October third, 1973. The magic date. Dexter claims to remember nothing from before Harry, and I believe him. He knows nothing. That needs to be fixed. I've collected a total of five people's blood. That's a lot of blood, in case you don't know. Counting our mother, Dexter and I wallowed in only four people's blood on October third, 1973, but I want him to remember, so I'll exaggerate. The big day has come. I've been planning this since before I even knew that Dexter was like me. A room, just for the sake of reminding Dexter. Reminding him of what happened to us, why we are the way we are.
I'm humming again. I'm just that excited about this. Dexter will love this, I know. He's the blood guy. He really must love blood if he dedicated his entire life to it. I'm sure mother has something to do with that. The chainsaw roars and a pit forms in my stomach. Blood splatters across the walls and even onto the ceiling. It's all so familiar. I remember the day mother died perfectly. I wonder how much Dexter will remember? I readjust my sun glasses. I usually don't wear them, but I usually don't paint an entire hotel room red with blood either.
I gently pour more blood onto the chainsaw. It flies across the room. Oh yes, Dexter will love this. He's the blood guy. Blood is everywhere. I'm sure it'll cause something to come back. Maybe just a vague feeling. Just enough to spark that curiosity again. That sense of needing to know about the past that came when he found out Joe was his real father. It'll come again, and I'll leave a hint, just for him. It can't be much, I can't tip off the rest of the force. That'll link Dexter to the Ice Truck Killer. And that wouldn't be good. 103. I look around the hotel room, now covered in blood, and go for the radio. I turn it to station 103. I go to the Bible that every room has. I open it to a random page. Leviticus 20:13. I flip it back a few pages to Leviticus 10:3. The police will probably search this entire page for my message. The Bible can be read in so many ways...
But 103 is the message. The police might catch on, but only Dexter will know where to look. October third. 10/3. It'll take him a while, but he'll find it. The one news article that even took note of a brutal murder of a mother in front of her young children. The children part is suspiciously omitted however. Harry's work, I have to gather.
With that, I unplug the chain saw and leave the Marina View Hotel, room 103. Oh yes, Dexter will love this. It won't be long before police come. I sent a jar full of blood with the key inside it to homicide. They are incompetent, but they'll get the message. I'm tempted to stay and watch things unfold, but I know better than that. Deb and Dexter would recognize me. I'd be singled out and questioned. I'll just wait for Deb to come back and tell me how it went. A room full of blood is something note worthy enough to be mentioned.
So, I go to work, rebuilding people. Giving them new limbs, waiting for night to remove limbs.
Deb calls me and tells me a big case just came up and she'll be working late. I tell her that I'll see her as soon as she gets home, because I want to hear about it. About that big case. I omit that I want to hear how Dexter reacted.
Deb gets home around ten, and I ask her about this 'Big case'. Like I don't already know. We are both in her room, and she is undressing while I'm on the bed. "You won't believe what came up today. A hotel room, filled to the fucking roof with nothing but blood!"
"Damn. Just blood? What happened to the bodies?", I act surprised, looking into a newly-emptied wine glass. I'm sitting cross-legged on the bed as she changes clothes.
"I don't know. I don't want to know.", she says as she grabs a condom. I wonder what she has in plan for my immediate future? I am once again the human dildo. "It was bad enough"
"You seem so amped. You brother must have loved it", he is the blood guy after all. I tried to give him all sorts of different patterns. I'm a doctor, I typically focus on the guy bleeding rather than just the spot he bleed on, but I still know a thing or two about blood spray.
"Fuck no. He freaked" What? Why wouldn't Dexter like it? I know he couldn't have gotten grossed out.
"Really?" Was it suppressed memories coming back to him? It had to be. I just didn't think he'd get more than a vague familiarity. "I thought, you know, blood was his thing?" She starts to crawl on me, but I can't keep my mind off Dexter. "What happened?", I hope he is okay. I want him to remember, but I don't want to hurt him in the process.
"I don't know. It was like usual. He shut me out". Well, of course he shut you out. He can't tell you what he remembers. He can come to me, though.
Still, I'm frustrated at how little information I'm getting. 'He freaked' isn't a lot to go on. "Did he say anything?" I need to know what is going on.
Deb isn't compliant though. She bends down and says, "Lets not talk about Dex right now" Hell no. I need to know, relationships be damned. She starts to kiss me, but I don't get into it. I'm the human dildo no longer.
I break the kiss. "Was it like a panic attack?" She looks at me, surprised we are still on this. I'm not letting this go, Deb. I need to know if my brother is okay. Fuck you and anyone else who stands in my way.
"I don't know, he's not really into sharing his feelings, in case you hadn't noticed." And she goes back to kissing me. I'm barely kissing back, but she continues, none the less. She trails her hand down my body until she slips into my pants. She is surprised and breaks the kiss. "What's the matter, you don't even have wood" and she looks at me seriously for the first time all night. I think a fight with the sister will make a good excuse to see Dexter.
"Well, you're the one who said you wanted to talk" Far from what a perfect boyfriend would say. But I'm not a perfect boyfriend right now.
"Yeah, but not now. I'm horny" and as graceful as ever.
"Maybe I should call him," It's a serious thought, but I decide against it. He probably wouldn't be talkative over the phone. I'll have to see him in person to get him to open up to me.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Deb is getting angry, something I've tried hard to avoid, but our relationship can take it. And if I move a step away from Deb to get a step closer to Dexter, isn't that the point of this whole thing?
"What? We bonded last weekend. Isn't that what boyfriends are suppose to do, show some interest in the family?" and we did bond. Kind of. But Dexter knows me, and I like to think I'm at least close to friend status, and not just Deb's creepy boyfriend.
"Yeah, but not when his girlfriend is trying to get in his pants" Deb does have a point, but I think she'd be even more mad if I did get wood while thinking about Dexter.
"Deb, that's not fair. You take me out on a couple's weekend to get to know your brother then punish me for giving a damn" and I do give a damn. I need to make sure my little brother is alright. "I mean, your issues don't have to be mine", only this one is. Because this issue is more mine than hers. But I need her to get mad right now.
"You know what? Forget it, let's just go to sleep" and she crawls off of me and into the covers beside me. She'll forgive me by the morning for this. Damn. I need her to get more angry, a real fight as a real excuse to visit Dexter. Relationship help is a petty guise, but I'm sure he'll buy it.
"Okay, I'm going to go watch TV", I say as she turns off the light. I don't look back to see how mad she is. Mad enough, I'm sure. Mad enough to give me a reason to pick up some steaks and beers, pop by Dexter's house, ask for relationship help, and question him about his reaction to my surprise for him.
Why the bad reaction? Suppressed memories coming back, I'm sure. It's the only option. Dexter doesn't get grossed out by blood. The thought is laughable even. I stare at the TV screen and laugh at the thought. Dexter gets squeamish.
But he did. How much did he remember? Will he recognize me now? Does he remember he has a brother? Or does he only remember the blood? I feel sorry, something that I only feel for Dexter. I'm sorry, Dex, I didn't mean to force you to remember too much. I just wanted to bait you and leave a hint so you'll know it when you find it. Well, I'm sure he'll go looking now. I'm sure that he'll find the newspaper article about a woman that got cut up, dated 10/3/1973. From there, he'll have a name, then an address, then a brother.
It's an odd thought. Our game is coming to a close. Soon will be our Reunion. And then brotherhood. I'm getting a clearer plan of how to do things. I bought our old house years ago, even before I knew Dexter's face or new name. I always wanted our Reunion to take place there. I'm glad I bought it, because the Reunion has become a lot more important since. Life changing. The hotel room most likely jogged his memories of mother's death, the death of our childhood, and the end of our old lives. I want him to remember who I was. At best, he probably just remembers a dark-haired boy being left behind in the blood. He doesn't remember me. His brother. I'm hopeful the house will fully jog his memory. Show him what his life was like before. I even bought the house with my real name. Brian Moser.
Brian has been inactive for a long time, and he won't be inspected anytime soon. This is good, if things blow up in my face, and Rudy Cooper is linked to the Ice Truck Killer sooner than I expect, then at least they can't trace me back to the house. They could link Brian Moser to the Ice Truck Killer if they ran my partial print against mental institution records, but they didn't and the lead has been dropped. Another fun fact about the Ice Truck Killer case I learned from Deb. She really didn't get the memo telling her to keep some aspects of the case confidential. So the house is safe, they won't be able to track it down and identify it.
Dexter will track the house down though. I allowed him that, and only him. But before Dexter can track down the house, he'll have to find out Laura Moser was his mother. He should be able to do that without any more help. He has all he needs. A number and curiosity. Not a lot, but I still remember last weekend. The way he snapped pieces together, figuring out exactly what happened with so little to go on. This shouldn't be too much of a hurdle.
Then there is the matter of telling him to go to her old house. When the time comes for our Reunion, that is. "Born Free" by Andy Williams will be my clue. I'll give it to the cops, but I doubt they'll pick up on it. Dexter is smarter than that though. He'll know that I'll leave a hint, and he'll look for it. What the cops will see is the nonsensical pattern of a deranged man, Dexter will see a code, a trail of bread crumbs laid out just for him. And he'll know to keep it to himself.
I have no intention of staying here. Rudy Cooper can be found as the Ice Truck Killer, I don't care. They won't find Brian Moser though. Brian and Dexter Moser will wander the country, killing as they will. Deb will go out for dinner with me, and never come back. They'll search my home, since I was the last known person with a missing cop, and they'll find everything. Rudy Cooper will be marked as the Ice Truck Killer. I'll leave the clues for Dexter, and only he will get them. He'll follow the trail back to 1235 Mangrove Drive, our childhood home. There he will remember it all, and embrace me as his true family. Then, we'll kill Deb. Together.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. I have to give Dexter time to recover from his...episode at the hotel room. That's right. Our Reunion is still in the future, and right now I need to check up on Dexter. Not tonight though. It's almost eleven.
It's time for sleep. The sooner I sleep, the sooner the next day comes. And tomorrow I'll pay Dexter a visit. I crawl into bed along side Deb without any shame, just to make sure she is good and pissed. I've been thinking about the best way to crush her. She cares about me, and I intend to use that.
The next day comes and I spend most of it in my office. It's a slow day, not too many dismemberments in Miami as of late. I'm holding an arm, examining it, admiring it. I run my finger across its smooth plastic. It looks so real, yet it's not. Almost though. Almost a piece of a human. Like me, almost human.
The day finally ends at eight. I had to work late again. Deb doesn't call to ask me to come over. Good, she is still mad. A quick stop by Safeway to get some steaks and beers. Good steaks too. I never go cheap when it comes to Dexter.
Knock-knock-knock. I'm at Dexter's home, knocking on his door. My stomach tingles. I know nothing will happen tonight, but it's still time with Dexter. Bonding time. He opens the door and looks confused. "Hey", I greet him with a smile.
"Hey", he says back after a few moments. Uncertain as always.
"Deb's pissed at me. I need advice", I give my excuse. Deb really is pissed, but I don't really need advice.
"So you came here?" Crap, he isn't buying it. I'll just have to try a little bit harder.
"You know her better than anyone", a normal thing to say. It's true. Or it'd be true if Dexter was normal, if he was able to understand why she feels the way she feels. But I don't know that he doesn't feel. He nods slightly, agreeing that, in theory, he knows her better than anyone. But he still won't let me in. "Come on, I got two porterhouses and a sixer of microbrew" No expense is spared for my little brother. Bribery apparently does work with Dex, because he steps aside and lets me in. "Nice place" I comment. And it is a nice place, as it was the last three times I broke in.
"Thanks" He mutters, still untrusting. Something Harry taught most likely. To never let his guard down. It's good advice, but this is one time when he needs to let down his guard. I don't expect him to do it now, of course. No, I'll have to do a little bit more work to get his trust. It'll be well worth it though. Silence sets in. I watch him, because it's become second nature to watch Dexter. It's just what I do. He watches me, because I'm an intruder. And so we just watch each other.
I can't act normal around him. I've come to admit this. I know how to act normal when all I really want to do is cut up a person into pieces. But acting normal when I want to go up, hug a person, and tell them they're my brother? That's a new skill I have yet to master. It doesn't matter, Dexter will know the truth soon enough, and then there'll be no point in pretending.
"So...Deb's mad?" he starts. Good, conversation. A normal conversation for normal people.
"Yeah", I hand him a beer and go into the kitchen to start cooking. "I think. I messed things up."
"How so?" He asks from his spot on a stool. I take the steaks out and place them on a cutting board.
"Well, one minute we are talking about her day, you know, the whole blood bath thing", I watch his expression briefly as I mention the hotel room.
"Right", he says rather passively. Clearly he's over whatever panic attack hit him. I still want to know more though.
"And the next moment she wants to jump my bones", I finish the short story while digging around his kitchen for a meat knife. "I mean, Deb's hot and all, but sprinkle in a little conversation every once in a while" I continue to look for that knife. I'm amazed at how organized he is though. Pots lined up according to size and type. You'd think Dexter is a chef the way he keeps his kitchen. Maybe my mad sense of organization comes from genetics.
"She's my sister, I don't know", and he seems genuinely disgusted at that thought. I continue to examine his kitchen, moving up to the cupboards. I've stopped looking for the knife, now I'm just gawking at how orderly he is. Defiantly my brother. "Can I help you find something?" Clearly he doesn't like my snooping. Another thing we have in common. I almost snapped Deb's neck the last time she rummaged through my frig.
"You wouldn't happen to have a good meat knife?" It was what I started looking for, so I'm really just getting back to that. He gets up from his seat and opens a drawer, revealing a row of sharp steak knives glimmering in the artificial light. Arranged according to size, of course. He picks one up with such grace and I'm in awe. I've never seen him use a knife up close, but I can see it. The way he would gently flick his wrist, wasting no effort in cutting a man open.
But today, there is no blood, no screams, and no deaths. He just hands me the knife and I say thanks. Today, the only flesh this knife will cut is a dead cow. I begin trimming the fat off of the steaks and continue on with my story. "Anyway, the other half of the argument was about you", I tell him as he takes a drink of beer.
"Me?", he seems confused. As usual for people like us, he only takes true interest when it comes to himself. This will change though. Soon, I'll enter his dichotomous world like he has entered mine.
"Yeah, it was already tense enough, but when I brought your name into it, she lost it." She was angry at Dex, too. For shutting her out, I presume. Dexter doesn't seem offended by the idea though. He just grunts and nods, as though it's the norm. It probably is. "So, what do I do?", it'd look odd if I didn't actually get any advice from him.
"Tell her it's all your fault", duh. You can't get a person to forgive you for anything if you continually blame them for whatever. Despite Dexter's social gracelessness, he has learned that lesson. Probably the hard way.
"Seriously?", I know Dexter can't help me with any social issue I run into, but I don't want to offend. I've had a better mentor at pretending to be normal, that's all it boils down to. He had Harry, who already knew his secret. I had my therapist, Williams, who again already knew my secret. The difference came in when I had to convince Williams I was normal. Dexter just had to show Harry he could act normal.
"You will eventually. Deb has a way of wearing you down. Just start from there, it's easier", another lesson most likely learned the hard way.
My phone goes off though. It's Deb. She better not have called to apologize. There is no way in hell I'm going to ditch Dexter in favor of Deb. "I have to take this", I tell Dexter. "Do you mind if I?...", I motion towards the front door. I can't have Dexter know that it's Deb. I came here for help, so if a solution presents itself, I'd lose my reason to stay. I'd have to go and leave for Deb. Dexter opens the door to the outside, giving me a place to go for privacy.
I walk out and answer as soon as Dexter closes the door. "Hey, where are you?"
"Still at work", and she doesn't sound mad. Fuck. "Chasing a lead"
"Let me guess, the blood bath case?" I wonder what kind of lead they could have? Not much of one, I'm too careful.
"Can we not talk about work right now?" If Deb thinks we are going to see each other now, she's dead wrong. "Baby, I'm so sorry", Please don't Deb. I don't need to fix another plan that you mess up. "You were totally right. I was mad at Dexter, and I took it out on you. My shift's almost done if you want to come over ant talk" Sorry, Deb, but no can do. I'm sick of her always messing things up. I just want to tell her to fuck off, I'm with Dexter.
What the hell? Why not? Just to see how it feels. This game is ending anyway. "I'd love to babe, but I'm about to eat dinner with Dexter", I try to keep the smugness at the fact that I'm talking to Dexter, and she isn't, out of my voice. I'm the person he'll go to, she isn't. I understand him, she doesn't.
A silence as she processes this. Her voice is tense when she finally replies. "Well, after." I know I should stop, that I need to be a good boyfriend for just a little bit longer, but I can't. I can't stop myself. I need her to suffer now.
"Yeah, but here's the thing. I think I'm going to sleep at my place tonight." Another tense silence as I come up with an excuse. "I mean, it's closer, and I'm drinking...You understand, right?" I say the last bit as cheery as I can. I know, I'm rubbing salt in the wounds. I'm getting too close to ending the relationship. But I just can't bring myself to care. I wonder if she'll start to cry? God, I hope so.
The silence is tense and she is pissed yet again. "Yeah", and my God, she sounds so hurt. And it's delicious. Not crying, but close. I cut her deep. It's not as good as killing her will be, but this is still pretty good.
"I'll call you tomorrow", I tell her. I hang up before she can reply. That was good. Mental pain is almost as good as physical pain. I return back inside and continue to cook the steaks. I start another conversation about anything that will hold his attention, even just vaguely. It goes from weather, to sports, to hunting, but he doesn't seem interested in any of that. I end up being the one who mostly talks. He stays quiet, and that's okay.
It's a pathetic cliché, but I leave my cell phone in the kitchen. It'll give me an excuse to see him again. Besides, it's not the worst thing I've done to see him.
He shows me out of his home, into the cool night. I can't leave quite yet. I still need to ask him about the hotel room. The blood bath, and his panic attack. I need to know what he remembers.
"Well, thanks for the hospitality" I say as I exit his apartment.
"Hey, thanks for the steaks", and he smiles at me. I'd like to think that is a real smile, but I know it's not. It doesn't matter. Even if it is a fake smile, it's still progress. At least he's hiding his suspicion.
"Yeah, I didn't get a chance to ask. Deb mentioned you had a little...incident at the crime scene", His smile leaves and his guard goes back up. This could be seen as another good thing. He knows he can't fool me.
"Did she?" He doesn't want to talk about it, it's clear from the way he looks down.
"Most of my prosthetic clients are pretty traumatized by the time they get to me...Anyway, I'm a good listener, if you ever want to talk.", I'm not particularly expecting to get much from him, but I need him to know I'm at least there for him. I still feel bad about forcing too much on him with the hotel room.
"Thanks, but unless you know an expert on suppressed memories..." Wow, I wasn't expecting that much. I can work with that. He didn't exactly fling open the door, but he did just crack it open.
"For real?", I'll have to tell a lie about my suppressed memories. I don't have any, I remember them all clearly. But it'll help get me in, and I don't think Dexter will mind this little white lie.
His eyes come up to me and he's interested. "You know something about it?" God, I haven't seen him look at me like that since we were children. It feels good, familiar.
"More than I ever wanted to." Sorry for the false act Dex, but it'll help bring us closer, and soon you'll understand the importance of that. I turn and look towards the ocean. He's still looking at me with interest, and something else. Respect, I finally identify it. And it feels good. "When I was in high school, I started having these dreams of a woman hit by a truck", I decide to keep my sob story the same as the one I always tell. Just in case Dexter asks Deb about it. Dexter leans against the railing next to me.
"Who was she?", a curious voice. Curious. Good, his curiosity about my past only reflects the curiosity of his own. And that is what he needs now, to want to know what happened. What made him who he is.
"I didn't know." Just like how he doesn't know. Without the proper context, he won't understand any of what he may have remembered. Not the woman being cut up, or the dark-haired boy sitting next to him. None of it. "Then one day, I stopped by a mail box, and it all came crashing back. My mom getting out to mail a letter. Me still in the car. I watched her die" Lies. Most of it at least. I really did watch my mother die. Dex saw it happen too. That's why we are the way we are. He needs to know that before our Reunion.
"How old were you?"
I want to say six, the truth, but I decide to go younger. Just in case six is too old for suppressed memories. After all, my memories didn't suppress. "Four. I didn't remember anything till I went and mailed a letter. Walked right into the belly of the beast without knowing it." Just like what happened with you. Sorry for the lies, but they seem to work. You look out across the ocean and think. You believe it all, and you are able to do something rarely done; sympathize.
But now that comforting is out of the way, I need to learn. "What kind of memories are you having?", I question. I don't want to hope for too much, but he seems to be opening up.
He is silent a long time, and I hold my breath. It'll make things easier for me to know where he stands. "They're still a little vague" He finally says. It's most likely true, but he still doesn't tell me what isn't vague. What he does know. I still take what little insight I can get.
"Right", because pushing him will only hurt things. "But you are going to have to face it eventually. Maybe next time." I just need him to look closer at the memories, not turn from them. And I know he won't run from the truth. He is my brother, no matter how many times he's been lied to.
"When you see Deb, go with white roses. They're her favorite", Dexter changes the topic. He's done talking about the memories, and that's okay. I have plenty of new information.
"Thanks for the tip." Something I really didn't know. It's also something I really don't care about either, but I'll take note. I decide to bring the conversation back to us. "It's funny how life brings people together" Like us. Okay, it wasn't so much life as my long and precise planning, but close enough. He doesn't say anything though. I just pat him on the back, say my thanks one last time, and leave. I wouldn't want to overstay my welcome.
I don't even know why I'm trying so hard. It's not like he has to befriend Rudy Cooper. I want him to befriend Brian Moser, the Ice Truck Killer. And we will. We are brothers, after all. But still, I want to be close to Dexter.
Despite the beers, I'm hardly tipsy. My mind is almost as clear as always. I could easily drive to Deb's home. I'll need to apologize eventually. But I don't. Tonight was a good night. I can't say that Dexter opened up, but I definitively got closer. I don't want to ruin that good feeling by seeing Deb.
So I go home. Screw Deb and the rest of the world. This game has been fun, but I can't wait for our Reunion.
I walk down the hallway into my home. It's a nice building. Brick walls with metal doors. Reminds me of my old home, the mental institute. I get to my door and punch in my code. It had a lock and key before, but security is important to me. I wouldn't want someone to sneak in and find something they shouldn't. I glance up at my security camera as I open the door. Nothing wrong with a good security system. I walk into my home and close the door behind me. Tonight was a good night. I walk into the bedroom and get out of my day clothes. A T-shirt and some sweat pants make for better lounge clothes.
I make my way back into the living room. My answering machine blinks. I have a message. How nice. It better not be Deb. I don't want to think about her anymore. It's becoming harder and harder to keep up my lover farce. I'm going to end up hacking Deb into clean, cool pieces without Dexter if our Reunion doesn't happen soon.
But, as I play the message, it turns out to be Dexter. "Hey, Rudy, this is Dexter. You left your phone at my place. You can pick it up tomorrow at the station if you want. If that doesn't work with you, call me and we'll figure something else out. Bye" How professional. Straight to the point, with the minimum amount of casualness needed to stay under radar. A thinly veiled guise.
The next day I get to work at seven. I have an early appointment. It's with Jack, so I don't mind as much. It's quick, just a check up to make sure the adjustments feel fine. They do and he is in and out within ten minutes.
I don't like him as much as I use to. I remember the first day they came to me. He was a little older than two when they decided it was time for him to start walking. It was hard, because his abdominal wall wasn't muscled in the right places for walking. I had to work with several other doctors, something I hate. To this day, I still want to kill them all.
Jack didn't cry though, just like my brother. He had blonde hair, brown eyes, and a stare that always reminded me of Dexter. Just minus the legs. But now he is older, his hair is still blonde, something that Dexter most likely grew out of by then, he has freckles, glasses, and is a little bit pudgy. He's become just another kid. He isn't Dexter anymore. But that's okay, because I've found my real brother.
My real brother, who I am currently about to meet with the excuse of picking up my cell phone. I step out of the elevator. Where is he? A quick glance around doesn't tell me. He has a desk, I'm sure of it. Does he have a whole office? I turn to a cop and ask, "Excuse me, do you have any idea where Dexter Morgan could be?"
"Uh, yeah. I think he's trying to recreate blood patterns", he tells me while pointing to a door. Blood patterns? Sounds fun.
"Thanks", I nod and smile. Blood patterns. I like the sound of that. The cop escorts me to the door. He doesn't want me running around and stealing information or other valuable things I suppose. At least they know to do that.
I open the door, and there is a large white piece of paper blocking my path. I gently lift it up and enter the small room.
It's beautiful. Blood graces the walls in all sorts of patterns. Sprinkles and spots, dripping globs, fine lines. I typically don't like blood, but I can appreciate this. It's probably not blood, my mind corrects an early mistake. But whatever it is, it looks real. And I know blood. The walls are covered in huge white pieces of paper, with clear plastic behind them to protect the pristine white walls. The room is fairly small, maybe ten feet by ten feet. A simple clock hides behind the plastic. It's hard to see the time with the natural blur that comes from the plastic, and the blood-like substance that drips down the plastic right in front of it.
In the center of the room is a metal table that contains all sorts of power tools. I can take a guess as to where the original blood patterns that he is trying to duplicate came from. Me. But I used a chain saw, and there isn't one on the table. He's not going to find what he is looking for.
"Yo, Dex?", I don't want to seem like I'm enjoying this too much. Plus I want to show the cop behind that I'm familiar with Dexter, that there's no need to hover. Dexter turns to me. He is wearing a clear poncho that has red all over it.
"Hey!", he sounds cheery. Is it because of me or the cop? He doesn't try so hard to act around me, but when other people are introduced, that changes. He puts his current tool on the table and I take another chance to look around.
"So this is what you do for a living?", and as a hobby. But he uses real blood for that.
"Yeah, I'm trying to match cast-off patterns from a crime scene. Power tool was used.", he doesn't want to admit it was the hotel room. The place where he had his panic attack. I'm staring at the wall to my right. The cop is still in the door-way, watching. Guess he'll be my full-time chauffer for the moment. "Here you go", he hands me my phone. He even took off his glove so it wouldn't get covered in his mystery goop.
"Thanks", and my phone is back in my pocket. I don't think anything would be wrong with helping out a fellow serial killer-slash-serial killer-killer. I know I'm dropping my mask and making little mistakes that could come back to bite me, but by the time people connect the dots, Dex and me will be long gone. Besides, even if Dexter started to suspect me of anything, which wouldn't surprise me with his deductive reasoning skills, he wouldn't tell. If he truly wanted to get me caught, he'd tell the police about the first time I contacted him. No, he wants to play this game just as much as I do. He just doesn't know how it will end yet.
I continue to look at the walls. There is even some red on the ceiling. "Circular saw..." It's the closest tool he has to a chain saw. A little hint won't hurt things. "Seems like there's an easier way to make a mess like this", I walk around the room, looking at red lines that flow solidly and have drip trails. There is a big blob of red with the lines around it. My mind tries to make an image out of it. A giant squid eating a whale.
"Trust me, I know. I've been in here for hours" Poor Dex. I can't leave him here for even more hours, trying to find the correct cast-off pattern with incorrect tools. He seems so frustrated and lost...What else are big brother's for?
"You know, in my line of work, you hear all sorts of horror stories. Boat propellers, garbage disposals...Seems like something you would see with a chainsaw." Hopefully he won't notice any of the many reasons why my excuse for knowing this is bogus.
"I hear that, but this power tool was plugged into a socket." Really, Dex? Did you get messed up by something so small as stereotyping chainsaws?
"Guess you haven't heard of an electric chainsaw", I smile and give a small laugh to try to sound less condescending. I look closer at the giant squid and he doesn't say anything. He'll probably be happy when he tries the chainsaw and sees that it works. Or he might be suspicious that I, a doctor with no access to bloody crime scenes and no training on what they should look like, knew immediately how the patterns were created.
"Huh...", he mutters as he looks around the room. Not angry, that's good. "I might have to check into that", he finishes. Please do, Dex, I think you'll like what you find.
Not that it'll matter in the long run. He'll say the killer used an electric chainsaw, and the police will try to trace that back to me. They won't. I stole the chainsaw out of a garage on the other side of Miami, and returned it before anyone knew it was gone. They won't ever solve this case, and Dexter's report will go to waste. Still, it's nice to solve a puzzle, even if the satisfaction is purely personal and internal.
"Here, let me get out of this and I'll walk you out." He seems genuinely happy I gave him the hint. That frustrated look on his face has left. He's probably seen enough crime scenes to know what chainsaw spray will look like. He knows I'm right. Which means one of two things. Either he has no idea who I am, or he knows exactly who I am. Either I'm a harmless stranger who is dating Deb and gave him a good tip, or I'm his play-mate. It's most likely the first, since realization has never seemed to cross his face, aside from realizing I'm right about the chainsaw. He slips out of his dirty poncho and we both leave the room.
"I don't know why I didn't see it before. A chainsaw. It seems so obvious now" He's talking to me as we leave the room. Not just short response and grunts, but a full conversation. That's good, he is relaxing around me. It'll make the Reunion go smoother. If he reacted badly to the suppressed memories of mother's death, there is a chance he'll react badly to the other suppressed memories bound to come up once he starts investigating. It'll be good for him to know I just want to be his brother again, that I'm not going to hurt him.
"I had this patient a few years ago, real horrible story. She had an abusive boyfriend who she tried to break up with, but he broke into her house at night with a chainsaw, and started cutting off limbs. He had cut off her arms and started on her leg when the police came. House was a real mess", and it is a true story. Granted, I never saw the house, I just heard it was a mess from the police officers, but there is the implication that I did see it first hand. A reason to know the chainsaw cast-off patterns. We walk to the elevator and he pushes the button, calling the elevator to us.
"Oh yeah, I think I remember that case. Danielle Marcum was her name, right?" Of course, he was the guy they sent to look at the house. Technically it wasn't homicide, since she didn't die, but it was definitely attempted, and Dexter is the only blood splatter analyst they have, I believe.
"Yeah, that was her name. Sweet woman. A little bit meek, but that is to be expected after...well, you know." I recall information about her. It's not normal for two people to be talking about a woman getting torn apart alive by a lover like it is last night's baseball game, but it's what Dexter likes to think about. Blood. That is how I know this conversation is real, not some act to make him seem normal. He is dropping his guard, talking about something real for him, and I want to show him that I'd love to talk about women being mentally and physically ripped apart anytime of the week. Any other person would turn away from him, but I won't. Not his big brother.
"I never met her. Met her ex though. Not a nice guy", he says. I wonder if Dex killed him? The elevator doors open and we walk through them. I press the button for ground floor and soon we are in isolation from the world, even if it's just briefly.
"That's how it works, I deal with the victims, you deal with the criminals", I joke truthfully. "Was he ever convicted?", I ask with real curiosity.
"No, got off on a technicality.", he smiles as he says it. Yep, he killed that man. And he enjoyed it too.
"I'm sure he got busted for something else though. People like that don't keep on the up and up for very long", I question about his fate. I already know it though. Death by my brother's blade. The elevator dinged and the doors opened to our floor. We both step out and stop.
"No, actually, he went missing shortly after", and he steps back into the elevator without a second to waste. The doors close and he's gone. I smile at his parting comment. Either he knows that I know, or he is starting to slip too. That's okay though, we'll be out of here soon enough.
I step out of the building and return to my office. It's more of a workshop really, but whatever. There are power tools and limbs everywhere. I still find it ironic how it's seen as normal, but at my home, in my freezer, it's far from. I slip on my doctor coat and continue constructing an artificial arm.
It's about an hour later when there is a knock on my door. I wonder who that is. Whoever it is lacks proper manners, because a moment later a short and fat man opens the door. He points at me and asks, "You Rudy Cooper?" I have a bad feeling about this. I nod and continue to look at him. He walks in and I put my tool down to shake his hand. "Angel Batista, I work with your girlfriend, Deb" Shit, a cop. They better not be onto me so soon. The game is not over yet.
"Oh, hi, nice to meet you" The enthusiasm is completely lacking in my voice, but I don't like it when people barge into my office. Especially when that person is a cop, and when I recently filled a hotel room with blood. It's just not a good situation to be in.
"I'd like to ask you a few questioned if you don't mind." Fuck. How can they be onto me? I was too careful. I left nothing! This can't happen. I need to fix this. Now.
"Sure! Sure, just let me grab the door." And a sharp object in which to kill you with. He's probably armed, so it'll have to be a cut to the throat, preferably from behind. That'll be my easiest path. I can't really hide the body, I'll have to run. Right after I kill him. I'll stay in my childhood house. Dexter is already on course, and should find the place without much more help. Just a hint to go there in a few days. It's something I can do under the radar. I get to the door and quickly look outside. No one around to hear the muted sounds of a dying man. Good. I close the door. I could try to push his body into a corner, something to buy me a few more minutes. "So...Does this have to do with a case?" He is looking at a leg I built. Good, his eyes are off me.
"You could say that", he mutters. He's being indirect, not good. Let's see, where is the closest sharp object?
"Wow...Well, fire away" Question-wise that is, keep your gun in your holster just long enough for me to slit your throat. Fuck, how did this happen? I hate it when a good plan goes bad. I grab a sculpting knife off the counter. Perfectly good for killing.
"When I ran into this lady with a prosthetic hand, call girl, actually..." Fuck. I know who he is talking about. I painted her nails. The same pattern as the finger tips the Ice Truck Killer painted. A link has formed between me and the Ice Truck Killer. That's right Angel, just keep looking at the pretty leg. "She says she had a very unique client... " Me. "An amputee devotee." I inch closer to the man before me, blade in hand. His back is still turned, but I don't know how long I have until he looks at me. I have to get this right, first cut has to be fatal. I'll also want as little blood on me as possible. Less suspicious when I leave this place. From behind is the perfect position.
"Do you have a lead on this client?" My voice is thick with blood lust. Crap, I can't give him a hint. He can't have time to scream, call for help, or reach for his gun. It's a knife going against a gun. Surprise is my only chance.
"Well, that's the bitch of it. I don't have a god damn clue", Wait...What? I'm fine. I'm not a suspect. She couldn't recall my face? Thank you God! Or Satan. Whichever one is looking out for me. I put the knife back on the counter. " Except for the freaky sex stuff. I was hoping you could steer me towards some of those weirdoes." Like me. But he doesn't know that. I fight to regain my mask.
"I'm afraid I got into this business to help people get better, not help people get off", with the exception of myself, of course. I smile at him the best I can, but it's damn hard to go from figuring out how to hide his body in the quickest and most effective way, to being a helpful citizen trying to capture a bad guy within seconds.
"I'm sure Debra will be happy to hear that," But she won't be too happy to hear that that was a lie.
"But I can talk to some of my colleges, see if I can draw up a list of contacts for you", gotta act normal. Normal.
"That'd be great", he replies back. I need to be more normal.
"Hey, how often does someone get a chance to help catch a bad guy", and I smile what I hope isn't the single most fake smile in the history of mankind. "You in a rush for this information?" How long do I have to properly kill you and that whore who almost got me killed?
"No, no. I'm chasing a long shot", you won't be chasing it for long. I'm going to have to kill you before you can share this information. "Just, uh, give me call at the station when you have something", and he hands me his card. Angel Batista. Enjoy your last day on earth.
"Will do", I look at him, and hopefully my tension isn't too obvious.
"Good to meet you", he shakes my hand. Good, so he doesn't realize anything is wrong. I nod and he heads for the door. That's right, get the fuck out of my office. He opens the door and waves goodbye. I give him another nod before he leaves. Thank God. And next time he better wait till I fucking invite him in.
I open my drawer containing the nail polish and other hand care equipment. I put the card in there and close it. Fucking hell, that was too close.
This game has been fun, but it needs to end. They police are starting to catch up. Just as soon as Dexter remembers.
Angel Batista is my immediate worry. From what he said, this seems to be the only lead, and he seems to be the only one who knows. Cops don't like to talk about their leads until they know it's a good one. Since his hasn't gone anywhere yet, it's a good bet to say he hasn't told anyone. So, I'll kill him to make sure he won't ever tell anyone. Ever. Then I'll kill that whore, just to tie up that loose end and create a nice distraction from Angel. A dead cop always raises flags, but the return of an infamous serial killer raises more.
So, how to kill the fat cop? I don't want a gun, loud and traceable. A knife is my ideal weapon of choice. The sooner the better. Tonight even. I'll follow him home, and kill him on his way home. I don't know if he is married or not, but I can't take the chance of him returning home to another person. Another person I would have to kill. I'll have to do it sometime between. The most private moment. Walking from his car and to his home.
I need an alibi too. Deb. I'll go apologize to Deb. They'll ask me where I was the night Angel went missing, and I'll be able to say with Deb. She'll confirm it. We will be up all night having make-up sex. She won't be ashamed to say that either. I'll see if I can sneak out after she is asleep, to kill the whore too.
I want to catch him when he's alone too. I'll have to wait for the perfect time. I'll have to be an opportunist. I leave my office and go home. It's almost five anyway, and I need to prepare. I get everything I need, ski mask, hooded jacket, gloves, and a good, sharp hunting knife.
I wait across the street from the police station. The down side of dating Deb, the police force know me, and I shouldn't be here. If I'm spotted, I'm screwed. I won't know it either until they come knocking on my door and drag me to the station. It's a few hours later when Angel leaves, and I believe I remained hidden.
I follow him. Not too close, but still not too far. He stops by a small grocery store, but is done within thirty minutes. He only has a few bags. I take note. He'll have to take them out of the car. He'll have to turn his back to the world when he does too. He eventually parks in a communal parking garage of an apartment complex. I park in the garage that will soon be a crime scene too. I put the jacket and mask on, and hold my knife. I don't like being reduced to such a low kill, but such is life. I won't be around for much longer anyway. Just waiting for Dex to figure things out. Then we can leave town for good. No more of this pretending bullshit.
The hunt is on. No one else is in the garage. I have one shot. Gotta kill him. Fatal stab wound. Right to the neck, he won't have time to scream.
He parks and turns off his car. He gets out after a moment and walks around his car. I have to wait for him to turn his back to me. He can't see me coming. He's armed, he'll shoot me. It's knife versus gun again. I'll have to surprise him. I have one shot. If I fail, I'm dead. I move into position, hiding behind a near-by car. He opens the door to his back seat. His back is turned, I begin to move in. The fastest I can go while still remaining dead silent. He reaches the back seat and pulls out two brown paper bags. Good, his hands are full.
He only gets a chance to shut the door and lock it before I grab him from behind. He struggles, but doesn't yell. One clean stab to the neck, come one. You can do this Brian. I try to get him to stop moving, just long enough for a clear shot. He grabs my elbow and I know I'm fucked. I can't get a good swipe at his neck. His back will have to do. I jam the knife as hard and deep as I can into his lower back. I watch the knife go in, hoping I hit a major artery. A force hits my face, and it pushes me back. I tumble slightly before I fall. I'm stunned, disorientated, my lip hurts, a car alarm goes off, and a man gasps in pain. My head spins, thoughts coming and going without ever staying long enough for me to make sense of them. Is this how I get caught?
They'll come down and catch me. Haul me to the station and take off my mask. Everyone will know I tried to kill Angel. Deb will want to know why, and I'll have nothing to tell them. There is no excuse for this.
And Dexter. Dexter. I started this game knowing the dangers. But I also knew the rewards. I have to say, as I lie on the ground, it was worth it. To even have my chance at being his brother again, I'd gladly die. Because I have nothing else besides Dexter. No mother, no father, children, wife, friends, nothing. Just my brother. My last attachment to reality. I smile while on the ground. Yes, it was very worth it.
But what will he think? When they pull off the mask and he sees my face? No, he won't understand. It's too soon. I can't get caught. Dexter is still waiting. He still needs my help to find himself. He needs his big brother.
I get up, slowly. I wobble. Angel is just now falling. He reaches for his gun, but can't quite get it. Don't worry Dex, your big brother will never, ever leave you. I pick up my knife. I need to finish the job. I only get one step towards him before two people start to run down the stair case. Fuck. I should have finished him sooner. I take off running. My head is still spinning. One of them briefly follows me before returning to Angel. That fucker better be dead.
I get into my car, my head is starting to ache. Everything hurts. My back, arms, legs, and especially my lip. I realize that I still need to flee the scene. I turn on my chosen car from a bar parking lot and get out of there. My head begins to clear. Fuck. That didn't go well. He might live. Living is not a good thing for Angel to do. I'm driving off now. I remove my mask and jacket at a stoplight. I don't have time. With witnesses comes a more exact time. I need to get to the station fast. I need my alibi to start now. I look in my rear view mirror. "Fuck...", I mutter to myself as I see my lip. I got a cut on my lip. Mishap at work with some tools. No one will question it.
Unless they suspect me of stabbing Angel.
A quick stop by my local flora store for some white roses, by the bar for my own car, and I'm off to homicide. Flowers will make things seem more planned, less like a forced alibi. I'm still wearing my suit from work when I step into the building. I straighten my shirt and smooth down my pants. I have to look good for this. Like I didn't just try to kill a man.
I ride the elevator up to the homicide department. Doakes is leaving right as I enter. I nod hello and continue on. Deb is the only other one in the room. I walk towards her and look down at the roses. "For you", I state plainly. My mind is still rushing and a little bit hazy. I hope I don't have a concussion.
"It's too late, you blew it." I want to kill her so badly right now. It's been such a long day. I've had plan after plan fail, and my house of cards is starting to tumble. I just want this one thing to go right, even though it doesn't matter if she breaks up with me right here and now. I just want to control something like the way I use to. I don't let this show though. I've learned, I need to keep the mask up tightly, right up until the very day of the Reunion.
"I didn't blow it. This is the first chance I've had to talk", because it's just too hard to be a perfect boyfriend now. I didn't hit her and call her a bitch like I want, so it's a victory.
"I'm too tired to talk", come on you bitch. I can tell you I'm a lot more tired than you.
"Well, let's go home", I'm trying to find something to say, anything, but words are escaping me. I really hope I don't have a concussion. "Fall into bed", that does sound good. A bed without Deb sounds even better, but I have to stay her boyfriend for a little while longer.
"Why , Rudy? I mean fucking why? You didn't want to fall into bed the other night when I laid my heart out on the phone...You wanted to talk to my brother", I knew that would come back to bite me. Alright, time for drastic measures.
"I was confused-", she interrupts me before I can finish.
"Well, I'm not confused. That's the problem. I know what I want." God damn it Deb. Today has been too long for me to be able to deal with you. For all I know, I'll be in a jail cell by the end of the week.
"I was confused because I love you-", she begins to interrupt me again, but I got the important part out.
"What I want is very simple, and uncomplicated", and then she stops and looks surprised. That took a minute to sink in. Yes, it'll change the relationship between me and Deb, and I'll have to put in more boyfriend time, but God damn it, I just want to go to bed. Besides, it's looking like this game won't last much longer. I just want to sleep, and to be able to wake up without dieing from a concussion or being arrested right after waking up. "What did you say?" Great, now I have to deal with overly excited Deb.
"I love you", I whisper, thick with what she'll read as emotion. Really, I want to cry over all my failed plans and lost control. This game has gotten too real. I just want Dexter to remember so we can leave Miami and live free.
"Don't try to change...", she starts weakly. Hell no, she isn't going to deflect that one. I lean in and kiss her. Can we please just go home now? "Fuck..." she whispers as I pull back.
"What?" Because I swear to God, anymore shit today, and I'm going to Dexter's apartment, telling him I'm his brother and skipping town with him tonight.
"I love you too", she whispers back. Thank God. Now maybe we can get out of here before word about Angel hits us, and forces me to stay up all night helping Deb deal with things. I need to be home when she hears the news. As sad as it is, I still have another person to kill tonight. And with Angel potentially living, it's all the more important I tie up the loose end and create a diversion. We begin to kiss again, but I pull back and hiss once it gets too passionate. My lip still hurts. "What happened to your lip?" She just now notices. Good, maybe it isn't that apparent. Though I'm sure it will be tomorrow.
"Oh, just an incident with a tool at the workshop." And she seems to buy the lie. How else would I hurt myself? Assaulting a detective isn't someone's first guess. At least not yet.
"Well, let's get you home and take care of it" Sounds goods to me. Although I would prefer to clean it myself, I know she will. I can't muster too much energy to care. She begins to walk towards the elevator. She is holding the flowers. She stops and turns around, looking at me. She smiles, and she is happy. I'm happy too. Well, less pissed off than I previously was. It's close enough to happy.
I walk up next to her and grab her hand. We walk out of the building together. Silent, for once. I'm glad. It's been an eventful day, and it's not even over yet. The next few days will be even more eventful.
The time is coming Dexter. I hope you'll be ready soon, because my time is running out.