Chapter 2

As I stare at the fat moon hanging heavily above the water I try to relax. The night is warm and even though I can see Miami's night time lights, the light wind blowing onshore keeps the city noises from reaching my ears. The slight rocking of my boat as it rides the slight swell and the gentle lapping of water should help, but Deb's unconscious form lying near my feet is making it difficult to appreciate the tranquillity.

She is my only family. Not that she really is family I suppose; a foster sister only. I had a brother, a real brother, for a while. A brother forgotten, then found, then lost again. Although 'lost' isn't really the best word. I didn't lose him, I know exactly where I left him. I killed the only person who could understand and accept me, the only person I could drop my pretence of humanity around. Killing Brian had been the hardest thing I have ever done, and I did it to keep Deb safe. Watching her now, the irony is not lost on me.

Alerted by small noises coming from dear Deb I place the knife on the deck beside me and watch her regaining consciousness. "Nmph," is all she says for a while and then her eyes slowly open, gradually bringing her world into focus. "Dex?" she queries fuzzily, seeing me at last.

"Hi Deb," I say. Not the most brilliant opening, I admit, but this situation has left me feeling a little out of my depth.

She tries to move her arms and realising she can't, a look of perplexed annoyance crosses her face. Looking down at the tape binding her, she frowns in confusion and struggles against it. When she looks at me again her eyes are clear and a little too wide. "Dex? What the fuck?"

"I have some things that I need to tell you…" I begin, and wince at the banality of the words. I have imagined explaining to my dear sister about my macabre moonlit antics but I could never think of a way to tell her that would turn out well. Maybe if I am boring enough?

"What you need to do," Deb snarls, "Is undo this fucking tape."

Or not.

I try to start again but I don't get any further than her name before being interrupted. "Just tell me what the fuck is going on!" she yells at me, fear and fury fighting for dominance.

I'm a psychopathic serial killer with dozens of kills to my name and you are trapped with me, alone and unable to defend yourself. Accurate, but not quite the approach I am going for. My sister's rage and frustration are palpable. If she wasn't restrained I would be inclined to just tell her - she has a punch that will leave your whole arm numb - but I want to try and ease her into this as gently as possible. "I will. I promise. But first, what do you remember?"

Deb looks like she is about to start yelling, but I give her my best serious older brother look, and she subsides. I am stunned; submissive is not the first word I would use to describe Deb. With a look that speaks of the many ways I will suffer for this indignity when she is free, she frowns as she struggles through the mental fog caused by the drug lingering in her system. "I went to Lila's apartment…" she begins, and I am a little in awe. Even though she is tied up, has no idea where she is or what is happening, she trusts me enough to play along.

"I walked in and someone grabbed me…" She makes a frustrated noise, trying to piece her memories together through sheer force of will. I wait, as patiently as I can, for her to remember. Her face darkens again and for the second time tonight I am glad she is restrained. "It was you," she growls. "You grabbed me and stuck me with a fucking needle!" Now we are getting somewhere. "Dex, what the fuck is going on?" Her voice goes shrill as her confusion begins to give way to fear.

Her eyes are locked on mine as I reach down and pick up the knife from the deck beside me. I move slowly, letting my hand come to rest on my knee. The knife is not large, but more that big enough to get Deb's full attention. I've always been privately amused to hear people say that their lives are balanced on a knife's edge, having some quite particular experience with the effect knives can have on people's lives. I doubt they ever meant it as literally as the phrase applies to me now; the knife in my hand defining the break between the comfortable life that I have built, and a very uncertain future.

"You stuck me with a needle…" Deb says again, and I watch her eyes flick from the tape the binds her, to the knife in my hand and back to the tape. I can see her taking it in – tape, needle, knife. It doesn't take her long to make the connection – a chain of evidence leading to a single inevitable conclusion. "No way," she breathes at last, "No fucking way."

She is frightened now, truly afraid. Her eyes are wide and her breathing fast. Even though I can't see her well enough in the moonlight, I know from many years of detailed observation that her pupils are dilated and her skin will be damp with sweat. I am usually keen to observe the various physiological changes brought on by fear, but not tonight. Deb shouldn't have to go through this.

Deb's eyes are wide and unfocussed and she makes a strangled noise in her throat. I don't know what she is thinking, but I can assume that it would probably involve a beloved brother neatly packaging the body parts of his many victims. Staring at me, her eyes are willing me to tell her she is wrong. "But Doakes," she whispers, voice pleading. "It was Doakes."

I shake my head. I don't know what I can say to convince her, but my silence seems to be all the confirmation she needs. Tears slide down her face as she accepts what I am telling her. "Fuck."

I couldn't agree more.