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This is the moment, I realize, the moment I'd dreaded and hoped for in equal measure, the great unveiling.
So, I can only watch in marvel as her face goes through a dozen expressions in a second, only to settle in a strangely blank stare.
I try to emphasise with what she must be going through (not my strong point I know) , but I find myself fascinated by her ever changing expressions, the only signs that her world has been tilted on its axis, that the foundations upon which she had based her entire life were crumbling, that her entire thought pattern was being rewritten, I was watching a form of paradigm shift I realized, and I was captivated.
Right now, random bits and pieces of information were being fired into her skull by a billion synapses lighting up at once. Dozens of overheard conversations , half-formed ideas ,and forgotten facts were rushing into her
She had already been following the bloody trail I had left behind me since I was taken from that shipping container all those years ago, like Hansel and Gretel following the Big Bad Wolf into his den, she had been picking up clues one by one.
And then, like a grisly game of connect the dots, the tableau becomes clearer, every connection slowly revealing the true visage of Demonic Dexter.
« No,no,no,no… »
Huh, denial, not like I didn't expect it, maybe I shouldn't have smiled, it's probably one of those social faux pas I keep making. I expect a real person would have known better than to smile's at one's sister in the moment when she discovers one is a serial killer.
« Dad… » she whimpers in a broken voice.
Harry. Ah, that makes more sense. I suddenly remember my father's last words, and I know she does as well.
Once I'm gone, I won't be there to stop you. You'll need to do it.
It's the final nail, she breaks down crying, and my atrophied heart breaks just a little.
I'm reminded of a cabin deep in the Everglades, and of my own loss faith in Harry. I remember the feeling of having the earth shift beneath my feet and of free falling, as if from a great height, knowing there is no one there to catch you.
I wonder if she will be reborn from the ashes of Harry's memory, like I was, or if she will be consumed by it.
Because, for all the pain and confusion I felt at that moment, I know it's a thousand times worse for my over emotional little sister.
The both of us had shaped ourselves around him completely, and while I doubted that Deb talked to him in her head like I did, his influence on her life had been and still was, almost absolute.
My adoptive father had been a force of nature, a character so overwhelming that you couldn't help but be swept up by it, and, years after his death his presence was still keenly felt by his two children.
The introduction of the cancerous concept of Dexter the killer into her mind tainted Harry by association, along with probably her entire childhood.
This might be a bit harder than I thought.
« You lied…both of you… about everything… »
Tears are still streaming down her face, but her gaze has turned into cold steel, it turns me on just a little bit.
« EVERYTHING WAS A LIE! »
The words are torn from her throat as if from a primal force, and stay ringing in my hears for a few seconds afterwards thanks to the echoes in the small church.
I'd expected it, and had steeled myself, but I still shook a little. This was about trust, I knew.
Above murders, and blood and morality, what hurt her the most was that she had trusted me more than she had trusted herself, but I hadn't, and neither had Harry.
Since the incident with my brother and even before that, trust and truth were two of Deb's most prized values. She craved and protected the first, and sought out and glorified the second.
While lying had always been second nature to me, I had learned from various experience's with Rita and Deb, that it was a considered a grave and unforgivable offence to lie to someone that trusts you. She was probably coming to terms with the fact that I hardly did anything but.
Still , I feel compelled to correct her.
« Not about …everything, Deb »
Her breath hitches, and her gaze softens infinitesimally, it spurs me on to add.
« We…I, only lied to protect you »
It was the wrong thing to say.
« TO PROTECT ME? To protect me from … from… »
Her sight has fallen to Travis once again, and then shoots right back to me.
« You were only protecting yourself »
Guilty.
« You're the Bay Harbor Butcher »
Guilty.
«My God, Doakes… You… you killed him «
Ah! Not guilty. Had to happen eventually. As one of those few people I didn't actually kill (having only locked him up in a cage for three days and then framed him for mass murder), I was somewhat glad she mentioned him, and I tried to latch on to it.
« No Deb, I didn't kill Doakes, I have a…code, of sorts, I only kill murderers »
She doesn't look like she believes me, but then again, this new Deb is hard to read, and for all I know she could perfectly fine with the whole serial killer thing.
« Right…because that's the Bay Harbor Butcher's MO… »
I hated that name then, and now that I hear it fall from her lips while she looks at me in accusation, I can't stand it.
« Please… don't call me that, I'm just … Dexter »
She looks surprised by my remark, as if she just remembered who I was. Her explosive anger seems to deflate, and she's my little sister once again.
« Why? Why would you…do this »
She asks me in a small voice while gesturing to the cooling corpse between us.
Why? Why do I kill?
Because my mother was cut to pieces in front of my eyes, taking my soul, along with my brothers, with her when she died.
Because Harry told me I would always be this way, and placed all of his hopes and fears in a fucked up kid.
Because someone needs to balance the books, take out the trash, cull the weeds and any other euphemism.
Because I like it and I'm good at it.
Because I need to.
All of those answers go through my head in a split second, none seem adequate.
The reasononings and motivations behind my many murders, and by extension, my Dark Passenger, is a subject I know only too well, having pondered on it many times, yet all of these reasons, excuses, seem hollow to me now.
«It's just who I am, and I don't know how to be anything else »
Her muscles tighten, and she shoots back immediately.
« That's not an answer! »
She's right, it isn't. Fuck.
« I… I… »
I have no idea what to say. And then, like the proverbial gong saving the contestant at the last minute, my cell phone starts ringing.
« Motherfucking Jesus Fuck! »
The sounds of my sisters familiar swearing is comforting, and along with my cell phone, brings back a sense of normality to this surreal meeting.
I glanced down to my phone and see that it's Jamie, which, in my paranoid state , filled my mind with worry for Harrison (having just been caught killing someone by a cop, after saving him from being sacrificed on an altar by a religious fanatic earlier today, I thought the feeling perfectly rational).
« Jamie is everything okay? Did something happen? »
I ask quickly and forcefully, pressing the phone to my ear.
« What? No everything's fine here, the little guy is sound asleep, he looked exhausted »
Incomparable relief floods me instantly, my muscles uncoil, and the taste of blood finally leaves my mouth.
« Oh thank God » (I spare a thought to my choice of expletives lately and decide that this religion thing is hard to shake)
« Dexter is everything okay? I was just calling because you usually call to check up on him and you didn't tonight »
I fight the urge to laugh, but still manage to say, in a somewhat even voice.
« Yeah don't worry everything's fine »
« Good, so I'll see you in an hour then? »
At this I look up at my sister. The anger and confusion were wiped from her face, leaving only sadness. I realize that she must have remembered Harrison at the same time as I did.
The thought of my son flooded my mind with many things however, and a dangerous notion started to crawl up my spine.
A few years ago I realized that I did indeed have feelings, as weak as they were, and only for a select number of people. I subsequently realized that I would be willing to give up my life or freedom to save any of theirs. This realization filled me with great clarity and I made a list of the people important to me and their rank.
Harrison
Debra
Astor and Cody
Dexter
Which brings me back to the idea spreading through my mind, would I be willing to kill Debra if it meant protecting Harrison?
Bile rose up in my throat at the very concept, and yet… would I?
« Dexter? »
Jamie's voice brings me back inside the church.
« Actually Jamie, that might a bit difficult, I have something of a…situation, can you stay? I'll pay you double »
« Sure, of course. Boss are you sure you're okay? You sound strange »
« I'm fine Jamie, and thank you, I'll see you …tomorrow »
« All right then, see ya »
Just as she was about to hang up, I panic.
« Wait! Tell Harrison … No, never mind, goodnight Jamie »
I close my phone, and set it down next to my bloody serrated knife. I could grab it, take two short steps and …what?
Just as it happened when she was lying naked and wrapped in plastic in my old childhood home with my brother by my side, my mind comes to a screeching halt when trying to conjure up an image of me hurting her.
This is very unusual for me since I have a very active and graphic imagination for scenes of violence ( which helps tremendously in my day job, where I often imagine myself as the killer in various crime scenes). In fact I have imagined killing in great detai,l most everybody I know or knew, including Harry, nearly all of my co-workers, the entire population of my high school, my neighbours, and sometimes perfect strangers.
But not Deb, never Deb.
My hand moves away from the blade.
She's been quiet since my phone call, and now more than ever, I have no idea what she's thinking.
« Look Deb, I know that this, all of this, is just…fucked up. But I need you to know something »
It looks like I'm pulling her from her thoughts once again, but she quickly looks back at me.
« What? »
Her voice sounds broken, defeated, I don't like it.
« No matter what you decide to do, I will never harm you, you're safe with me, that hasn't changed, and I need you to believe that »
Her reaction is not one I expected, a muffled and strangled little laugh leave her lips. I feel like I'm missing something but I carry on without waiting for an answer.
« But you need to come to a decision about what's going to happen now »
The strange laugh is back, along with the broken voice.
« I can't! I.. I don't know! Okay? I don't know anything anymore… »
Hearing her sound so pitiful (sorry Deb, no other word for it), is grating, like nails on a chalkboard, and I'm hit by an urge I hardly ever get, to initiate physical contact. I want to hug her and make it stop I realize. But I can't, mostly because I'm still covered in blood.
« I mean, whether or not you're going to call this in »
« I know what you meant! Fuck! Okay… so what happens if I don't call this in ? »
Yes! The fact that she's even considering it lifts a weight from my shoulders I didn't realize was there. I know the battle is nowhere near won (I'm not even sure what I'm fighting for); but I also know that for Debra, this is a huge deviation from her own code of conduit. Of course, it probably helps that like me, her code came from Harry (although, less literally than mine) and that I've just shattered it.
« Well, I suppose, you go home, and then tomorrow we meet for a long overdue conversation »
« And what if I do decide to call this in? Huh? What happens then? »
« I already told you I would never hurt you, nor am I going to run. If you call this in now, I'll be arrested and most likely end up on death row, that's what will happen »
« Really? and how am I supposed to believe anything that comes out of your mouth? Huh? Tell me that! »
Good point, to which I have once again, no answer.
« Listen, I realize that you have no reason to trust me, but, you still need to decide, before someone hears us shouting, comes in here and takes the choice out of your hands entirely. And that doesn't mean that you can't arrest me later if you want »
Hmm. In retrospect, maybe I shouldn't have added that last part.
Nevertheless, I want to end this entire experience and go home to kiss my son goodnight, make sure he is safe. But I have a human body to dismember first. And I know in my gut that Debra can never see me do that. Neither can Harrison.
I look one long look at my sister , knowing it might be the last time I see her as a free man. As I study her I'm reminded of her sunning herself in the backyard on those long summer afternoons I always found unbearable, of her big sad eyes and endless tears at her mother's funeral (I've never really considered her my mother, nor did she see me as a son I believe), and again after Harry's death, of her wide smile and outrageous curse words when she was just a rookie in uniform.
I realize I won't be angry with her if she does decide to turn me in.
I also realize, that despite myself , my Dark Passenger, and all that Harry taught me, she had wormed her way into my psyche by sheer presence.
Debra had always simply been there. Often annoying and aggravating, yes, but just there.
Maybe that's what she always meant when she's babbling about a great brother I am for being there and how she loves me.
Huh. In that strange moment, a thought crystallizes, in a way strangely reminiscent of Harrison's birth, I am indeed capable of love.
I smile.
« So? What's it going to be? »
So, there is Chapter 2.
Reviews are always appreciated, along with any grammatical corrections you might have, since English isn't my mother-tongue.
Thanks in particular to KrisEleven for being my first reviewer ever. ;)