Chapter 5
"What Tomorrow Brings"
It's now later that same morning, back in Orlando, where Harrison currently is. Yesterday Jaime brought Harrison to Orlando. Dexter told Jaime, over the phone, he needed her to bring Harrison to Orlando right away. Dexter said this was due to a "family emergency" but one he couldn't get into at the moment. Jaime called the grandparents and they were able to take Harrison right away, that same day.
However the grandmother in the family is sick. She has cancer. The neighbors have a dog that barks all night long. The dog's barking keeps the sick grandmother up at night.
Cody and Harrison are playing catch in the backyard. It's early in the morning. Astor's in the backyard with them. She's sipping tea while reading a magazine, "Teen Against Quarterly," she never misses an issue.
Cody accidentally throws the ball over the fence into the neighbor's yard. This sets the neighbors dog off barking again.
Harrison cheerfully offers, "I'll get it!" He runs over and crawls through a hole at the bottom of the fence.
Astor and Cody then hear a, "[Whack!]" sound. The dog suddenly stops barking. Astor and Cody are confused and look at each nervously.
Astor offers, "I'll jump over the fence and see what's going on over there."
Cody laughs, "Don't jump the fence if you're afraid to face what's on the other side."
Astor jumps over the fence. She sees that Harrison has the neighbor's beagle in his left hand. It's limp with a bloody head. A bloody rock is in his right hand.
Harrison smiles at Astor and says, "Now grandma can sleep at night." He proudly holds up the dead beagle.
Astor half smiles at Harrison in a horrified grimace.
It's now back in Miami, back at the Morgan family cabin. It's later that same morning. Debra wakes up. She feels her head is resting on someone leg. She waggles her head some as she wakes up. Some strands of her hair fall in her face as she moves her head. She sees a hand in front of her face. The hand gently brushes the hair out of her face.
Above her head she hears Dexter's cheerful voice. He say, "Wakey-wakey sleepy head."
She turns her head up towards the voice.
Dexter's gazing down at her with a half grin on his face. Her head is on his lap. He's sitting with his legs crossed on the floor, up against the wall. Her eyes bug out of her head as she looks up at him.
She suddenly lets out a high pitch scream, "Aaahhhh!" She tries to scramble away from him. She finds she can't move her arms. Her arms seem to be bounded up in clothe in a folded position, tight to her body. She realizes she's in a straight jacket. She scurries and rolls away from Dexter as best she can. She looks, bug eyed, wildly around her. She sees that she's in a padded room like in an insane asylum. Dexter's in the room alone with her. She shrinks away from him, shaking her head, trembling in terror. She worms her way to the other side of the room. Dexter gets up and walks over to her. He stops a few feet away from her, reaching his hands out to her.
She screams, "Stop! Stay back!"
He smiles and says reassuringly, "Calm down. Relax. It's okay. Let me help you stand up." He takes another step closer to her with his arms out to pick her up.
She gives a guttle bark of, "No," while shaking her head. She squirms her way to the wall behind her. She leans against the wall to wedge herself up to a standing position.
He claps his hands and cheers, "Yah, you do it! Hooray!"
She walks around the padded cell a little and looks around. She says, "What the f***!"
He says, "Yah, your new accommodations. Or should I say your old accommodations?" He nods his head towards the windows. Outside the room is the same view of the trees. This is the same room, in the same cabin. But the room's been completely done up as a padded cell, including plexiglass with metal mesh on the windows.
Shocked, she asks, "But how did you do all this? How long did you have me unconscious?"
He says matter-a-factly, "Just a few hours. That gave me plenty of time. Remember when you had me at gunpoint. I mean for the third time." He points to the side of himself. "The time that happened earlier this morning... Anyway, while I was at gunpoint, you said something to me. Something about how I'm always ten steps ahead of the game. That I always have a plan B, C, D, E."
She asks, "Yah, what of it?"
He says, "Well, you're more right than you know. This padded cell was already in place. I just stripped away a superficial surface layer I put on it. I already had the windows, I just replaced them."
She says, "That's why the floor and walls were so shiny and new. Even though the rest of cabin is full of dust and cobwebs."
He says, "That's right. You were right to think it all looked so suspicious."
She says, "So you didn't rip those metal window grates off the convenience store. You already had them. That's why you were so conveniently well prepared to imprison me."
He says, "Right again. And may I say, you too, have played a very good game." He gives her a few short little claps. "[clap, clap, clap]"
She says, "What do you mean I've had a good game? I didn't even know we were playing."
He says, "Well, whether you knew you were in a game, or not, you almost won." He traces a line down his own face, mirroring the path of Debra's scar. He says, "Or, should I say, you almost lost the game, as it were. Depends how you look at."
Debra winces the right side of her face, where the scar is. It was still sore. Any blood from the bullet track has since scabbed over. Her skin was sliced in a nice straight line up her face. The gunshot had been just shy of making a much bigger mess.
With a fleering look she jeers, "So what's your plan Psycho Boy? Are you going to prison me for life? Kill me? Put me in an elaborate death maze? What?"
He shakes his head and laughs, "'An elaborate death maze.' You watch too many movies." He declares emphatically, "I keep telling you 'I love you.' I just want what's best for you." He puts his hands in prayer position and then points the prayer towards her. He continues, "I just wanna see you happy again and safe, safe from harm from others, safe from harm from yourself." He looks at her sorrowfully.
She scoffs and cries, "You think this will make me happy? Drugging me and putting me in this makeshift insane asylum?"
He explains, "I did this to you because you tried to kill yourself... again."
She says, "I told you Hannah must of poisoned me with the Xanax."
He scoffs back at her and says, "And last night." He puts his hand up to her face, gesturing to the scar. He asks, "How do you explain that?"
She twitches the cheek with the scar on it again. She smiles and says, "When I shot myself it was a split second decision. Not even a decision... " she shrugs and shakes her head. "It was a sporadic arm movement. You know how bad my arm was shaking. I flinched okay."
He gives her a doleful smile and slowly claps, "[clap, clap, clap]"
She says, "Dexter, I'm not performing for you. I'm not lying."
Forlorn in expression, he shakes his head. He reaches out his index finger and traces the line-scar down her cheek. His finger follows the wound from her temple to her jaw. Where his fingertip falls off her jaw, he drops his hand. He then simply says, "No."
She asks, "No to what exactly?"
He states, "No to you getting out of here. No to killing yourself."
She says, "Dexter... " He holds up his hand in a stopping gesture and walks away a little.
He says, "Save it."
She inquires, "So what now? You just keep me tied up in here until I what? Calm down? Get on the right meds? Get the right therapy?"
He nods and says, "Yah, the right therapy, you could say."
She asks, "You're gonna bring a shrink in here?"
He shakes his head and says, "No, you're gonna go to an actual facility in about a week. It's in Mexico. You have an appointment there. We'll start heading there by boat tomorrow."
She says, "Oh. How long will I stay there?"
He guilefully says, "Not long."
She says, "This must be some quick acting therapy."
He brightly says, "You could say that."
She asks, "What kind of therapy is it?"
He glibly says, "Electroshock therapy."
She gawks and says, "You're f***ing with me."
He says, "I'm not f***ing with you."
She says, "No."
He says, "Yes."
She pleads, "Please."
He says, "I wish it hadn't come to this. I prayed it wouldn't come to this. But I just can't seem to stop the past from repeating itself no matter how hard I try." He paces around the room a little.
She asks, "What do you mean?"
He says, "Come on Deb. Do you really think the both of us... " He points his hand back and forth between the both of them. " ...that we would both forget such a memorable event. The event of the rape/killing in that gas station bathroom. It happened when we were nine and twelve years of age. We wouldn't both forget that kind of thing. Not at those ages. I certainly didn't forget. I cherish the memory of hacking to death that monster." He laughs and says, "Boy did that pedophile pick the wrong child to rape."
She asks, "What? What are you saying?"
He says, "When you were nine you got raped. You then saw me kill your rapist. I hacked him to death, with an ax, right in front of you. For days after that you kept trying to harm yourself. You tried to overdose on Mom's chemo pills. You jumped out your bedroom window and got a gash on your leg. You dove into a shallow lake head first. You hit your head on a rock and fell unconscious for a few minutes. I carried your limp body out of the water."
She looks confused and says, "What? The scar on my leg? Dad said I fell out of that tree house in the backyard. You said I was trying to rip a bebe gun out of your hands and I fell backwards."
He asks, "And do you have any recollection of this happening?"
She says, "Well, no."
He says, "After the camping trip you kept trying to hurt yourself in worse, and worse, ways. Dad and I manage to keep the truth from Mom. We even hid the truth when Dad took you to the emergency room to have your leg gash stitched up. Dad and I told Mom the treehouse story to explain the stitches. He convinced her you were just gravely disappointed about the camping trip not working out and that's why you were acting out. He said you were going through a tomboy phase. He insisted we all go camping again the following weekend. But instead of going to back to the cabin, Dad brought us to a mental institution in Mexico, and that's where you got your therapy. Your electroshock therapy that is. He bribed a doctor there to do the treatment. Dad warned us that if a word was ever spoken, about what really happened, he'd have to leave us in that mental institution permanently. He intimated us both into silence about everything."
She says, "I don't remember."
He says, "Of course you don't. You got electroshock therapy. It didn't just erase the rape, kill, and trip to Mexico. If seemed to erase months of your memories. You grades faltered. You went to summer school to catch up. The 'therapy' you got isn't an exact science. But it worked. You stopped trying to kill yourself. You became happy again. Well, you did have nightmares about the incident. After the trauma you slept in my room, at night, sometimes. But I didn't mind. I was happy to be there for you."
She asks, "Didn't Mom get suspicious at all these strange occurrences?"
He says, "She did get suspicious. But at that point she started being off and on sick with cancer. She was weak, distracted. Dad said he'd take care of it. And take care of it he did."
She asks, "Did we ever get counseling?"
He says, "Years earlier Mom insisted that I be tested for antisocial personality disorder. Dad had me practice saying all the right answers. The counselor said I was fine, proving Mom wrong."
She asks, "But still Mom must of had questions about things going wrong with me for so long."
He says, "She did. And Dad and I were well prepared with an arsenal of explanations at the ready. I was at his side, backing up all his stories. Dad told Mom that you were going through a sort of pre-teen rebellion. Mom again wanted counseling. But Dad feared if you went to a shrink you'd spill the beans about everything. He told Mom you just needed to play soccer with your friends, not get on Ritalin."
She stares off out the window. She gasps, "Oh my f***ing jesus."
He says, "Well see. You just need to go back and get some more help. It worked before. It can work again." He touches her unscarred cheek.
She cries, "Please don't do this to me."
He says, "Sorry."
She says, "You could've chosen any place to do all this. Why did you chose this place. The place of my trauma?"
He says, "The your Xanax overdose made me think, that perhaps, your memories of the rape/kill were coming back on there own. The last time you suicidal was right after the rape/kill. I wanted to put you in a secure place. I could then see how you would react to certain revelations. I thought, what if certain secrets from our past resurfaced and I wasn't there watching you every minute. I had to be sure you'd be safe."
She squints her eyes at him suspiciously. She states, "No, you thought if I remembered being raped as a child, I'd be more welcoming to you killing non killers."
He says, "I thought perhaps that'd be the case. Or perhaps remembering the whole incident would just make you more understanding, or forgiving, of my past indiscretions. Maybe you'd just see the benefits of my killings, in general, outweighing the drawbacks. Like when you gave me that speech out in the hallway. You presented such a compelling argument explaining all that. Whatever the case, first and foremost, I needed to be sure you were safe. I didn't want you either dead or in jail."
She says, "Even if I went to jail, I'd still have my mind. You just wanted me here with you, under your thumb. You just feel the need to control everything. Just my presence in your life enables your need to kill. You're an addict right? So therefore everyone in an addict's life is an enabler."
He adamantly states, "I have to look after you. I have to make sure you're okay."
She presses, "Why do you 'personally' have to make sure I'm okay? What the F*** is wrong with you? Look around you. Who does all this? It reminds me of one of your kill rooms." She pauses then hiccups a painful laugh. She mutters to herself, "I think I just answered my own question."
He exclaims, "I don't wanna kill you. I wanna save your life."
She says, "You said you wanted to see my reaction to certain revelations. God, it's like you're vetting me. And then you're gonna dispatch me on your boat when you bring me to Mexico."
He says, "I had to know what you would do. I just want you to see Harrison grow up. I want him to have his aunt in his life." Dexter then walks over to one side of the room and gestures to something on the wall.
Debra follows him and looks over to where he's gesturing to. Pinned at eye level is an eight by eleven inch photo. It's a family portrait. In the picture Dexter and Debra were bringing Harrison to see Santa. Framed in holiday trimmings, Harrison sits on Santa's lap, Dexter and Debra are kneeling down on either side of Santa's throne. Jaime's behind the camera. It was the last family photo they had all taken together.
Debra gawks at the picture, then at Dexter. She looks back and forth from her brother to the photo on the wall. She just can't believe he's done this. This last gesture's a little too on-the-nose to believe.
She exclaims, "What's with the f***ing photo?! I can't believe you put that in here."
He says, "This will help you. It'll help you remember what you have to live for." He gestures again to the picture.
She begs, "Please stop helping and thank you."
He looks confused and asks, "Thank you?"
She says, "Thank you for going above and beyond the call of duty to horrify me. Well I guess now the kill room's finally complete." She lifts her chin gesturing to the photo.
He says, "You're not gonna die here. Not if I have anything to say about it. I'm securing of our future."
With presentiment she asks, "And what's going to happen in the future?"
He says, "We're going to start over. We may have similar jobs to the ones we have now. That'll depend on how things pan out. After your treatment hopefully you'll forget about killing LaGuerta and my secret. How much therapy you'll need will depend on this."
She asks, "So you'll sautee me to a cucumber if need be?"
Half heartedly he says, "It won't come to that. But the best way to secure your life is for you to forget all about my secret. God knows all these events could reoccur with different outcomes." His eyes widen, thinking of the possibilities.
She says, "But electroshock therapy is just like Mom's cancer treatments. With chemo and radiation you're beating the body to get the cancer out. How black and blue are you gonna make my brain to get your secret out of it."
He says, "I wish I could do a laparoscopic procedure and take out only what hurts you. If I could I'd leave your brain in the pristine condition I found it in. But I can't."
She says, "But one way or another you'll get your secret outta my head. If not by the chisel than by the hammer."
He says, "I'm sorry. But I don't see another way. I can't let you die. I can't let you go to jail."
She says, "Well, I'm sorry too. I'm sorry I met you."
Feeling beleaguered, Dexter sighs and looks down at the padded floor.
Time flashes back again to thirty years in the past. It's 1982. Harry and the kids are at the Mexican mental institution. Debra, at nine years old, is strapped to a gurney. The hospital staff are wheeling her into the treatment room for electroshock therapy. Harry and twelve year old Dexter are on either side of the gurney that holds Debra. The whole party approaches the treatment room doors.
A staff member holds up his hand in a stopping gesture. He says, "Sorry Harry, you and your son can't go beyond this point."
Harry says, "Let me say goodbye to my daughter."
The staff stops the gurney.
Harry pats the top of Debra's hair and says, "I'll see you when you're done with your treatment." He kisses her on the forehead and says, "I love you honey."
Debra looks at Harry and cries, "Dad please don't do this to me. I don't want the treatment."
In a protesting gesture, Dexter stands in front of the gurney and grabs it, blocking the gurney from entering the treatment room. He looks at Harry and says, "Dad stop this. Can't you see. Debra doesn't want the treatment. Lets go home. Lets get outta here."
Harry tells him, "Dexter, If Debra doesn't get this treatment right now she'll hurt herself."
Dexter says, "No she won't. I'll keep an eye on her."
Harry says, "We can't watch her every second." He points to the treatment room doors and says, "If Debra doesn't go in there right now she's gonna kill herself. And once she's dead there's be no undoing it."
Dexter gives a worried look to Debra.
Debra looks at Dexter then to Harry. Shakes her head and says, "No, please, I don't wanna go in there."
Defeated, Dexter sadly looks at the floor and lets go of the gurney. He walks outta the way of the staff. The staff wheel Debra into the treatment room. The treatment room doors swing shut and the flashback ends.
It flashes back to the modern day. Back in 2013. Adult, contemporary, versions of Dexter and Debra are at the Morgan family cabin. It's later that same day, in the afternoon. They're playing the game "BattleShip" while sitting at the kitchen table. Dexter's on one side of the table. He lightly pinches his chin with his thumb and forefinger, as he considers his next move. His elbows rest on the table. Debra's on the other side of the table. She also gazes down at her side of the board game, considering her next move as well. Unlike Dexter, she can't put her elbows on the table, nor pinch her own chin in contemplation. She's still in the straightjacket Dexter put her in after he horse tranqued her.
She says, "C4" indicating her next missile attack.
He cheerfully says, "Hey, you sunk my battleship."
She sighs and drones, "Great I'm so happy." She rolls her eyes and looks around the room with much disinterest.
He shrugs and says, "Wanna play best two outta three?"
She says, "Dexter... " She gestures, as best she can, to what she's wearing. She asks, "Why are you doing this?"
He glibly says, "To save your life."
She says, "No I mean, why are you keeping me in straight jacket. You're right next to me and I'm all of ninety pounds, soaking wet. Even if I made a dash for the kitchen cutlery." She lifts her chin, gesturing to the knives on the counter. "Couldn't ya just tackle me to the ground?" She half grins and shakes her head a little at him.
Dexter starts to put the game board pieces away. He says, "When you became suicidal... " He tilts his body side to side and says, "Well... the first time around. When you were nine. You started ripping your hair out of your head." He reaches over and touches the right side of her head. "You know this small bald patch you have here."
She says, "Yah, you and Dad said you accidentally slammed the car door on my hair. I pulled away and my hair ripped out."
He shakes his head and asks, "Do you have any recollection of this happening?"
She says, "Well no. Ohhh..." She looks off to the side in realization of what must of actually happened.
He says, "Well a bit of the hair you pulled out didn't grow back. Last night, in the kitchen, you started pulling at your hair again. Let me tell ya Deb. Back when you were nine, and you had that week of suicidal behavior. That was not a fun week for me. I've actually always been afraid of you reverting back to that behavior." He laughs bitterly and says, "And lately it seems all those fears have been coming true."
He boxs up the game and tucks it under his arm. He walks over to Debra with the game in hand. He pats her on the top of the head, while she still sits in the chair. She winces in annoyance.
He pouts and says, "Oh and I don't wanna hair hurt on this little head."
He then walks over to a shelf in front of them. It has a bunch of game board games in it. He puts back the "BattleShip" game and swats down on the ground. He starts thumbing through the game board selection.
He asks, "So what do you wanna play next? I'd be partial to 'Scramble,' 'Life,' 'Monopoly... '
Debra interrupts, "Didn't Mom notice I me plucking myself bald?"
Dexter half turns around while still swatting. He says, "Mom's hair was falling out because of her cancer treatments. We told her you pulled your hair out of your head in a sympathetic gesture."
She scoffs and says, "Like that makes sense. Who'd believe that?"
He shrugs and turns back to the board games. Changing the subject, he asks, "So what do you want to play? 'Monopoly?'"
She answers, "'Life' sounds good. I don't wanna get into 'Monopoly.'"
He says, "Well we have the time. We don't have to leave for your appointment until tomorrow."
She says, "Dexter, I've been thinking this. What? You're supposedly so afraid of me committing suicide, you're supposedly so afraid of me hurting myself, and yet you bring me back to the place of my childhood trauma. It's the same place where I got f***ed up to begin with. What? Were you trying to trigger suicidal behavior in me? Would that give you an excuse to fry my brain? All so you could drill your secret outta my head."
Dexter pivots around to face Debra, while still swatting. He's still in front of the shelf with all the game board games in it.
He says, "Well, when you attempted suicide with the Xanax... "
She says, "But I didn't... "
Dexter makes a stopping gesture with his hand. He then picks up the game of 'Life' and brings it over to the table. He sits down across the table from Debra. He says, "When you overdosed on the Xanax I wasn't sure if Hannah had poisoned you or not. I needed you in a place where I could monitor you and observe your behavior. I needed answers to my questions. Were you, going to, turn yourself in for LaGuerta's murder or not. Were you, going to, become suicidal or not. And I had to know if these events would ever occur in our lifetime. And I got my answers." He sits back in the chair and presents Debra with his outspread hands.
Debra says, "So this cabin was just some big experiment, complete with a rubber room. Dexter, ya know, I still don't know why you are so sure Hannah didn't poison me with the Xanax. And as far as what happen with the gun, in the bedroom... as far as that goes, I was very distraught. It's been crazy lately. It was a split second decision, a split second arm movement, a split second pull of the trigger.
It's kind of like when I shot LaGuerta. The second I shot her I regretted it. And I've been regretting it every moment since then. And I keep thinking, 'I didn't have to shoot LaGuerta. No one had a gun to head. It's not like I had to choose between shooting you and shooting LaGuerta. You put down your knife. You held up your hands. I coulda kneecapped ya. I coulda called for backup.'
And now I also regret shooting myself. I'm so glad you knocked that gun outta my hand. I'm so grateful to you for saving my life. How many times have you saved myself anyway? You've done that like what... ten times by now? And I appreciate you caring so much about me. I know how things must look to you, but I swear, I'm not suicidal. I don't need electroshock therapy. That's ridiculous. I just needed to calm down. And what? You're having me walk around all day in a straight jacket. Because why? Because I'm going to start ripping all my hair outta my head like some a psychopath. Now that's crazy.
Lets get outta this cabin already. We can go anywhere. We can do anything. We can travel the world together fighting crime."
He laughs and says, "'We can travel the world together fighting crime.' Now that is rich. You really do watch too many movies." He shakes his head and says, "And what about what I said in the bedroom. I tackled you, and told you, 'I'd kill an infinite number of people to keep my family safe.' What do you think about that?"
She smiles and says, "Well of course you didn't mean it. You were upset. I know you want your family safe. Who doesn't? Just like I know you just want me to be happy. And look... I'm happy." She smiles her most heartwarming smile at him.
He says, "But Deb, I did mean it. I would kill an infinite number of people to keep my family safe."
Her smile trembles. Her eyes glisten over.
He says, "What would you have me do? Take you outta that thing. Put another loaded gun back in your hands. How can I look at that scarred face of yours and ever do that again. No. No matter what you say. No matter how cooperative you are. No matter how happy you pretend to be. I will never let you go."
Her face trembles into over boiling rage.
She explodes roaring in anger, "F*** you! F***ing dam it! F*** you straight to hell!" She leaps to feet.
Startled, Dexter jumps out of his chair and steps back a couple of feet from her.
She kicks over the table between them. It goes slamming to the floor. Her whole body trembles in unbridled rage.
In a guttural ravenous voice she yells, "I hate your f***ing guts you f***ing psychotic demon from hell! I shoulda shot you f***ing dead the first chance I had! I shoulda smothered you in your sleep as a f***ing child!" She stares at him with unbelievable fury.
Dexter stands there in front of the newly turned over kitchen furniture. He raises his eyebrows, widens his eyes, he says, "Wowee... jesus christ. Uhh... " He hiccups a convulsive laugh.
Debra stands there glaring at him with demonic rage, gnashing her teeth, shaking with her heavy breath.
He gibes, "Alrighty then. Well I'm not regretting the straight jacket at this point."
After that they both stand there not saying anything for a few seconds. Debra breathing slows down. Her shaking eases up.
Dexter folds his arms and looks at her calmly.
Debra looks at the floor. Her whole body sags in defeat. She turns away from him and drops to the floor. She sits there staring blankly at the ground, not moving.
After a few seconds, Dexter walks over and sits down on the floor behind her. He looks at her with sympathy, wanting to help. He tentatively reaches out his hand to comfort her. He stops himself a second before touching her shoulder. He balls up his hand and retracts his arm.
Listlessly Debra drones, "You know back in the room, when I had the gun on you. I coulda shot you. When you shut the door behind yourself, you were facing away from me, you had your back to me. I coulda shot you dead then and there. But no." She gives a painful laugh and says, "I had to say that stupid f***ing line. And then when you turned around and looked at me. I lost my nerve. I guess that makes a hundred and ten lives you have."
He says professedly, "Debra I swear. From this point forward. I will only kill killers that fall through the cracks. And, if after your treatment, if you're still not happy, I'll put you out of your misery."
Tears well up in her eyes and drip off her lower lashes. She drones flatly, "If only that were true."
He gaze falls to the floor. In a defeated tone he says, "Yah. You're right. That's not true."
They both sit there silently for a while. Then the doorbell rings. Behind Debra, Dexter lifts his head in surprise. Debra's eyes widen. She slowly sucks in her breath. She looks around herself wildly. Her mouth slowly falls open.
She gets out in a guttural voice, "Help."
Dexter looks at her with fear. He reaches around her head with his hand. He goes to put his hand over her mouth to muzzle her. She viciously bites his fingers.
He flinches back his hand and squeaks out, "Owe."
Bug eyed she stands up, shaking. With bloody murder she cries out, "Heeelp! Heeelp! Heeelp! Please f***ing God! Heeeelp!"
Dexter scrambles to the kitchen drawer to get one of his needles.
The bushes outside russel. Someone's coming to the window. Dexter's looking down into the kitchen drawer when he hears the knocking at the window. He looks up at the window, where the knocking is coming from.
Debra's looking at the person in the window too. She vigorously shakes her head in terror. She lets out guttural blurts of, "No, no, no. No!"
Hannah McKay's at the window. She's smiling and waving at Dexter. Hannah sees that Debra's standing in the kitchen in a straight jacket. Hannah gives Dexter a confused look and points at Debra. Dexter rolls his eyes at Hannah from behind Debra's back. He walks up to Debra, from behind her, and sticks the syringe in her neck. Debra goes down. Dexter catches her and carries her to the couch.
Hello Hannah indeed. I thought Hannah added an exciting dynamic to the show. Beautiful and deadly and Dexter's in love with her. A lot of my chapter titles are more of a dark joke. Here the chapter title, "What tomorrow Brings," it's more about a sense of foreboding and tragic destinies.