Part One: Somewhere Cold
Appearances are important. The mastery of pretense and deception is necessary for my survival. The lies I tell need to be convincing, especially to those I keep the closest. Deb is no longer an outsider looking in on my mask; she's right beside me, an outsider looking in on the real world that never stops long enough for us to catch our breath. The disguise of grieving coworker, for me, isn't hard to slip into. But, for Deb, it's new. She's not nearly as good at hiding in plain sight and I fear the cracks in her armor are starting to show.
It was easy. All she had to do was go for his throat when he opened the door. One slash at the carotid artery and blood was spilling like water from an open wound. With empty eyes, she watches him collapse to the carpet. The blood begins to pool outward behind him and she bites her bottom lip, entranced. After a moment, she shuts the door and rummages through his pockets, stealing his wallet and his car keys. Then, Hannah crosses the room and plops down on the nearest bed. She flips on the shitty 25 inch TV and finds herself face to face with Lieutenant Debra Morgan,
"At approximately 11:15 on New Year's Eve, Captain Maria LaGuerta was gunned down at a nearby ship yard. It's a sad day for us all; we've lost a dear friend and an exceptional commander. And though justice has already been served, we will continue to honor her memory by being the best unit we can be…"
Hannah chuckles to herself as she changes the station,
"Miami Metro Captain Maria LaGuerta was found dead today alongside drug overlord Hector Estrada…"
Hannah's eyebrows furrow. Hector Estrada was the man who murdered Dexter's mother. She swipes her tongue along her bottom lip. It couldn't be just a coincidence, could it?
She switches back to the other station and concentrates on Debra. As she answers questions for the press, her fingers drum restlessly on the edges of the podium. Her eyes don't stay in one place too long and if Hannah didn't know any better, she'd say that Debra looks downright afraid. But, afraid of what she couldn't guess. Her body language screams discomfort more than grief that much Hannah is sure of.
"She's hiding something." Hannah whispers into the silence of the room. It's something more than just Dexter's secret; something much more debilitating; something much more personal. Whatever it was, Hannah was going to find out.
Four days later...
The funeral for Captain LaGuerta is a large event that hails masses from every corner of Miami. It's the kind of thing that frightens me, being surrounded on all sides by real human beings who know which emotions to show. I've always known which emotions to fake, but sorrow is one I've never been particularly good at. Deb doesn't know the first thing about faking emotions because she's never had to. She's real, too real, and judging by the way she's clutching onto my arm, her mask is already slipping.
"Deb." I murmur as I lean down closer. "You need to relax."
She just gives a nod, but I know she understands. Appearances are important.
Harrison, who stands on my other side, bats impatiently at my leg.
"Daddy, up."
He throws up his arms and I smile at him, lifting him up without hesitation. I press him into my chest and run a gentle hand through his hair. My son is the brightest light at the end of the darkest tunnel.
Jaime taps me on the shoulder. "You guys are going to meet Angel and I at the restaurant after this, right?"
I glance back at her. Her eyes are puffy and red from crying, but somehow, I think the tears are less for LaGuerta and more for Angel.
"Yeah, we will. I think a day at the beach would be good for all of us."
The rickety descent of LaGuerta's coffin breaks the conversation and I'm a statue caught between my son and my murderous sister, watching Angel Batista nearly collapse as he drops dirt on the grave.
Is this what guilt feels like?
Tom Matthews keeps a close eye on the Morgans at the funeral. They seem shaken up and saddened and Matthews knows he could be barking up the wrong tree. Hector Estrada was an evil man and LaGuerta was a special type of idiot who didn't know when enough was undoubtedly enough. It's very easy to believe they could've killed each other, but for some reason, Matthews finds that he isn't convinced. The Morgans link back to both victims. Estrada killed Dexter's mother and LaGuerta foolishly arrested him on shoddy evidence. The connection is strange and undeniable. But, Matthews could never imagine Dexter doing something so unjust. He's known the boy all his life. And, he mentored Debra. Hell, he put her where she is. Three rungs down on the authority food chain. They wouldn't do this to him; they wouldn't make him look like a fool for trusting in their innocence. At least, he certainly hopes not.
The restaurant is closed for the day, but Angel calls in the chef and puts us at our usual table overlooking the beach. Harrison sits across the table, happily bouncing up and down in Jaime's lap. I smile at them and look over at Deb, whose cheeks are still streaked with drying tears. She's smiling, too and I feel a tingle in my veins at the sight. Beneath the table, I grasp her hand in mine. I've never been comfortable with hand holding, but I find myself craving the contact. She's really here.
Her big green eyes stare up into mine and she squeezes down on my hand, reassuring me that at least part of her is here beside me.
I love her. My entire body aches with the truth and I try with everything I am to convey it through my expression. Deb stares back at me and slowly, her sullen eyes brighten.
"Here we go. Four beers and chicken nachos." Angel puts on a grin, a mask of his own design, but it's easy to see that he's crumbling. He's worse at fitting in than Deb is.
We eat in relative silence for a while, until Deb abruptly lurches to her feet and starts to head in the direction of the beach.
"Deb, what are you doing?"
She doesn't answer and I can only sit, watching her walk away and feeling powerless for the fourth time in two weeks.
Angel clears his throat awkwardly and I turn back to him with a shrug.
"She'll be okay."
Maybe.
The rolling waves are soothing and hypnotic. She watches in a daze as they engulf each other in an endless game. A gentle breeze gives them life, but destruction gives them purpose. Eroding away every piece of civilization they touch is the mission given to them by nature.
Deb swallows and leans back on her elbows. The sand is coarse, but she doesn't mind. It serves as solid reminder that the world as it was still exists. She's the only thing that's changed. Her heart clenches. God, the pain she's caused is unbearable. Angel's losing it and she's the reason. It's horrifying in a way she's never known.
She gets so caught up in that particular thought that she barely notices when he falls to the sand beside her. He brings his knees up to his chest and removes his pitch black fedora, placing it upside down in the space between them. Together, they bask in the comfortable nature of their connection.
He's the one who breaks the silence after countless minutes.
"Dexter's worried about you."
Deb scoffs. "Yeah, well, he worries too much. I'll be all right."
"I'm worried about you, too." Angel's gentle in his statement, a loving veterinarian tending to a broken wing.
"Why? She wasn't my ex-wife."
His face clouds over with something she can't name.
"That isn't the point. Deb, you've had it rough since the promotion. And, now this shit with Maria and Hannah McKay escaping. It's bound to take it's toll."
Deb glances over at him. "It already has."
"The anti-anxiety meds. I know." Angel gives her a sympathetic smile. "I'm here for you, Deb. You can talk to me."
"It's really fucking complicated and honestly, I can't drag you into it. I can't drag anyone into it."
Angel nods. "Okay. That's okay."
For a moment, they fall back into a comfortable silence. Then, Deb has a sudden thought.
"Are you really retiring, Angel? Is this restaurant really worth it?"
He stares at her and his eyes convey his hopelessness. "Homicide is dangerous work, Deb. It takes and takes and takes and leaves nothing behind. I meant what I said. I'm burnt out."
"I understand." She puts a hand on his forearm and breathes out a sigh. "It just...it won't be the same without you."
It takes little effort to convince Jaime to stay in my apartment with Harrison tonight. For the past three nights, I've been taking him with me to Deb's place, but I need to have a private conversation with my sister that isn't in rushed, hissed tones. Thankfully, Jaime agrees. I thank her, pay her extra, and end up following Deb back to her place.
My mind is racing the whole way. Briefly, I wonder what she and Angel talked about but I dismiss just as quickly. Deb wouldn't do that to me.
We pull up to the house and she shoves her way of her car, not even bothering to check if I'm following her. To her credit, she leaves the door half cracked and I press my way in, already aggravated beyond belief.
"Deb, will you please just talk to me?"
The refrigerator light shines on her depraved countenance. She gulps down half a beer before she even comes close to answering.
"There's nothing to talk about." She says.
"Just…give me anything. I need…"
"You want something, Dexter?! How about this? I killed my fucking boss, I'm lying to my best friend and I'm the biggest fucking hypocrite on the face of the goddamn planet. Is that enough for you?!"
She's right in my face, mere inches away. I grasp her by the shoulders.
"Deb…Deb, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know what else to say."
Her bottom lip trembles when she breathes in.
"I'll do anything." I'm rambling, desperate to get a rise out of her. "Tell me what to do and I'll do it."
Her teary eyes burn a hole right through me and the pain is unbearable. She falls against my shoulder limply and my arms automatically come up around her. I hold her impossibly tight, trying to meld her to me. Dearly Damaged Debra can't be without her toxic serial killer brother. That's her real tragedy.
"What am I, Dex?" The words come out on a strangled breath.
I drop my chin to her shoulder and stroke my hand along her back. There's nothing I can say that could comfort her. She's a killer, just like me. It's our shared secret, our shared truth, our shared guilt and the worst part is, I can't fix it or make it any easier for her.
"It'll be all right, Deb."
To my dismay, Harry appears in the living room, wearing an expression that bleeds regret.
He shakes his head at me. "Look what you've done." He says. "Look what we've done."
I pull Deb tighter against me, mentally willing Harry to disappear.
"How are you going to live with yourself?"
His disappointment fills me up. It wasn't supposed to be this way. It was never supposed to be this way.
I don't know how to live with myself, dad. I don't think I've ever really known.
Angel Batista sits at his desk in the empty station and does absolutely nothing. He stays there, just breathing. This place is the only home that's ever accepted him with open arms. It's his livelihood in every sense of the word. There's never an easy way to say goodbye, but somehow, Angel can't do it. It seemed so simple only a few days ago and now, everything's been flipped over on its head. It's impossible to imagine being happy with just a restaurant; homicide has taken his entire life and nothing will ever amend that. Really, what was the point of thinking otherwise?
He's dialed her number three times. Three times he's hung up before she could answer. Three times he's contemplated going after his Sergeant's little sister. The numbers glow blue on the keypad, mocking him with the idea of surrender. Playing with fire and getting burned is what Joey Quinn does best, after all.
"Fuck it." He mutters. Quickly, he dials the number again.
Nothing could make his life any worse. Maybe Jaime could make it better.
The moment I'm sure Deb's asleep, I decide to go back to my apartment. I can't be here anymore, looking at her and feeling this ache in my chest. It feels like a hole's been drilled through my insides and all that's left is unspeakable pain. I'm alive, but not in a good way. I drive away from her place in a daze, incapable of understanding what's going on inside me.
Harry's voice occupies my head space, but I can't decipher what he's saying. I'm sure I don't want to.
I enter my lion's den to find Jaime chatting away to someone on her cell phone. She smiles at me and I nod in greeting, silently letting her know that she's free. She steps past me on the way out the door and I know there are a thousand things she wants to ask. I wave her away impatiently, shaking my head.
I'm grateful she decides not to push it as she leaves me alone. I fall into my desk chair and cast my eyes around the room. This is the only place that houses every secret and gives no judgment. It's secure. It's mine. It's forever. I blow out a calm breath and finally notice it. A black orchid sits on my bar stool, identical to the white one that sits on my book shelf. Hannah escaped days ago, but with the turmoil around the station, Deb hasn't been able to focus her energy on it. It seems that Hannah has decided to focus her energy on us and that's incredibly unfortunate. I rise from my desk and walk toward the plant, half expecting a spray of poison. Instead, I find a note leaning against the stem.
In pink, curly handwriting, it reads,
Wait and see –H
The past is a strange place. It's full of secrets and lies. It's full of missed opportunities and expectations. The past is never generous. It gives only what you want it to and never offers more. The future is a hopeful place. It's full of dreams and desires. It's full of closed doors that long to be opened. The future is always generous. It gives all it can and offers plenty more. But, in my experience, the future always turns out to be playing the cruelest of jokes. It gives all it can and laughs while it takes it all away.