A/N: Hey guys! I'm going to apologize like I always do for taking a while to update. I swear I'm going to do my best to get the next chapter up faster, though this one is like a thousand words longer than the other two to make up for how slow I am lol. This one is from Dexter's POV, because of course I had to leave everyone in suspense about what happened to Deb ;) I think I may return to her POV for the next chapter though. Dexter is significantly harder for me to write, but I like a challenge so who knows haha. I had to rehash some of the stuff with Saxon's origins for this chapter, so I hope that doesn't annoy you too much. I'm going to try to make him as interesting as possible, I promise.
I'm not going to reply to your individual comments this time because I don't want this to get too long but thank you sosososo much for all of your kind words of encouragement, and Tom, thanks for your suggestions for my rewrite of 'Argentina'. They're really interesting, and I'll definitely be taking them into consideration! If any of you have any other requests/suggestions I would love to read them because I kind of suck at coming up with ideas.
Reviews make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside... :)
I think that it would be best if we didn't see each other for a while.
His own careless words ricochet in his mind, stinging his hollow heart like a shot of venom injected straight into his jugular.
I felt sorry for you.
He regrets that part the most, can hardly believe that he allowed words so hurtful to escape his parted lips. Deb handed him the knife and he sat there and let her believe that he had no problem burying it deeper and deeper inside.
I didn't want to upset you. I'm sorry.
Dexter may have been feeding his sister nothing but lies a few short minutes ago, but the fact that he never wanted to upset her, at least that much had been true.
He'd tried to fight the urge to gaze into her eyes as she pleaded with him to make things right; but Debra has had a particularly haunting effect on him for as long as he can remember, one that he can never seem to ignore for long. Still, he couldn't bear to look into those hopeful eyes as their usual stunning shade of hazel morphed into a deep green as she gave up in the battle against her tears.
He couldn't withstand the thought that she'd fled from his lab a blubbering mess because of words he'd said to her. Words that were only meant to protect her.
He knows that he's a fuck up. Of that, he's perfectly aware. If Deb hadn't stormed out earlier, he's sure that she would have called him out on all of that and more. Honestly, he wishes she had.
He tries to convince himself that he had to hurt her feelings now in order to avoid hurting them even worse later, but his traitorous thoughts tell a different side of the story.
"What the hell did you just do to Deb, hermano?" Batista asks.
Dexter jumps suddenly at the sound of his voice. He hadn't even heard Angel come in.
He wants to blame his obliviousness on the other man's soft footfall, but he knows that the only reason he hadn't heard him was that he was so lost in his own thoughts. The longer Deb is away from him, the longer she spends being who knows where doing who knows what, the more he feels himself starting to slip. He can't let that happen again. He needs her back.
"There's something wrong with Deb? What do you mean, Angel?" Dexter asks, deciding to utilize the always reliable 'Dexter is well-meaning but genuinely clueless' routine.
"Well I didn't see her personally, but Miller told me that Deb bolted out of here in hysterics." Batista explains. "I thought she had been doing better lately."
"I thought so too." Dexter replies, holding his head in his hands to feign confusion. "She came here to see me and we talked for a little bit. I could tell that something was bothering her but I didn't want to say anything to upset her so I just left it alone."
"It's been rough time for all of us these past couple of months, but I'm especially worried about Debra." Batista states, closing the door behind him. "What did you do that managed to get her so worked up, anyway? I doubt she was mad for no reason."
"I'd…I'd rather not get into it." Dexter insists. "But even if I wanted to, I wouldn't even know where to start. It sort of came out of the blue, I guess."
"Hormones, maybe?" Batista jokes. "You know how that goes."
"No. No, it wasn't that. I guess I should have said something." Dexter adds with a sigh. "Maybe I should say something now. But if she really is angry with me, I doubt she'll bother picking up the phone when I call. You know how Deb is. Once you've gotten on her bad side, you may as well be six feet under."
"I've known you and Deb for years now, Dexter. Your little spats never seem to last very long. Actually, just between you and me, Jaime and I could stand to learn a few things from you two about healthy sibling relationships." Batista laughs.
Dexter flashes a queasy smile the older man's way. If Angel knew the truth, the actual truth, then he would be singing a very different tune. Wordlessly, Dexter thanks the God he doesn't believe in for the underappreciated gift of secrets. He doesn't know where he'd be without them.
"But anyway, speaking as your boss and your friend," Batista continues. "I'm going to order you to take the rest of the day off. Go find your sister and make things right, okay?"
"Are you sure about that, Angel?" Dexter considerately asks, dedicated to keeping his charade going a little while longer. "I mean, Miami's overflowing stock pile of serial killers never takes the rest of the day off."
"I think we can manage a few hours on our own without you swooping in like a superhero, catching the bad guys for us." He smiles. "Now go find Deb."
"You got it, Lieutenant." Dexter replies with a mock salute and an accompanying chuckle. The irony of Batista's comment doesn't escape him. "See you tomorrow morning, buddy."
Batista gives him a kindly nod before making his way out of the door, and as soon as he's gone, Dexter springs into action. He powers down his computer, making sure to back up all of his files just in case, and then grabs his bag on his way out the door. He waves away concerned coworkers, offering them polite smiles until he finally finds himself in the parking lot and in the comfort of his own car.
He starts the car, taking out his cell phone to text Deb before hurriedly pulling out of the lot.
Deb, we need to talk. Text me back as soon as you get this.
He decides against going to Deb's bungalow. She would definitely suspect that as the first place he'd look, so naturally that would be the last place she'd go. He drives around a few familiar blocks instead, telling himself that he's bound to find her soon. She couldn't have gotten very far. After a few minutes of wandering through empty streets and scanning packed parking lots for his rogue sibling, Dexter gives up and decides to pull over and check his phone.
No new messages.
You never go anywhere without your phone, Debra. Don't do this. Please. I'm sorry.
He parks next to a crowded bodega, ignoring the quizzical stares he receives from random passerby's. The minutes tick by – or has it only been seconds? – slow as molasses, and Dexter finds himself obsessively checking his phone like a teenage girl going through her first breakup.
I'm worried about you, Deb. Pick up your fucking phone.
He decides to call her, foolishly believing that maybe she'd prefer to actually hear the sound of his voice rather than reply to an impersonal text.
"Hey," her smooth voice answers from the other end of the line, sending a burst of warmth to his chest.
"Deb! Finally. Listen, I –"
"…sorry I can't answer your call right now. You know what to do."
"Fuck!" Dexter shouts, the obnoxious beep ringing in his ears. "Deb, I don't know what else to say other than you have to call me back. Now…please? We- we can talk about this. I'm ready to talk now, okay? If this is you trying to rile me up, well, mission accomplished. Deb…"
His voice cracks as he makes his final plea and all at once he feels ashamed of himself. It never should have come to this.
Dexter ends the call but still refuses to accept that this is it. He doesn't think he can make it through a repeat of what happened after LaGuerta. If Deb tries to disappear herself again, he'll do everything in his power to bring her back to him. He's done it once and he'll do it again.
He decides to go home, hoping that the universe will toss some undeserved luck his way and Deb will be there, waiting to hash it out with him. He can take her anger. He'll take anything she wants to hurl at him if given the chance.
When Dexter pulls into the semi-vacant parking lot and sees Deb's car parked in front of his building he smiles to himself. He hurries to his apartment, barging through the door in anticipation. He expects to see Deb wading in the midst of chaos of her own making; his clothes strewn across the floor, furniture tossed on its side, and maybe even a few broken vases that he couldn't care less about. What he does see, however, is much worse.
"Zach…?" Dexter mumbles in disbelief.
He doesn't know why he even bothers saying anything at all. The boy is dead. His exposed brain (the parts of it that still remain, that is) spells out that fact loud and clear.
"So if you cannot take my hand, and if you must be going, I will understand. You gotta make your own kind of music…"
The song blares ominously through the speakers, sending shivers up Dexter's spine.
"Deb!" He calls out. "Debra, are you here?"
For the first time in a long time, he is relieved that he doesn't get a response from his sister.
Dexter inches closer to his desk, stopping in his tracks halfway there so he can bend over to pick up the picture of himself and Debra that's been displayed on his desk all these years. The frame is completely shattered, and the picture itself isn't much better off. Part of Deb's smiling face has been scratched away due to the fallen shards of glass, and he feels an ache in his chest when he realizes that the photo can't be replaced. It's one of a kind. Like her.
He turns his attention back to the corpse before him, wondering how it is that he is able to feel more remorse over the loss of a decade old photograph than the loss of an actual human life. A normal person wouldn't be this way.
Dexter shakes it off, forces himself to focus on the task at hand. He can't have a dead body rotting away in the middle of his apartment. Not when his son is due back home in a little over an hour. Not when Deb is still missing in action.
Quickly he walks to his bathroom, taking out a couple of cotton swabs from the cabinet so he can collect whatever evidence he can find under Zach's fingernails. The boy may have managed to claw at his attacker before he was killed. If Dexter can get the killer's DNA, then they'll surely be on his table before the week is through. The thought doesn't make him happy like it may have before, but it has to be done.
There's blood under Zach's fingernails, and if he's lucky, maybe he'll find a few skin cells, too. Dexter places the evidence in a zip lock bag and sets it down on the desk. All of a sudden, he notices a familiar object by Zach's feet. But no…no, it can't be. Deb's cell phone? Why would she leave her phone carelessly on his floor? She never would. Not by choice.
He thinks back on her car, the only one besides his parked in the empty lot. She must have come here to blow off some steam, just like Dexter thought she would, so what happened between then and now? He doesn't want to jump to any conclusions, but he knows what the only possible answer is.
Zach's body hasn't gone cold yet. The removal of his anterior insular cortex couldn't have possibly been done in Dexter's apartment, there isn't enough blood; but he was brought here almost immediately afterward. Posed and left here out in the open for Dexter to walk in on. Only it wasn't Dexter who first made the grand discovery. Deb must have walked in on whoever did this to Zach while he was in the middle of his sick ritual. This disturbed psychopathic killer, this so-called Brain Surgeon, must have taken her.
All of a sudden, Dexter's legs give out.
He falls to the floor, shakily clutching Deb's lost phone in one hand. He cries out, muffling his pained scream with his other hand.
Once he gets that out of his system, he tries to assess the scene like he normally would. He has no idea who this man is, and not even the slightest clue where he could have taken his sister. That's bad.
He has blood from under Zach's fingernails, hopefully the blood of his attacker. That's good.
There's no visible spatter across the walls and no blood on the carpets. That's also good. Wherever Deb is, there's a significant chance that she hasn't been hurt. Well, not physically anyway. But emotionally? That's another story. One that Dexter is ashamed to admit he had a hand in writing.
But he can't let himself focus on that. Not now. Not while Deb is in danger and he doesn't have even the slightest fucking clue where this unfamiliar monster could have taken her.
Dexter grabs his makeshift evidence bag and heads to the front door, stopping dead in his tracks when he catches Zach's lifeless eyes watching him.
He wants to speed back to the station and run tests on these blood samples, but he can't just leave Zach's corpse in the middle of his living room to putrefy. The last thing he needs is Jaime bringing Harrison back home early and successfully traumatizing them both.
With a resigned sigh Dexter walks back over to his desk and sets down the bag of cotton swabs.
"Time to get to work." He declares.
After disposing of Zach's body in his typical fashion, making sure to double check that he didn't miss any clues that Deb could have left behind for him and ensure that his apartment is spotless, Dexter hurries back to the station.
With Masuka out at a crime scene Dexter has the lab to himself, as well as the perfect opportunity to test the blood he found beneath Zach's fingernails without any unnecessary distractions. Dexter wouldn't dare get the police involved unless Deb's life depended on it – too many loose ends that he wouldn't be able to explain away. Besides, he wants this one for himself.
He goes through the standard DNA profiling process, and when the "no matches found" message flashes across the computer screen it takes everything Dexter has in him to keep his cool.
A catastrophic breakdown won't help anyone now, much less Deb, so he manages to hold himself together. For her.
"Think. Think." He mumbles. "There has to be something more. Something I missed…"
And then it hits him. If he can't identify Deb's captor, maybe he can find the next best thing. Something that can lead him right to the bastard. A relative.
Dexter runs a mitochondrial analysis on the sample, childishly crossing his fingers as he hopes for a tangible result this time.
When the name flashes onto the screen he can hardly believe it. There is a direct familial match in the system for the Brain Surgeon's blood. A fucking matrilineal match.
But no…no, it's impossible. The Brain Surgeon, the elusive serial killer that Dexter has been hunting for weeks, can't possibly be Dr. Evelyn Vogel's son. She never even mentioned having a son.
He wants to believe that it isn't true, but according to the blood, it very much is. And blood? Blood never lies.
Dexter arrives at Evelyn's house in a flash, parking his car haphazardly in the closest available spot. He contemplates going into his trunk for a few of his tools, but he quickly decides against it. They won't be necessary.
Dexter runs over to the woman's front door, taking the steps two at a time. As he pounds his fists noisily at the door he also shouts the psychiatrist's name, guaranteeing that she hears him loud and clear.
Vogel opens the door almost immediately, her face relaxed as if there is nothing out of the ordinary going on.
"Hello Dexter." she warmly greets him. "I don't remember you scheduling an appointment for today, but I'd be happy to sit and…"
"No appointment," He cuts her off. "You have ten seconds to tell me where Debra is."
"Dexter, I haven't seen your sister in –"
"You're down to five seconds, now." He growls. "Do I look like I'm in the mood to play games with you today, Evelyn?"
"I would never play games with you, Dexter. You should know that by now." She replies, her voice velvety smooth without even a hint of fallaciousness. "We've gotten to know each other quite well as of late. Now, how about you come inside and tell me what this is all about?"
Dexter nods in the older woman's direction without a word, gently nudging past her so he can step inside of the house. He takes a seat in one of two empty chairs, the very same chair he'd sat in during his most recent session with Deb. He feels foolish for believing the argument they had that day was the worst to come.
The Morgans have been playing a very dangerous game these past few months. When one of them does something bad, it's almost like the other is compelled to do something worse in return. Dexter could easily blame it all on Deb turning his world upside down the day she disappeared on him, but it would be unfair to claim that that was the source of it all and he knows it.
Dexter killing Briggs right before Deb's eyes, Deb trying to off them both, Dexter almost going back to Hannah, Deb killing Hannah, it's as if it's all been one big contest. Dexter fears that what he did to Deb last night may have crowned him the victor; but what exactly is his prize?
He pushes those thoughts aside, waiting anxiously for Dr. Vogel to join him in the empty seat beside him. Deb's seat.
"Would you care for a cup of tea? I was just in the middle of putting a kettle on the stove when I heard you calling for me." She says. "It must be urgent. I don't think I've ever heard you sounding quite so desperate."
"I don't want any of your fucking tea." Dexter snarls, immediately standing back up to face her. "All I want is for you to tell me where my sister is."
"I haven't seen Debra since our last session, and it's been a long while since then. There is no need to snap at me, Dexter." She proclaims. "Here, why don't you sit back down so we can talk about what's troubling you?"
Without even so much as a thought, Dexter lunges at the woman. He wraps both of his hands around her neck and squeezes, making sure to hold tight enough to send her a clear message while still giving her enough room to breathe. He doesn't want to hurt her.
"Now, I'm going to ask you one more time. Where is my sister?" Dexter asks.
"I-I don't know, Dexter. Please let me go." She pleads, her pupils dilating as her anxiety builds. "I haven't done anything wrong. I've been here all day reviewing patient files. Don't do this."
Reluctantly, Dexter drops his hands to his sides but still leaves her little room to breathe, refusing to give her even an inch of space at the slim chance that she may try to make an escape.
"I knew you wouldn't hurt me." She smiles, reaching down to smooth out her blouse. "Good. Now, let's talk, shall we?"
"I don't think you're understanding me very well, Evelyn." Dexter says through gritted teeth. "Deb is missing, and you're going to help me find her. We don't need to talk about anything. You do. So go ahead. Start talking. You won't like what'll happen if I'm forced to ask you again."
"What I said is the truth. I haven't seen Debra in days. I don't understand what makes you think I can be of any help." She replies, unwavering. "A while ago I suggested that the two of you spend some much needed time apart. I thought you two were finding your way back to each other, but maybe she decided to take my words into consideration instead. She'll be back soon enough, I'm sure. My advice? Let her have her space. I must admit though, your heightened response to Debra's absence worries me. How long has she been gone, exactly?"
"You're not the one that gets to ask questions here, doctor. I am." Dexter says, placing a hand at her neck in warning. "She isn't just gone. She was taken. The Brain Surgeon has her."
"The Brain Surgeon? Dexter, are you sure?" She gasps.
"Have you ever known me to be unsure? I wouldn't be here if I was!" Dexter yells. "He murdered Zach and left his brutalized corpse at the apartment for me to find. Deb must have walked in on him as he was staging his twisted little scene, and so he took her. If he killed Zach to get under my skin, then certainly he must know that taking Deb is an even better way to do just that. What I couldn't figure out is why he would be targeting me in the first place. How could he know about my ties to Zach? Do you have any suggestions for why that would be, Evelyn?"
"No. No, of course not." She replies. "I was the one who asked for your help with stopping this killer. You can't possibly be suggesting that I have anything to do with all of this carnage."
Her eyes dart across the room and Dexter knows that he finally has her right where he wants her. He slides his hand further up her neck, resting it on top of a particularly plump vein. He can feel her pulse quickening, can hear her breath hitching as traces his fingers across the pulsating vein.
"The only way I could possibly be on this Brain Surgeon's radar is if he somehow had ties to someone close to me. Someone who was of great importance to him. But who? A sister? A brother? Or how about a mother?" Dexter sneers, inching so close to the woman that his lips brush against her ear as he speaks.
"A mother? You know the identity of the Brain Surgeon's mother?" She asks.
He can feel her shaking now. Whether she's trembling because she's been backed into a corner by a formidable killer of her own making or because of something more sinister Dexter has no way of knowing for sure; but what he does know is that he's left the woman with nowhere to run.
As he looks into her bulging eyes he knows that she wouldn't dare run anyway. She knows that he can make her his newest victim before a strangled cry for help even has the chance to escape her lips.
He doesn't want to hurt her. He doesn't think he ever could. But that doesn't mean that he's above using her fear to his advantage. The closer he comes to getting Vogel to talk, the closer he comes to saving Deb.
"You never told me you had a son." He declares. "Much less a psychopathic, serial killing one. I've been an open book since the day I met you, but I guess you didn't feel obligated to offer me the same courtesy. Tell me, what kind of sick game have you been playing? Calling on me to hunt down the very monster that you were responsible for unleashing into the world? That's a vile thing to do. You know that, don't you, Evelyn?"
"Dexter, I don't understand what you're getting at here." She frowns. "I only had one son. His name was Richard, and he died suddenly when he was just a boy. There must be some sort of mistake."
"Blood never lies. Blood never makes mistakes." Dexter declares, lifting his hand from the woman's neck. "I found blood underneath Zach's fingernails. It was the killer's blood. Zach must have fought back when he was being taken, and he managed to get a few good scratches in. I ran a standard DNA test and there were no matches in the system, so I'm sure you can imagine my surprise when I decided to test for mitochondrial DNA afterward and actually got results. The DNA was a fucking matrilineal match, Evelyn. To you. The Brain Surgeon is your son."
"No…" Vogel mutters more to herself than to Dexter. "No, it can't be. It simply cannot be."
She shakes her head in disbelief, sinking down to the floor in distress.
"Tell me about your son." Dexter demands, crouching down to meet her at eye level.
"Sons. I have – I had two sons." She finally admits.
"Tell me about them." He instructs her, placing his hand softly on her shoulder as if it will somehow undo his previous moments of violence.
Vogel opens her mouth only to close it again, and Dexter fears that she won't be able to bring herself to tell the story of her boys. He doesn't want to frighten her any more than he already has, but without the woman's testimony to help lead him to the killer, his sister is as good as dead. That simply isn't a possibility. Deb can't die because of Dexter's fuck-ups. She's going to survive him. She has to.
Dexter decides to try a more tender approach to coax the doctor into talking this time, offering her a hand and helping her back to her feet.
Evelyn walks over to the set of chairs and takes a seat, smiling weakly when Dexter sits down beside her.
"Richard was my youngest son. He was a pure soul. The baby of the family, in every sense of the word." She begins, her sadness so evident it feels as if it's permeating through the air. "Daniel, my first born, he was a different story. I started to recognize that there was something off about him. He didn't display extremely disturbing behaviors from the start, of course, but as the years went on, things changed, and I just knew. A mother's love is meant to be unconditional, Dexter. So I ignored the warning signs. I blinded myself to the red flags. And one morning, because of my failure, my husband and I discovered Richard's body at the bottom of our swimming pool."
"Daniel killed him?" Dexter rhetorically asks.
"Yes." Evelyn nods. "He never admitted to it, of course; but as soon as it happened, my husband and I, we knew what must have happened to our son."
"What did you do to him?" Dexter wonders.
"Nothing good." She answers. "Something that I'll regret for the rest of my life. After my husband and I covered up what Daniel had done to my poor Richard, we sent him away to a psychiatric hospital. He was only fourteen at the time, but there was nothing either of us could do to help our son. It's a terrible feeling, Dexter. Knowing that no matter what you do, it will never be enough."
Vogel pauses the telling of her story, turning away from Dexter for a second so she can collect herself. She turns to face him again without a word, and he notices tears welling up in her eyes. He doesn't acknowledge them, however, electing instead to gesture for her to go on.
"The facility he was in, they did experimental treatments on some of the patients." She says. "They wanted to see if they could find the root of what made the children so troubled."
"The brain. They experimented on their brains?" Dexter asks, knowing that he doesn't even need confirmation from the doctor on that front.
"Yes, I believe so." Vogel continues. "He remained at the facility for three years, until he was seventeen. Until he died. There was a large fire at the hospital, and many of the children there lost their lives. I was led to believe that Daniel was one of them."
"Well, clearly he wasn't." He replies.
"It's been decades, Dexter, and now you show up out of the blue and tell me that my son is alive? What am I supposed to make of this?" She asks, scanning Dexter's face for appeasement.
He doesn't know what to tell her. Her psychopathic son, condemned to a hellish mental institution after committing fratricide decades ago, who was once thought to be dead, is now alive. It's the makings of the plot to a terrible Lifetime movie, but this is no film, it's a person's life. Dexter doesn't have the first clue how to handle this.
"Daniel faked his death." He says. "He's been baiting you all this time. The brain fragments he's been leaving at your door are serving as some sort of sick offering. He's modeling what happened to him at the facility all those years ago, terrorizing you with the sins of the past."
"You have to put a stop to this, Dexter." Dr. Vogel sighs. "You have to find him."
"That's exactly why I'm here, Evelyn." Dexter concurs, reaching over to place a steady hand over the woman's shaky one. "You need to help me track him down."
"I didn't even know he was alive until a couple of minutes ago, Dexter." The doctor scoffs, sliding her hand out from under his. "How do you suppose I know where he's been hiding?"
"I don't." He simply replies. "But we can't just sit around and do nothing. I'm sure you have a photo of Daniel somewhere, can I have it?"
"There are a few on my computer." She answers. "I don't know how they could possibly be of much use to you, he was a child when they were taken."
"Childhood photos of the man who abducted my sister are a lot more than what I had an hour ago. I'll take whatever I can get if it means helping me save her life." Dexter vows.
Evelyn gives him access to her computer, guiding him to the folder that she scanned and uploaded every single photograph of both of her sons to. Dexter selects the clearest photo of Daniel that he can find and then logs into the police database so he can utilize the advanced aging software. He knows that the end result won't be perfect, but if he can have even the slightest idea of what the present-day Daniel Vogel looks like, he'll consider that a victory.
The finished product looks eerily familiar to him, but Dexter is filled with a new sense of dread when he realizes that he simply can't put a name to the face.
He decides to run the modified photo through the DMV records, hoping against hope that he'll end up with a single match.
The scan through the database takes entirely too long, and Dexter finds himself drifting, his mind going places he wishes it never would.
Deb is all that he can think about. He has to get her back. He has to.
He has dreamt of losing her more often than he'd like to admit. He's dreamt of cradling her limp form in his arms, of giving her to the sea like he does to all of his victims. He doesn't want to think of Deb as collateral damage, as just another one of his victims, but when it all comes down to it, isn't that exactly what she is? He destroys her more and more each day, but she still stands by him. No, stood by him. He hates to remind himself that it might be past tense now.
He'll save her, he has to. But after she's back in his arms, after the storm clears, where will that leave them? The clouds will return as they always do, casting an inescapable shadow over them both and forcing them back into the same cycle of devastation.
And so it goes. The nightmare of losing the woman that keeps him tethered to his humanity is doomed to repeat steadily in his mind, bringing with it cold sweats and blood curdling screams that wake his son in the middle of the night. His son, the poor sweet boy who never asked to be condemned to the eternal hell that his father has been.
It isn't right. He has to save them both.
A low ping from the speakers in Vogel's laptop temporarily frees Dexter from the prison of his mind, calling him back to action.
"There's a match!" Dexter exclaims. The name that appears on the screen...It's impossible. It's infuriating. It's… "Oliver Saxon!? Your son is Oliver Saxon?"
"It almost doesn't seem real somehow…" Evelyn murmurs, reaching over Dexter's shoulder to trail a finger across the screen. She traces the contours of the man's face delicately, as if her action can somehow bring Daniel back to her. "That's him. That's my son."
"Oliver Saxon…" Dexter mutters in disbelief. "This man was dating my neighbor. He killed her and tried to pin it on Zach. He…he was next door to me the entire time! Next door to my son. Keeping tabs on me. On my sister."
"Well now you have a face and a name, but how are you possibly going to find Debra?" Vogel questions, her eyes still glued to the monitor.
"I'm going to start by finding any and all properties that he owns around the city. It hasn't been very long, so this could work in my favor. There's a good chance that he hasn't gotten far. I'm going to find her. I'm going to find her."
Dexter runs Saxon's name and information through the system, trying to ignore Vogel as she lingers over his shoulder the entire time.
He finds Saxon's primary address, an apartment not too far from Evelyn's house, but quickly rules it out. If this man is so intelligent and calculating that he was able to fake his own death when he was only a teenager, he would never risk being seen dragging Debra through an apartment building that's occupied by at least one hundred people. Especially not during rush hour.
He isn't as intelligent as he thinks he is, however. Oliver Saxon only owns one property in the city of Miami; a foreclosed former doctor's office just on the outskirts of town. If Dexter hurries, he can be there in less than thirty minutes.
After tearing a sheet of paper from one of many notepads on Evelyn's desk and jotting down the address, Dexter leaps from his chair, hurrying past the forlorn doctor on his way to the door.
"Dexter, you need to take a second to think this through." Harry instructs him, the apparition appearing at the worst possible time as per usual. "A foreclosed doctor's office? That sounds like a trap to me. At the very least, you have to be sure that you're ready to face him."
"Of course I'm ready to face him!" Dexter fires back. "He has Deb, there is no such thing as taking a second to think. I've already wasted enough time."
"Dexter? Is everything alright?" Vogel asks, a concerned look painted across her face. "Were you talking to –"
"Of course it isn't." He interrupts, fighting the urge to snap at her for bothering to ask such a stupid question in the first place. "Stay here. Make sure all of the doors are locked just in case he tries to come looking for you. I'll be back soon."
Evelyn stands before him, her eyes downcast and her hands crossed protectively over her chest. "Are you going to kill him?"
"You already know the answer to that question." Dexter sighs.
"So you're going to kill him? The boy that I only just learned was alive mere minutes ago." She assumes, her jaw clenching as she moves to stand between Dexter and the front door.
"He isn't a boy anymore, Evelyn. The kid you once knew, your son, he's all grown up now, and he's a man. An unhinged man who has my sister and fully intends to murder her and leave fragments of her brain at your doorstep like he did with the rest of his victims. So I'm going to do whatever I have to do to make sure that doesn't happen. If that means killing him, so be it." He declares. "Now please, step away from the door."
"Maybe we can find another solution." She desperately suggests, still standing stubbornly between Dexter and the door. "You could teach him to control his urges and redirect them as you have been able to do so well. You were willing to do that for Zach, why not my son as well? Circumstances have changed, but I still believe that you would make an excellent mentor for budding psychopaths in need of a little guidance."
Dexter once thought a woman of her stature would be much too proud to beg. Clearly he was wrong.
"Circumstances didn't just change, Evelyn. Your son killed Zach with no purpose other than to continue tormenting us. I'm sorry, but he needs more than a little guidance. There's nothing I can do for him. You and Harry were the ones who taught me to take out the trash of our society, not rehabilitate it. Oliver Saxon is no different than every other person that has been on my table." Except one. "He deserves to share their fate."
"You're right." Vogel finally realizes. "I may not have to like it, but that doesn't mean it isn't true. Go on, Dexter. Bring Debra home."
"Thank you." Dexter mouths on his way out the door.
He jogs down the steps, tripping over a loosed brick on his way to his car. He hits his head hard against the concrete but immediately gets back up. He won't let a minor fall deter him.
Once he's in the car he pulls out his cell phone, surprised to see that it's just about time for Harrison to be coming home from school. He scrolls through his contacts until he arrives at Jamie's name, tapping the call button.
"Hey, Dexter." She answers, sounding as cheerful as ever. "I'm on my way to pick up Harrison right now. What's up?"
"I was calling about Harrison, actually. Talk about good timing." He laughs.
The action sounds forced to him. Fraudulent, even. But Jamie is none the wiser. It still shocks Dexter sometimes how oblivious other people can be. Everyone but Deb.
"Listen Jamie," Dexter continues. "Something's come up, and I'm pretty slammed at work today, so I'm not going to be home by the time we discussed."
"That's fine, Dexter." She replies, understanding as always. "I'm used to it by now. It just doesn't seem right though, how late they always keep you. I mean, aren't there other blood guys at Miami Metro? I can talk to Angel if you want. He may be my older brother, but he basically does whatever I tell him to, you know."
"No, don't talk to Angel. That isn't necessary. Everything's fine on my end. I left a little extra money out on my desk. If you're up for it, why don't you take Harrison out for dinner and a movie? My treat. I should be back by the time he's ready for bed." Dexter suggests.
"That's very sweet of you, Dexter." Jamie says. "Actually, just between you and me, I've been dying to see the new Despicable Me movie, and Harrison hasn't been able to shut up about it all week."
"Great." Dexter smiles. "I'll be there in spirit. Just make sure he doesn't have any soda. No matter how much he begs. Harrison loves the stuff, but the second he takes a sip it's like a hurricane just hit."
"Thanks for the heads up, Dex. Okay, I'll see you later then. Take as long as you need, you know I love spending time with my favorite little guy." Jamie replies.
"Have fun, and tell Harrison that daddy misses him." Dexter adds before ending the call.
He puts his phone back in his pocket and starts the car. When he goes to adjust his mirrors he catches a glimpse of himself, taking note of the blood flowing slowly from a particularly nasty gash on his forehead that must've been a result of the fall he'd taken.
He knows that he should probably clean and disinfect the wound, but instead he simply wipes away the blood with a few bunched up Kleenexes before peeling out of his parking space and veering back onto the road.
Dexter makes the drive to Saxon's lair in silence. He doesn't need to turn on the radio, he doesn't think that he would be able to hear it anyway. He imagines Debra's high pitched screams, so loud he fears they may deafen him. He sees her tearful eyes, frantically searching for him until they finally flutter closed as she accepts that her big brother is too late. He hears the drill as it buzzes to life, sees the gruesome scene as Saxon plunges his tool into the back of her skull with a deranged grin on his face.
Deb's screams echo through the deepest corners of his mind, gradually becoming more erotic in nature. She moans sweet nothings in his ear, egging him on, urging him to go deeper, faster, harder.
He knows that he shouldn't be thinking about this, that he doesn't deserve to be. Yet still he finds himself recalling the look of euphoria on her face as they came undone together, can still feel the weight of her delicate body on top of his. That small match he'd done his best to get rid of lights a fire in his stomach, bringing with it the guilt of everything he'd left unsaid. He hopes he'll get the chance to finally right that wrong.
After a few more agonizing moments spent lost in his own head, the former doctor's office comes into view. Dexter turns into the back alley, parking a few doors down from the beat-up looking building. He opens the trunk to sift through his tools, settling on two simple butcher knifes; one for Deb and one for himself. He could easily go for something a little more…theatrical, but to him, the knives are perfect. The knives are personal.
Saxon made this personal the second he took Deb away from him. And Dexter wants return the favor. He wants to feel the blood run through his fingers as he plunges the blade into the other man's abdomen. He wants to watch as the last flicker of light fades from his eyes.
With the knives tucked away in his back pockets Dexter walks the short distance to Saxon's hideout. He lets himself in through the back entrance, Harry's words repeating in his mind as the steel door swings open without much provocation.
That sounds like a trap to me.
Dexter reaches into his pocket for one of the knives, doing his best to banish those thoughts as he carefully makes his way through the empty, darkened basement. When he's sure the coast is clear he starts for the stairs, cringing when the aged wood creaks as soon as he steps foot on it.
Once he makes it to the top of the staircase he cautiously raises the knife, ready to put it to use if necessary. The abandoned waiting room is filled with an unnerving silence, and despite the confidence he displayed earlier at Vogel's, Dexter worries that he could have been wrong about this place. Would Saxon really take Deb somewhere that he could be tracked to?
To his left Dexter sees a wooden door, the only one in the building that appears to actually be closed. He makes his way over to it, hesitantly letting his free hand hover over the knob before taking a deep breath and turning it. The door bangs against the wall as it opens, and Dexter is temporarily blinded by a flood of harsh fluorescent light. He blinks it away, stepping into the room to see what's inside.
He almost doesn't believe it when he sees her.
"Deb!" He shouts, tears welling up in his eyes.
The knife in Dexter's hand falls to the floor but he ignores it, running over to Deb's side.
He takes in the unsettling scene with his mouth agape, mumbling her name again. Still no response.
Deb is laid out on an exam table, the kind that he remembers from uncomfortable visits to the gynecologist with Rita during her pregnancy. His sister is fully clothed but her legs are spread apart, her feet propped up on the stirrups. Her head lolls limply over to one side, and her lips are puckered the way he's noticed they sometimes are when she's asleep. Her arms are bound above her head with a zip tie, her wrists colored red with irritation.
He notices other red marks across her face where Saxon must have struck her, drawing out a strangled cry from the back of his throat.
Dexter places a hand on her cheek, tenderly rubbing the sore skin with his thumb.
"I'm going to get you out of here, Deb." He whispers, reaching into his back pocket for the knife so he can free her from her restraints.
"Ah, brother. I knew you would find us." A strident voice taunts from behind him.
"I'm not your fucking brother, Daniel." Dexter growls, turning around so he can come face to face with the man. "Oh, excuse me. I believe it's Oliver now."
"I must admit, for a while there I was starting to think you wouldn't bother showing up at all. I guess she is as important to you as I'd hoped." Saxon smiles. "Good."
"What did you do to her?" Dexter asks, pulling the knife completely out his pocket. He clutches the weapon firmly behind his back, his grip so strong that his knuckles begin to go white with the pressure.
"Don't worry, she isn't dead." Saxon says. "Not yet, anyway. How did you like my present?"
"I don't have time for this." Dexter replies. "I'm going to kill you, and then I'm going to bring my sister home."
He reveals his knife, holding it near Oliver's neck. He swipes it across his skin, managing to inflict only a minor flesh wound before the other man grips his forearm, temporarily restricting his movement.
Saxon twists Dexter's arm away, displaying a surprising amount of strength and agility that catches Dexter off guard. He walked into this situation thinking he had at least some advantage over Evelyn's psychotic son. For the sake of him and Deb both, Dexter hopes he wasn't wrong about that.
The demented man raises his free arm, brandishing a small kitchen knife. Before Dexter even has time to try fending him off, Saxon buries the knife deep in his side.
Dexter cries out, sinking down the cool linoleum floor. Saxon stands directly above him, casting an all-encompassing shadow over him. A teasing smirk washes over the man's face as he watches Dexter bring a hand to his side, attempting to limit the potential blood loss.
"I only wanted to talk, Dexter." He says. "But you've just made things a whole lot worse for yourself."