The Dark Passenger
Disclaimer is at the end.
It was a slow evening at Nights, which Xander didn't mind at all. It allowed him to get his paperwork done for the day since Mary was off. He heard Casey in the kitchen whistling something that sounded like Lady Gaga along with the chaos of pots and pans that clanged together loudly. Xander shook his head as he put the last file away and decided he blamed Karaoke Night. Bad Romance was played more than he cared to hear, which turned out to be all the damn time. He left his office and walked up to the bar to find Faith perched on a barstool with the local newspaper spread in front of her. She took as sip of her Coke after she finished the last of her Crab Bisque, and then glanced up to greet him as a look of annoyance crossed her face.
"Is he whistling Bad Romance again?" She asked as she glared in the direction of the kitchen.
"Yep."
Casey peeked out from behind the kitchen door, his dark features twisted in mock anger. "Hey, I can't help it. Thanks to Karaoke Night, the damn tune's stuck in my head. Therefore, if I have to listen it, by god, so do you." He disappeared back into the kitchen and continued to whistle.
"So help me, C, if one more note passes through those lips of yours, I'm gonna come back there and personally shove your stock pot up your ass." Faith growled.
"Tease!" He shouted from the kitchen.
"I mean it! Not one more note!" She yelled back as she looked down at an article that caught her attention.
Casey peeked from behind the door once more and tossed grin at Faith.
"Don't do it man," Xander warned the chef, "I don't want to have to explain to the emergency staff why your cooking equipment went where no equipment has gone before."
"Oh no," Faith whispered as she read the headline. The playfulness disappeared as both men approached the Slayer.
"What is it?"
She looked up at them and allowed her friends to see her dark eyes filled with sadness and rage. "He struck again."
"The Slasher?" Casey asked as he wiped his hands on his dish towel.
"Yeah. His youngest victim so far; she was only 16. She was abducted from the mall parking lot last Wednesday and was found in the dumpster behind the doughnut shop near Cleveland Heights yesterday morning." Her voice shook as she continued to read, "It says here she died of blood loss from the numerous gashes found on her body."
"That sick bastard cut that poor girl up and watched her slowly bleed to death." Casey growled.
"Shit, man! I just wish it was a demon, that way I could actually do something about it. But, it ain't, so my hands are tied and I can't do a damn thing. Well, I mean I could, but it ain't gonna do any good if they throw me back in the slammer." Faith's hands clenched into fists before she bent down and rested her forehead against the cool bar.
Xander put his large hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. He also felt the frustration of not being able to hunt down this The Slasher bastard and give him a good killing. It still amazed him that some of the worst monsters in the world were human beings. Something had to be done and soon. The Slasher had claimed over a half a dozen victims so far, and those were the girls that had been found. God only knew how many poor girls were really out there.
The trio looked up when they heard the front door open and felt the cold, autumn breeze as a man entered the bar. He was handsome, standing about 5'10 with light brown hair that was a bit windblown, and a nicely tan face, though his cheeks were slightly pink from the cold. As he walked toward the bar, they noticed the heavy red jacket he wore couldn't hide the muscular frame underneath. He looked at them and frowned slightly, then ran a hand through his hair.
"Who died?" he asked as he unzipped his jacket and revealed a grey sweater stretched across his chest. Some kind of laminated badge hung on a silver chain around his neck.
The three looked at him in puzzlement, so he motioned to the newspaper Faith was holding.
"Was it a friend of yours? I just saw you looking in the paper, and from your faces, it just looks like you found your friend's Obituary."
"Oh, no, fortunately not someone we knew. Sorry about that." Xander said as he approached the stranger. "We just found some bad news is all. What can I get for ya?" He asked as the customer picked up a menu.
"What do you recommend?"
"Oh, actually everything is really good…"
"I would recommend the Clam Bisque." Casey replied. "I just finished a batch. I also just made a loaf of bread, so I could whip you up a sandwich to go with it, if you want."
"Okay, that sounds good."
"Would you like a ham and cheese sandwich?"
"Yeah, that's fine. I'd also like to have a coke, please."
Casey nodded as he went into the kitchen to fill the order, grateful for the interruption. The customer nodded in return, as he replaced the menu. Faith quietly excused herself and headed toward the stairs that led to the living quarters on the second floor. The stranger quietly acknowledged her comment then turned back to Xander as if to watch how he handled the situation. When Xander relaxed, so did the customer.
As the man studied his surroundings, Xander studied him. He could see now the man's light brown hair seemed to have a slight curl to it. He had a friendly face with a strong jaw and a slight five o'clock shadow. In fact, he seemed like a good guy, kinda like the nice next-door-neighbor who says hi every morning and lets anyone borrow whatever they need. But when he looked up with a pair of deep green eyes, suddenly everything changed with one glance. Gone were the eyes of the friendly guy next door. They were instead something darker, almost primal. They were eyes that had seen too much death in one lifetime. Unfortunately that was a look Xander had grown accustomed to, for it was the same look in the eyes of every Scooby, including himself.
Xander leaned against the bar and smiled. "So, where're ya from? Obviously, with that tan, you are not from around here."
The man smiled as he leaned his elbows against his side of the bar. "It's that obvious, huh? I'm from Miami, Florida."
"Well, you're a little far from home, aren't ya?"
"Yeah, I work for the Miami Metro Police Department." The man held up his badge, so Xander leaned in for a closer look. "I'm a Blood Splatter Analyst and the local PD requested for me to come and help out with a case here."
"With the Slasher case?" Xander asked.
"I'm sorry I'm not at liberty to say."
"Don't worry." Xander grinned as he leaned forward and placed his hands on the bar. "What is said within these walls stays within these walls. Kinda like what happens in Vegas…"
"Stays in Vegas?" his customer grinned as he also leaned forward and balanced himself on his forearms.
Something about the stranger bugged Xander. He swore the man's every reaction, every movement down to his facial expressions seemed rehearsed. It was as if the man looked for cues on how to act and how to appear…normal. Not like someone would teach a child to behave, but more like a dog that watched for cues from its owner to know how to act. But, the stranger didn't set off any alarms, so Xander decided to dismiss the feeling.
"Yeah, exactly."
"Well," the man hesitated as Casey brought out a steaming bowl of Crab Bisque and a large ham and cheese sandwich with the works. Once again, repeated nods and smiles before he turned back to Xander. "It started in Miami. Girls went missing, all of them under the age of 21. They were always found a short time later usually in a dumpster; sometimes thrown in the woods. They were found with multiple gashes which led to the assumption they…"
"Bled to death." Xander finished.
The stranger sampled the Crab Bisque. "Mmmm, this is really good." He sounded slightly surprised then glanced at Xander. Whatever he saw on Xanders face reassured him, so he continued.
"Anyway, yes, that's right. We almost had him, but somehow the information was leaked that we had a lead, so the suspect fled."
"And the bastard came here." Xander shook his head as he grabbed the newspaper and handed it to the other man. "This explains our mood when you first walked in."
"Yep, that's our guy." He then looked a little closer at the age of the girl. "Sixteen," he murmured.
For just a moment pure rage flashed in the stranger's eyes, and Xander could have sworn he saw a dark shadow rise from the man like a cloud of smoke. Then, as suddenly as the shadow appeared, it was gone. The man focused on Xander once again.
"Did you know her?" he asked.
"No, I didn't."
The green eyes held puzzlement. "Then why were you so sad?" The question was asked with such honesty Xander felt compelled to answer.
"A young girl died a painful and unnecessary death and that son of a bitch is still breathing." The Barman allowed his own primal rage to fill his dark brown eye. "I'd kill him myself if I could. That creep deserves to suffer a very slow and painful death." He growled every single word, and meant it.
The strange customer stared at Xander with such intensity it was as if he were trying to test the truth of Xander's words.
"He'll get what he deserves." He stated. For a moment, Xander thought he could hear a soft chuckle somewhere in the empty bar.
"Oh, by the way, I didn't get your name." The man said calmly as he finished his lunch.
"Xander Harris." Xander said as he offered his hand.
"I'm Dexter. Dexter Morgan." Dexter shook Xander's hand. He had a very powerful grip, as if he was used to heavy lifting.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dexter." Xander grinned as he watched Dexter mimic his movements once more. He wondered if it was a conscious reaction or just a habit.
"So, what's up with the wall?" Dexter asked as he reached into his back pocket for his wallet.
"I was wondering when you were gonna ask about that." Xander answered. "Well, when customers come in, sometimes they share a story with me; and sometimes they don't. Usually they leave something that lets me remember them or the story they shared. In turn, I am able to share their story with the next person who comes along." He turned and looked at his wall of trophies. "It makes a nice conversation piece, ya know. Sometimes, I just like to stand here and admire my trophies."
When he turned back to Dexter, he noticed the green eyes were glazed as if he remembered something very special.
He blinked a few times, and then put a $50.00 bill on the bar. "Well, unfortunately, I don't have time to tell a story, nor do I have anything to add to your wall. Perhaps I'll be able to stop by before I head back to Miami. Keep the change. It was good talking to you, Xander."
"Thanks. Good talking to you too. Good luck with the case."
A smile tugged at the corner of Dexter's lips as the darkness filled in his eyes. "Luck has nothing to do with it." Again, a soft chuckle echoed through the bar as Dexter Morgan opened the door and stepped out into the cold autumn night.
After the door closed, Casey came out of the kitchen and stood beside Xander. "Is it just me, or was that guy kinda…"
"Creepy?" Xander finished. Casey nodded. "Yeah, it's not just you."
Both men shook themselves to clear their boggled brains, and then went back to work.
A few days later, a letter arrived for Xander in the mail, but there was no return address. Curious, Xander opened the envelope and found a hand written letter along with a clipping of a news article, and a thin gold chain necklace.
The article read:
SUSPECT IN "THE SLAYER" CASE FOUND DEAD
Henry Watson, native of Miami Florida, age 41, was found dead this morning.
He was the suspect in a string of murders in Cincinnati, Ohio; Augusta, Georgia;
Covington, Kentucky; and Miami Florida.
Authorities found the dismembered body of Henry Watson early this morning dumped near
an abandoned building. A caller tipped local police where to find the body. Local forensics
stated to officials the body appeared to have multiple slashes. However the actual cause
of death is assumed to be the dismemberment….
"Sweet Jesus," Xander murmured as he read the rest of the article. "It's about damn time." He muttered without remorse. Xander then began to read the handwritten letter:
Hello Xander,
I regret I was not able to visit again before I left. Unfortunately, something came up
and I had to leave town quickly. Hopefully, I will be able to return to Nights again soon.
I have quite a few stories to tell, and I understand it is supposed to be "good" for me
to share my "feelings." However I have no feelings to speak of.
For now, though, I will share a true story with you. When I was three years old,
I witnessed the death of my mother. I watched as she was butchered
with a chain saw and was left sitting in a pool of blood for two days before being
rescued.
My humanity died with my mother that day.
Something else took its place, something much darker.
When I met you a few days ago, I could tell you were no stranger to death.
I could see its shadow curled around you like smoke, so naturally I assumed you held
darkness, like me.
But the harder I looked, the more I realized that was not the case. You may have
had death's shadow around you, but the inside you was far brighter, like the
humanity I lost so many years ago. If I were capable of feeling emotion,
I would have to say I would probably feel envy.
I have enclosed something for your wall. It is a necklace that belonged to my
Mother. I have no need for it so I sent it to you.
Maybe you could tell others it's to remember those who couldn't be saved.
Dexter
Xander picked up the thin gold chain and with a heavy heart, hung it on the wall. As Faith came back into the bar and inquired about the gold chain, he replied softly,
"It's for us to remember the ones we couldn't save."
The End
Disclaimer: The characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Dexter belong to Joss Weldon and Jeff Lindsay. I based Dexter Morgan from the book series (up to Dexter by Design) instead of the Series on Showtime because I feel the books describe his Dark Passenger much better; and they explain Dexter's emotions, or lack of them if you will. In the Showtime series, Dexter begins to develop human emotions wherein the book series, he remains the friendly neighborhood psychopath. Although he did not possess the ability to love his family (adoptive family) he realized he was fond of them, almost like a favorite possession.
Tales from the Barman Part II belong to the talented Methos. Thank you so much for giving me the chance to add to your story.