Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Dexter. They belong to Joss Whedon and Jeff Lindsey.
Dexter and the Dark Angel
Waking up from unconsciousness was not an experience that I was ever going to get used to. The disorientation, the confusion as the body attempts to sort itself out. I slowly opened my eyes, ignoring the immense pain that shot through my head. I was probably bleeding. Light assaulted my senses, making my head pound even more. Groaning, I immediately let the lids flutter shut.
"Hey dude," a female voice quietly said, "you awake?"
"I think I was hit by a freight train," I replied, deciding that it never hurt to be a bit charming. I didn't know who the voice belonged to yet. It must be from one of the newly kidnapped teenage girls
Taking a deep breath and gathering my bearings, I opened my eyes again. The light was dim and came from a single flickering bare bulb in the corner. It took a few moments for me to focus. The cold and hard ground underneath me made me think that I was in a basement. Most likely I was still in Mr. Nutford's house, but as I looked around I realized that this basement was not one that would be found in a Better Homes and Garden's magazine.
I was in a large cell that had been built into the very wall, a piece of construction that I could tell had taken time, money, and energy. To my right was a young woman with both of her arms and legs chained to the wall. Her long brown hair hung in her face, but she still eyed me from behind the locks. She did not fit the profile of Mr. Nutford's previous victims. The girl was clearly over the age of seventeen and had long been out of high school. Why the hell wasn't he sticking with his usual victims? How aggravating. I'm not used to being wrong when it comes to things like this.
To my left was a set of bars. Jail bars. If this was in the basement of Mr. Nutford's house, then I really should have investigated more when I was here a few days ago.
I tried to sit up, realizing immediately that one of my legs felt heavier then usual. Mr. Nutford was apparently a rather large fan of chains. Good to know. It made a strange sort of sense since this was a dungeon that brought to mind bad medieval movies and B horror films.
Running a hand through my hair, I scowled at the fact that my backpack of tools was gone. I felt naked without it. I could see the black bag in the corner of the room outside of the bars. My hand found resistance as it made it's way through my hair. Crusty and a little wet in some places, just as I'd suspected.
I glanced down, a small pool of blood had accumulated on the cement beneath me. Most of it had dried, but there was still a very wet sticky spot that had brown pieces of hair - my hair - stuck in it. Crap. DNA evidence was not good. If I got out of here I had to remember to clean that up. Then again, the entire floor was covered in crimson stains. If I was lucky and made it out alive, my blood and hair might not even be noticed in all of the DNA chaos.
Now, most people would be freaking out at this point. Between the cell, the chains, and the blood stains I should be shaking in my skin. Luckily for me, I was not most people and my thoughts were clear, if still a little slow from being unconscious. My senses focused in. It was times like these where I performed at my best.
Tentatively, I stood up. It felt good knowing that I could stand with minimal wobbling. The chained girl's eyes roved over me but I ignored them and instead checked my back pocket. Apparently, whoever had searched me did not do a good job because I still had my lock picking wallet. Amateurs. My head turned towards the door outside of the cell. The clinking of the handle signaled that someone was coming into the room. The woman chained to the wall heard the movement as well and looked to the door.
Mr. Nutford entered with another man behind him. Nutford wore a silk black robe that extended to his knees. It looked like typical pedophile clothing and it was unlikely that he was wearing anything underneath it. Turning my attention to the second man, I realized that this was someone who I hadn't seen before. How did I miss that Nutford had an accomplice in all of my research? Annoyed that I had overlooked something so crucial, I studied the second man closer. He was pale with blonde hair and wearing a fabulously flowered button down Hawaiian shirt. He wore the type of tacky cloths that a person would see on tourists . . . or me.
"So Clark, this is the guy you found snooping around my house?" Nutford asked, giving me a look over.
"That's him," Clark replied, and motioned over to the corner. "He had that crap with him."
Nutford walk over to where my bag lay. He picked it up and began rifling through it. Taking a moment to look at each Barbie, he tossed them onto the ground. He gave an even bigger pause when he pulled out my tool kit. Unzipping it, he pulled out my favorite knife and held it up to the light.
"This is quite the knife you got here," he said, putting the knife back into place. "And some doll collection."
His blond friend Clark picked up one of the Barbies that had been thrown to the floor. He lifted up h skirt and snorted, then tossed it back onto the stone.
"So, who are you?" Nutford asked smiling, "Some kind of vigilante, here to bring me to justice?"
I smiled back.
"Something like that," I replied. Which was sort of true, there was no need for him to know what notions of justice I had in mind.
"Well," Nutford said as he cracked his neck. "You arrived just in time. I have a dinner guest coming and now I don't have to go shopping for any food."
He tossed my bag back into the corner with a loud thud.
Hmmm…..well that comment was a little unexpected.
I assumed that his crack about shopping for dinner was supposed to scare me to the bone. But instead, I just wondered how one got into cannibalism. Would I be cooked in a special sauce? Or maybe I would be in a stew with sweet potatoes and carrots? I once read an article in the paper about a man who put out an advertisement for someone who was willing to get eaten . . . but I'd never heard if the ad got any response. As I pondered this, Nutford and Clark gave me an appraising glance and left the room. Perhaps, they were trying to figure out what type of vegetables to cook me with. There was a heavy clang as the door locked behind them.
While I was interested in just how one would cook a human for consumption, I didn't exactly want that human to be me. A delicious delicacy of Dexter would not be on the menu tonight. Sitting down, I inspected the chain around my foot. Thank God that people were so stupid. Smiling, I reached to my back pocket and pulled out my trusty lock picks. The lock clinked as I picked my way to freedom.
I knew that I would be able to take out Nutford and Clark singularly, but I didn't think that I would be able win if I fought them at the same time. Nutford was overweight by probably about thirty pounds but Clark looked fit. I would have to be fast and lethal if this was going to succeed.
The lock gave a soft clank as it sprung open. I took a moment to rub my ankle before standing up. Next was the jail door and from the look of it, this was going to be just as easy. In a matter of moments the cell sprang open and I was one step closer to my objective. I was going through my bag, looking for a weapon that would help even the odds, when I heard someone clear their throat.
Turning around I found the girl chained to the wall looking at me expectantly.
I had forgotten that she was there. Was I supposed to do something more?
"You gonna help a girl out here?" she asked in a demanding voice, rattling her chains.
Oh yeah, she might want to be freed too. I hadn't really planned on freeing her. In fact, I didn't much care what happened to her. But, she might be able to help me escape. I gave her a thorough look over. She appeared to be in good shape underneath all of the blood and grime. And while she was covered in various amounts of questionable material, she didn't seem to be hurt. However, I couldn't afford to be slowed down. A normal person with feelings would probably free her right away.
I opened my mouth to tell her that I would come back for her. It was a lie. I would probably die, and given the chance that I did succeed, I was planning on spending the rest of the night playing with Nutford and maybe even Clark if I got lucky. But, my Dark Passenger began tickling my ear the longer I looked at the women. He was interested in her. And I'd found out a long time ago that when the Dark Passenger took interest in something, I should pay attention to it.
"Sure thing," I answered, wondering what was so fascinating about this female. First, I unlocked her feet. Most men would have found her beautiful and would have helped her with the hope that they might get laid. But sex rarely appealed to me, so I knew that was not what the Dark Passenger wanted. The Dark Passenger had other appetites. It didn't take long for both of her feet to be free and I stared at her arms. How exactly was I going to get her down without her crashing to the floor? I probably shouldn't let her fall.
"Um," I said as I undid the left hand. "I'll try to catch you before you hit the ground."
That's what someone would do, right?
She was a good few inches off of the ground and my face was uncomfortably placed between her breasts. They pressed into my face as I freed her right hand. Awkward….Squishy and yuck.
As the last hand was freed, I felt the full force of her body on mine. I was lucky that I didn't fall onto the floor as she collided into me. She wasn't heavy, but she sure as hell was dead wait. I parted from her quickly, wanting to get this show on the road as soon as possible.
"How long have you been chained there?" I asked as I watched her rub her arms and shake out her legs. She seemed quite limber for someone who had been hanging from a wall moments before.
"Four days," she said and smiled. In that smile I saw something that was kin to my own.
I saw a hunter.
A killer.
She walked out of the cell expecting me to follow. I went after her, my eyes remaining firmly glued on her as she moved. Who was she? Why did she stir the Dark Passenger? What could possibly arose such a succulent desire have her join in my special extracurricular schemes? She walked with a wicked and wily grace that I hadn't witnessed before. It was mesmerizing to watch, like a lion sauntering through the savanna grass. The Dark Passenger grew excited the longer we stared and his feverish murmurs only heightened my anticipation.
I tore my eyes away before I got too distracted from the task at hand. Instead of following her to the door, I turned my attention to my bag. There were items in it there that might help in the upcoming tussle. The fishing line got shoved into my pocket and I was careful to not step on the Barbies. My favorite knife would help as well. Hopefully, Nutford didn't defile it with his dirty digits. Looking up, I noticed that the woman was staring at me. No, not at me, she was staring hungrily at the knife.
"Would you like to borrow one?" I asked holding up the case. There were plenty to go around.
"Hell yeah," she replied huskily.
I handed her the case and watched as she evaluated the knives. She picked out my second favorite knife and twirled it in her fingers. She then grabbed another knife and gave it a look over.
Good choices.
"There are more weapons in the next room, but these will work for now," she handed me back my case. "Look, I'm not sure if you know what exactly you got yourself into but you might want to take my lead. There's no telling what kind of shit we're going to find in that next room but whatever it is, I want you to promise that you'll leave it to me."
Ummm . . . . Okay.
"The blond guy, Clark, is very strong," she continued without waiting for me to respond. "So watch out for that. Go for his heart. The other asshole is your basic fat, lazy ass human. Now, make sure that you don't step on the giant circle in the middle of the room. And if it starts glowing, just um… stay as far away from it as you can."
It was a good thing that I had freed her. She seemed to have an idea on how to solve the problem - like an saint helping a sinner in need.
"You gonna stand there and stare? Or are you gonna get us out of here?" she brought me out of my daze. After all, this wasn't the best place for me to get lost in my thoughts. "Oh, and make sure you're quiet."
I nodded and went to the door. Hopefully whatever they were doing in the next room was loud and my skill went unnoticed. I keep the singing of the steel to a minimum as I went to work. The lock popped open and I turned to the Dark Angel next to me.
Dexter and the Dark Angel, it had a nice ring to it.
"Would you like to go first my dear?" I asked.
She smiled as her eyes hardened. It reminded me of the look that I had seen numerous times in the mirror; cold, cutting and collective. The Dark Passenger purred at our new hunting partner, excited to have someone else joining in the fun.
"Name's Faith," she said.
"Dexter," I replied. The thought of not telling her my real name vanished before it even arrived. The Dark Angel deserved to know who was hunting with her.
Stepping to the door, she held both of the knives in her right hand.
She kicked the door with enough force that it flew off of the hinges. Impressive; I had never seen anything like it in my entire life. Did she really need me to unlock it first if she was planning on doing that from the beginning? Rushing through the door, she effortlessly chucked the two knives she was holding. I wasn't able to see if they had hit anything but I heard a scream.
I followed after her but stopped as soon as I was through the door.
This was, wow . . . this was a masterpiece. A linear language of lines and patters. It was the third image from his scrap book. The one that I couldn't wait to see constructed and finally completed.
The wall across from me was covered in designs. Primordial with a pernicious aura of destruction, the designs permeated the air. It was almost as if it was practically stifling the oxygen in a baffling feat to become a living form. Body parts from the newest victims were arranged in front of the wall. A large intricate circle was drawn on the floor. The darkened blood ran in lines that had been painted in painstaking perfection.
Taking my eyes off of the artwork, I noticed that Nutford was standing with his mouth agape in the circle. Apparently, we had caught him off guard. The black robe hung open on his frame revealing his unsightly flabby body and erect penis. Horny, homicidal and hideous; it created an image that I was happier not to look at. It struck me again how horribly disappointing it was that a man such as Nutford could create a work of art that was so perfect. A girl was chained to the floor. She was from the newest batch of kidnapped teenagers and didn't look like she was in the best of shape. Perhaps it was the slight grayish tint of her flesh, or maybe it was the fact that her neck was bent at an impossible angle, but the closer I looked the more obvious it was that she was dead.
Cannibalism and necrophilia, it was quite the combination.
I turned my attention to where Nutford was staring. On the right side of the room was Faith fighting Clark. She was fast, a flurry of fists and kicks that went beyond superb. Her body reacted, reaching and rotating in a way that rivaled anything that had ever been revealed to me. It was as if she could predict every move the blond was going to make. Clark was equally as fluid, even with one of the knives lodged in his shoulder. The other one was on the floor. A red spot stained his Hawaiian shirt near his stomach. It blended in with the flowers and hula girls that danced across the fabric. Unfortunately, the obvious blood loss didn't seem to be slowing him down. He even had a moment to carelessly pull the knife out of his shoulder and toss it onto the floor.
I felt a little inadequate watching her fight. If I was to impress my Dark Angel, then I needed to be as inspirational as she was. Well, if she was going to deal with Clark, then I guess it was up to me to deal with dungy and disheveled Nutford. Unfortunately, he stood at the center of the circle that Faith had told me not to enter. Since the Dark Passenger was practically purring at Faith, I was pretty sure that I should follow her directions to a T. I'd need to improvise, but luckily I was good at that.
The knife in my hand was useless. I had never been good at throwing them and now didn't seem like the time to press my luck. After all, it also seemed like a smarter plan to keep the knife close by. There was a good chance that I would be needing it later. Looking around the room, I hoped that there was something that would do better long range.
Behind me on the wall hung a variety of weapons, the likes of which impressed me. Swords of various sizes, axes, crossbows and tools that could only be used for torture were at my disposal. Just looking at them was almost enough to make me want a wall like this of my own. However, I was not that much of a fool and I was certain that a wall of torture like this would be difficult to hide.
Now, I had never used a crossbow before but I could figure it out (and hey how much more difficult could it be to aim then a gun). I smiled seeing that the one of them on the wall was already loaded. That sure made it easier. It clattered and banged against the cold concrete wall as I hefted it down. The crossbow was heavier than I expected and it took some effort to lift it off the wall, not to mention a good deal of noise.
Nutford was still staring vacantly at the fight and didn't seem to register my presence even with all of the racket that I just made. Apparently, I wasn't even a threat.
Aiming, I pulled the trigger and watched the bolt fly. I was aiming for his chest and missed, it was a little embarrassing. But I did hit his left leg.
"Mother Fucker!" Nutford yelled as he turned my way.
Bolts, I needed some more bolts. Nope, there weren't any on the walls or anywhere where else in the room. Honestly, why only have one bolt? What good was only one of them going to do? Tossing aside the crossbow, I readied the knife in my hand.
Now this was a weapon that I was familiar with.
"You stupid fucker!" he yelled and broke off the shaft the protruded from his leg. He grabbed at a machete that had been laying next to the (what I was now certain) dead teenager and limped my way. Once he left the circle, I made my move.
He swung wildly as I rushed forward and ducked underneath his arm. I stabbed my knife into his right side, and he yelped like a small animal and tried to pull away. He was my prey and this predator was not letting go that easily. Twisting the knife, I left it where it was and moved behind him. The man was slow and disorientated, easy pickings. He dropped the machete and wrenched out the knife in his side. It released with a slick slurp. I pulled out the fishing line that I had shoved in my pocket and tightened it in my hands.
Before he had the chance to turn around I attacked. I looped the line around his neck and pulled, tight. He choked and grasped at the line, like a fish that was fighting to be free, but he was not going anywhere.
Pulling him against me I said, "Stop struggling and you'll live longer."
That didn't seem to get through to him though because he just struggled more. His fat body jiggled and jerked, a sick strange motion that sickened me. But no matter how much I wanted to get away, I was not letting go. I jerked the line hard, his face turning purple and his eyes bugging out. He would have fallen to the ground but he fell into me instead. I was not going anywhere.
I took the chance to glance at Faith. She seemed to have the upper hand on Clark. Sometime while I was distracted with Nutford, Faith and Clark had not only done damage to each other, but also the room. The corner table that had been covered in candles and other ritual paraphernalia was now completely destroyed. Pieces of wood and wax were littered around the floor. Faith held one of the table legs in her hand as she fought. I had thought that she was doing a pretty bang up job without it. But who was I to judge? The Dark Angel seemed to have a better idea of what was going on here then I did. So, if a broken table let was going to do more good in a fight than the two knives that were laying about three feet away from her, then I just had to have faith.
She hit him hard in the face and he staggered into the circle. She lunged after him with the table leg held high in the air. With a graceful sweep of her arm, she stabbed him in the heart.
And right before my eyes, he exploded into dust. Dust!
I almost lost my grip on Nutford in my surprise. Dexter's demented world now contained humans that turned instantly into dust.
It was Faith's simple statement that refocused my brief sense of wonder.
"Shit," she said looking down at her feet. She had followed Clark into the circle.