"Aunt Deb, I'm scared." Harrison whimpers.
"Ssssh. Everything is going to be okay, baby." I answer, hoping that my nephew doesn't notice the tinge of dread in my own voice.
"What's happening to daddy!? We have to save him!" He yells, ignoring my evidently useless effort to calm him down.
"Harrison, your daddy is fine. He and Quinn are just talking, that's all." I reply half-heartedly.
"We have to save him!" He repeats, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest.
I sigh, not quite sure how to pacify a hell-bent toddler. Has he always been this difficult to deal with? Maybe i'm rubbing off on him a little too much.
"We're going to be fine. We always are." I mutter, sadly more for myself than Harrison at this point.
Still, as hard as I may try, I can't bring myself to fully believe in those words. I carried a gun daily while I was on the force, but the feeling of Quinn's Glock pressed against my bare flesh is chilling. I know that I did the right thing in taking it, but who's to say that Quinn won't hurt Dexter without it? Who's to say that Dexter, a seasoned fucking killer, won't hurt Quinn without it?
I extend my hand and turn the radio on, settling for an annoying kid-friendly station that I hope will keep Harrison distracted.
"You love this song! Right, buddy?" I ask, flailing my limbs in some weird attempt at dancing.
"It's okay," he replies dryly. "But daddy."
I pinch my nose in frustration when his bottom lip starts to quiver. Maybe I'm just being cynical, but this kid is starting to become a master manipulator. Just like his dear old dad.
"I'm gonna fucking regret this, aren't I?" I mumble.
"You know daddy doesn't like it when you curse!" Harrison giggles.
"Yeah, well your daddy does plenty of things that I don't like, so how about you consider us even?" I jokingly ask. "Harrison, I'm going to be right back. Don't open the door for anyone, and don't try to follow me. The alarm will go off if you do. Just stay here, listen to the radio, and don't. move. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, Aunt Deb." He answers. "I love you."
"I love you too." I reply, opening the door and quickly closing it behind me so I won't have to stare into his worried eyes anymore.
Dexter's keychain feels like it weighs a thousand pounds when I lift it and shakily press down on the lock button. I flinch at the familiar beep that rings in my ears and signals that the door is locked.
"Fucking hell. Pull yourself together, Deb." I hiss to myself.
Hesitantly, I climb the steps to the apartment, stopping halfway to reach for the gun at my side. After taking a few deep breaths, I raise the gun preemptively and start to make my way up the other half of stairs.
A crippling sense of déjà vu comes over me when I finally reach the door.
"D-Dexter?" I stutter, pushing the door open and letting myself in.
Neither Dexter nor Quinn is anywhere to be found, and I feel my heart pounding persistently in my chest. The silence that fills the air is an eerie one, and part of me wishes that I could hear arguing, or a scream, or something. Anything would be better than this stillness.
I scan the room, doing my best to at least act like I'm thinking with a level head. There are clear signs of a struggle here; Dexter's desk has been completely overturned, and its contents have been scattered haphazardly across the floor. My eyes follow the trail of debris, searching for the slightest hint as to what could've possibly gone down in the few short minutes I'd been gone. I avert my gaze from the carpet, gasping when I notice a splash of scarlet trickling down the wall.
"Dexter!" I scream, raising the gun higher. "Dexter, what the fuck!?"
"You're making this harder on yourself, Joseph." Dexter says, his voice dripping with malice.
I follow the sound of Dexter's voice to his bedroom, trying to ignore the creepy gleefulness I hear lurking in his tone. Ever since that night at the church, I've tried to keep myself as far away from this side of my brother as possible. There's only one other time that I remember hearing him sound so…disturbed. That night almost broke me, and I can't let history repeat itself. I won't let Dexter go through with it. Not again.
When I finally reach the bedroom, the door is ajar. Though he's not much taller than me, Dexter is a hulking figure as he hovers menacingly over his prey. In one hand, he tightly clutches his desk lamp. He raises it, preparing to pummel Joey with it. I silently wonder how many times he's done it already; the sticky blood on Dexter's hands tells me that this definitely isn't the first.
"Dex," I start, choking back tears. "Put it down."
"I told you to wait in the car." Dexter states coldly, slowly lowering the brass lamp to his side. He doesn't look the least bit shocked to see me; I'm sure it's what he's come to expect over the years. Following orders has never exactly been my strong suit.
Dexter's eyes are the same warm shade of hazel that they've always been, but something's missing. They're vacant now…expressionless. He shifts, no longer obstructing my view of Quinn. My mouth falls open when I see his face; it's almost unrecognizable thanks to the bloody contusions and unnaturally-colored bruises painted across his cheeks.
"Jesus Christ!" I cry. "Just leave him alone. He's not going to hurt us, okay? Let's just get the fuck out of here, Dexter. Please."
"Deb," Dexter begins. There's tenderness in his voice now, and the warmth I constantly crave from him has returned. "I can't just let him go…you and I both know that. He came here to kill me, what else would you suggest I do?"
"I don't know, but I'm not just going to stand here and watch you fucking torture him!" I scream.
"I didn't ask you to." He replies.
"Fuck you!" I shriek. "You expected me to just sit in the car with your son and come up with some bullshit explanation for what's going on? He's smart, Dexter! He knows that something isn't right, and he's scared. And you know what? I am too. I can't fucking take this anymore. I can't."
"You think I want you to be scared? Of course I don't. None of this would've ever happened if not for him." Dexter says, inching closer to me and softly placing a hand on my waist. "He's given me no other option."
Blood – Dexter's or Joey's, I have no way to be sure – is smeared on the bottom of my shirt as he traces his fingertips across my abdomen. I know that it's meant to be a comforting touch, but I start to tremble in spite of myself.
"Put the gun down, Deb." He whispers.
"N-no." I stammer. "Just get our shit and go, Dexter. Harrison's already in the car, we can leave right now. We can go right now and put this all behind us."
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Joey struggle to his feet. Before I can say anything else, Dexter runs to him and slams him up against the wall.
Suddenly, Quinn lunges at Dexter. The beating he'd experienced moments earlier may have weakened him, but he forcefully connects his fist with Dexter's jaw, almost knocking him off of his feet. Dexter stumbles backwards but quickly regains his footing and charges at Joey. He positions himself to counter the blow, but Dexter is sly, swiftly changing his plan of attack. Instead of facing him head on, he moves behind Joey and wraps him in a headlock.
"Dex, don't!" I scream, unsteadily raising the gun even though I know that I'd never be able to pull the trigger.
Dexter grabs onto Quinn's head, unflinching, and abruptly turns it to the side. His neck cracks with a loud snap and he falls limply onto the carpet.
"No. No. No." I mumble, collapsing onto the floor and crawling over to Joey.
Dexter bends down beside me and rubs his palm up and down my back, but I roughly shove him away.
"Deb –".
"Get the fuck out my face, Dexter!" I shout. "You fucking – oh my God, he's still breathing."
I study the rising and falling of Joey's chest. His breathing is haggard, and it's clear that he's in pain.
"We can't just leave him like this…" I cry. "We have to do something."
"He's dying, Deb." Dexter states. "The only thing we can do now is end his suffering. Here, give me the gun. It'll be quick, I promise."
Quinn opens his mouth slightly as if he's going to say something, but no words escape his lips. I don't want to believe it, but Dexter is right…he's dying. He starts to gasp for air, his eyes darting rapidly from me, to Dexter, and back to me again. His wheezing grows louder and more frequent as he searches for more oxygen, and I place a hand over his heart hoping that he knows how remorseful I am. I'm sure that it's all in vain, though. After tonight, there's no doubt in my mind that I'm his second least favorite person on the planet. It's a fucking tragedy that my face will be the last thing he ever sees.
"No," I finally reply, wiping the tears from my eyes. "I'll do it. It has to be me."
I force my buckling knees to stand and place both hands on the gun.
"I'm so sorry, Joey. You didn't deserve this. No one did."
The shot rings in my ears and as soon as I'm sure that Joey is finally at peace, I throw the gun across the room. Sobbing, I crouch down in the corner, curling into the fetal position.
"Not again," I cry. "Not again."
"Deb," Dexter begins, crouching down beside me. "I know you're hurting, but there was no other way…"
"NO!" I shout. "No, you don't know. You don't have a goddamn fucking clue about how I feel, so cut the bullshit. I heard the way you were talking to Joey earlier, how you were taunting him. You were fucking ecstatic! So don't you dare tell me that there was no other way. You wanted this."
"I wanted this? I wanted this? Deb, what I did, I did to protect this family. It's not a secret that Quinn and I didn't exactly get along, but it was never my goal to kill him. He stuck his nose where it didn't belong and he paid the price; but you're safe now. Harrison's safe now. So in some ways, I guess you are right. I did want this. I wanted to protect the two people that I love more than anything in this world, and I succeeded. I'm not going to apologize for that."
"Sorry to fucking break it to you, but you didn't succeed at jack shit. Have you ever stopped to think about what our future looks like? No? That's because there isn't one, Dexter. I don't know how we lied to ourselves for so long. Hopping from hotel to motel, living out of a suitcase, ready to drop everything and get the fuck out of dodge in case somebody recognizes us…that's not living. And what about when somebody does finally recognize us, are you going to kill them too? How much larger does the body count have to get before you realize that this will never be over?" I rant.
"Deb, you're acting neurotic. You're not thinking clearly." Dexter says.
"This is the clearest I've been in weeks, Dex. It's like New Year's all over again, except now I think I actually have the guts to go through with it." I reply, getting on my feet and walking over to the other side of the room.
"What are you – NO!" Dexter screams when he notices me reaching for Quinn's gun.
He's behind me in a flash, practically tackling me to the ground as he tries to wrestle the gun away from me.
"Get the fuck off of me!" I scream. "I can't take this anymore! I can't! I can't!"
He pries the gun out of my hands and flings it across the room. It lands beside Quinn's lifeless form with a thunderous thud.
"I can't. I can't. I can't." I chant, collapsing further into Dexter's arms.
He wraps his arms around me even tighter, planting worried kisses on my neck and shoulders.
"You have to stop scaring me like that, Deb. What am I without you?" He whispers, his voice quivering. "Nothing. I'm nothing."
I feel his tears trailing down my back, his low whimpers morphing into loud sobs.
"I just want everything to stop. Sometimes I just want to go to sleep and never wake up." I cry.
My body starts to convulse, and I struggle to free myself from Dexter's clutches.
"Ssssh." He coos, taking one arm off of me and reaching down for something. "You're going to be fine, Deb. But it's time for you to sleep now."
He brings the other arm back up, and before I have time to protest, I feel him slide the needle gently into my neck.
"You motherfucking…" I start, my speech slurring.
I fight to keep my eyes open, but my heavy lids soon betray me and flutter closed.
"I love you, Deb." Dexter says, pressing a chaste kiss to my temple.
Only then do I let the darkness hit.
'Oops, I did it again. I played with your heart, got lost in the game. Oh baby, baby.'
"What the…?" I mumble groggily. "Are you seriously blasting Britney fucking Spears right now?"
"What? There's nothing else on the radio." My brother replies nonchalantly.
I rub the sleep from my eyes and turn towards the backseat of the car. Thankfully, Harrison is out like a light. I turn back to Dexter, who stoically keeps his eyes fixed on the road.
"So, you decided to add kidnapping to your rap sheet too? Nice." I quip.
"You needed some sleep, and I figured that it would be best if we started for Orlando as soon as possible. We did promise Astor that we'd be there tomorrow morning." Dexter replies. "I thought you'd be out for at least half the drive. Clearly I was wrong. Next time I'll give you a larger dose."
"Don't even think about it, asshole. I don't know about you; but personally, I'd rather not be stabbed in the neck with fucking horse tranquilizer. Thanks anyway, though." I say, flashing a slight smirk.
"I didn't think I'd get to see that again for a while." Dexter says, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "I didn't think I deserved it."
"You didn't think you deserved what?" I ask.
"Your smile," he answers, taking one hand off the wheel and placing it on top of mine. "I've missed it."
"Don't do that." I reply, snatching my hand away.
"Don't do what?"
"Act like everything is okay when you know that it really fucking isn't."
"But it will be." Dexter says, reaching for my hand again.
"Keep telling yourself that." I mutter.
We drive on for a few minutes until my wandering mind urges me to break the silence.
"Dex, wh-what did you do with Joey's body?"
Dexter remains focused on the road, determined to ignore my question.
"Please. I have to know." I add.
Dexter's eyes dart back and forth, looking anywhere but at me, and I automatically jump to the most grotesque conclusion.
"You didn't…you didn't dismember him, did you?" I blurt out.
"No." Dexter responds. "No." He repeats, more convincingly this time.
"Then what did you do with him?" I ask, my voice cracking with the looming threat of tears.
"I left him at the apartment. When Batista turns in his evidence against me in the next few days, I'm sure that'll be the first place the police will look for me. It's cruel for Quinn's friends to have to walk in on that, but it's the only way I could think of to give him a proper burial. I figured that's what you'd want for him." He explains.
"Thank you." I murmur. "It's the least he deserves."
I lean my head up against the window, hoping that the vibrations will eventually help lull me back to sleep. I shut my eyes and try to imagine Dexter, Harrison, and I being together, being happy, like a real family should be. I try to imagine a world where I wouldn't have to sacrifice so much only to end up with so little. But all I see is the darkness. I'm swimming in it.