"Hannah." The word seems to roll off her tongue when I ask who she is. Blond, like Rita, green-eyed like myself, and as I examen her carefully with them, I notice she's covered in small incision marks on her arms and wrist. Years of doing drugs. I can't let Astor become like that; it's a good thing Cody pulled the pot out when he did. My mouth falls open ever so slightly as I stare at her in awe. Deb looks at me, then Hannah, rolling her eyes.

"I was just coming to give you the room key," She holds it out in front of me, "my manager forgot." I reach my hand out to grab the keys, but I'm more focused on her face. I watch the way her lips move with each word she speaks, so normal, so natural, so-

"Thank you," Deb growls as she shoves me out of the way and grabs the key from her. Hannah lets out a breath but still smiles.

"Sure."

"And tell your manager that we'll be checking out by tomorrow," Deb says and goes back to her bed. I shake my head and raise my eyebrow at Hannah.

"Sorry about that, she's had a rough day," I try.

"I'll just tell him you'll be ready to leave by tomorrow," Hannah smiles, but this time I can tell it's forced. She turns and walks away as I lightly shut the door behind her.

"What the fuck was that all about?" My sister sits up in bed.

"She was giving me the key, like she said," I reply, irritated.

"Well then maybe next time just take the damn key instead of standing there and staring like a fucking moron," Deb says to me, then turns back away from me.

I hate this. Whenever it seems like Deb and I are making progress and finding our way back to eachother, one of us takes another wrong turn. It doesn't feel the same. She was right, she shouldn't be here. I should be doing this on my own, not dragging her along. Harry's always warned me about this. I take a look at Deb as she lays back down, and then the scene plays over in my head again, as if it isn't real.

I took a breath, steadied my hands on my trusted blade, and stabbed Travis in a smooth movement, puncturing his heart. There's nothing in that moment. Nothing except my dark passenger as he lusts for the blood that spills from Travis' limp body. I heard a gasp and looked up. The next moment would be carved into my twisted memory forever. Like every defining moment in my life, it was filled with blood. From Travis' wound slowly leaking onto the plastic sheeting, to the bloody room in which I watched my mother get murdered, and now to the draining from my sister's face as it becomes ashen white.
I knew then that Deb's face would join my mother's, and Rita's in the part of my head that transcends good and evil. I could see Deb's face clearly, even from across the darkened church, every line. From the curve of her mouth, which is unable to speak, to the nape of her neck, all the way up to her eyes...her eyes…All my senses went into overdrive, as they always do in those glorious moments when I take a life. I could smell the dust and mold coming from the dilapidated building. The only noise was from a passing car. My mouth tasted like ash, and my skin was both frozen and on fire. And underneath it all was my old companion, the blood. I could smell the faintly sweet scent it has when it's just been spilled. I could hear it dribbling on the floor. I could feel it running down my hands. I swear I could even taste its metal flavoring on my tongue.
I felt overwhelmed. Both the incredible high I get from killing another human being and the absolute horror of having my darkness displayed in front of my sister's eyes become a single outburst. I gave in and accept that Travis had been right. The world, my world, ended that night. Having faith in a higher power, something I can't even see, was just a bunch of bullshit. It's been clear that since my mother's death, I'm the only one with higher power.
"De..." I couldn't even bring myself to say her name, yet as I stared into her eyes, I felt a strange sense of connection. Like we were both being shattered in that exact same moment, and despite the cold that started to seep into my bones, and the whispers in my head that had reawakened, I had never felt so closely connected to a human being. Standing in front of me was the first and only person in the world to have seen every feature of Dexter Morgan; son, father, brother, friend, and now, serial killer.
I slowly laid my knife on the table and stepped in front of Travis' body in some vain attempt to spare my sister the gruesome details. I remember I was suddenly worried about how I was going to dispose of the body, but I had pushed it to the back of my mind. I took a single, slow step towards her, like I'd done a thousand times before I gave her a hug, and she backed away from me, as if burned.
"No! Sta...Stay away! Just stay the fuck away."
The words had cut me like a scalpel. The high of killing, the sense of completeness, of connection, left me instantly, and the only thing left was cold. Bitter cold. The darkness receded, and all that was left was her face, from which I couldn't look away. There was a myriad of emotions moving across her face. Yet one that was absent was the look of adoration, of love, that was always there when she looked at me. The ending of a life, especially if that ending is brutal, deliberate, and done in cold blood, always awakens something powerful in people. In regular human beings, it seems to resonate with some primal fear and disgust that forces them to stay as far away as possible. Of course for me, it awakens something entirely different.
She sank to her knees.
"De…" Once again I tried to say her name but couldn't. I dropped to my knees as well.
She was hyperventilating, and her eyes never left mine. I was stuck in a surreal moment. I actually began to think back on my time with my sister over the years. She'd been my only constant since I can remember. If I could have friends, she would be my best. The light to my consistant darkness. The one person who has always loved me. Who could ever love a monster? I kept asking myself that question, yet she's kept me tethered to humanity so many times. After Harry's death, I had given serious consideration to leaving Miami, feeling the need to be free of his shadow and the heaviness of the lie that for many years I believed I had kept up only for his benefit. I had thought of starting somewhere new, alone, unencumbered, only my darkness for company. But it had been the thought of leaving Deb behind that kept me here, and on the path Harry had set for me.
"Hey!" Startled out of my musings, my eyes refocused, and I could see that Deb was now on her feet again, looking a little more in control with her hand wrapped on the handle of her gun.
"Deb," I answer, still at a complete loss over what to say, but able to finally pronounce her name.
"Dexter, what the fuck?"
"Jeez, Deb, relax your breathing or you're gonna pass out," I told her, as I could see she had begun to sway a little.
"Don't! Just don't!" But she took my advice anyway and seemed to relax a little. Her hand didn't leave her weapon, though.
"Could you lower your gun? Please?" I practically begged. It sounded helpless, definately not something a serial killer would say, but I couldn't get anything out properly with her weapon aiming directly at my chest.
"You better have a good fucking explanation for this," she said in her cop voice, the one she uses when she's interigating suspects in her crime investigations, but then she became just my sister again, "please," she pleaded, in a small voice.
Denial is a powerful emotion, especially within Deb. It's practically her default mode for dealing with anything she doesn't like. This particular trait of my sister's has served me well over the years, overriding everyone of her finely tuned cop instincts to the point where I was convinced that the only way she would ever conceive of me doing something bad would be to find me…in the exact position I was while killing Travis.
"SAY SOMETHING!"
I jerked up, lost in my thoughts again. I was strangely contemplative given the situation. I stood up and walked sedately to the small table upon wich my tools were laid out, decision made.
"There is an explanation, and I will give it you…but I'm afraid you won't like it." I had slowly lifted my hand in front of me. Between my fingers was a vile of blood. Travis Marshall's blood.
I had looked and gave her a smile. My true one. It was a little dark, and a little predatory, but honest.

I had hid the blood from LaGuerta. She had done her part to throw them off, and now here we are, still fighting each other.

Fuck my life.