After I sent the ice truck killer that message it was all I could think about. Before I just thought about him, or her, but that was unlikely, but now... this added to it, it changed things. I was now trying to communicate. And the anticipation of a possible answer was killing me.
Ever since I received that doll head I've taken it everywhere, it was a token of his interest in me. I always wondered what it was about me that caught his eye, why he'd go to such great lengths to pursue me. It was flattering to say the least.
His crime scenes were works of art, that alone made me long to meet him, only an intelligent person could make something so horrid so beautiful. Without even knowing him I felt connected, and that connection made me analyze what my feelings for him really meant. It felt almost like I wanted to be with him. Be one with him. He and I were so alike.
And then finally it came, the reply I'd been waiting for. So many before it were from just plain, everyday creeps and each one would be a disappointment. But this one, this was the real deal. Be patient. I am patient. You can't be a serial killer without having that quality. But still, when would this charade end?
When Deb and her boyfriend showed up at my supposed father's house it put a kink in my plan, but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. Rudy was intriguing, there was something behind his gaze that called out for my attention, shouting out for me to dig deeper. And I did. I dug deeper. There was definitely something odd about him, I just couldn't pin point it. In a way he was alluring, I couldn't take my eyes off him. And apparently he couldn't take his off of me. Everywhere I went his gaze followed me; and soon after, his body. He trailed me around the house, never letting up, attempting to start conversations with me; conversations that seemed oddly suspicious, conversations that made me uncomfortable. There was no privacy with him around and it drove me insane, but I couldn't let it show.
There were two possibilities I could come up with. Either, one, he was gay, or, two, he was like me. Maybe even both. Whichever one it was it didn't matter, I was caught under his spell none the less. I'd find myself staring at him; my breathing shallow, my pulse speeding up. He drew me in like blood to a knife.
It wasn't until the night I broke into the morgue that I decided to open up to him. I found out that he made me feel calm, at ease. I felt like I could talk to him for hours. No one had ever made me feel that way. He listened meticulously to every word I said, and offered words of encouragement that I never thought I'd hear anyone but myself say. He was my dark passenger in the flesh.
"There's been something I've been dying to tell you," he said after I scattered my father's ashes. What could that possibly be? I had a few ideas.
He moved closer to me with a smirk, speaking in a low voice, "Ken and Barbie have finally met."
I stood there in shock. This was him. This was what I've been waiting for. It made so much sense. I don't know how I didn't see it before. He made prosthetics for a living, made fake limbs. Limbs like the ones he cut up. It should have been obvious.
He laughed at the sight of me being caught off guard. Then he moved even closer. Closer and closer... Suddenly he was so close I could feel his chest heaving against mine. I held my breath as he leaned in until his mouth was right by my ear.
"I'm your brother," he whispered.
That couldn't be right, I didn't have a brother. Or did I? Flashes of a boy with black hair sitting in a pool of blood beside me flashed through my mind. "Brian...?" I said under my breath. I couldn't breathe; my heart was beating faster than it ever had around him. I couldn't move.
I barely felt him nod before his lips brushed along my ear, "You remember," he spoke softly, "I was hoping you would." I felt the tip of his tongue dart out briefly, "You can finally be yourself around someone."
My body was shaking, I couldn't control it. His proximity, the tone of his voice, the fact that I could be myself; it was all too much to handle. In a way I felt like I was dying, but being reborn at the same time. I was still Dexter, just a more refined version.
Learning that the ice truck killer was my brother didn't make me want him any less. I still wanted to be one with him. I wanted him to help me unleash everything I've been holding inside. "Release me," I whimpered.
Just like I thought he would, he knew what I meant, he understood me. Without any questions he bit down on my neck and pushed me against the car. Desperate and needy sounds escaped me as I felt his body press against mine. My arms wrapped around him, holding him close. I'd never felt such elation. I truly felt free.
As he moved against me I grew achingly hard in an instant, no one had ever had that effect on me. I could feel my true self boiling to the surface with every touch of his hand, every bite he gave me, every thrust of his hips. Intimacy had never been so overwhelming before this; I was both losing my mind and gaining clarity. I clutched onto him and begged for more. I felt his lips crushing into mine, and I felt his hand on me, cupping me, continuing the rough grinding. I kissed him back feverishly; it was primal, and it felt incredibly right. The pressure within me built up to a peak that I didn't know existed; I could have fallen to pieces right then and there. But he held onto me, kept me from crashing.
Then my release came. I shuddered in chaotic relief, all of my legitimate feelings and desires bursting forth. I had him, I finally had him, and now that I did, I wasn't letting him go. I could see myself walking through life with him. I could foresee that the rush of every kill would make me want to experience this again. I was forever his. And he was mine.
"Is that what you wanted, little brother?"
Yes. Yes it was.