A/N: Welp, it's finally here, all: the next chapter! -ducks rotten fruit being thrown by long-awaiting readers- Gleep! I'm sorry I'm sorry! I had some pretty severe writer's block after some college issues back in December, but I did Camp NaNoWriMo last month for an Avengers fanfic and ACTUALLY FINISHED IT omigosh exciting, so that's gotten me back into writing again and I'll have monthly updates for this story again from here on out. :) I've got my writing groove on once again! -dons Batgirl cape- Muhahaha!

Extra long chapter as apology for the wait. (And because it worked out that way, 'kay.)

I don't own Dexter. I'm not making money off writing this. I am poor. Sadface.

chapter five:
how it went down.

It was a year since I'd graduated from Miami Dade, and I'd managed to set up my own small law practice with one of my fellow graduates. I'd specifically chosen a very self-absorbed young man for my partner, as he didn't care about anything I did, so long as it didn't negatively affect him, specifically his reputation. That was just about perfect for me.

It was a somewhat normal day for me. I say somewhat, because it wasn't quite every day I would stalk a potential victim in order to find out their habits. I was currently wandering the aisles of a grocery store, trying to discreetly keep track of my victim as I pretended to browse the shelves, occasionally pulling some of the healthier food items into my cart. I was a bit of a health nut. After all, in order to be the strongest I could be, I needed the proper nourishment.

My potential victim was proving to be a very boring individual, outside of the fact that he was a child abuser. The divorced, middle-aged man had two elementary school-age sons whom he had sole custody of, and every night that I'd watched him, he'd beat them. He was definitely deserving of retribution. Retribution which I would bring.

I moved my cart forward as my victim turned around the end of the aisle, not realizing until too late that I was about to run into someone.

The crash of our carts colliding jarred me, and I blushed in embarrassment at how unaware I'd become of my surroundings, turning to the other cart's owner with profuse apologies ready to tumble from my lips. They died where they were as I saw who it was I'd collided with.

"My apologies," the man said, his smile not reaching his piercing green eyes. I felt like I recognized those eyes. In fact, I was sure of it. I hastily tried to cover up my wariness at his appearance. After all, no need to be seen as impolite.

"No, I'm sorry. I wasn't really paying attention to where I was going," I said, moving my cart to the side to let him move his cart past mine into the aisle. I waited a moment, but he didn't move, just smiling at me in that almost predatory way. It was unnerving, but I kept my usual cool expression in place.

"Oh?" he said in response to my claim. "What were you thinking about that was so captivating?"

I laughed. I'd practiced long and hard on my fake laugh, forcing just the right amount of amusement into it to keep it from sounding flat, but also not to sound manic. "Oh, just work," I said, being deliberately vague. That was all creepy-smile-guy was going to get out of me.

The man gave me a calculating look, as though he were trying to figure something out about me without asking verbally. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, trying to glance at my watch somewhat discretely and hoping he'd hurry up and let me go so I wouldn't have to be rude. I hated being rude. My aunt had taught me better than that.

"Well, you must have a more interesting job than most, then." He gave that smile again. I felt like a rabbit facing down a fox, which was neither a feeling I felt often nor one that I enjoyed. "I should let you get back to your shopping now. Nice meeting you."

Finally.

"You, too." I smiled faintly and quickly maneuvered my cart around his, moving past the ends of the aisles until I found my victim once again, silently continuing my observation of his routine. The run-in with creepy-smile-guy had definitely unnerved me, but I just felt all the more compelled to complete my observation of my victim so that I could kill him. Despite how controlled and routine my life had become since I had struck out on my own, still, the only time I felt truly powerful was when I killed.

And after being shaken so profoundly by that man's presence, no matter how much I tried to shrug it off...I really needed to feel powerful again.

Line break.

It was finally time.

I had prepared the shed at an abandoned farmhouse to be my kill room earlier that evening. I was currently sitting in my car in front of my victim's house, waiting for the flighty mother to bundle her two children into the van to go visit with her and their grandparents for the weekend. It was a bi-weekly trip I'd been practically gleeful to discover, as it meant there would be a long period of time where no one would think to look for my victim, not that I thought his sons would mind too terribly his being gone. The only thing he did on the weekends was gamble and bar-hop, and he didn't go out with any friends until Saturday night, which gave me just over a twenty-four hour period where no one would be any the wiser if I offed him. I allowed myself a smirk as the van pulled out of the driveway and headed in the direction of Fort Myers, over two hours away. I pressed the button on the garage door opener I had pick-pocketed from the wife on her last shopping trip (she had been a much easier target than the man would have been, as he had a very suspicious and controlling personality), pulling my car right in to the empty spot that the van would have normally been in, closing the garage door before I slid out of the car, checking myself in the rearview mirror quickly, straightening my black Cleopatra wig and pushing my aviator sunglasses up the bridge of my nose. I tugged the hem of my ivory sweater dress down; I didn't usually wear skirts or dresses shorter than knee-length, but it was all part of the facade. I took a deep breath, letting myself sink into my 'alter ego' of sorts, feeling my racing heart calm down to a steady rhythm as a small, cocky smirk graced my lips, my confidence building as I took the steps up to the door to the house, my platform heels clacking an ominous warning as the door creaked on my opening it. There was a rustle from the other room as the man I had come for heard my entrance.

"Who are you?" he barked, stopping in the doorway of the kitchen when he noticed me, seeming to bristle at my unexpected appearance. "How did you get into my house?"

"Yawn. How unoriginal," I said coolly, not bothering to answer his questions as I pushed one hand up the inside of my right thigh beneath my short skirt. I tilted my head to the side in amusement as the man's gaze followed my hand, his previously wary expression turning predictably lewd at the sight of an attractive woman presumably touching herself. I smirked, moving slowly towards him until I was just outside of arm's reach.

"What? You like that?" I purred silkily.

His adam's apple bobbed up and down, and he licked his lips before rasping out, "Yes."

My smirk turned into a sadistic smile.

"Then I guess I should show you the prize you just won."

I whipped out the retractable iron staff I'd had velcro-strapped to the inside of my thigh, snapping it out to its full length and feeling the adrenaline surge through my system at the resounding snap as the pieces clicked into place. To say that the man looked surprised would have been a big understatement. He looked alarmed, too.

"Please, we can talk about this-" he said before shifting his weight as though he was about to try and tackle me. I acted quickly; quicker than he could react.

I braced both my arms against the staff and swung for his head, relishing the resounding crack before the man dropped like a stone to the kitchen floor. I frowned. Hopefully I hadn't hit him hard enough to kill him. That would just ruin my fun before I'd even gotten started. I quickly pulled one of my gloves off to check his pulse, satisfied that it was still steady. He was just unconscious. I rustled through his kitchen drawers with my gloved hands until I found a lighter, stashing it in his pocket for later. I then grabbed one of his kitchen towels and wrapped it around the bleeding wound on the side of his head. I was not about to have him leaving evidence by bleeding all over my car, not after how careful I'd been up to that point. I tucked away my weapon after wiping it off on another one of his kitchen towels and hauled the man out to my car, shoving him unceremoniously into the trunk, quickly binding his wrists and ankles and placing a strip of duct tape over his mouth before hopping back into my car and opening the garage door with the remote opener, backing out and closing it again before tossing the remote out my car window, making sure to back over it and hearing the satisfying crunch as my tire rolled over it.

"Annnd we're off!" I grinned to myself, having to keep myself from speeding as I drove out of town to my setting of choice for the night. It was soothing to the soul, breathing the fresh air as I drove down the gravel roads to the abandoned farmhouse. I could have almost forgotten that I was going there to satisfy my deepest, most twisted urges; that is, until I heard my unwilling passenger clunking around in the trunk. I frowned. It was always harder to get them out when they were able to fight. My smirk came back, though, when I figured out how I could improvise. Just in time, too, as I slowed down to turn off onto the winding lane that led up to the abandoned farmhouse. I began whistling a cheerful tune that I had heard on the radio the other day. Nothing could get me down at that point.

I slipped out my metal staff once more, extending it half-way before getting out of the car and popping open the trunk, watching in mild amusement as the child abuser stashed in my trunk thrashed wildly, unable to escape his bonds as I gave him a pleasant smile.

"Hmm. Can't have you being all fussy and difficult, now, can we?" I said, before raising my staff with both hands and smashing it hard into his kneecap. He screamed girlishly against the duct tape covering his mouth, his struggles ceasing as he tried to curl in on himself, trying to make himself a smaller target. Let me tell you, being as he was a six-foot-three-inches tall man, it didn't exactly work as well as he would've hoped. I shrugged, snapping my staff back down to size and tucking it away before hauling him out of the trunk onto a wheelbarrow that I had left at the farm for just such an occasion. Don't get me wrong, I worked out every day mainly so I could manage such heavy lifting as this, but having the tools to better distribute the weight made it so much easier on me. That way I could get to the 'fun' part quicker.

I get impatient for my fix; so sue me.

I carted the man into the shed that I had prepared for him, chatting away to him about how lovely his kids were; that it was a shame he couldn't see it. That because of that, he didn't deserve to see it. That they would be glad that he was gone after the hell that he had put them through. He was slumped in the wheelbarrow, very unmanly tears streaming down his cheeks, and he gave a strangled cry every time we hit a big bump that jostled his shattered knee. I patted his cheek roughly as we pulled into the shed. He flinched away from my touch.

"Oh come now, would you want your kids to see their father like this? Be a MAN, Callum!" I cackled. "Oh wait, that's right-you're not a man at all! You're a snake. You'd have to be that low and cowardly to beat up on small children rather than someone your own size. Look at me, Callum. Look at me!" I yelled, grabbing his chin tightly and forcing him to look me straight in the eye. He looked scared, but also resentful, his eyes bloodshot. I smiled tightly. "That's better. See? Look at me, I'm picking on someone not even my own size, I'm picking on someone bigger. I'm your polar opposite." I laughed. "And I'm going to be your end. Let's begin!"

I hauled him up from the wheelbarrow and dumped him onto the work table in the middle of the shed, finding his pained shriek annoying as his injured leg was jostled once more.

"Shut UP!" I yelled, jumping up on top of his chest and giving him a solid right hook to his eye. He grunted, but didn't make any other sound after that. Placated, I climbed back down, taking out the knife set I had stashed under the floorboards and laying them out lovingly before selecting one of the smaller ones. I had a soft spot for the small knives-they often made the nastiest of cuts, and could maneuver a lot better than most of the larger ones. It reminded me of myself, in a way. I grinned as I watched the blade catch the dim light overhead before turning to my prey.

"Let's begin, shall we?"

I ripped the tape off his mouth, and he began to ramble off pleas for mercy, for forgiveness, and prayers to oh sweet baby Jesus don't let me die here, don't let this be the end. I found it unbearably annoying, so I dug my knife in him until he was screaming again. At least that, I could put up with. I watched with fascination as the blood pooled on the table. His screams were weakening, his voice cracking as his throat became raw. I pouted. My fun could never last very long, could it? I sighed.

"Well, puddin', it's been a real blast," I said, patting his cheeks with a fake smile. "But I think it's time for the grand finale."

The man looked alarmed (and rightfully so!), trying to stammer out reasons why I shouldn't kill him, but it was far too late for that. If he'd lived a good life, caring for his kids instead of beating them like he did, then he wouldn't have been on my table. He was a bad man, and that was why nothing that came out of his mouth would convince me that he should be spared. I rolled my eyes at his pleas, not even shutting up when I told him to just shut up already. That did it, for me. I prized open his mouth, grabbed his tongue, and cut it out in one swift motion, before cramming it down his throat with the butt of my knife. He choked and gasped and coughed, trying to dislodge it, but I held it there with the knife handle, down his throat, where it couldn't come back up. I watched with satisfaction as he began to thrash weakly, crying wordlessly at the pain it caused him.

He gave one final convulsion...and then he lay blessedly still.

I stepped back, taking a look at my work and nodding in satisfaction before taking his pulse, making sure that he truly was dead. Thankfully, he was. I would've hated if such a fitting end to his life hadn't actually killed him, and I ended up having to take a more...mundane route. Slicing people up was fun, but I did like to make things a little more poetic whenever I got the chance, like tonight. I smiled and began humming a song to myself as I gathered up my tools, leaving everything else. I was going to burn this mother-effer down. A quick and easy way to erase the crime scene. I pulled off my dress, which had gotten blood on it during my escapades, as well as my wig, throwing them on top of the man's motionless body, before grabbing the jerry can of gas I had left here for this momentous occasion. I poured the gas liberally over the body and inside of the shed, making sure that any evidence of my being here would be erased long before the fire department arrived. After that, I tossed my bloody gloves onto the man as well, pulling out the extra pair of gloves I'd tucked into the back of my underwear, just in case. I was a bit neurotic when it came to being prepared. After all, it was my livelihood on the line.

I grabbed the lighter I'd stashed in the man's pocket, reluctantly kicking off my platform shoes and making sure not to step in any blood pools as I made my way out of the shed. I rinsed myself off at the water pump outside next to the barn, rinsing off my knives, as well, before rolling them back up in their cloth carrier.

"My, you certainly know how to have a party."

I cried out in alarm, dropping my packaged-up knives and grabbing the iron staff from where it was strapped to my thigh, whirling around to hit my attacker in the head with it, but I was thrown off when they caught it before it could hit home.

I was staring straight into the cool green eyes of the man from the grocery store.

"It almost makes me wish I'd been invited," he continued, as though I hadn't just tried to bean him in the head with a metal pole. He forcibly pried the short staff from my grip with one hand, his other clenched tightly around my wrists. I felt exposed in front of him, clad in nothing but my underwear, no disguise to make my feel powerful like I'd had earlier.

"Why?" I asked, sounding much bolder and more confident than I felt inside. "Did you want to join him on the table? I'm sure I would've made an exception. Would've seemed a shame to lose those eyes, though. Maybe I would've kept them for myself." I bared my teeth at him in a snarl.

"Oh-ho, now. Getting ahead of yourself, aren't you?" he said with a smirk, seeming amused at my gumption. Well, at least that was better than angry, so it was a start. At least my big mouth hadn't done me in just yet. I didn't hold out too much hope for the rest of the conversation, though. "After all, who's the one with the weapon, here?" He twirled the metal of my retracted staff in the palm of his hand, seeming to be getting a feel for the weight of it.

"Who says I need a weapon to have the upper hand?" I snarked, quirking a challenging eyebrow at him.

"I highly doubt you can best me," he said, scoffing. "You're fit, I'll give you that, but you're not good at hand-to-hand combat. You don't take any classes."

I laughed openly.

"I don't need to take classes to know the oldest trick in the book."

He raised an eyebrow at me. "Distraction won't work when you tell the person that you're trying to distract them."

I gave him a weird look. "That's not the 'oldest trick' I'm talking about."

"Then what are you-oof!"

He doubled over as I kneed him square in the balls, his grip loosening on my wrists, and I yanked them back towards me, scooping up the package of knives and making a break for it. I may have been foolish and hot-headed, but that didn't mean I didn't know when I was outmatched, and by golly, I was outmatched by that man. I don't know how my psycho-radar hadn't picked up on it the moment I laid eyes on him, but he was crazy with a capital 'C', and more dangerous than I wanted to find out.

I gave a small shriek when I was tackled to the ground, my arms pulled behind my back as the creep sat on me, leaning forward to hiss in my ear.

"You have fight in you. That can either go well for you or extremely poorly, depending on your decision. After what you just pulled, I'm sorely tempted to just kill you now and leave you to rot, but you are so lucky that I find you interesting still," he said. I shivered, both at the cold and at the fact that I was glaringly aware that he would not hesitate to do just that if I ceased being interesting to him. How the hell had I managed to pique his interest in the first place, anyways? "I've been watching you off and on for a while now, since you picked up that girl at the bar months ago. I knew there was something off about you." Ah. So that's where I thought I'd recognized him from. "You're a hard woman to keep track of. You're very careful. But I think you could improve yourself."

He was silent for a moment, and I shifted my head to the side so I wouldn't get a mouthful of grass if I tried to talk.

"And why's that?" I asked, annoyed and not really sure if I wanted to know the answer or not. Goodness knows what this psycho's definition of 'improvement' would be.

I could almost hear the smile in his damn voice.

"You'll see," he purred, letting go of my wrists with one hand to stroke my hair. "You'll get your answers...but you'll have to work for it."

With that, I felt the strike of cold metal against the back of my skull, and my vision burst with colors before it went black.