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Killing Time
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Disclaimer: The usual, I don't own anything, nobody said I owned anything, you can't prove I own anything.
SPOILER WARNING: CONTAINS HUGE SPOILERS FOR DEXTER UP TO SEASON 5, AND TORCHWOOD UP TO SEASON 3. IF YOU DON'T KNOW WHO DIED IN CHILDREN OF EARTH AND DEXTER SEASON 4, DO NOT READ!
Seriously. I warned you.
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Chapter 2: "Don't"
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We all cope with loss in our own ways. I think I'm just beginning to come to terms with mine.
When I first met Rita, she was a good, safe cover for my... particular situation. Serial killers are usually assumed to be lone wolves, not the nice guy with the good girlfriend, helping out with her two kids.
It was safe.
But then I found I liked it. It became real. I would go out of my way to make Rita and the kids happy.
Eventually we got married. I hadn't foreseen that, but it was the right thing to do. Not just for my cover story, not just for her, but for my... feelings isn't really the right word, but I can't think of another one. I don't have feelings... or I didn't think I did until I met her.
I don't now.
I've lost too much, I can't afford to have feelings.
x x x
I'm just getting back into my routine. It's hard, it feels like a chore, but I'm managing.
I arrive at work on time. I'm always on time.
But then as I pass the food truck, and outdoor dining area on my way to the office, I see something... unsettling.
There are two problems with the scene before me.
It's not like Vince Masuka to make people laugh at his jokes, instead of cringing - or in Deb's case telling him to go fuck himself.
And I recognize the man he's talking to.
Now I realize why he's laughing. It's false. Incredibly false. He's humoring Vince, though I don't like to think why.
"Hey, Dexter!" Vince calls, waving me over, "You have got to meet this man."
Jack Harkness stood and held his hand out to me, smiling, "Vince here's just been telling me about the mysterious case of Mr Plastic Wrap and Captain Bloody Underpants."
I don't look at Vince. I don't want him to see how uncomfortable that revelation makes me. That case involved two of my own botched kills. In a way I was lucky. Vince's 'theory' had given me an excuse, a way to wrap up the two deaths nice and neatly. Auto-erotic something I don't want to know about, ending in murder-suicide.
Almost romantic, and if some of the words I caught from Vince on the night were accurate, even fitting considering what Captain Bloody Underpants did to Lumen.
Great. Now I have two people who know the real me, at the same time.
"I hope he hasn't broken your brain." I say to Jack.
"I've heard worse."
"Oh yeah?" Vince asks hopefully.
Jack shakes his head, "Not for the faint of heart, Vince."
Vince squares off at this, hackles raised like a territorial animal, just daring Jack to try to out-do him. To be fair to Vince, pure and unadulterated filth is his home turf.
Jack leans over and whispers something in Vince's ear.
Vince goes green. "I - I have to go."
And he flees the scene, metaphorical tail between his legs.
I don't even want to know what Jack said to him.
Jack's laughing, but it's hollow. There's no soul in it. That spark of humanity I had seen in his eyes before is gone.
What happened to him, since the last time we met? He seems more like me than I am, now.
"So, what are you doing in Miami?" I ask, hoping for something simple, something that doesn't involve blackmail. Not holding out too much hope, but I have to try.
"I came to see you."
Of course you did. Nothing's ever simple. "I have work." I say, indicating the building we were standing right next to. Technically, it's not work, but it does require the lab.
"I'll meet you for lunch."
"I'm busy."
"Tell me when you aren't?"
He's persistent. I really don't want to take the risk that this is blackmail. Reluctantly, I answer, "Tomorrow. Five o'clock. Meet me here."
He nods, and smiles that false smile. This time it looks like it takes more effort than before. "See you then."
x x x
I pick Jack up after work the next day. I drive, and we go to a quiet restaurant which I know my co-workers don't frequent.
Mostly because this place doesn't serve coffee.
Really, who doesn't serve coffee? I may have to look into the owner, they truly must be evil.
"So what did you want?"
He seems uncomfortable. While he did try to order coffee when we got here, I don't think that's the reason. It's something much bigger than coffee, and I get the feeling this is just going to throw my entire life out of whack.
Further than it already is with Harrison to look after, and then this whole situation with Lumen, and Jordan Chase. I really have enough on my plate already.
He glances around the room, before answering, "I want you to kill me."
That seems... unlikely.
"Why?"
"I've done my research, Dexter. Your M.O. matches a case that came up here three years ago. The Bay Harbor Butcher. The murder who only murdered other murderers."
"So what makes you think you qualify?" I ask skeptically, "I operate on a very strict code. They have to deserve it. Anyone who kills bad guys is a good guy in my books."
"And someone who knowingly kills their own grandson?"
Now that... really doesn't sound likely. I thought I had him figured out. He wasn't like me, didn't take pleasure in the kill, only in the elimination of a danger to society. What changed?
"What happened?"
He contemplates this question for just a bit too long, and I see pain in his eyes as he thinks about how to answer it.
"Do you remember what happened two months ago?"
"The only thing I remember of two months ago was coming home to find my wife dead in the bathtub. Murdered twelve hours previous, by a man I had killed two hours before finding her. The rest is a blur."
He makes a strange choking sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Did you hear about the children, all stopping in the street and speaking in unison?"
Only vaguely. "Yes."
"They were going to take the children. Ten percent of the entire population was going to be lost overnight."
That part had seemed the most implausible to me. They had blamed it on everything from terrorists to a prank to a disease to flying saucers. It had seemed so ludicrous that anyone could threaten to take so many like that, but the government had been taken in by it. All the public schools had been herding kids to meeting points, if the sensationalist reporters were to be believed.
It was good that Astor and Cody were being home-schooled during their move from here to their grandparents' home at the time. Even in the likely event it was a hoax, at least they were away from the hysteria.
"I was in a position to stop them." Jack said, as if it was all real and perfectly serious. "But it didn't work. First they killed my partner - along with an entire building full of people - then we found the only way to stop them was by sending a signal back the same way they had communicated with us. Through the children."
Ah, now I see it.
"You keep saying 'we'." A traumatic loss, I can see how he could have imagined it. It sounds like far too tall a tale to be true.
"I know that look." he says, rolling his eyes, "I'm insane, hallucinating, or something. Okay, go and run a search on FBI files. Here are the access codes." He hands me a piece of paper. "You'll want to look for cases in that time frame, with the label '456'. I'll wait."
An offer of evidence. Now that isn't very common from delusional cases. Maybe I should hear him out. "Back here, same time tomorrow."
He nods. I leave.
x x x
The access codes work. The files show a cover-up involving aliens. Actual extra-terrestrial life forms.
Which wanted to abduct our children for... drugs?
I reviewed the footage and files from that week. A week of hell for Jack, by the looks of it.
First his office gets blown up, and one of those organizations that doesn't exist gets hired to kill him and his co-workers. They manage to survive all of that, persuade the government to back off the kill order, and get a chance to attempt to negotiate with these... aliens... only to have them kill a building full of people.
Finally, they figure out a way to kill the aliens using brainwave signals or something, sent through the minds of the children.
But in order to do so they had to sacrifice one child who would be the center of the resonance.
Jack Harkness's ten-year-old grandson.
Funny, he doesn't look old enough to have grandkids. His 'daughter' looks older than him.
And just how did he manage to survive that building full of poison when all those other people, including his 'partner' (more like lover, the video footage makes that perfectly clear), didn't?
I would have to hear him out, if only to try to understand. These are official FBI files. There's no way he could be planting false evidence to convince me of a fairytale. Unless he works for the FBI himself. Highly unlikely, though worth a look.
It's been half an hour now, and I can confirm that he has never worked for the FBI... though he has been to America before... in the nineteen twenties.
I really need to talk to him.
x x x
It's not easy to juggle a pack of serial-killer-rapists, their only surviving victim in all her vengeful murderous glory, a ten-month-old son, and a day job. Throw in something like Jack Harkness, and I haven't slept in the last two days.
Still, Harrison has his favorite nanny for the night. Lumen is safely at the house, tucking into the Chinese takeout I brought her, and Jordan Chase is hopefully running around like a headless chicken, trying to figure out what happened to all his friends.
I have the night free, and all my tools in my bag, just in case.
I arrive at the restaurant to find Jack already waiting.
"Well?" he asks.
"Your story checks out. Except for the many parts where you should have died."
"I haven't died since that week. Not physically, at least." He looks at me with real pain clear as day in his eyes. "I can't do it. I went through a suicidal phase in the seventies, but this time I just can't. That's why I came to you."
"You lost someone you loved. Lashed out with the only weapon to hand. It is a shame that weapon was a child, but if the story is true it was the loss of one child or millions. You did the right thing."
"Then why does it hurt so much?" There are tears in his eyes.
"Because you're human. At least emotionally. More than can be said for me."
"I can't stay dead. But it's so quiet when I am. I can't think, so it doesn't hurt."
"That's quite a secret to be sharing."
"I guess that makes us even."
"You wouldn't like my usual methods. I prefer to make my victims see their crimes before they die."
He looks away.
"It's a good system." I say carefully, "Just not for you, I think."
"Please."
"Why can't you do it yourself?" He doesn't answer, so I offer my best guess. "It's because you think you deserve to suffer?"
"I don't want you to deviate from your usual system." he says, "You're right, I need to pay for what I did."
"I would forgive you... but if you can't forgive yourself. I suppose I can do this for you."
He smiles. I think that's the first time I've seen a real smile on his face. "Thank you."
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Well this is a first.
A man I believe, from the evidence, to be a good and decent man, on my table, with my full knowledge of the facts.
I chose the hotel room he was staying in, for convenience. It's small, which makes it easier to cover with plastic sheeting, and it has a table that's just the right size for a kill. Good tables are sometimes so hard to find.
"How do you plan to do it?" Jack asks, from where he lies, tied down to the table with duct tape and plastic wrap, like all my previous victims. He appears perfectly calm. Almost eager, even.
"I tend to prefer a knife, precise strike to the chest. Slice clean through the aorta. But if you have any requests, now would be the time."
"No, that sounds good." He seems almost happy. "Ten minutes."
"What?"
"Ten minutes, after a death like that, I'll wake up. Usually. It can vary."
"I'm still skeptical about that, you know."
"I'm sure." He laughs. It sounds sincere.
"Ten minutes." I nod.
He gasps with surprise when I cut his cheek to take the blood sample.
"Oh, I'm keeping this."
"I didn't think you were the trophy type." He seems amused by this, though I'm not entirely sure why.
"Appearances can be deceiving. Are you ready?"
"Yes." He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, then looks up to see me standing over him with the knife in my hand. "Please."
His eyes are alight. He's almost breathless.
It stuns me how much he wants this. How much he needs this.
Just like me.
I raise the knife overhead, take aim carefully... and plunge it into his chest.
x x x
Fifteen minutes have passed. I don't think he's going to wake.
If it was all a lie, a hoax, then he deserved to die. If it was true...
Sixteen minutes.
Jack Harkness gasps for breath, lurching as if to sit up, but he's still tied down by the plastic wrap.
It takes him two seconds to realize where he is, and then he allows himself to relax, falling back onto the table and laughing. "Oh, I needed that."
I shake my head, almost amused. "I've only been the cause of that expression on the faces of women."
He turns his head and gives me an amused look, "Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain. Everyone thinks I hate this dying thing."
"You don't?"
"It feels like a kind of release. I can let go of life for a time. Yes, what it does to my body is painful, but what it does to my mind is worth it." I frown at that, and he continues quickly. "Not all the time... just..."
"When you feel like you deserve it." I frown. "Is that what I do? Give my victims... relief?" The very thought disgusts me.
He snorts. "If you're trying to avoid something, it will not be enjoyable when it happens."
Well that's good to know. "I wouldn't even touch that remark with Masuka's lab tools."
"So, are you going to untie me?"
It takes a moment for me to realize what this means. I killed a man, and there's no body to dispose of. He'll just get up and walk away. No corpse, no evidence. Even the blood isn't really a problem, because it's the DNA of a person who is still out there being alive.
I kind of like it.
All the thrill of the kill, none of the mess to clean up afterwards.
I take the knife, still red from Jack's blood, and cut the plastic wrap off him. "If you ever feel the need to do this again..."
"I'll know where to find you."
He sits up, facing me, and for the first time I regret my choice to have my victims naked under their restraints. It's usually so convenient, because I don't have to dispose of bloodied clothes as well... but now.
Nose to nose with a man I'm starting to realize I barely know... and there's that scent again, overpowering even the coppery tang of blood in the air.
I turn away.
"You should wash up. The shower's just in there."
He nods, and without a word retreats to the tiny hotel bathroom.
By the time he returns, I've already taken down the plastic, and made sure the room is spotless. It may not be necessary, but it's still habit.
On the bright side, I can go straight home to my son after this. No detour to the Gulf Stream to drop off body parts.
I'm thankful to see Jack has dressed again when he emerges from the bathroom.
Just because I got off on murdering him... doesn't mean I have any inclination to get off on anything else with him.
I have all the bloody plastic sheeting in a bag. I'm ready to leave.
"I should just..."
He nods, "Of course." A pause, a breath. "Thank you."
I turn to leave.
"You know, Dexter." I glance back over my shoulder. "I consider you a good friend."
I look around the spotless non-crime-scene of a hotel room, where I just killed the man speaking to me. Then open the door to leave, only glancing back to say to him simply...
"Don't."
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