A/N: Chapter two, one of the few chapters where I like the length of it. I didn't mention this before, but I'll update every Saturday. This is a rather dull chapter, the first have of this story tends to be. It isn't even until the fifth episode when Rudy/Brian shows his face. Anyway, one last thing. I don't think very many religious/spiritual people watch Dexter, but I do some God-bashing in this chapter. If you are religious, please suspend your sense of religion along with your morality when reading this.
Disclaimer: I own nothing within this story, not even the plot.
-Story Begins Here-
Dexter likes to swim, so it seems. I would go into a chlorinated pool if it was mostly empty. The cool and isolation is always something nice. Never, never, would I go in a river though. Filthy places. He could get a parasite from that water. After our reunion, this is something we'll have to talk about.
I think thoughts like that like a lot now. Reunion. There is the game, climaxing into our reunion, followed by 'The After'. What all comes after? It's hard to say. Companionship, certainly, but will we stay or leave? I don't like the idea of staying. Of living another fake life. We could be free. We could travel across the country, maybe even the world if we dared, each day being a new person. No true identity, no home to return to, no friends, no restraints. Yes, that sounds good. Does that sound good to you, Dexter?
He doesn't read my mind and respond, or even notice me. I've very average looking; a good thing for someone who is so not average. He hasn't noticed me at all, or that I always seem to be in the same places as him. Disturbing, Dexter. We'll have to work on that after our reunion.
He's gently floating on the surface of the water. The disgusting, filthy, parasite infected water. That is he was, before some kid rode by on a jet ski and disrupted him. He straightens, and stares at the teens that are playing. What is he thinking? Does he want to kill them? Maim them? Or does he envy them? From my post on the bank, cleaner than the water, I can't see his face. Oh, God no! He is going under the water! I reach into my bag and pull out a Lysol wipe. Just watching him makes me have to clean myself. I rub my hands and face clean. Disgusting. Still, it reminds of days long past. When we were normal children. He would play in the yard, and I would be with him. I would look away, just for a moment, and when I look bad, he would have found the most disgusting item in our yard, and be playing with it. When he was even younger, we would be eating said disgusting item. Dog shit, grubs, rotting bird. He found them. And now, thirty years later, he is swimming in dirty water that most likely contains all three aforementioned icky items.
He resurfaces soon though, and returns to his boat. Good, parasite bath time is over. He climbs into his boat and reaches into a box - cooler, I think - and pulls out an apple. My stomach churns as he bites into it. He didn't clean his hands! Now, not only did he swim in the filthy water, but now he is ingesting it! If only I could use Lysol wipes for my mouth...But he is gone now. Away and back to his fake life, with his fake sister, fake job, and fake girlfriend. But not to worry. You have a real brother looking out for you Dexter.
And I need to make sure he knows that. This whole scheme is just for him. I need to continually remind him of that little fact. I need another girl. But not now, I don't want things to move too fast. Tonight, I will get a girl. Ideas are rushing into my head. The fingernails. Yes, I'll get a girl, paint her nails, and show it to him. Just the nails, so nothing else will distract him.
Brian Moser wants to go and watch Dexter Moser. Morgan now. A fake name for a fake life, his real name is Moser. Does he know that? His real last name is Moser? If not, he will. Big brother Brian will make sure of that. Sadly, Rudy Cooper has a job. I have a fake life too, and I need to keep it. For now at least. And so away I go. He will go to his job, I'll go to mine, and at night we will return to our real lives.
I enjoy my job more today. A woman who needs a new foot comes to me. She says that I'm an angel, surly a gift from God himself. I've never bought into that crap. I remember in the institution I went to religious services. They got in circles and prayed for recovery, week after week after week. Help never came. Still, I went, I prayed, I acted. Anything to get out of there. I wondered if I was the only actor. Everyone wanted freedom, it wouldn't have been a surprise if I wasn't. Was anyone there that didn't act? I remember Lucy, that paranoid schizophrenic that I boned. She believed. She believed that God talked to her, told her to kill Derek. Derek was nice. He didn't talk and stayed out of my way, what else could I have wanted? Well Lucy killed Derek, so then he was even quieter. No complaint from me. Well, I had to act sad. All part of the mask.
But Lucy, she talked to God, and now when some talks to me about God, I think of Lucy. I can't help but wonder if the one-footed woman praising God in front of me talks to God too. I hope not, I don't need another Lucy. She was crazy. Crazier than me even, and that's saying something.
But the woman, Martha, doesn't try to kill me, or anyone. She thanks God for giving her a new foot. Odd, since I'm the one making the foot. Never the less, I set out to make a new foot, God or no God. I keep myself busy that way. Making the foot, checking in on other patients. John needs a new arm, tragic construction accident. He thanks me for the new limb that I had already built him. He thanks me. Martha didn't thank me. Not unless she thought I was God, which I'm not. Maybe she thinks so, and she is just as bat shit crazy as Lucy. Doubtful though, that's just what people do. Thank God for everything. And they think I'm messed up in the head.
Another one of my patients, Mark, is gay. I usually don't care about that kind of stuff, but he won't leave me alone. He thinks I'm cute. I think he's ugly. He wants in my pants. It pisses me off. It's awkward really. Hard to show just the right blend of amusement and frustration to Mark. He is never deterred though. I wonder if doctors can sue patients for sexual harassment. Not that I would. I'm using the name of a dead man and have a personal kill room in my home. I try to stay off the radar.
Chad is back. He is talking about one of my patients. I have too many. All the more reason to kill people, to thin the population. Apparently Lois needs to come in to see me. The leg is uncomfortable and is in need of adjustments. Great.
The day is busy all the way through. A good distraction. If I'm not busy, I tend to get caught up thinking. And thinking about what to do, while unable to do it, drives me crazy. So I'm happy when the day ends.
Because when the day ends, and night comes, and it's back to the game. A girl. Now it's time for a girl. First a car. I need a car to get a girl. I like to use the car without anyone noticing. If no one notices, no one investigates, and all the easy for me to get away with it. It's too early for people to asleep, to late for school. It's five o'clock. Happy hour. To a bar I go.
I choose a bar in the slums. What I'm looking for is someone getting too drunk off their ass to drive tonight. That'll give me a good time period. I wander into the bar. Smoke and loud chatter fills my senses. How fun. I scan the bar for the loneliest, saddest sucker here. A man with sandy blonde hair, around forty years old. He's in a secluded corner, staring vacantly down into his shot of what appears to be vodka. I have an urge to kill him. He's just so pathetic looking. But no, I can't take him. Too public.
Behind him are the restrooms. I pretend that I'm walking to them, but when I pass him, I quickly, yet gently, reach into his coat pocket. Keys. Among them a car key, I'm sure. They're in my pocket now. He doesn't notice, and I continue into the bathroom. There's just something about a bathroom that makes you have to piss. Conditioning I guess. Either way I take a leak and leave. Out into the parking lot. The sun will set soon. The key ring has a car remote on it. I click the unlock button and follow the beep to a Station Wagon. Wow, this guy's life is pathetic. Not my favorite vehicle, but it'll do. I get in, and go off to hooker-land.
A blonde this time. I thought it was a nice change. "Fifty bucks for a complete package. Anal costs an extra ten" She is over-selling herself. No way in hell is she worth fifty, even with free anal. Still, I agree and she gets in. I drive her to my home, the last place she'll ever see. It's a nice and clean place though, the view isn't bad. That's better than what most whores can say.
I skip the sex this time. I'm too excited. With every slashed throat I get a step closer to Dexter. Sex seems just so...minuscule compared to our Reunion.
"So, what's it gonna be, party boy?" Humans have such poor danger senses. She just walked into the lions den, and hasn't even noticed. I walk towards her, quiet, and she still hasn't noticed something is wrong. This is just becoming a classic case of natural selection. The stupid whore is killed before she can make stupid whore babies.
"Oh, I don't know", I tell her as I begin to rub her back. "How about...", I trail off as I get her in a head lock and begin to strangle. "Murder?", I finish my statement. Now she knows something is wrong. She weakly tries to hit me. A five year can do more damage. She tries to screams, too bad my grip is constricting her wind pipe. Within seconds, she is out. To the freezer she goes. I sling her over my shoulder and carry her into my favorite room. I place her on the table, strap her in, and lift the table. She is now upside-down, helpless. I wait patiently for her to awaken. I feel that the stupid whore deserves to be punished.
She stirs, and slowly open her eyes. Fear fills them, I don't blame. She's naked, upside-down, in a freezer. I would be afraid too. But I'm the hunter, not the hunted. There is no reason to fear. I get up, go around her to a table, and pick up the nail-polish. She is still terrified, and flinches when I grab her hand. She stays still though. Good girl. At least she is compliant. I paint each nail a different color. I enjoy doing this. Just like mother. A small cry comes from stupid whore, and I can see she is starting to tear up. I pay no mind. A crying woman usually makes me feel powerful, but this time it's just annoying. I'm working here. I'm making a gift for my dear little brother. No expense will be spared. I finish, and put the nail polish away. I pick up a knife next. I gently trace it across her neck, letting her know what's coming. She whimpers again. This time I enjoy it. I slowly jam the knife into her neck. She bleeds out within moments, but there was that brief second before the knife hit the artery, when she felt pain, fear, and hopelessness. I'm a sick bastard, I know. Textbook sociopath, and damn proud of it. Is Dexter proud? He kills with such a sense of righteousness, but it's still somewhat hypocritical. I'll have to ask him. After the Reunion of course.
The blood stops, and the bucket is full. I add various chemicals to it. Have to preserve it, I have a very special plan for it. If Dexter doesn't remember, I'll make him remember. If he does remember, I'll show him that I know. Not very many people know what happened to our mother. It won't be very hard for him to figure out who I am.
I continue on my work. My typical style, only this time I cut the finger tips off. Carefully I freeze then in a tub of water. When the water freezes, it's perfect. They are placed perfectly in a cube of ice, as tough there is a hand connecting them, and it's just invisible. I hope my brother will appreciate this. I'm sure he will. I keep the rest of the body for now. I take only the finger tips frozen oh-so perfectly in a block of ice.
The ice truck. The perfect place to keep it frozen, and it surly will get attention. I put the finger tips inside, on top of a table. I place two chunks of dry ice on either side. Gotta keep it cold. Then, I park it outside of a restaurant in the middle of the night. I leave it running, gotta keep it cool. It's noisy, sure to get attention. Won't be long now.
I'm picking up a bad habit. And this is coming from a guy who hangs whores upside-down and kills them. I'm returning to the crime scene. I know it's stupid. Just adds extra danger. But I need to know what is going on. Does Dexter approve? Does he understand? I need a better way to stay close to the police force. The same guy can appear near only so many crime scenes before he becomes a suspect. I can't be a suspect. That's the downfall of the home freezer; evidence. There is blood in there, tools, everything. That's why I need to remain hidden. But still, I watch as Dexter comes, surveys the scenario. He is putting the pieces together. He watches them search the truck with exasperation and a sense of knowing. He knows I would never slip up. They'll find nothing, I know it, and he knows it. And yet, the police do not. Is it a sociopath thing? Can he just look at my work and know my personality, that I don't make mistakes? I can look at his work and see him. He is always so careful with his kills. It speaks of uncertainty. He has to take every measure possible to ensure nothing goes wrong. He doesn't indulge, just kills and cuts up. He enjoys it, but I can tell he wants more. He is just too afraid to do more. I can fix that. I'll cut him free of his fake life. Big brother Brian is here to diminish dear Dexter's discomfort.
They leave soon. Off to the lab to analyze everything. The only person who'll find anything is Dexter, because that's the way I made it. The block of ice has fogged up, it shows only a blur of what is inside. Dexter won't get the hint until he returns to the lab.
There is no point in me staying, so I leave and go to my office.
A few days later, and I'm still following Dexter around whenever I get the chance. It's risky, he's bound to notice me sooner or later. I really need to work on a way to get close to him. In person. I could keep on eye on him and the case. Problem is, I know Dexter isn't social. I can't just walk up to him and say, 'Want to be friends?'. I need another way in. I'll work on it later. Because right now, he is on the hunt again. I compare it to the last, and only other, time I saw him hunt. He stalks his prey. Watching them, learning their routine. He's almost over-cautious. So insecure of his abilities. Wouldn't it be so much easier with two hunters, working together? A second hunter watching from a distance, backup incase something goes awry? Still, he sets up a kill room, plastic wrap everywhere. No one would ever know it is a crime scene. He stalked his prey in court, apparently the guy ran down a teen in a hit and run. He stalks him in the bar too. Dexter likes to pretend so it seems as he tells a completely fictional story about his ex-wife. And finally to his house. He is getting ready for the kill. It's moments away. He sits in his car outside the house, syringe in hand. I'm excited just watching him.
A light from inside his car; his cell phone. He leaves, aborting the hunt. I gape. He was about to go in for the kill! He can't just leave. And yet he did. I should follow him, but I can't bring myself to move. I'm tempted to go in and go for the kill myself. I seriously consider this. However, his kill room is still up, everything is ready for the go. He'll be back, I'm sure. And so I'm back to waiting. I just hope he'll be back tonight. I flip open my magazine to that gay columbine drug lord scandal.
As it turns out he comes back in a little over an hour later. Where did he go? He enters the house, and I'm tempted to follow. But no, I know better than that. Following during the day in one thing. Even if he notices, he would have to remain normal. But now, the mask is gone. He is on the hunt, not afraid to kill. Dangerous. It's only a few moments later that he leaves, unconscious body being carried to his car. Away to the kill room he goes. I give him a good head start. He's highly skittish during the hunt I've noticed, and hyperaware too. Wrong time to get noticed.
Five minutes later, I leave. I park a little ways off of the kill room. I can't let him hear my car, a car actually, that would be bad. I try to find a good place to get a look into the kill room. I can barely see though the plastic walls. I can see the plastic wrap tying the naked victim down. No rope marks. Just how careful is he? The tools off to the side. A wide array too. So he does indulge. A light comes towards the table. It's Dexter, carrying his laptop. A video is playing. I can't tell of what, but I'm sure it has a meaning.
He places it down on the table, picks up a knife, and cuts the victims check. He collets some of his blood for a slide. A trophy, it's confirmed. Dexter says something I can't hear. He starts a conversation with his victim. So I'm not the only one that enjoys causing fear and pain. He lifts up a power tool and turns it on, provoking fear. How sadistic. More muttering, and the power tool comes to life again. His victim is clearly in a state of complete terror now, but the power tool dies down yet again. Dexter doesn't waste anymore time though. He grabs a knife and plunges it into the naked body before him.
He is more of a butcher than myself. Cutting the pieces from limb from limb, letting the blood fly as it wills. How messy. Dirty Dexter. It's amazing really, how clean and efficient he is in the big picture though. All the mess is contained, and instead of keeping his space clean for the next kill, he throws it out. A disposable kill room. Brilliant. I might pick up a few tricks from him. After the Reunion of course. We can swap tips all we want then.
He is off to dump the body, in his boat, so it seems. I'll have to take note of the location. His ship does a GPS I believe. I wonder if it records past locations.
That isn't my concern right now. I feel like it's time to get to know Dexter a little bit better. Time to do some breaking and entering. The friendly kind, though.
I get into his home easily. It's a nice place. I didn't take time to notice that last time. I walk to the freezer and open it. Sure enough, my Barbie remains inside. I'm sure Dexter noticed, it, the head is next to the body, not my work, but he works for forensics. It's been drilled into his mind never to disturb a crime scene. I take the head out and glue it to the door again. The body, I take with me. Now, it's time for a little bit of snooping. I walk around his home, exploring. I remember I saw him open his AC once. I wonder...I take off the cover, and there is a little wooden box. Carefully, I pick it up. I open it and grin. Trophies. A long row of blood slides. How long has he been at this? Is this his first box? Oh dear little Dexter, how devious. I replace the box, exactly as it was before. He kills so often, maybe once every week or two. Lets say every two weeks, and he's been at it for ten years. With twenty eight kills a year, for ten years. Two hundred and eighty kills, minimum. Damn. He has me beat. Clearly, he is experienced.
But enough of that. I wander around some more. I look in his fridge. Rather ordinary, although he doesn't seem too into the unhealthy stuff. A good serial killer had to stay in shape though. I move into his bed room. Everything is nice and neat, put in place. It reminds me of one of those display houses. Everything is right. It's cozy and lived in, but blank. No personality. No posters or music or anything to speak to who Dexter is. That seems to be the way he likes it. He likes to be there, in the corner, forgotten and ignored. Nothing noteworthy about him. He does fade into the background well, but that isn't a good thing. He can act, sure. But not well. Like my days in the institution, before I learned how to fake complex emotions. That is how he is. He gets happy about little things, but nothing real. No wonder he is so careful, in a large city like Miami he can go undetected, but if he is part of a smaller group, he would be the sociopath suspect. We can change that. Still, I wonder how he can keep a girlfriend. It must be hard for him. The only hard part about dating for me is not killing the girl in her sleep.
I leave his bedroom. Surely he has to have something to speak to who he is. Something that I can use, that only he will get. You see, today I came up with a good plan. I expanded on that gift idea. I'll capture someone, anyone really, and hold them hostage. I'll leave body parts laying out in the open, but in places that only Dexter would get. A trail of bread crumbs, just for him. Problem is, I need to know where. A photo album would be great. He has to have one of those. And then I could get a better look into his childhood. I go back to his bedroom. I look under the bed. Nothing. In the closet. Just a set of killing tools. Still not a photo album. I go back into the living room and look on the selves. Bingo.
Picture albums. What was his childhood like, I wonder. Pictures of course. Of him, of his fake sister, his fake father, and his fake mother. Places and memories. It's interesting. I watch him grow up, starting with the boy I last saw in a puddle of blood, to the man he is now. I frown. It should be me and mom with him in these pictures. This should be the Moser family album. I continue to flip pages, all the while his smiles get better, more realistic. If someone were to flip through, they might notice that. That he use to have such fake smiles, slowly becoming perfectly. It'd be suspicious. No matter, I don't intend to leave him here, in his fake life.
And there is that man. I remember his face from the day he took Dexter from me. Harry. He is standing next to Dexter smiling. A day at the beach with his fake family. Dexter drinking from a water fountain at a soccer field, Harry's shadow on the wall next to him. A ride in a hay wagon around a pumpkin patch. I know these places. I can use these places. Finally, I come to a picture of just Dexter and Harry in front of a hospital. Angel of Mercy Hospital. I remembering reading about that place. It was shut down. It's still standing, empty. A perfect place to keep a hostage. I turn over the picture and grab a black marker. Carefully, in the upper-left corner, I draw a smiley face. Come meet me Dexter. I'll have a present waiting for you.
