I've often wondered what it would be like to know someone else like myself.
Sure, I meet them on a regularly scheduled basis. I make sure of this.
We meet eye to eye; often hold in depth conversations in which we get to know each other the way two proper monsters should. I see them for what they are and they see me.
But it always ends so quickly and messily. No follow up going out for drinks or discussing whatever it is monsters like me are supposed to discuss.
I treasure these precious moments when I don't have to pretend. When things are what they are and there's no one to let down or utterly disappoint as I have a habit of doing.
It's a pity they don't make Hallmark cards for monsters. I have make my own hallmarks; but my blood slides never ask how my day was.
There's no "Oh hey Dexter, remember when you had me all tied up like that and we joked about which knives made the cleanest cuts? Those were some good times." Or "Come on Dexter, let's get a beer while staking out the next killer's routine, I brought the good breaking and entering tool kit."
It's not that I need these sorts of interactions. Or even desire them. I'm not sure that I desire anything, really.
But being so empty inside, one does tend to suck in whatever moments they can just to fill that void...even for just a little while.
My foster father didn't understand the void. Harry saw through me. He saw the monster. All those years training and learning how to become such a well groomed monster... He never saw just how lonely and empty that monster really was.
I bet he never thought his lies would come back into my life. Or maybe he did? Nothing stays buried forever. That's what he always taught me. Maybe he didn't think his lessons applied to himself, or maybe all his lessons were leading up to this fact.
Everything I thought I knew… Everything I had spent my whole life becoming is unraveling around me. And here was poor desperate Dexter searching for an emotion he couldn't feel. I'd have self pity if I could only understand what that really meant.
Harry did his best with what he had to work with. Get to a monster early enough and you just might be able to make it seem almost human.
Almost.
Maybe that's why Harry lied to me. Maybe that's why Harry kept so many secrets. Just what kind of monster would I be if Harry hadn't molded me?
I like to think that my standards would have still been higher than most. I wouldn't be the kind to run around and randomly pick off the innocents. I also wouldn't have been as messy as most. I like to think that I would still be neat, meticulous, and orderly Dexter.
I'm not that egotistical to think that I wouldn't have gotten caught. Without the lessons of Harry, I would have done something stupid. It would have been me in that chair, twitching and jerking as so called justice coursed through my systems.
The human called Dexter has a nice job, a girlfriend with nice kids, a foul-mouthed little sister, and even friends. The human called Dexter has come to almost enjoy this life. The human called Dexter owes this all to Harry and his guiding light.
The monster called Dexter moves around this life with a window between him and everything else. The cold glass foggy and distorting everything around him. Nothing gets in, nothing gets out.
Until now.
Suddenly I find there's another monster in the room with me. One that's apparently been with me since I was born.
There's a pit in my stomach I've never felt before. Something I can only describe as an overwhelming need.
Need I can understand. The body has needs. I need food. I need water. I need sleep. I need to kill. I know what need feels like. There's no emotional need for me. I don't need love. I don't need companionship. I don't need to know what people think of me.
But this… This ache deep in the pit of the void called Dexter. I can only begin describe what it does to me physically. How it makes my hair stand on end. The sweat on my forehead cold and damp. My skin crawling as if trying to peel back and expose what I am inside. And the emptiness… Turning, twisting, pulling as if trying to turn me inside out.
The first time I felt this I couldn't help but wonder if this was what desire feels like.
The first time I felt this I was looking down at a work of art neatly laid out in little packages waiting just for me. This must be how people feel looking at a masterpiece.
Each poetic pile of parts we found made this new feeling inside me grow. I couldn't begin to understand why he was singling me out. Or why his style spoke so directly to me. Why my monster was so fascinated by his.
It was really very obvious once I understood. I'm a bit embarrassed that I didn't catch it the first time he tossed it at me. But my new playmate is patient. He tells me this with how carefully he lays out each individual piece.
How long did it take me to figure out my own ritual? Harry helped, of course, but he never set down rules on how to butcher the body. How to make such nice neat clean cuts and wrap them the way I do.
Is it coincidental that the Ice truck killer cuts them up so neatly? How long has he been doing his ritual? His kill count doesn't even compare to mine, but that doesn't mean he hasn't been perfecting his own craft for as long if not longer.
Yet, he singled me out. He leaves me presents and invites me to come out and play. He knows me.
How long has he been watching the Monster known as Dexter? Did he create his craft after watching my own? Did he purposefully set out to improve my finely tuned art? To upstage me and get my attention?
Well he has my full attention now.
It's the only way to flatter a monster. The only way to play. And my monster can't help but want to return the gesture.
I find myself slowing my blade, taking longer to cut. Making my strokes more precise.
I know no one will ever see my beautiful work. But he may be watching. He's already proven this to me once before by retrieving one of my unfinished masterpieces. Laying it out for everyone to see. He was testing me. Teasing me playfully for my mistakes.
I want to impress him. I want more than anything for him to notice me and approve of me. There's that feeling again. This mysterious desire burning inside me.
I feel he is a part of me. Maybe he's the missing piece that is Dexter.
His monster and mine are standing at the window, drawing little smiles in the foggy glass.
Can the monster Dexter come out and play?
Oh how I want to play. But would Harry have allowed this? I doubt he'd have approved.
I promise to be good. Just this once, please look the other way and let me try to fill this space inside.
Just this once, I want to leave this glass room and play.