The boat pulled out of the harbour, Miami's grey skyline growing greyer and greyer as the waves became choppier and the storm began to churn. Slice of Life cut its last path through the fierce tides as Dexter's playground disappeared into a dim fog and out of sight completely. The storm rocked the boat in all directions until Dexter had completely lost his bearings. He fell to his knees as the boat stood still for a brief moment.
The white sheet had fallen slightly in the motion of the boat, Deb's pale hand reaching out from under it, as if to hold on to her last slice of life. Dexter became aware of his sights and sounds as the storm remained still, waiting patiently, vetting him. The boat was waterlogged, soaking through his trousers, the cold wind making the hairs on the back of his arms stand up, the taunting waves slapping gently against the side. Dexter closed his eyes for a brief moment. The calm. Tonight's the night, but it was never going to happen again. But it had to, just one last time.
Dexter pulled Deb's body from the floor of the boat and leant her against the side, the white sheet darkened by the overflowing water. He peeled back the white sheet to reveal her pale form, lifeless and yet still her. The closest thing he had ever had to a real family. Dexter felt an unfamiliar sensation as something rolled down his face, he touched it softly as it moistened his fingertips. Tears. As if it was a sign of his untapped emotion, repressed from the day his Passenger was born, Dexter clutched Deb and howled into the night. He screamed and buried his head in her shoulder, his fingers digging into her shirt, his eyes blinded by the tears he had finally allowed himself to shed. He screamed until his voice gave out and he could do nothing but brush the hair from Deb's face and mouth the words "I'm Sorry."
Dexter held her head with one hand, as he drew a small knife from his pocket. With the tears in his eyes slowly drying, he flicked up the blade and held in loosely in his right hand. He caught a glimpse of his face in the reflection, gaunt and empty. His eyes, an unfamiliar stare. The stare of a broken man. The stare of a monster. He lifted the knife to his face, drawing a blood slide with his left hand from his back pocket. Along his face, a long, thin line, thrown off by a slight knock of the boat from the waves. From the knife he dropped a small drop of blood and then let it fall to the floor of the boat, floating in the inch of water. He then turned to Deb, removing another blood slide from his pocket. He traced her cheek with his finger, before kissing her forehead and smelling her hair one last time.
Dexter held the knife steady, the boat still once more. He traced a small line, from the ear to the left of her lip. A clean cut, a single drip of blood fell from the corner at the bottom. With a swift, precise movement he caught the drop on the slides, and tossed it into the water, to catch up with the other one making its way slowly across the floor of the boat. The waves started to rock as the thunder started to roar, and soon the boat was moving violently once more, the slides and his now-discarded knife floating on the bottom of the craft. He grabbed Deb and held her like a child in his arms, looking down at her face, the trickle of blood growing heavier as it mixed into her hair. Dexter held her as he made his way to the side of the craft.
From behind him Dexter heard a voice.
"You can never let her go, Dex. You know that don't you?" Dexter turned slowly, Harry standing in the centre of the boat. "She's a part of you now. She has to live on in you. Otherwise you let her die for nothing."
"I DIDN'T LET HER DIE!" Dexter screamed at Harry, the tears beginning to brim again. He was betrayed once again by his emotions. He couldn't convince himself that it wasn't his fault. A few hours ago Deb was a foul-mouthed, living, breathing human being with friends, passions and a future. And it was his fault she was dead. Dexter had betrayed the only part of himself that he had trusted from since he could remember, and Deb had paid the price for his stupid belief that he could be happy, for his belief that he even deserved to be happy. Dexter looked helplessly at Harry.
"Maybe I was wrong Dex. Maybe things are meant to be this way." Dexter turned away from Harry, the Miami tides raging beneath the boat so much that Dexter had almost lost grip on Deb's body. He held her in his arms, the storm starting to rage more and more. He glanced behind him, Harry watching intently, unaffected by the storm, his words echoing in his head, the sound of the storm growing louder and louder. The boat was now leaning dangerously to one side, before being thrown back down into the water, as Dexter struggled to keep his balance. He held Deb tight as a wave rocked the side of the boat, sending Dexter sprawling to the ground, and his heard sank as he felt Deb disappear from his grasp. He threw his hand out to catch her but only caught the white sheet.
He scrambled to his knees and crawled to the side of the boat, as he saw Deb's face disappear under the water, her hand outstretched. Dexter plunged his arm into the water, the rain hitting the surface as he struggled to make out where her arm had just been. He grasped through the water but could not find her hand. He panicked, as he desperately searched for her, his hands exploring all of the freezing water, but to no avail. He howled again as he realised that he had let his sister go again.
Hours passed as he sat in the cold, wet boat. The storm growing fiercer and fiercer, at one point even destroying most of the steering mechanisms and glass panes, ripping the engine from the back of the craft. As the hours passed the storm began to settle somewhat, the dark black sky fading into a murky, morose blue. Dexter, drained of all energy, looked down at his hands submerged in the water. The blood slides and the knife.
He picked up the slides, water damaged but still intact. Dexter looked into the two small circles and felt as though he was looking into his reflection, much more so than when he had caught a glimpse of his inhuman self in the blade earlier. Dexter looked at the slides for a long time, before getting up on his feet and looking out at the brightening horizon. He pocketed the slides as he looked out to sea, his dead boat drifting away over the waves. He looked out into the waves and saw what he expected to see. Harry, standing in the waves yet not affecting him, and Deb. She was full of colour, beautiful and had the playful smile that Dexter would always remember. Dexter felt detached from them somewhat, no longer tethered to the world of the living as he was, yet he was not so dead as to be at peace with his family, his real victims.
"Take care of Harrison." Dexter whispered. He wasn't sure that they could hear him, but he knew they had got the message somehow. He turned from them one last time and wandered to the helm of the boat. He looked out onto the ocean, vast and empty, the light seeping through the stormclouds that were clearing slowly. Dexter felt nothing for the picturesque image as he ran through the events of the past few days in his head. He felt a strange relief as the ship floated further and further away into the distance, as when he turned his head his family were nowhere to be seen. He wondered why with every minute he felt lighter, less troubled by the weight of the past. Through his trousers he felt the slides, sharp against his leg. Perhaps this is what was meant to be all along.
He had always spoken of himself as if he had an affliction, that he was born in blood and destined to thirst for it. He had never stopped to consider the alternatives. All his life he wanted human contact, to be a part of a family, to not hunger for blood, to not feel the need. The impulses he had always assumed were the result of his Dark Passenger, borne the day his mother was ripped apart in front of him. Dexter Morgan was never afflicted. Dexter Morgan was born bad, a killer, so conflicted with his desires he personified the Passenger. All this time another Passenger was guiding his life. But he was gone, there was nothing else to stop him becoming what he was destined to become. Because now he felt the need, stronger than ever. With every wave the hunger inside him grew, as the thoughts of the world he was leaving behind him grew weaker and weaker. Dexter Morgan, had been born into darkness all along.