I'd seen only two moons since I introduced my Dark Passenger to the newly dismembered Peter Olshansky. And in the wake of my sweet surrender to Dexter's deranged dilemma, I experienced the euphoric rush of clarity. It felt as if a gentle current carried my restored body from shopping errand A to domestic chore B with none of the worry or concern of leaving incriminating evidence in the undertow. I may not have been wearing the same familiar skin I've grown accustom to – and it only lasted between two and three weeks, but the clarity I'm exposed to after each kill is a sobering glimpse of the surreal life I've always wanted. It's as if I'm holding my head above water, struggling to stay afloat before I'm inevitably dragged back down into the deep recesses of my violent reptilian urges. I live for these few weeks.
'Tonight is the night,' I thought to myself, holding the steering wheel with one hand, while in the back seat, Harrison teethed on the index finger of my other hand. Unfortunately, it was the night. I don't easily abandon my well-earned peace and alone time with my son, but considering the circumstances, what else had I to do? If I was going to spend time with all of my children, I would have to go to Gail's house, Rita's mother, who currently held supreme guardian rights over Cody and Astor. I guess it was my fault. Nevertheless, before falling even remotely close to the brink of guilt, I looked through the rear-view mirror and connected eyes with my son.
"We can always turn back, you know. Spend the rest of the night just you and me, buddy." Harrison smiled, "just say the word." Maybe I was looking for any reason to avoid Gail, but it was useless. Besides, nothing in life that's worth having comes easy. I was learning that the hard way. I managed to take one last deep breath before my car pulled into Gail's drive way. "Here we are!" I tried to sound excited. After all, Harrison still had a chance to enjoy himself.
I knocked several times on the front door of Gail's house. It was a modest home, but the recent premium upkeep clearly saved it from alerting social services. Though, in light of Gail's very compulsive and domineering attitude, I wasn't surprised.
I prepared to knock one more time just before the door swung open and revealed Gail, sporting a white cotton robe behind the screen door partition. "I would have made you wait a little longer, but I couldn't do that to my little Harrison, could I? Come in." She promptly opened the screen door.
"Nice to see you, too." Harry also taught me to mind my manners. As I closed the door behind me, I surveyed the living room and the adjoining dining room before finding a comfortable place for Harrison on an infant's blanket in front of the TV. "Where are the kids?" I asked.
"They're fine. They're watching television in their room." Gail retired into the kitchen, "I made sloppy joes for the kids. There's leftovers, if you're interested." She knew damn well I didn't care for sloppy joes.
"Thanks, but no thanks." I patted my stomach, "already ate." Gail nodded her head and continued toward the freezer and retrieved a half-finished bottle of vodka. She poured a few ounces into a rocks glass and mixed it with orange juice. My right eyebrow lifted.
"What would social services think?" I felt a subtle, but eerie confidence any time I had the upper-hand on Gail.
"Oh?" She laughed to herself for a moment, "you don't want to go there with me right now, son. The only reason you're here, and the only reason those children are in that room watching that fucking television, is because you knocked up my daughter." Gail certainly had a way with words. She finished mixing her drink and immediately headed for her bedroom. "The remote is on the coffee table. There's food in the fridge for the kids if they get hungry – it's the bowls in the aluminum foil. Also, I'm leaving my door unlocked in case of an emergency." Gail paused for a moment to take the temperature of the room, "look. I don't have the energy to fight about this again, so I'm just gonna come out and say it; I want you gone before I wake up." She waited for a response from me. I gave her nothing. "I'm being serious." I barely twitched. "Dexter, I don't have to agree to these weekly play dates."
"Alright. I get it. Before you wake up, I'll be..." I threw my thumb up behind my should and flashed Gail an empty smile, then watched as she disappeared into her bedroom. "Yeah. Fuck you, too." I suppose I could understand her pain. Losing her only daughter and levying even partial custody of her grand children to a 'recovering' drug addict can have its ways of fucking with a mother's psyche. But that certainly didn't stop me from fantasizing about the hundreds of different ways I could disembowel her and erase her from existence through the Gulf Stream.
After picking up Harrison, I followed the hallway to the children's bedroom, knocked on their door, then slowly and respectfully entered. Inside, Astor was slumped over the side of the top bunk, peering down at the TV in the opposite corner of the room. Cody, on the other hand, was asleep on the bottom bunk covered in blankets.
"You just walk into other people's rooms now?" Astor never averted her eyes from the television screen.
"Sorry. I thought I knocked." One of the first things I learned from Rita about parenting was that the parent always has the right of way. It's the parent's job to teach, nurture, provide, and when necessary, discipline. But I was beginning to find it more and more difficult to make sense of the gray areas. The ripples left in the wake of Rita's death were influencing more than I could ever realize. To be honest, I miss Rita more every time I'm reminded of that fact.
"Whatever." Astor remained unhinged from her permanent connection with the television. It was futile at this point to attempt a breakthrough with Astor, so I compromised with myself and took seat on the floor, watching the local news with my children. I placed Harrison on the floor and let him toy with my fingers as I followed a well-groomed and familiar male news anchor sign off for a break. Just before commercial, the station broadcast an image of several garbage bags thrown in a pile next to a large pool with the headline; 'Return of the Bay Harbor Butcher?' My blood ran white. Suffice it to say, my attention was glued to the television.
Astor was fast asleep by the time the midnight news team took to the air. But I continued to follow intently as each unrelated robbery, disaster relief, local accomplishment and international awareness story was vomited onto the screen every five minutes. Still, once in a while, they would report an update on the new Bay Harbor Butcher murders. Apparently, six bodies were found decapitated with exacting discipline and bundled into six, thirteen gallon trash bags at a local Boys and Girls Club pool. Already, the media knew based on the rate of decomposition that the cadavers couldn't be less than a week old. Also, forensic analysts on the scene already concluded that there was a surprising lack of blood and general DNA markers to make a positive identification of the victims. If it wasn't for the fact that the Bay Harbor Butcher case was suddenly dancing in the limelight, I would have appreciated, and possibly envied, the work of this new monster. First, a perfect representation of the Ice Truck Killings, now a stab at the pristine Bay Harbor Butcher? With only two days separation, that basically eliminated the reasonable possibility of two individual copy-cat killers. The news didn't stake any claim, but I deduced it; this was all the work of the same deranged monster. As the last commercial flashed on the screen, I checked my watch. 5:38 in the morning? Yeah, it was time to go.
I picked Harrison up from the carpet beside me and kissed Cody and Astor good night before leaving Gail's house. I fastened Harrison to his car seat in the back and took my position behind the wheel of my car. With mild hesitation, I sat motionless in the driver's seat of the van, contemplating the many possible city-wide ramifications of bringing the Bay Harbor Butcher case back to the social consciousness. While it's true that the case was effectively closed naming then Sergeant Doakes the Butcher instead of yours truly, I still lived, and continue to live, by a very important Code. Whoever this person was, running around mimicking with incredible precision the likes of Brian Moser and Dexter Morgan was suddenly a matter worth looking into. I took a few extra minutes as I mentally prepared myself for the drive home where I planned to fall asleep, with only minor interruptions from Harrison, then awaken partially refreshed. I'd jump into a hot shower, change into some clean clothes, fix a complete and healthy breakfast, then begin my day en route to the station for the first time in a month. Perhaps it was time for Dedicated Detective Dexter to go back to work.