Burlington, Vermont

Jan 10

He tried to resist. He couldn't, not anymore. It had been a month since last time, three months before that, and five before that. Each time he acquired his mark a different way, and finished each one a different way. The first one he shot with a small gun. That was quick and efficient but overall unsatisfying; too sudden. Next he tried slashing the throat. That was much better, but also much too messy; especially when it came to next step. The blood got all in her hair. Then he went with a stabbing. This was so far by far the best; he even ejaculated as she died. Again there was a problem; again, it was messy and he didn't much care for having to clean up so much after. It was time to try something else; something cleaner. It took some time to find the right girl, but there she was; downtown, just two blocks off Pearl Street.

It was getting late, and it was cold; too cold, some said, for snow. To Katherine Cross, known on the streets as Kacey, that made no sense. The reason there was no snow this year was because of some weird high pressure ridge keeping all the clouds away. That's what the weatherman was saying, anyway.

Kacey shivered and lit a smoke. Not only was it cold, but there was no work for her tonight, or so it seemed. Maybe because everyone was broke after Christmas. She was just about ready to give up and call it a night when a dark blue car – a Mazda something, not too fancy, but in good shape pulled up beside her. Putting on her best face, Kacey strutted up to the passenger side of the car and leaned forward as the window came down. She made sure her top would reveal just a hint of her cleavage; not too much, just enough to give the driver something to think about.

She took one look at him and her smile grew a little warmer. She knew this guy; well, sort of. She'd seen him in the area a few times, but up until tonight he never asked any of the girls for a date. Most of the girls just figured maybe he was shy; that he liked to window shop for a while and then goes home and do the DYI thing. A lot of the girls called him John Shyguy. It looked to Kacey like he was ready to take things to the next level.

"Hey there, handsome," she greeted. "Are you looking for a date?"

"I sure am," John said, trying to sound more confident than he was. He held up a wad of cash for her. She took it and got into his car and let him drive away.

Racine, Wisconsin

Jan 10

Christmas was good at the Castle house. Astor and Cody even flew in. Astor flew in from Miami; said that she called it vacation time. Cody's work happened to have him in California anyway, so he managed to find time to spend the day with family. He'd gotten huge; he's a professional wrestler now, going by the name CB Morgan. At first, he was still angry with me for my vanishing act; I can hardly blame him for that. If I were him and had feelings, I'd be mad at disappearing dear old daddy Dexter, too. I think I smoothed it over, though; I let him read me his riot act about how I should have stayed in Miami the whole time and faced my troubles no matter how hard it was. When he was done, I told him he was right; that my running away was cowardly, but now I'm trying to make things right. He seemed to accept that response, and afterwards dinner was nothing short of fantastic. Of course, Cody left right after dinner; he said he had to get back to work – the busy, busy life of CB Morgan and all that. Apparently he has a big opportunity to win some championship or another.

After Cody was gone, Astor took talking shop. I have to admit I was a little shocked at how much she actually knew about me, Harrison, and Hannah; what was even more shocking was how she was actually okay with everything. She was even helpful. She was well informed on the movements of the FBI and their attempts to locate us, and extremely useful at obstructing their efforts.

Now, I'm in Racine Wisconsin. It's time to meet Lumen again, this time to make her position with Castle Couriers as manager of our Mid-West Branch official. Today is the day...

"I knew it." Lumen said after a moment, letting it sink in that she was standing in front of her dark angel Dexter Morgan in the Wisconsin office of Castle Couriers. "I mean, I knew you weren't dead."

"Hi, Lumen," Dexter said, not sure what else to say.

Without another word, Lumen charged him and held him in an embrace. "I knew you were alive; I can't explain how, but I knew it. I didn't know you were now Frank Castle, and I never thought I'd see you again, but here you are!"

Dexter awkwardly reciprocated her hug, patting her back. "Yup, I'm here." He confirmed. "Look, I know this is awkward, for both of us, but if it's all the same to you, I'd like to get to business first, then maybe we can catch up, okay?"

"Oh, of course," Lumen agreed, letting him go. They worked out the final arrangements for the Wisconsin office. Once business was settled, Lumen broke out a bottle of champagne and persuaded Dexter to stay for a glass; to celebrate their new and strictly professional relationship. First they made a little chat to catch up; Dexter told her how Harrison was growing up so fast, and that he was living with him and Hannah. He didn't mention Harrison's Shady Co-host; she didn't need to know about that. After all, her darkness had left her. As she hadn't said a word about his Dark Passenger or their activities together concerning Jordan Chase and his entourage, it wasn't that Dexter felt he couldn't trust her; it was more about wanting to keep her from revisiting a very dark and difficult time in her life.

"Do you remember?" She asked finally. "How I said that I didn't feel it anymore." She added before Dexter could ask what she meant.

"Of course I do." He replied. "I told you I would carry your Darkness for you."

She nodded, evidently satisfied he did indeed remember. "Well, I think I might have been wrong."

That got his attention; and not in good way. He was hoping that Lumen was free. "You haven't..."

"Oh, dear God no" she interrupted. "All I meant was that I think after we finished taking care of those men, I think my darkness didn't so much leave me as it, I don't know, went dormant. The thing is, over the last six months or so it's been stirring; waking up I guess you could say. Which is what makes it so perfect that you showed up now, of all times."

"Okay, I'll bite." Dexter said, curious. "Why has it been waking up?"

"How closely have you been following national news?" She asked in response.

"Not very," he admitted.

"Then you wouldn't know about the massive wave of suicides that have been happening all though the state of Wisconsin over the past year." She said. "I know suicides aren't your thing, and at first I didn't think anything of it, until I noticed there was pattern to them. I mean, I think they might not be suicides at all."

Holy shit! Deb exclaimed. She's number 13, isn't she? You were her guy! She went to you to help her get her revenge! Fuck it, Dex; she was right before, you better hear her out, or you're the biggest dumbass on the planet!

"Go on." Dexter said calmly. "Show me more."

Lumen produced a laptop, and after booting up and clicking in the relevant places, she turned the computer so Dexter could see the screen. She then moved so she was next to him and guiding him through what she had complied to make her case.

She started with a seemingly endless set of news articles about suicides all over the state; some in Milwaukee, some in Green Bay, one or two there in Racine, and a few in various other smaller municipal regions. The oldest one was written just over a year ago, the most recent one from two days ago. Scanning the articles, Dexter saw they were highly varied; there were men, women, young, old, a variety of races all reported. The youngest, a fourteen year old boy named Jeremy Tenant, stuck out particularly to Dexter.

"I'm not sure I get it." He said. "What's the pattern you say you see?"

"First of all, look at the manner of death." Lumen prompted.

Dexter looked again, and then he saw it. They were all reported to have killed themselves by lethal injection; the same substance in every case. Even more interesting was that it was not exactly an easy substance to get a hold of.

"Where are they all getting it?" Dexter asked, more thinking out loud than actually asking.

"Exactly," Lumen said. Then she moved on to a different file on her desktop. "There's more, though; check it out."

The next file she showed him revealed that each, or at least several, of the suicides were terminally ill. Jeremy Tenant had what was described as advanced Leukemia. Those who were not terminally ill; a man in Milwaukee and a woman in Racine, both had early onset Alzheimer's. In those two cases, it was believed that they wanted to die with their faculties somewhat intact.

It looks like we might have what is sometimes referred to as an Angel of Death; a mercy killer who believes he is sparing his victims a great deal of suffering. This is certainly something worth looking into.

"I'll tell you what," Dexter said. "Give me a duplicate of everything you have, and I'll look into it." He turned and looked at Lumen. "Don't worry, if you have something here, I'll carry your darkness, like I promised."

Burlington, Vermont

She said her name was Kacey. He had no doubt that was not her real name; it had to be a working name. Not that he really cared much; she had a purpose to serve and after that purpose was served her name would mean nothing.

It just happened that Kacey had a place set up for her 'work', if one could call it that. Even better, it had parking around back and out of sight. As a result, Kacey didn't even make it out of his car. In one quick motion, he produced the home made garrotte fashioned out of a steel guitar string and two corkscrews from inside his jacket and had it wrapped around her neck. In a desperate act of futility, she attempted to pull the string away from her throat as the oxygen got cut off from her lungs; her brain. Though from behind her he couldn't see, he knew that her eyes were rolling back as the whites took on blood and she gasped for what precious air she could find. He tightened the grip; the string digging deeper into her flesh and breaking the skin. Much to his delight, this method took even longer than he thought it would; he could savor every single moment, achieving a climax unlike any he ever had as she breathed her last.

After composing himself, he put away his garrotte and assessed the wound he left. It was certainly bloody, but not nearly as messy as a blade. With a little control, he could manage to minimize the amount of blood that got in any girl's hair. With a curt nod of satisfaction, he pulled a dark colored scarf out of his glove compartment. It was in a Ziploc freezer bag, and at no point had he ever put his hands directly on it or ever wore it himself. Wearing his gloves, he wrapped it gently around her neck before driving away to his chosen dumpsite. When he got her there, he would clip off her admittedly well cared for red hair. He was wearing his gloves when he handed her the money, so she could keep it. In her own way, she did earn it, after all...

Quarry Lake Park, Wisconsin

Jan 11

The sun began to rise and reflect gently on the layer of ice on the lake as Dominic Jameson (DJ to the few friends he had left) sat on his favorite bench at Quarry Lake Park. A light breeze swept the light dusting of snow that barely coated the frozen water, making the sun's reflection seem that much brighter. The snow had started briefly and stopped about an hour ago. This was a good day; all Dominic had to do now was wait for Dr. Morton to show up. They had agreed to meet here for their final session; Dr. Morton let him pick the spot, and this was the place he wanted to end their time together.

Finally he heard someone approach.

"Is that you, Doctor?" he called, still gazing out at the lake.

"I'm here," Doctor Morton replied, taking a seat on the bench beside him. "Before we continue, I want to give you one final chance to change your mind about this. Are you sure you want this? I need to be certain that you completely understand what it is that is happening here."

"I understand." DJ said. "I've made sure all my loose ends are tied up, and I'm ready for this." With a gloved hand, he rolled back the sleeve to his parka to expose his inner forearm. "Please, Doctor, let me go with some dignity."

Three months ago, DJ was diagnosed (by another Doctor, not Morton) with full-blown AIDS. His days were numbered, anyway. Up until then, he thought it was a myth that those who contracted the virus were alienated from family and friends, but as it turned out it was a reality; those with their health intact just couldn't cope. Maybe they were scared of the virus itself, or maybe at least some of them were just adjusting to him being gone forever. In some ways, he didn't blame them; it had to be a hard thing to know someone you know and care about was circling the drain. It still hurt, though; almost as much the feeling of your own life rapidly seeping out your pores.

"Very well, then," Dr. Morton said. "I wish a safe journey to wherever the god of your choosing takes you, DJ. May I call you DJ?"

"Yes, that's fine," DJ said, keeping his focus on the frozen lake, observing with care how the sun glittered off the ice. "Thank you, Doctor."

"Rest in peace, DJ," Doctor Morton said. DJ kept his eyes on the sparkling ice as the Doctor stuck the needle into his inner forearm and depressed the plunger. Dominic Jameson watched the sun dance off the ice until his eyes closed and he entered his final sleep.