ALL night I didn't sleep, both nervous and excited that someone knew me. Knew me for what I really was. A vigilante, a pretender, a killer. Harper knew it all…and was far too calm with that knowledge. I sat up quickly, puzzled by that realisation. Was she sincere or was she lying in wait to let me hang myself, setting me up?
It was ten o' clock and I found myself standing at her door, facing her, willing an answer from her mouth. One that will make everything alright and ease the urge I have to smother her. Just in case, I push my hands into my pockets to keep temptation at bay.
"How do I know you won't use this to try and manipulate me?" I asked.
It took her a minute to reply. Harper didn't look her bright-eyed and bushy-tailed self at the moment. Her hair was wild and unkempt, her eyes hooded from lethargy, she hung in the door's frame like a wet rag, arms stretched out and head tilted to the side.
"You don't." She shrugged, the southern lilt making it sound sweeter than she meant it be.
"Then why shouldn't I kill you, too?"
In my pocket, my hands balled into fists, knuckles cracking audibly. The sound got her attention. Harper stood up straight now, arms at her sides. "Because it's not your style."
She smiled out of anger but I lowered my head to my feet, still refusing to be charmed by it. "How would you know my style?" I asked sullenly.
"Be serious, Dex. You think a woman doesn't know when someone has rifled through her purse?" I blush realising how sloppy my haste had made me. I am usually so much better than that. "I did my research on you and you kill the lowest of the low, scum of the earth. Not to sound arrogant, but I know I'm better than that. I'm at least more deserving than piano wire around my neck."
"Electric cable," I corrected.
She blinked. "What?"
"I used electric cable. It doesn't cut into the skin like piano wire."
I didn't know why I gave up that bit of incriminating information. I knew the words to be forming, heard them coming out of my mouth and was powerless to stop any of them. But my careless admission didn't devastate the Agent like it did me. Harper looked more thoughtful than anything else, nodding with approval.
"Much less mess that way," she said opening the door wider, inviting me inside.
Her home was like her. Neat, ordered, sweet smelling. A brown lacquered piano, swirling with strong wood pattern dominated the family room as did ceiling to floor bookshelves of the same colour. She led me though the open space to the dining table where the meal I interrupted sat. Ever the workaholic, her papers and case files sat open on the floor in neat piles, edges lined up.
After I settled into one of the high back chairs, she offered me a plate and I took it rather eagerly. All this worrying had taken its toll. I skipped dinner so the piping hot serving of paella seemed to call my name. Usually I love Latin food but the cook definitely took liberties preparing the dish. Paella is usually rich with yellow rice, shrimp, squid, mussels and clams. This one had chitterlings and was served with a fist sized slice of cornbread. Strange, culturally abhorrent but delicious.
I dug in and we ate in blissful silence as if I hadn't just told her how I killed a man or that she, a law enforcement officer, had agreed on my method.
Harper finished her glass of wine with a smack of her lips and smiled at me, her skin noticeably flushed from the alcohol. "So where do we go from here?"
"We?" I shake my head. "I do what I do alone."
"And I wouldn't dream of asking to tag along," she said with a laughing snort. If I felt anything, I would have said it hurt my pride. "I'm asking why you are here. I'd say to kill me, but I imagine you would have done that the second I opened the door."
"And yet you did."
"What? Opened the door?" I nodded and her lip curled again, her head tilting. She could see my mind working. She saw that tiny hole she punched in me and she aimed to make it bigger.
"It bothers you that I did that? That I have so much trust in you," she asked.
I suppose it did. I would like to think that she of all people, knowing my list of credentials, would be a little bit more fearful and cautious. Or at least worried enough to not laugh when she thinks I'm asking her to tag along. I think I've earned that much.
"You are right," I confessed. "It does bother me. People who are scared tend to keep their mouths shut, but you aren't."
"No I'm not," she said, too proudly. She must have seen on my face I wasn't amused and became defensive. She sulked in her seat, her legs crossed and bouncing with ire. "But since you seem to be the expert, why don't you tell me how to act."
"I am not the only one," I said looking around. Nothing on her walls, in her extensive library, her dress, nothing in her entire life hinted to whom she really was or what she enjoyed…
"I hide for the same reasons you do," she countered.
"Please do not be so dramatic," I hissed. "You indulge in a kink, between two consenting adults while I…"
My voice faded. I knew she knew explicitly what I do, but I still couldn't say it out loud. Thankfully I've insulted her enough that she doesn't wait for me to say more. "You think I'd be able to have this life still if everyone knew I liked to be bitten, pinched, smacked, Dexter? You think I'd be able to hold my head up high when I go to see my mama and her sisters if they knew? I should be so lucky to be put in prison, that way I could tell myself they washed their hands of me because society had, not because they were truly ashamed of me."
"Why do you care what they think?" I asked.
Harper shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. Probably because it's easier this way."
"Only for them," I grit, knowing this truth personally. "You suffer so they won't have to. Deny yourself what you need to give them what they want."
"And what's that?"
"A normal, uneventful life."
A smile ghosted her lush lips and I looked down again. "We're not talking about me anymore are we?" she asked.
"Well, we're certainly not talking about me."
I stood and moved for the door. Harper followed, walking quickly to catch up to me. She must have seen the wheels in my head turning again and finally got nervous.
"So will you start plotting my death now? Some way to make me vanish off the face of the earth?"
"Can you give me a reason why I should not?"
"Dexter, I know you've probably never had reason to trust someone before, but you can trust me. I'll keep your secret."
That's not entirely true. I trusted Harry, but he was the one who saw what I was even before I did. Harry and his Code taught me to hone and utilise my skills for the greater good. And it was his Code that kept me from taking the dinner knife I had pocketed and going across her neck.
"I was serious when I said I want you to continue doing what you do, Dexter. I am a pacifist myself but it doesn't make me blind to the fact that some people deserve more than what our justice system is willing to offer."
I turned hearing her words, an idea sparked in my mind. "How serious are you?"
Harper looked dead at me. "Very," she said, with a nod.
The look in her eye sent a delicious shiver through me and an equally delicious thought. "Then you find my next case," I ordered. "You find me someone who's slipped through the cracks, someone you'd approve of me killing."
Her eyes grew impossibly wide, full of disbelief. Her jaw dropped and wagged silently for a moment. "Morgan, I can't pass judgment on someone like that. I can't tell you whose life to take. I'm an Agent with the government; my job is to protect lives."
I turned quickly and I finally get the response I expected. That I deserved. Fear. Cold, wide-eyed, silent fear. She flinched as I rushed toward her, pressing her flush against the door and my body, demanding she look at me. I gazed into her eyes, almost drinking in her dread through her honey coloured irises.
"Do you really believe what I do serves a purpose?"
Harper's eyes slide from me to the ground as she nodded, obviously ashamed of her response. I took her chin in my hand and gently raised her face to mine.
"Then bring me a file."