It's almost time. August ninth is my last day life. Not even a week away. It makes a man wonder, what comes after? Eternal punishment for my heinous sins? Do I get to haunt something? Or will I simply cease to exist? Guess I'll find out.
I was afraid Deb wouldn't visit. My execution date is in less than a week now. But today, I have another visitor. It has to be her. She just wanted to wait until I was about to die. They do that. Visitors right before you die is common, or so my fellow inmates tell me. Makes it more final apparently.
The door opens and my heart sinks farther than it should, with me being a sociopath and all.
Not Deb.
Angel, in fact. The detective that has been my kinda friend for many years now. I smile and try not to let my disappointment seep through.
"Hello Angel", I greet kindly. He looks me up and down, and I turn around slowly, showing him my entire body.
"Dexter Morgan in his final days", I say, allowing him to inspect me, just like everyone before him has done. I sit down after a minute, sensing he has seen enough. "Better than wasting away from cancer", I add with a shrug. All things considered, this isn't that bad. I missed my hair at first, but I got use to it. And LaGuerta was right, I have put on a lot of muscle.
His lips start to curl up, as though he is about to smile or laugh, but the morbid humor falls flat, and a miserable looks creeps onto his face instead. The usual silence settles. The one that can't truly be found anyone else in the world. Just in a Death Row visiting room.
"Hey Angel?", I start, partially to break the silence that I have suffered through far too many times now, but also to sate my curiosity.
"Yeah?"
"Why hasn't Deb visited me yet?", I ask the question that has been haunting me for some time now.
"Deb? She doesn't want to. She's been taking it really hard", he says, muttering the last part. I frown. Just how hard is 'really hard'? Too hard for my tastes.
"Tell her she'll never forgive herself if she doesn't say goodbye", I command him, as if I could convince Deb directly through Angel.
"I did. She still doesn't want to", he says. A sense of hopelessness slinks over me. Clearly she doesn't seem too willing to come in.
"My execution date is almost here", I nearly whine, as though it should bring Deb to me. My mind starts to drift, musing over the fact that she is not going to visit me. It creates a pit in my stomach. That won't do.
Deb needs to visit me. Not just for me, but for her. She needs to. It's a necessity for her to move on. After just how much I've fucked up her life, I owe her that much. She'll get her last goodbye. I'll make sure of it.
"August ninth", Angel says gravely, bringing me back to reality. I shift my thoughts to lighter topics, such as my impending doom. I suppose it is a grave date. Or should be. I can't help but be a little bit excited though. Will I be able to get peace at long last? Or will it simply be a new chapter? Will I wander the earth forever? Will I be hurled into some supernatural world?
"What do you think happens when you die?", I ask the lighter question that I have been wondering for some time now. Most inmates ask this question and look down, scared and worried. But I enjoy musing on it, wondering. Like the next episode of an interesting TV series, fun to think about, but pointless pondering at the end of the day.
Angel remains silent though. I look at him, curious as to what is holding up his answer.
He looks awkward, opening his mouth and closing it, grasping for the right words. Right, he's Christian. Catholic, I believe. Which would put me burning in Hell in his world view. The thought isn't particularly frightening to me. Hell, with all the people that I've killed, Satan might even reward me.
I laugh at the thought, and the concept as a whole. It echoes out around the room, shocking both Angel and the guard. Hell. The thought seems funny to me. Eternal punishment. Where I'll be with my own kind. If it's anything like prison, I'll like it. No more acting, and I'm good. Just so long as the lies end, I'll love it.
"I'll try to tell you if Hell is really all it's cracked up to be", I joke, showing him that I don't mind the idea. He frowns, clearly upset. Is he offended? Does he think I'm laughing because I find the thought of Hell impossible?
"I don't think you are going to Hell", he says with such honestly and certainty that I have to stare. That, I did not expect.
"Are you saying that to try to make me feel better, or do you really believe that God doesn't mind mass murder?", I ask. I'm having a hard time buying that he doesn't believe I'll go to Hell. I seem to remember 'Thou shall not kill' being thrown out there somewhere.
"Really", He says. I stare him incredulously. "I've been watching people do horrible things and get away with it for years", he says, leaning in. "I'm glad that someone stepped up to plate and cleaned up what fell through the cracks", he explains.
I stare, believing him, at a loss for words. I haven't had anyone say that I did the right thing in killing people, just that turning myself in was the right thing. He leans in closer, having something else to say.
"Dexter, if I could chose a person, a real person, to be like, out of anyone, it would be you", he says the familiar words, quoting them to near perfection, before he stands and pats me on the shoulder. One last sad smile and he's gone, leaving me with my thoughts.
