It was a long day before Miranda finally shut her apartment door behind her and collapsed on her small living room couch. This was by far the most exhausting case she had ever worked. Dexter and herself had spent a good two hours in the morgue with the resident mortician meticulously mapping out the stab wounds that covered the skeleton. The map they drew today would help them with some sort of blood spatter experiment Dexter told her they would be doing tomorrow. "No white clothes," he had said. With her face down in a throw pillow, Miranda shook her head. Her whole body ached and she couldn't possibly imagine what Dexter had in mind. She sighed. Never in a case had she ever had to work so… hand in hand with another investigator. Sure, in cases she'd had to work with other experts, but in this case her body of work directly overlapped with Dexter's expertise in spatter. Miranda sighed yet again. Her whole being ached for sleep. She turned her head to look at the clock above the living room television. It was almost twelve, and she was expected to be back at the police station by eight for a full day of work with Dexter the blood guy. Miranda didn't even get off the couch. Tugging the quilt that hung over the back of the sofa down and around her body, she turned on her side. Slowly the numbers on the clock began to blur, and Miranda was asleep.
Dexter turned his eyes away from the road to look at the clock above the dashboard. It was a little past twelve and he was on his way home. He smiled to himself; he'd already taken care of one problem (a cocky little arsonist just let out of jail) and was going to be home before one o'clock. It was a good night. Dexter leaned back in the seat of the car and sighed. After Miranda had left he'd taken one last look at the Elina Consuela file. Everything seemed like a routine act-of-passion murder, except one detail: Elina had been laid out after she had been stabbed in the same way they had found the skeleton they thought was Genna Baird. Though anyone could've felt guilty enough to try to clean up the mess they had made in murdering those girls, Dexter found it to be an all too similar comparison. If he'd had more time, maybe he could've made a few solid inferences that would help him later in researching this Oliver Cerulean. If he had a heart, maybe he would've felt bad for Miranda. He might feel bad for Deb if someone murdered him. But, Dexter guessed Miranda probably had no idea. Deb didn't know who he really was. Why should Miranda be any different with her own brother? Dexter pulled the car into the parking lot outside his building, checking the clock again. 12:15. He'd be expected at the station around 7:30, but Miranda wouldn't be getting there till eight. All day, it had been nothing but her bone stuff, but tomorrow (or rather, today) they would be in his territory then. Smirking, he climbed the flight of stairs and walked down the hall, keys already in his hand.
Miranda had slept better than expected. She woke up, hopped in the shower and ate breakfast with one hand while driving to the station with the other. When Dexter walked towards his desk, she was already there, spinning in his desk chair with a cup of coffee in her hand. He stopped, standing in front of her, leaning one elbow on the corner of the cubicle. Miranda kept eye contact with him as much as she could while spinning. "Good morning!"
"Well, you're in a happy mood. Better morning than yesterday, I'm guessing?" Miranda raised her cup to him, spinning another revolution.
"Much better. Coffee helps too."
"What, and nothing for—" Miranda stopped spinning and pointed to the cardboard carton still holding one cup of coffee. Dexter smiled. "Well, I was kidding, I usually—" She plucked the cup from its nest and offered it up to him.
"Don't worry, it's black." Dexter gave her a look, pausing for a second before taking the cup from her.
"You have a good memory." He looked her up and down. "And no white clothes. Fast learner." Miranda laughed and stood up, only wobbling a little bit from the spinning.
"That I am. So, are we off?" She took a drink of her coffee and looked inside. It was almost to the dregs. Dexter took a sip from his own cup.
"Well, I suppose you could say that. We aren't really going anywhere." Miranda frowned, confused. Dexter nodded his head to the side, motioning to the lab door of the station. "This way, please." And with that, he was walking out the door. Miranda scurried after him, hurriedly chugging the last drops of her coffee and dunking it into the wastebasket waiting by the door.
Outside one of the lab rooms, two clear plastic raincoats and two pairs of galoshes for waiting. Dexter pointed to the smaller ones. "Those," he said, picking up the larger of the two raincoats. "Are for you." Dexter slid the sleeves of the larger of the two raincoats over his arms and started methodically buttoning it up the middle. Miranda stared at him.
"You're not serious…" He didn't even look up from the buttons.
"I'm entirely serious, Ms. Cerulean. I never joke around when it comes to blood spatter." Dexter sat, kicking off his tennis shoes. "Now, put you're raincoat on." Miranda gave him one last look before picking up the raincoat and slipping it on in quite the same way Dexter did his. By the time she was sliding her pair of galoshes on, he was already waiting with his hand on the door knob. As she came to stand beside him, he was smiling.
"What?"Miranda said. Dexter shook his head.
"Usually I like doing this alone. I like being in here to just be with my thoughts. But having to share it with someone seems…" He paused. "Oddly exciting." Miranda looked at him.
An hour later, Dexter and Miranda were standing in the middle room facing a chopped up, paint covered dummy. It had taken them three tries, three dummies, and three re-papers but they had finally got it. The blood spatter patterns that covered the corner of the room matched the ones in the underground cell perfectly. Dexter was holding the small hatchet, the murder weapon he had determined yesterday from the patterns in the cell. Miranda smiled to herself. It was exhilarating, both of them standing there. Almost like being two conspirators in the brutal murdering of the dummy previously filled to the brim with red paint. "You know," Dexter started a little when she finally spoke. "It's actually very pretty…" Miranda stepped away from his side, closer to the wall of thin paper, holding her hand just inches away from the spatter of paint. Continuing the sweeping motion of her hand over the red blood substitute, she turned towards the mutilated ceramic dummy. She slowly dropped her hand, unable to pull her eyes away from the gruesome mess. Her parents, Elina… Genna. Sometimes she wondered why she choose to put herself in the position where she faced murder everday. Maybe it gave her peace of mind, gave her parents and Elina the closure she knew might never get. Maybe it gave her the courage to face her brother, as little as she got to see him. Her head slowly lobbed to the side, cocked as she got more and more lost in her thoughts. All at once, she felt the slight wind of hot breath on her neck and turned all too quickly. Dexter had been standing right behind her and, without realizing it, she had spun directly into him. Their chests pressed together and their faces where inches apart. Miranda started to totter, Dexter caught her tightly under the elbows, almost roughly. She took a sharp breath in, almost sure he was going to kiss her. But he blinked and after another moment, let her go.
"So, we're done in here. I'm going to go write up the report…" Dexter was already heading towards the door, turning to look over his shoulder. "You… You can help if you want." Miranda nodded in agreement, following him. As he pushed the door open, she turned and stopped, looking around at the paint once more. Miranda thought Dexter had already left the room, until she heard his voice behind her, still at the door. "O, brave new world—"
"That hath such people in it." Miranda turned, finishing his sentence. Dexter nodded, laughing.
"The Tempest, Character: Miranda. Act five, scene one." Miranda blinked, impressed as Dexter laughed again. "What? Did I forget to mention The Tempest is one of my favorites?" It was Miranda's turn to laugh.
"Yeah, I guess you can say you did." Dexter nodded, still smiling.
"Come on , Cerulean. We've got work to do." Miranda waited until the door had almost shut behind him before she followed, letting the grin creep across her face.
She was standing in an endlessly white hallway. She could see neither the end in front of her, nor the beginning behind her. Elina was standing just a few yards away from her, smiling. Miranda tried to open her mouth in exclamation, to greet Elina, to tell her how much she missed her. But no sound came. Miranda gripped at her throat. Elina began to frown, raising a hand to point behind Miranda, mouthing something inaudible. Before Miranda had time to turn to see what Elina was pointing at, someone pushed past her, brushing her shoulder. Miranda stumbled, falling against a wall. The moments to come she knew all too well. The last glimpse of Elina's face was contorted into a scream as Elina clawed against the attacker who held her wrists. Twists of black covered the struggle until they absorbed into the attacker as her turned to Miranda. She tried to scream as the shadow took a step towards her, letting her glimpse Elina's mauled body, tangled on the floor a few feet away. Miranda tried to look away but could only lock eyes with the attacker as it came closer. And closer. Just as it reached her, snatching her own wrist up in its ice cold hand, a flash of hideous light darted across it's face. And Miranda uttered an audible scream for the first time: It was the face of her brother.
Miranda woke in a cold sweat. Her hair clung to her neck and cheeks and her breathing refused to go back to normal. As she stared into the darkness of her bedroom, Miranda slowly held up a hand into the streaks of morning light coming in through the room window. She was shaking. If she could remember correctly, she had been having that dream several times a year for a little over five years. She had it for the first time the night that the police station closed Elina's case without acquitting a single suspect. Taking a shaky breath in and out, Miranda began to relax. Her breathing slowed, but she remained sitting up, absentmindedly gripping the bed sheet in one hand. Just as she turned her head to look out the window, the alarm on her phone went off. Jumping, Miranda reached haphazardly, almost knocking the phone off the t, able. She grabbed it and, flipping it open, blindly pressed a few buttons, she was still half asleep. Miranda let herself fall back into the pillows, still dented from sleep. She didn't know how long she had drifted back into the tempting cloud of sleep when the doorbell rang. Groaning, Miranda climbed out of bed and plucked a discarded grey sweater off the floor near her bed. Before she reached the door of her apartment, she had pulled the sweater around her, hugging to her body with one arm and reaching for the doorknob with one hand. She didn't even think to look through the peep hole. Still sleepy, Miranda pulled the door open, and was greeted with a hesitant. "Miranda?" She blinked, squinting into the rising sunlight, holding up a hand to shade her face.
"Oliver?" Miranda kept her hand on the side of the door, clutching it. "What…" Her voice broke. She cleared her throat. "What are you doing here?" He was standing in the middle of the hall in front of the door. Her brother took a step forward, blocking the sunlight from Miranda's face.
"Can I come in?" Miranda clenched her jaw, closing her eyes as her dream came back to her all at once.
"What are you doing here?" Oliver frowned, becoming frustrated.
"Look, Miri, I just wanted to…" He stopped, pausing for a long moment. Miranda shifted her weight, wanting to go back inside and collapse into her bed and hide. But, looking at the clock, she had to meet Dexter at the police department in half an hour. She had drifted off longer than she thought.
"Just wanted to what, Oliver?" Miranda breathed out gruffly. "You just… You frustrate me. You don't even call me or see me for… what now? Over a year? And now you just show up here?" Miranda paused, looking at him. He didn't say anything. "I honestly thought you forgot where I lived, Oli."
"I would never forget where you live. Now, can I come in." He took another step closer.
"No, Oliver, you can't. I have to be at work in thirty minutes." She raised an eyebrow at him, no longer wanting to run away. It was always this way whenever they saw each other. Once she worked up the courage, Miranda could always stand up to him. Oliver looked down, defeated.
"Well, can you promise me I can see you later? Like, have lunch or dinner or something? I just want to talk to you." He looked back up, catching her eye. Miranda stared blankly back. "Please, Miri?" They stood there, on either side of the apartment door holding each other's stares for a few moments. Miranda was going to be late. She threw up one arm in frustration.
"Fine, Oliver fine. Dinner." Oliver's face brightened immediantly.
"Tonight?" Miranda nodded quickly, not meeting his eyes. "Okay, well, I'll meet you at our favorite place? Okay?" Miranda nodded, glancing up at him. He nodded back. "Okay. I'll see you later then…" He twisted his neck, forcefully catching her eye. "I'll see you later, Miranda." Oliver called his sister her real name for the first time in the encounter. As he turned down the hall, looking back over his shoulder a few times to see if she was still watching him, Miranda was frowning. She hated seeing her brother. He reminded her of her childhood, her past, things she didn't want to be faced with every day. That's why she cut off communication with him. And eventually, he had stopped trying to call and visit. But now, Miranda didn't know what he was trying to do. And that scared her. She closed the door, reaching over to pull the blinds open. Through the open blinds she could see the parking lot below her and her brother climbing into the passenger's seat of a smoky grey compact. Miranda crouched down, trying to see into the driver's seat. As Oliver shut the door behind him, the driver leaned over to plant a kiss on his cheek. Miranda took in a sharp breath. A girl with long straight red hair twisted her hand to start the car and shot her brother a toothy grin. Stepping away from the window, she felt her hands go clammy. A girl. A girl kissing her brother.
As Oliver Cerulean pulled out of the parking lot in the passenger seat of a car driver by an unknown girl, Dexter Morgan started his car from where he was parked on the opposite end of the parking lot. He rolled down the window just enough to toss his banana peel out onto the grass. Natural compost. Like human remains. Dexter hadn't been able to hear the exchange between Oliver and Miranda, no matter how much he wish he had. He had been tailing Oliver all morning. When he looked up the address, he had been surprised that Oliver lived so close. From the information that Miranda had given him, which was close to none, he would've guessed that her brother lived on the other side of the country. Though he still had a lot of research to go, Dexter was quite pleased with himself. The project he had made of Oliver Cerulean was shaping up nicely. Plus, with the added bonus of the girl that had come out of the house with him this morning and had driven him all the way to Miranda's apartment, he might be getting some insight. If Oliver had killed Elina Consuela or even Genna Baird, maybe he was getting the courage to repeat the action yet again. As he finally pulled out of the parking lot of the apartment complex, Dexter caught a glimpse of Miranda rushing out of the stairwell and towards her car. He smiled to himself under his sunglasses. Dexter would be beating her to the office this morning.