So because I have no life, I finished chapter six! I hope you enjoy it.

If you guys like it, you should tell me, if you think I'm doing something wrong, tell me. It helps a lot when I get feedback!

Thanks and enjoy!

~Lucid3762

I woke up on a plastic table and felt the warmth of lights beneath me. Around me, I saw the entire room encompassed in a plastic wrap. For a split second, I wondered if Brian had faced this room before just as I had now and what he was thinking. I wiggled in the plastic restraints that encompassed my body. Knowing better than to scream I calmed myself and wondered where Dexter was, lurking in the shadows; almost as if on cue I saw Dexter appear.

"Hi." I said, trying to keep up the Jane mask.

"Hello." he replied, his voice cold and calculating. He wore a simple brown shirt and a clear plastic apron with yellow kitchen-cleaning gloves, "You are one complex creature." he commented as he reached out over to a table and grabbed a silver metallic tool, a scalpel. Dexter admired the tool before drawing the instrument over my cheek, drawing blood - it hurt, but I didn't scream, and bit down on my tongue enough for me to taste my blood. I saw the way her admired the blood and took out a dropper and put my blood onto a slide, in which he admired more.

"Rachel." I said, hiding my pain as best as I could.

"What?" he turned toward me, a look of pure confusion on his face.

"My name, my real name, is Rachel." I told him.

"Well Rachel, this isn't my usual tactic for interrogation." he put the slide down on the table beside me. I laughed despite my current situation, "What's so funny?" he asked.

I finally dropped the mask, "Oh, nothing. Other than you didn't let me finish."

"Finish what?" he sneered, but stopped and gave me a glance of pity before turning away from my view and placing his hands upon the table, "Finish what?" he asked again, this time softer, kinder than before.

"My name. It's not Jane Summers obviously. Its Rachel, as I said before." I looked at him with a cold hard stare before softening again, "It's Rachel Moser." He looked at me with a look of pure and true confusion. It was obvious he had heard that last name before

"You're lying." he said, his cold tone died down a little.

"Nope." I replied, starting cockily but being kinder, "And it's fairly obvious too that John Summers wasn't my father," I looked at him, "Brian Moser was. My mother was Amber Ly-"

"You need to stop talking." he interrupted and shoved a cotton ball in my mouth. I only glared at him. The last thing I saw before closing my eyes was his raised knife, about to strike. I kept my eye's closed for what seemed like hours before reopening them to see the knife resting on his head with the hilt in his hands and held it there tightly while having an intense conversation with himself. I tried to speak to him, trying to get his attention, but was stopped by the cotton ball. Shaking my head, I saw his eyes open slowly and saw why his eyes were closed, a single tear slid down his cheek. He noticed me and carefully took the cotton ball out of my mouth and turned away from her.

"Dexter." I whispered softly, I tried to be kind and gentle, the way Brian spoke to me before he left to find his brother, "I know, this is weird and unjust, but you need to believe me." I tried to get an angel of his face, find out what he was thinking and form what I needed to say, he gave no hint to anything, making my job a lot harder, "Dexter please, I don't know what happened to Brian, I quite frankly I don't care who did it, just please, don't let history repeat itself. Please! Debra told me that you thought of me like a child you once had, would you do this to your child?" This got his attention and he turned to face her sharpley and slammed his hands on the table near my head with a loud crash, whatever I was doing, it was working, "Please, Dexter, if I know you like I think I do, you won't do this. I see a storm inside of you and can be helped if you want it to. And if not, I'd still be there to help you, to hide what you need." He looked up at me with pleading eyes.

"Don't help me. It's a storm that can't be settled. I'm a very bad guy." he told me, his eyes averted to the floor.

"Then I won't help you. And you're not a bad guy, you're a hero in your own way. I won't stop you, just don't stop me. Don't kill me.". Dexter looked at me and back down to his knife, still in his hand. He glanced back at me and moved quickly, cutting the plastic sheets that tied me to the table. I felt the pressure that held me down be relieved and blood flow back into my body. I quickly hopped off the table and ran to a towel I saw lying on a plastic covered table. I presumed it was for when he would clean my blood off himself afterwards, but I wrapped it around myself. Turning around, I saw Dexter there, lying down with tears streaming down his face; I walked over to him and kneeled beside him placing my hand upon his shoulder while holding the towel to myself, ""See Dexter, you're not a bad guy at all, you just think you are.". His teary eyes looked up at me hesitantly; I saw so much emotion, so much war in his eyes. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and lifted him up as much as I could. We were both on our feet and walked out of the room, leaving it pristine and untouched. Dexter got himself together and stepped into the driver side of the car and we started the drive home. I looked around the area, we were in a secluded area, hardly any lights were in the area besides Dexter's car lights. It was a dingy neighborhood, possibly a drug house or two just around the block. All the houses were brown and decaying, some yellow with cigarette smoke, and a few houses that seemed burned to the ground from God knows what. Pot and crackheads littered the dim streets, most buzzed on their choice drug and shuffling around the streets like zombies, not knowing what to do other than get money or more drugs. Prostitutes also walked along the streets, looking for their next customer in their scantily clad clothes and high-heels and waving with long colored fingernails at passing cars. I wondered if they ever questioned what happened in the room we were just in, but I didn't share my curiosity with Dexter out of fear that we would go right back to that room. I continued to watch out the window, my back towards Dexter, trying not to remember anything from that room, but the flashes of the plastic room still filled my mind every time I closed my eyes. When I reopened them, we were pulling into the parking lot of the apartment. Wordlessly, Dexter got out of the car and went inside. I sat for a second and watched him going into the apartment before I got out and followed in his footsteps, my head hung low and fingers interlaced with each other and walked silently and slowly through the door frame, shutting it behind me quietly. I did not say a word, but just watched as Dexter walked into his room and shut the door behind him in a hushed but slamming manner. I knew what I had to do for the good of everybody.