Deb doesn't hold out. A few more dates later, and I'm in her bed and she's in my pants. Another down-side to the girlfriend thing, I have to play nice in bed. We've already established that I have some bad habits, several of which are in bed. I'm usually only gentle with amputees. There is just something about them.
Bet Deb isn't an amputee, so I have to hold back. More than that, I have to be romantic. Soft and gentle. It's all part of the act. I wonder if I'll ever have a chance to go full force with her. But the only time I would really have the chance is when me and Dex are finishing her off during our Reunion, and I don't think Dex is into that kind of thing. Oh well, you win some and you lose some. I'll just have to settle for owning Deb in every other aspect, from killing her to replacing her by her brother's side.
So, gentle sex. Normal sex. Sex that is good for both parties. Not my style, but it seems I have to get use to it, because Deb is a closet nymphomaniac. Great. Lots of crappy sex. I lie in bed next to her, catching my breath and getting ready to say something cute-slash-sexy-slash-funny when her phone goes off. "Shit. It's dispatch. I have to go" She turns to me and gives me an apologetic smile. Her car is still at the hospital where we met, so it's up to me to drive her to the scene.
"I'll get my pants" I jest lightly as I get up and dress. She soon follows after. We are walking out of her home and into a raging storm. "Looks like it's coming down pretty hard" I note. I've always liked a storm. It's reflective of my inner self; dark, violent, and unforgiving.
"Yeah, looks like I'll have a hell of a time sleeping tonight" She grabs a black umbrella and runs out, dragging me with her. I don't like being touched, and particularly man-handled. I do the handling. Still, she is my link to Dexter. To be his friend. Not just to follow him, but to have him look at me and know I'm a friend. Well, a fake-friend that's part of his fake-life at first, but then I'll reveal my real self, and I'll be his first real friend. A real brother. With no strings and lies attached.
I park in front of a large house, police are outside and there is yellow tape barely visible through the storm. The lights are off in the house, along with all the other houses around it. A few flashlights and candles can be seen from inside the houses. I'm guessing a black-out. Deb seems a lot more interested in my neck though. Once I park I return the kiss. She clearly wants more. I'll just have to match her libido. "Come on, I got to go. There is a dead body in that house" I stop kissing her long enough for sexual innuendoes.
"There's a hot body in here" I need to make it appear as though I need and want the sex as much as she does. If she thinks that I'm sexually uncomfortable with her, our relationship will go south fast. Can't have that.
"I so want to maul you right now"
"I so want you to." I feel wrong just saying that. I'm not a sixteen year old girl, and neither is she. So why does she insist we act like this? "Call me when you are done, okay?"
"Yeah, I'll bring handcuffs" That's one good thing about Deb and her overactive sex drive, at least she is into some kinky stuff. She grabs the umbrella and runs out to the open door. A couple of people go to greet her and I leave. She'll call me when she is done, and then probably jump me. Fun-fun.
I go home and turn on the news. They are talking about the Ice Truck Killer. Everyone seems so certain they have the right guy. I'm curious as to how long this will go on. Will Neil Perry go to jail for my crimes? I've already learned that our criminal system is horrifically deformed, but this badly? I've withheld from killing for a while now, well, displaying my kills that is, just to see how long this 'Neil Perry' episode will continue.
And he does stuff road kill. The press got into his trailer and showed the world the home of the 'Ice Truck Killer'. If they saw the home of the real Ice Truck Killer, then they would be sorely disappointed. They paint his abode to be some evil lair, containing various fantasy stuffed animals put together from other, real and dead animals. Can they not see that there is no way I'd ever do that? Dexter knew instantly, that the Ice Truck Killer would never, ever, stuff road kill. Is it a sociopath thing? Is it not obvious to everyone else? I'm clean, neat, and orderly. Perry is dirty, filthy, and chaotic. Maybe they know deep down that it's the wrong guy, but are so desperate to get the Ice Truck Killer they'll take anyone.
The thing is, they found some rather compelling evidence it seems. He has a car that is thought to belong to the Ice Truck Killer, another situation where switching cars has worked out nicely, and he has photos not released to the press. Honestly, do they believe I take photos of my victims and keep them in my house? What kind of idiot would do that? Me, the person who never leaves a trace, doing something so stupid? Then again, I do have my freezer, but you would have to be looking for evidence to find any. At any given time, anyone can walk into it and not notice anything.
What's more is that Perry seems to know facts about the case that any average Joe shouldn't know. The thing is, he doesn't know what only the Ice Truck Killer knows. I don't know if they tried to get any additional information out of him, or if he didn't give anything, but I'm guessing he hacked into police files. He is a computer geek.
This is another situation where Deb is coming in handy. Simply by acting like a good boyfriend and taking an interest in her work, I can get useful information. I asked what she thought about the Ice Truck Killer suspect. She swears he's the guy. I asked her what Dexter thinks, and she says that he doesn't think so. Apparently Dexter has very good detective skills when it comes to killers. Never wrong. It's a good thing no one in the force has applied the old saying, 'It takes one to know one' to Dexter.
I talk about Dexter too much. I'm doing so well with everything else. All but that. It's hard not to ask. To learn about the inner workings of Dexter when a source is right in front of me. I typically tell her that I'm just trying to take an interest in her life. I don't let it progress into a fight, God forbid I lose my bridge, by doing something goofy and romantic. She gets hearts in her eyes and forgets about my obsession with her fake brother, my real brother.
My phone rings, indicating a new text message. 'Hey, done here. Ready and waiting for some more action ;)' How nice, my girlfriend is going to jump me again. I think I'm less of a boyfriend and more of her walking, talking dildo.
I go and pick her up. The storm hasn't calmed yet, so she is still using her umbrella. I head to the hospital so she can pick up her car. "So, how was it?"
"Bloody. Some girl shot herself in the bath tub." Deb replies as though it is nothing. Both of us are use to death. For different reason, but still.
"Then why did they call in homicide?"
"Standard procedure. Just to make sure there wasn't any foul play" The homicide department can't even piece together that stuffed road kill doesn't equal Ice Truck Killer, how can they figure out what is and isn't foul play?
"What's Dexter's verdict? He's good at detecting foul play, or so I hear" I jump back to Dexter again. I really need to stop doing that.
"Not anymore" The oh-so lady-like Debra snorts "He's still insisting that the Ice Truck Killer is out there. I mean, Perry has already confessed! What more does he need?" I want to point out that Neil Perry only knows what the police know, that the Ice Truck Killer is careful and traceless, while Perry literally framed himself. That he takes parts of dead animals and puts them together again to make something that appears alive, the exact opposite of the Ice Truck Killer. Of me. But I don't say that. That'd just be stupid. Again, the Ice Truck Killer is careful and traceless.
"Well, what does he say this time?" I continue on.
"Says it's suspicious. That ladies don't shoot themselves, they take pills or bleed themselves to death. How sexist, thinking that all suicidal women are the same." Again, I bite my tongue to stop from agreeing with Dexter. Raised in a mental institute, I know suicide cases. Everyone wanted out, some didn't care where 'Out' was. Of course the sample may not be a fair reflection, since it purely consists of mentally ill women. But Dexter is right. With the basic idea anyway. Men tend to go out more with a bang, and women more quietly. Not that we had control over the medication they gave us, or guns, which I agree is a good thing, but the men typically tried to barge their way out or die trying. They'd snap necks and bash in heads in their path to freedom. When sedation didn't work, the police came. They didn't care, they just kept on snapping necks and bashing in heads until the police shot them and they got their freedom.
Women, on the other hand, they did it in some quiet corner. They always got creative too, since the doctors and nurses went to such extremes to prevent us from killing ourselves. Really, they were some of my early inspiration. I remember a nimble young lady of twenty-three years old. Went into the bathroom with tile floors, ran up the wall in some matrix fashion, threw her head back in mid-air, and landed on her head, breaking her neck and cracking her skull. Then there is always the classic 'Drowning yourself in the toilet bowl.' when you put your head in the bowl, tie it down so that pesky instinct won't get in the way, and letting nature take it's course. They had bathroom checks every ten minutes to prevent this, but people still got through. Ten minutes is plenty of time to do major brain damage. If they came back alive, they were too mentally challenged to realize how miserable they were. Then there was my favorite, the blood circle. A group of five women stood in a circle, each with a knife stolen from the kitchen, and on the count of three, they stabbed the person to their right in the neck.
Point is, men make a scene when they kill themselves, women don't. Dexter's instincts are dead on. No wonder why many detectives in the force rely on him for pointers.
We get to the hospital and she gets out of my car to pick up her own car. She walks to my window and leans in. "So, are you gonna follow me back to my place?" She asks in a suggestive tone that leaves no room to question what we will do once there.
I lick and kiss at her neck, showing her that I at least want to. "Sorry, but I have work tomorrow and it's already one in the morning" and it's all true. Sometimes I regret starting to date Deb. Not only am I a doctor, serial killer, and stalker, but now I'm a boyfriend too. Sleep time is getting far to scarce.
"Alright, I get it, you can stop with the neck then, cause now you're just teasing" I obediently stop and pull back. I chuckle and drive away. God how I hate that woman. And I've had to cut back on my stalking time too. Deb is a high maintenance girlfriend. Honestly, the only thing that has kept me from stabbing her in the eye yet is the thought of saving her for Dexter's and my first team kill. It'll be delicious.
When I finally do get around to following Dexter again, he does something that makes me cringe. He goes to a therapist. Doesn't he know that a therapist is well trained, just like us? They can tell when you are lying, Dex.
Still, he goes in, and comes out an hour later. I know Dexter isn't honestly seeing a therapist. Is he going to talk about his non-existent feelings? His problems during the hunt? No, there is nothing he can tell the doctor without having to kill him.
Which is why he is probably going to kill him. I'm guessing he is on the hunt. The therapist is his prey. Deb texts me wanting sex yet again. And I oblige. Within thirty minutes I'm in her room and she is riding me fiercely. Moans and gasps and soon we are done. I kiss her on the lips and then move down to kiss her legs. Women like affection after sex. Deb is no different. "I love your legs" I say as I kiss her legs. I move up, kissing her belly, then her arms. "I love your arms. Couldn't have made them better myself" She does have nice limbs. Many nights I have stared at them, wanting to take her apart as though she was a Barbie doll with detachable limbs. Her heavy breaths gets slightly more erratic. I better have not turned her on again. I was just trying to be cute. But I look up and freeze. She is crying. Did I do something? What did I do? I can't think of anything that would offend her. "What's wrong" I mutter so softy I'm surprised that she heard. I move my head so that my face is just a few inches from hers.
"I'm fine" while clearly she is not. This is customary for normal people, claiming to be fine. Crying after sex, not so much. "I'm sure this is really hot, crying after sex" I like it when women cry. Not that she needs to know that. Yet.
"Did I do something?" I mutter gently again. She just lets another sob out and covers my eyes. She takes my ability to see away, controlling my vision, and it angers me. But I don't let her see that. This is a 'Tender moment', and I need to play my cards well.
Finally, she responds. "I'm never really with someone. We just fuck" really, that's her fault for trying to get into my pants so much. If she wants a boyfriend and not a fuck buddy, she shouldn't give it up so soon and so much. That isn't what a good boyfriend should say though.
"Not this time" I say and she removes her hand from my eyes.
"It's different" she whispers in a husky voice "It feels like" she pauses, trying to find the right word "I'm not saying it, it sounds so fucking cheesy."
"It feels like making love" I finish her sentence. Oh yes, I am a master of lies.
"Ew" but she smiles. Small banter flows between us, and I know this relationship just moved a step up. That's okay. I like the idea of crushing her. Which I will.
If I'm not going to physically hurt her, as much as I want anyway, then I'll emotionally ruin her. Then kill her. But she'll be begging for death the way that I'll mind fuck her.
It's a few days later when I pull another sappy boyfriend move. I call her into my office, telling her that I need her help. I'm working on an arm when she knocks and enters. "Stay where you are; I'm armed" I say as I hold up the arm.
She gives a polite chuck and says "Bad pun" and it was. No one suspects the guy with bad puns to kill hookers. I put down the arm and kiss her deeply. "You said you needed a favor. What's up?"
"Take off your pants"
"Oh, I should have known it was that kind of favor. You never ask me to come by before work" Always having her mind in the gutter. Typical Deb.
"No, but I like the way you think. I have a patient who lost both her legs in a car accident. Really brutal."
"Like your mom?", I give pause, not use to people referring to my fake past.
"Which is why I want to do something special for her. I want to give her a new smokin' pair of legs. Yours."
"No" She doesn't like the idea. I'm not sure why, normal people can be so erratic sometimes.
"We'll just take a cast" I explain. It really won't take long, and she'll have to do minimum effort. Just sit there and let me do the work.
"No way, no" She keeps repeating. I pull her towards me, the chair anyway.
"It'll take twenty minutes, tops" If that even. I'm pretty damn good at dealing with human limbs.
"I don't-"
"Please...Stop being such a chick" I say as I pull her pants down and sit her on the chair. It's odd. Usually when a woman is telling me no while I pull her pants down, it's not like this. She finally quiets. "Sit down" I softly instruct her. She complies. I completely remove her pants and she looks nervously at the door. Relax Deb, people know how to knock around here. I get Vaseline and rub it on her legs. She laughs at the uniqueness of it all.
"Feels good" She mutters softly. I look up at her to kiss before I carry on with the process of making a cast of her legs. "Can I make one of your cock?" Leave it to Deb to completely ruin the romantic moment I was creating. Not that it particularly matters, just so long as she feels closer to me.
"That'd be a hell of a story to tell at work, huh?" I come back at her without missing a beat. She laughs.
"Not likely. I haven't told anyone about us." Wait, no one? Not even Dexter? He still doesn't know about my existence?
"Embarrassed about banging Captain Hook?" Because I can't let my frustration shine through.
Her face loses all humor and I worry I said something wrong. "Not even a little" ah. She wants to show me she is serious. Good. I have serious plans for her too. Granted, our plans probably go off in very different directions, but I'm not about to dump her.
"Then why?"
"Cause this matters to me" she replies, voice cracking. Oh hell, is she going to cry again? From laughing to stoic to in tears all in under thirty seconds. I'm guessing someone has PMS. I'm having trouble keeping up, knowing her emotions and why. If she keeps this up I won't be able to say perfect boyfriend stuff. "So that if I talk about it and it goes away, I'm actually losing something" Doubt. Uncertainty. Emotions that I know, understand. I latch onto them, using them to piece together things. "That retarded?" Shit. My mind took too long to catch up. The pause only spread her fears. Not what a perfect boyfriend boys.
I bend down and my face is close to hers. "No" I say with unquestionable certainty. "I gotta tell you, I'm not going anywhere" I lean in to kiss her, but she pulls back. Was that not the perfect boyfriend line? What's wrong now? God, even with my years of practice, a PMSing woman is impossible to read.
"Seriously?" She whispers. I just nod and lean in for the kiss.
"And neither are you, cause I got your legs" I joke, turning this conversation back into light, easy to understand, banter. We both laugh as I continue making the cast. I gently roll a cloth around her leg for the next step.
Apparently making a cast of her legs turns Deb on, because soon her lips are on mine and her hands are in my pants. I must satisfy my girlfriend's never ending sex drive once again.
And then I finish the cast, because nothing is worse than leaving a project half-done. The process itself only took about the estimated twenty minutes. It was the sex that took up the other thirty minutes. But soon Deb leaves, saying that she'll be late for work, but has a smile on her face that tells me she doesn't care. I smile back and kiss her goodbye and she darts out of my office, leaving me alone with my thoughts. My smile drops immediately and a dark scowl creeps onto my face. I continue making the new pair of legs using the casts. I lost track of her emotions.
You see, I can't relate to ninety-nine percent of human emotions. You can't just put me in the middle of a scene and expect me to get what people are feeling. I need to know why someone is feeling what they are. I need to know what they will feel before they feel it. And in order to do that, I need to know what their current feelings are. New feelings are built off of old ones. If I know the person, and I know their current emotional state, I figure out their future state for most given events. The problem arises when I don't know their current emotional status. Without that, that I don't know their future state, or any future state after that until I get back on track. And today, just ten minutes earlier, I got off track. That, in and of itself, pisses me off to no end.
But that isn't what even really pisses me off. She hasn't told anyone about us. This includes Dexter. I know this plan will take time, but come on Deb! I want to meet Dexter face to face, to have him see me. I don't want to lurk in his shadow anymore. Once Deb introduces us, I can work on befriending him. Once I'm friends with Dexter, Deb will have fulfilled her purpose, and will no longer be required. But before all of that happens, Dexter has to know Deb has a boyfriend. I haven't even gotten past step one. I want to kill Deb so much right now. So terribly, terribly much...
I work the rest of the day, eager to get home and to work on actually progressing my plan. It's a depressing thought, but I'll have to suck up my anger and smile, being Deb's perfect boyfriend yet again. But I'm too angry, frustrated at the lack of progress. I'm a patient man, but only when something is being done. I don't like to sit around and be idle.
I'm too angry. I have to blow off some stream, and I only know one way how. I get a girl right after work, too careless and angry to switch cars this time. I'm sexually frustrated too, with how many times Deb has forced me to hold back. I don't even pretend I'll pay her. I never give her the idea that she will leave here alive. The sex is hard, and she begs for me to stop. Doesn't she know? I love it when women cry.
I don't take my time killing her either. It's quick, the way I drain her and begin the freezing process. I have left her out to warm, the bodies are very cold after the nitrogen, for a few hours. My temper has gone down. It's good, now I can call Deb without making death threats. I pick up the phone and sit down on my couch to call her.
"Hello?" She answers, breathless. Singing is in the background.
"Is that Eric Carmen?" I ask, my voice lightly mocking. Rustling and the music ends.
"No" comes her obvious lie. "What's up?" she asks before I can call her on it.
"I'm running late. I'm in the middle of some house work and if I don't get it done before I see you it's going to drive me crazy."
"I never knew you were so anal." Really? She should know that by now.
"And, I'm a neat freak" I also give her that little fun fact about my sex life. It's just the beginning of my fetishes.
"You're just full of surprises, huh?"
I chuckle and say, "Oh, you have no idea" And she doesn't. Soon, though, she'll know. Maybe not all of it though. I don't think neither Dexter nor myself will stop to fully explain things before we kill her. "I'll be there as soon as I can"
"'Kay" and she hangs up. Oh, she has no idea at all. The body could use a few more minutes to warm so I go to the computer. I've been aware that Dexter might try to contact me via internet ads, He hasn't so far, so I stopped checking so often, but I still do from time to time. Just in case. I go to Craig's List and check for any new 'Lost Connections' in Miami that might involve me. 'frozen barbie looking for ken' How cryptic. I'll take a guess that's for me. I click on the link.
'Dear Ken,
I'm in pieces. Why the cold shoulder?
Love,
Barbie'
Not exactly how I pictured the message, but oh well. It gets the point across quite well. Besides, the fine art of symbolism can be very hard for sociopaths to grasp. I click the 'Rely to Ad' button at the bottom corner.
'Barbie, Be patient. One day we'll share a cold one.' I click send and walk towards the freezer, checking the time. It won't take too long to wrap this Barbie up. I hope Dexter doesn't take my vague response personally. The better things in life are never rushed, and our Reunion will be the best thing in either of our lives. I knew it was only a matter of time before Dexter reached out. He's cautious, but not disabled.
I enter my freezer and put my gear back on to return to work. This girl is almost done, just a few more finishing touches. No one will see her though. I don't want to reappear yet. I have enough blood for my surprise for Dexter. This girl, sad to say, will forever be lost.
