Chapter 4

Debra and Quinn walked off the elevator, each carrying a coffee and heartburn burrito. They could see LaGuerta, Batista, and Deputy Chief Matthews in LaGuerta's office with a man in his fifties.

Debra sat her coffee and burrito on her desk. "Haven't seen an all brass meeting this early in the morning in a while."

"No shit," Quinn commented as he headed for his desk.

Debra sat down and focused on work she had lined up for the day. She looked up when the door opened.

"Morgan, Quinn, come on," Batista said as he left the room with a file in hand and headed for the elevator.

The two jumped up and followed him onto the elevator.

"What's going on?" Debra asked.

"The Artist has left us another art piece."

Quinn and Debra looked at each other.

"I didn't hear anything about it on the news this morning," Quinn said.

The door opened and they walked off.

Batista told them, "He's changed his m.o."

#

An old desk sat in the middle of a palm tree grove. The desk looked like a strong wind could blow it over. Behind it was an old wood desk chair occupied by Kyle Cobb. But he wasn't smile and raping people of their newsworthy stories. He sat still, his hazy eyes staring at the typewriter that his blue fingers rested on. On one side of the typewriter was the morning edition of the Miami Sun Times. On the other a green hood lamp.

His youngest son stood next to the desk, pointing at the typewriter. His innocence hadn't been lost, even as he was murdered.

Batista, Debra, and Quinn stared at the crime scene. They had arrived at the scene before any citizens found it. It had been cordoned off just as word began spreading across the media. They were forced to stare at it, waiting for the coroner and Masuka to arrive.

Somewhere in the background was Cobb's wife. She had been wailing and screaming for an hour now, but they didn't notice. The scene in all its macabre exquisiteness held their undivided attention.

They didn't acknowledge Masuka when he approached.

"Isn't that the Miami Sun Times editor?" Masuka asked.

Debra nodded.

"Yeah," Quinn answered.

"Why wasn't it printed in the Miami Sun Times? Even if he was dead, I'd think they'd still print it."

"The Artist sent his file to the Miami Herald editor. He's refusing to use the packages in his paper. He's printing a letter in this evening's edition stating he refuses to print anything The Artist sends him and will be turning each package over to us. He doesn't want to end up like this."

"That's a fucked thought," Masuka told them. "Cobb was like The Artist's best friend and he still murdered him."

"Yeah. After he brought the case file to us before using it in his newspaper," Debra pointed out.

Quinn shook his head. "Serial killers don't have friends, just victims who don't deserve to die."

Masuka nodded, and then headed into the crime scene.

#

I found Devin as he left work. He was manager of inventory at a factory outside of town. I followed him to a bar on the seeder side of town. He parked his SUV on a street with a broken streetlight and walked to the front to meet his twin brother. Twin? I didn't see that coming.

While he was getting drunk, I had time to think. I'd pulled up Abriella's records again, this time with her maiden name. The woman of that lifetime had one speeding ticket, and just at that. The cop that pulled her over must have been having a bad day – who gives a ticket to someone doing three miles over? Something about her felt off and I couldn't put my finger on it.

"It's because we're suspicious of her motives and why she keeps coming around," Harry said, appearing in the passenger seat next to me.

I nodded.

"She accepted who you are quickly."

"Like she'd expected me."

"She asked you to do this. Perhaps she wants to kill someone and wants you to teach her. You can't, you know."

"I know."

"She confuses you. That's not good, Dexter."

I sighed. "Yes, but… Rita confused me. You never said anything bad about her."

My father had no remark about that.

Devin walked out of the bar with his brother. They parted at the door. His brother headed down one way; Devin toward his SUV.

I got out and on the balls of my feet circled around for my attack. He pulled out his keys, dropped them, fumbled to pick them up, almost fell over, and hooked the ring on a finger. He was in no shape to be driving, but I was about to take care of that. He found the right key just as I plunged the needle into his neck and pushed sedative into the vein. He gasped and passed out. I smiled a little, already feeling the euphoria of what was to come.

#

I spun around on the bar stool, waiting for Devin to wake up. He lay pinned to a pool table in a deserted bar. Over the last six months the bar had been given numerous health code violations, but selling to minors was the last straw that shut them down. It had been looted, but they hadn't been able to move out the pool table that was bolted to the floor.

Displayed around Devin were pictures of his victims: the man whose throat he'd slit, the woman whose head he'd indented, the girlfriend he'd put in the hospital. They were there to watch his execution, and judge him for his sins.

Devin turned his head and woke up with a start. He pulled against his restraints – they weren't going to give.

"Hello, Devin," I crooned as I got up and approached the table.

"Who… What… Where am I? Who are you?"

"Who I am doesn't matter to you. They do." I pointed at the photographs.

He turned his head, staring at them.

"Did that fucking bitch send you after me?" He must be referring to the girlfriend he'd beat; the same one that still wanted to go back to him after he'd broken her nose, arm, and ribs. "I'm gonna—"

"Kill her?" I interrupted. I hopped onto the pool table next to him. God I loved this job! "I'm afraid you won't be around long enough for that."

"I can pay you three times what she paid you to do this… Whatever this is."

I stood and began circling him. "This is a charity case. Devin." I leaned over him. "What's it like to bash a person's head in?"

Before he could answer I crouched, sliced his cheek, and with a pipet, pulled out a few ounces of blood from the incision.

"What the fuck!?" he screamed.

In front of his face I added a drop of blood to a slide and dropped a coverslip over it. The blood bloomed out – a sight that never failed to thrill me.

"I'm feeling generous today, Devin," I told him, smiling.

He looked hopeful. He misunderstood what I meant by that. What a wonderful game!

"Anything you want, it's yours."

"Anything I want?"

He hesitated.

I interrupted him before he could answer, "I want you to disappear. I'm going to get exactly what I want."

I jumped off the table, grabbed a cleaver and a thin blade knife. I held one up on either side of his head. "I'll give you a choice. A quick death," I shook the cleaver. "Or a slow death." I looked at the thin blade for a second. "Which do you prefer?"

"FUCK YOU, MOTHER FUCKER!" Devin screamed.

I grinned again. "Slow. Good choice." I dropped the cleaver and gripped the knife with both hands, and lifted it high overhead.

"No! NO! Fast! I want fast!"

"Too late." I plunged the knife into his heart.

He gasped and gurgled as he drowned in his own blood. A fine mist of blood expelled from his lips and blood began frothing on the corners of his mouth.

And then he did something none of my victims had ever done. He whispered, "I'm… Sorry."

He was gone, and I was stunned.

Harry appeared next to me. "He wasn't really sorry."

"You don't know that."

"They are never sorry. He would have done it again."

"We don't know that."

"You can't let that stop you, Dexter."

I looked at him. "Ever since I met Abriella, strange things have happened. One after the other."

"Coincidence. She's not your friend."

"Maybe." I looked at Devin before I retrieved my bone saw. I flicked it on and went to work.

#

Nina slowed to pull into her driveway, looking at the car parked on the street. She shut off the engine, staring at the house. Through the living room windows she could see Angel and Ally on the couch. She drew a breath and got out, grabbing her purse off the front seat. She walked up to the door, paused to get a breath of nerves, and entered her house.

To her surprise the television wasn't on. There wasn't a radio blaring. The kitchen was dark – Angel wasn't attempting to impress her with his miserable cooking. Father and daughter sat on the couch, staring at her.

"Hi," Nina said.

Ally looked from her mother to Angel. She got up and kissed her father's cheek. He smiled, and when she hugged him, he hugged her back.

"I love you, daddy," Ally told him and then disappeared into her bedroom.

Nina dropped her purse on a table by the door and walked to a chair. She sat down, watching him. He looked different tonight.

"Ally and I had a long conversation tonight," Angel told her.

"About what?"

"Everything. It made me realize something, though."

She played his game. "What's that?"

"She's growing up fast. She said that she's read some neat things about the school she'd be going to in Washington D.C. Mainly their band and equestrian club. I guess your dad said he'd get her a horse if she went to school there, and riding lessons."

She nodded.

Angel looked down. "I'm not giving up custody. She's my daughter. Tomorrow, after I get off work, we can meet at my lawyer's office and go over the custody agreement. I want her here for Thanksgiving and Spring Break, every other Christmas, and two months every year."

"No. I won't do every Thanksgiving, Angel. I—"

"I'm telling you to go to Washington D.C. and take the job, Nina, and you want to argue if I get her every Thanksgiving?"

"Well… Yes. I want her for the holidays too."

Angel smiled. That was unexpected.

"What?" she asked.

"We'll discuss it tomorrow, but we have to come to an agreement. Ally said you have to give them a decision by Friday." Angel stood. "Okay?"

Nina watched his face. She was half expecting him to start laughing and tell her this was a joke. It never happened.

"Why the change of heart?"

Batista sighed. "You've been hearing about the serial killer, the Artist?"

She had. She nodded.

"I worry about her here, where people come and go so fast. Your dad's neighborhood is a lot slower, and it at least feels safe. She'll be happy there."

"You know something about the case?"

Angel shook his head. "We have nothing. Not a damned thing. That's makes me want to send you two somewhere safer. I have to go say good-bye to Ally. Meet me tomorrow at four?"

She nodded.

Angel went down the hall to his daughter's bedroom and disappeared inside. Nina smiled and relaxed. Knowing that he was giving up being close to his daughter just to keep her safe, perhaps she could agree to Thanksgiving.

#

"Excuse me," someone said.

Debra and Masuka looked up from the lab results Masuka was explaining to Debra. The woman standing before them had a faded black eye, a healing split lip, and looked uncomfortable. But more than that, she was a hero to Masuka. Masuka grinned and Debra almost dropped the file when he let go to extend his hand.

"Abriella Juen!?" Masuka said, offering a wide smile.

Abriella looked surprised. "Have we met?"

"No. No. I just… You lectured at the conference in Minneapolis last January. You talked about those two big cases you worked for the New York Police. You described the internal thinking of the serial killer that pushed people in front of subways, and another that tied people's ankles together, tied the rope to a bridge, and then shoved them off. If the fall didn't kill them, they'd drown. You're like the best forensic psychologist in the country!"

Abriella almost smiled. "Thank you."

"Are you coming to work for us? I'd love to work with you. You are so amazing."

"No. I've retired."

"Oh… Why?" Masuka asked.

She dodged the question. "I'm looking for Dexter Morgan. Is he here?"

"I'll get him," Debra offered. She headed toward the back; unaware she was about to deliver a nuke into her brother's world.

#

I looked up when Debra opened the door. I was researching my next kill.

"There's someone here to see you and you better go save her before Masuka covers her with drool. She's like his hero or something."

I looked out my window and snatched a breath. Abriella. Was she here to point me toward another person in need of disposing? Or was she here to— Wait… Masuka's hero?

I looked back at Debra. "Why is she Masuka's hero?"

"She's Abriella Juen."

I stared at Debra.

I had a strange feeling I'd made a gross oversight when I researched Abriella. How had I done that? All I knew of her was she was not responsible for her husband's disappearance, she was staying with the Batista's while her house sold and was keeping my secret for some inexplicable reason.

"Why does that make her Masuka's hero?"

"Fuck! I had to spell it out for Batista too. I don't think you two don't even work in the same department as the rest of us! Abriella Juen is the best forensic psychologist in her field. The woman's won awards and caught some of the biggest serial killers in the last few decades. She is amazing. Is this who you had a meeting with the other day? I can only imagine what you two have in common."

We had nothing in common, save two dead men. But knowing this made me suspicious about why a forensic psychologist would keep my secret? She was used to catching people like me, not hiding us. Was she setting me up? Was she preparing to hand me over to the police when there was enough evidence? Or maybe, after years of catching killers, she herself had she become blood-hungry. Either way, this was not good.

Over Debra's left shoulder Harry appeared. "You should have killed her when you had the chance, son."

Really, dad? You're bringing that up now?

"She can come back," I told Debra.

Debra left and spoke to Abriella, sending her back. She shut the door behind her and then turned to me.

"We have to talk," she demanded. "Somewhere not here. Somewhere close. And now."

"What's wrong?"

"NOW!" she barked, keeping her voice down.

"We can talk on the roof."

"Whatever."

We left through the back door and up the back stairs.

We came onto the roof and I turned to her.

She asked, "Remember me mentioning Devin Eskew?"

"Yes."

"He has a brother, Dexter, who filed a missing persons report and is accusing Devin's girlfriend of killing him, and he has disappeared without a trace. All they've found is his car at the last place he was seen alive. Where is Devin Eskew?"

"He's gone."

"Gone?" She cocked her head. "Gone where? What does gone mean?"

I was surprised by these questions. She knew full well where he was.

"I killed him."

She caught her breath. Her eyes widened. "What?"

"You asked me to."

"I did not such thing!"

"Friday after supper you said—"

"I am fully aware of what I said, Dexter, and I know I said nothing about wanting him dead!"

"You said 'and give him his due.' You were asking me to kill him."

She gaped. No sound came out, but she looked like she could vomit.

"He was a bad man, Abriella. He killed one man, put a girl in a coma, and your friend in the hospital. I didn't mind you asking."

She exploded. "I mind Dexter! I don't care if he was a bad man, I didn't ask you to kill him!" She put her hands on her head, as if she was about to rip it off.

I remembered my father's reaction when he saw me at work. Was this going to end like that? She had seen me dismember a person. She knew I'd killed three men now. Was it going to destroy her?

"WHAT THE FUCK!?" bellowed out of her.

She stormed up to me and in a swift motion, slapped me. Where her hand hit stung, but it was the fact she slapped me that stung worse and sparked my well-restrained rage. I turned my head to tell her never to do it again.

Before I could, she screamed, "You twisted my words just so you could justify murdering him you psychopathic asshole! You used me to murder someone!"

I caught her hand when she tried to slap me a second time and pushed her down. It was a far cry from what I felt like doing to her. The Dark Passenger wanted me to kill her now, here on the roof, and enjoy it. But something else kept me from listening. Something I neither understood nor recognized.

She sprung to her feet. "I never should have kept your secret. I hate you!"

"I feel the same about you," I lied.

She ran to the stairs and disappeared.

I was tempted to chase her, wrap my hands around her throat, and squeeze the life from her. But I just stood there, staring where she'd disappeared.

Harry appeared by me. "You have to stop her, son."

"He's right, Dex. You have to find out why she keeps your secret," Rita told me as she walked up on my other side. "Why she makes you feel so strange. It's different from how I made you feel."

"You have to kill her," Harry urged.

"You can't do that. She's done nothing wrong," Rita reminded me.

"She will expose you, Dexter."

"You betrayed her trust, Dex. She never actually asked you to murder him. You know that. You did it because you wanted to you. You have to tell her that." Rita moved in. "You have to admit you used her."

Harry wasn't about to let her talk me out of murder. "You owe her nothing. She's angry with you now. She'll give you up, son."

I closed my eyes and when I opened them, they were both silent. Even my Dark Passenger had grown still.

In her soft voice, Rita asked, "What are you going to do about Abriella, Dex?"

I didn't answer. I didn't know.

#

Abriella smiled, watching Batista open the passenger door for LaGuerta and hold her hand while she got in. He closed the door and rushed around to the other side.

"We shouldn't be too late," he called out.

"Take your time. Have a fun date!"

He smiled and waved. She watched him back the car down the drive and drive away. She went back inside, closing and locking the door behind her. Abriella settled down on the couch, picked a book up from the coffee table, and opened it to where the bookmark rested.

Outside the wind rustled the trees. Something moved.

The phone rang and Abriella crossed the room in front of the window to answer it.

Someone walked up to the window and watched her from the shadows.

#

I pulled up in his drive and parked. I let out a long sigh. I was exhausted, but satisfied. I needed that kill to clear my head. I got out of the van and strolled up to the door. I wanted to savor the kill for as long as I could. I walked inside, rolling my neck, preparing for my other life.

When I turned, a surprise waited for me. Martine was not sitting on the couch watching the home shopping channel. Instead, Abriella was pacing the floor with a whimpering Harrison. She looked at me.

Why does this woman keep reappearing in my life, God damnit!?

"What are you doing here? Where's Martine?"

"She told you she had to leave at eight-thirty tonight," Abriella answered.

"Yes. I mean… I'd forgotten that. Why are you here?" I charged up to her and pulled Harris from her arms. "Why isn't Deb or… Someone else."

The rough exchange made my son start crying. I turned, keeping myself between her and my son. I began pacing and bouncing him. Of the three children, Harris was the only one that continued expressing his grief of losing his mother to me. Cody and Astor wouldn't even talk to me about it. They reserved those conversations for the grandparents and their therapist. I just Harris would express it in words and not by being so clingy.

"She couldn't reach your sister," Abriella explained. "I was there when Martine called looking for Maria, but she went on a date with Angel. I was helping."

"You've done nothing but cause me problems."

"I caused you problems?"

"Yes, you've—"

"Let's set some things straight, Dexter. You killed and probably chopped up my husband, but people think I must have killed him. I can see it in their eyes; hear it when they talk to me. No one I knew before will even speak to me. And then you killed someone because you thought that's what I asked, and I didn't. Do you have any idea how suspicious it makes me look? Maria and Angel knew I wanted him locked up. Angel questioned me about his disappearance, even slipped up and mentioned it's the second man I've known that's just disappeared. I had to lie. I've never lied like that. So who is causing who problems here? Ever since I ran into that shack that night, my life has been nothing but one hop from hell to another, and you're always there when I land! You're the one causing problems!"

"I had to do it, Abriella. They would have killed again and again, and it's my job to stop them. I'm the only one that can. And I won't apologize for thinking you asked me to kill Devin Eskew, because sooner or later, everyone that knows the real me asks me to murder for them!" I bellowed.

She stared at me. I thought she might try slapping me again.

I stared back. I couldn't believe I'd admitted the truth about myself to her.

What happened next was another surprise. She didn't yell. She didn't try to slap me. She turned and picked up her purse and keys from a side table.

"Harris is teething and you're out of Oral Gel." She headed for the door. "I gave him some baby aspirin."

I wasn't letting her leave. Not without knowing one thing, the one thing that was eating at me.

"You didn't tell me why you're here tonight?"

She slowed to a stop. She turned around.

"I used to believe murdering for any reason was unacceptable, until a serial killer saved my life. I still don't think it's right, I still plan to help catch murderers, but you are the exception to everything I believe in. You have morals, however loose they are." She looked at Harris. "You have a family that you're good to. Maria told me about Rita. Tonight, I saw two children who are adjusting to it because their father has been strong – or so they think. I'm going to guess you never really felt her death like everyone else, if at all. So, when Martine called, and I realized where you were tonight, I decided I'd help you keep your secret for a little longer."

Pieces about her were starting to find spots. I was beginning to understand her. I felt something about it. I felt… Relieved. Like after spending days trying to solve a problem I'd suddenly stumbled on the answer.

"How is babysitting keeping it?"

"If I hadn't, she would have called everyone on your list. People would have started looking for you. You would have been discovered."

She was mostly right. I wouldn't have been discovered right away. I would have been in so much hot water that people would expect me to account for my whereabouts all the time for a while. I wouldn't be able to get away to kill. The urge would have whittled at my patience. I would have run the risk of snapping and being discovered. In the end, by doing this, she had protected me.

Abriella approached me. "I need you to make me a promise, Dexter. I need you to promise you will never kill anyone for me again. Not even if they're going to kill me. Got that?"

I shook my head. "I would stop someone from killing you."

That took her aback. "I thought you hated me. Why would you stop someone? Again?"

Yes. Why? I thought about that for a moment. Then it came to me.

"I don't hate you. What I know is that you're angry I murdered someone who deserved it, and you continue to keep my secret. I trust you. A little."

A slight, devilish smile twisted her lips. It was attractive on her. "Why Mister Morgan… We find ourselves on common ground. This is certainly unexpected."

"Is this how friendships begin?" I asked her.

"No. Normal people don't have friendships start this rocky or based on such a dark secret. But nothing about us is normal. For us, this is as good as it gets, I guess. About my promise, Dexter."

"I won't do it even if you ask."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Good night, Dexter."

She walked to the door.

"Abriella."

She turned at the door.

"I don't know much about being friends."

She smiled. "I bet you don't. So let's start simple. Tomorrow morning you drop off the kids and then meet me for coffee at that little stand at the precinct. Maybe watch the news so we can talk about something. Okay?"

I nodded.

"Good night, Dexter." She left.

Harry and Rita joined Harris and me. I looked down at him. He'd fallen asleep during the conversation, one hand clutching my shirt and the other draped over my arm. I knew the sight should move me somehow, but it didn't. I was just glad he was asleep.

"Is she really a friend?" I asked my ghosts.

"Time will tell," Rita answered.

Harry looked at me. "Yes it will."

So now I had to wait and see.

I hated waiting.