uncomfortable weight that rests deep in the pit of my stomach. I have to wonder if it's a byproduct of my concern over what I will find when I finally reach Rita's house. Maybe all of these months of pretending to feel something for her has worn on me. Or maybe I've become so adept at pretending that I don't even realize when I'm doing it.
I turn the corner and speed down the last blocks to her house, hands wrapped tightly on the steering wheel. Their white knuckle grip has nothing to do with guiding the Taurus - logically, I know that I could steer with an index finger but that doesn't seem to loosen their hold on the wheel. Finally, I'm in her driveway and the house is seemingly completely dark.
I wonder how Astor managed to dial my number without any light.
I dismiss the thought and approach slowly. I need to focus now because I really don't know what I'm getting myself into and can't afford any distraction from any of my inner voices.
The front door opens quietly after the handle turns in my hand. Clearly and uncharacteristically unlocked. I hesitate before entering fully, listening to the silence.
Monsters shouldn't be afraid of the dark, but a little caution never hurt anyone in the end.
Entering the house completely, I stand in front of the door, closing it behind me with a barely audible click. Silence persists and I can't help but be reminded of the opening sequences of a countless number of horror flicks.
Hmm. No axe murderer this time. At least not yet.
"Rita?"
No answer and still no axe. Any half-rate monster would have jumped all over the opportunity I had just presented, so I feel justified to add a little light to my scenery. Without looking for it, I flip the switch on the wall on my left.
The room illuminates but the horror film isn't over. Rita's crumpled body lay sprawled on the kitchen floor with Cody curled up next to her. Astor is standing in front of the pair, a wooden bat held ready and despite her size and age, I can't help but admire her apparent capability in handling the weapon.
"Dexter." The bat lands on the floor with a clatter and she pulls Cody away from his mother. "It's okay, Cody, we're safe now. Dexter's here."
I hear the words and sounds and attempt to process them, but suddenly all I see is the blood. There are smudges of blood on Cody's face and Astor's shirt, but it's the beginnings of a pool that calls to me. It's ever-so-slowly expanding around Rita's body and the scent of it hangs heavy in the air.
Strange that I hadn't noticed the smell sooner.
Turning away from Rita and back to the children, I realize that the only blood on them has been transferred to them from their mother. They haven't been hurt at all. Well, at least not physically. The two are wrapped in each other's arms, trembling almost visibly as they stare at me.
Dexter, you're supposed to comfort them.
But, how?
That's a good question and as usual, I don't really have a good answer.
I take a step closer and Astor looks away from me, turning back to her mom.
"You can help her, right?"
Right, Rita. I look back to her and realize that the blood surrounding her isn't really much of a pool.
Not yet.
She must have moved before losing consciousness, her blood leaving streaks on the floor. She might be unconscious, but her heart is still beating.
Until you finish with her.
I don't even realize that I've dropped to my knees until I feel them connect with the hard floor. My hands are instantly covered with her warm, sticky blood and my fingertips are drawn to the soft flutter of her pulse like a homing beacon. She's definitely still alive.
For now.
Turning her over, I search for the source of the bleeding.
You don't need to find it to finish her.
The sharp glint of steel catches the light as I roll her onto her back, uncovering the knife that had been hidden beneath her. More dark, warmth seeps from her abdomen.
What happened?
"My daddy tried to hurt her."
I'm startled by her answer. I hadn't realized that I had voiced my question out loud. What other thoughts had I spoken aloud.
"Astor, go get me the phone. We need to call 9-1-1."
Perfect. Send her away to complete the job.
"NO!"
Cody's sudden cries seem to help to banish my dark passenger. I will not hurt Rita. She doesn't deserve it. She is good and she doesn't deserve what I want to do to her. What I need to do to her.
The knife handle finds its way into the palm of my hand.
Another clatter and I look into the kitchen and find the knife lying in front of the cupboard that it must have hit.
Cody's cries increase in volume and strength and I take several deep breaths, struggling to suppress my inner demon. The characteristic metallic scent of her blood fills my airways.
This will have to be enough.
"Here." Astor pushes the phone into my hand. "Shh, Cody, it's okay. I'm here and Dexter's here and he's going to keep us safe."
She wraps her arms around her brother and I look away as I dial, ashamed by her faith in me. She doesn't realize that there's still a monster in her house and the monster has more control than I do. After all, I didn't have to send her on her little errand, did I? The weight of my cell phone rests plainly against my thigh, answering the silent question.
"9-1-1. What is your emergency?"
A haze of questions follows and I'm sure that the operator is impressed by how calm, cool and collected I appear. The ambulance is dispatched and my apparent competence encourages the operator to end our call despite the ambulance not having arrived yet. Clearly, she believes that I have everything under control. I just hope that she's right.
The phone hits the floor with another clatter. This evening has had enough clatters to fill a children's storybook. My now empty hands fall to Rita's abdomen. She is still bleeding and I should be trying to stop the flow of her blood.
I've never really tried to do that before.
"Astor, bring me some towels."
I look down at myself as I wait for her to return. Not since I was a young boy had I ever been so covered with life's precious fluid. Harry had always taught me to be so much cleaner about it all.
And this was my favourite shirt.
The towels appear and I'm pressing them against Rita's abdomen, holding back the flow as though it was the most natural thing I had ever done.
If only Harry could see me now.
Sirens fill the silence of the night, announcing the arrival of my reinforcements.
Hang on, Rita. I don't want to disappoint Harry now. You'll be the first one that I saved.
A/N: Well? A little experiment in the dark world of Dexter. What do you think? All comments, good or bad, are welcome. Scarlet.