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Dexter awoke, still in a slight buzz from last night. He reminisced, he came so close to killing her, the knife was in his hand and the energy was pulsing, but just before he struck, he saw her eyes close, and saw a flash of all the people he missed. Brian, the kids, she looked like them in that second. Her face was peaceful, not happy about death, but welcoming it. He couldn't do it, after what she had said to him, about her not having to help him, and him being a hero. He didn't understand why, after so many years of feeling little to no emotion when dealing with killers, did he become so overwhelmed by his emotions that he couldn't complete his rituals. Maybe it was because he thought of Jane as his own child, Debra did invite her to stay with him after all. His thought process was interrupted as he corrected his mistake - Rachel, not Jane. Brians daughter; all the little things came back to him. He recognized the fact that he almost just killed his niece. Dexter quickly sat up on his bed and walked out the door, to an empty apartment. Rachel wasn't on the couch, and the bag she arrived in with was also gone, yet it the vast emptiness of the apartment, there was an omelette on a plate and coffee in the cup he used when she was here, both were still steamy and fresh. Beside it was a sheet of lined paper that was wrote on:
Dear Dexter,
I realized the night we got back that my presence here has been overdue. In saving my life, you've given me a chance to change how I go through life, and I thank you for that. But in being near, I have realized that there are serious consequences. There are legal problems and I fear that I would cause another episode of last night. I do truly believe that you are the hero of your own story, and that you can still be great. And although I will not be there to be your "sidekick", I will help whenever you slip up, if that ever be. Such as the house in Bank Street, if you ever go there again, you'll see an old house, not a trace of plastic nor the table. I also put the prize in your collection.
Dexter went to check. He opened the vent and pulled out the wooden box and opened it. There is was, the 34th slide when Dexter remembered only 33 before meeting Rachel. When he held the delicate slide, he saw the name Rachel Moser written in her handwriting. He put the collection back and went back to the letter,
I hope that you live a well life Dexter, and apologize to the police for my antics, tell them about me if you wish, the real me. I also hope you can forgive me for every problem I have caused and just tell Batista that the person who killed Mr. Summers got to me. Enjoy the breakfast I made, and I hope we can meet on better circumstances.
With much love,
Rachel Moser
Dexter smiled, a silent guardian. He glanced at the food and gave a smile and figured it was better to eat. As he was eating, a knock came on the door. He trudged up to the door and opened it to find Debra, her face lit up in anger and a paper in her hand,
"Did you get this?" she asked, holding up the paper.
"Something like that, yeah." he replied, Debra brushed past him and saw the half-eaten omelette and coffee.
"God dammit, she even made you breakfast!" Debra raged.
"Did she make you some?" he questioned.
"Hell no!" Debra answered, "How would she get it without a key!" She sat down and took the paper for Dexter and read through it, "Prize? Collection? Rachel? What the hell Dex!"
"Her name, it's Rachel Moser." he told her.
"Is she your sister?"
"No, niece."
"Niece? Your brother's daughter? Dex why the hell don't you tell me these things?"
"Because I only knew about it last night Deb.". Debra scoffed and threw down the paper.
"We need to find her, not for police business. She's the last female Moser and family." she told Dexter, "Come on, grab your coat." she ordered as she threw a coat on the coatrack to him. He caught it and walked out in tow of his sister to her car.
"Deb, are you sure you want to find her?"
"Yeah, why not?"
"I don't know, maybe she doesn't want to be found."
"Well where's she gonna fucking live Dex? On the streets?". Dexter said nothing and just shrugged.
I watched them, the two of them trying to find me - Debra more into it than others. Her argument wasn't every convincing, she probably wanted me for questioning on who I was. But then again, Debra cared more about family than her job or sex with hot men. I figured that if they were looking for me, I'd appear, I was Dexter's "guardian angel". I smiled to myself and jumped down from the roof, walked over to the door, and pulled out my lock-picking equipment. Swiftly and easily, I got into the door and sat on the couch where I had slept just a few hours ago. Not knowing what to do, I just sat there, planning what I was going to do when Dexter, Debra, or both walked through the door. Was I going to stand when they got here? Bound to the door like a happy puppy? I still wasn't sure even as they slumped through the door, obviously dismayed they hadn't found me. I sat there, staring at them and laughed due to the sadness in their eyes. Debra was the first to look at me and I saw light return to her eyes as she ran to me and wrapped me in a tight embrace:
"Jesus fucking christ kid! We were looking for you for most of the day!" she exclaimed, not letting go. Awkwardly, I returned her embrace and patted her back for a second before she let go and Dexter sat beside me. He hooked me into a one-arm embrace in which I returned with a smile. I looked at the pair before speaking:
"I'm sorry. I had to leave. I'm a danger here." I told them.
"You're no more dangerous than me." Dexter comforted. I smiled, it was true, we were alike, more than he thought; but that would be revealed later on. But no matter, she just enjoyed the embrace of Debra and the smiles on the siblings and even the warm dinner of burgers, fries, and a pickle slice as if at a restaurant with water and the news playing out on the TV. All was well until my picture showed up on the television. It was an APB for me, trying to figure out who I was, Dexter stopped talking and turned up the volume.
"The woman, only known as Jane Summers, has eluded Miami's police department after the bright detective Debra Morgan found evidence that the alleged daughter of their murder victim was pretending to be his child when Mr. Summers had no children. If you see this young girl, please call the tip line anonymously or not. The Miami Police Department thanks you. Next, more coverage of the missing -" Dexter turned off the TV. I only stared at the blackened screen, no words were uttered for an elongate time.
"Rachel." Debra started.
I looked up at her, "I need to go." I stood, "I told you that I was a danger to you two."
"You're not dangerous." Dexter countered.
"I'm wanted, if they see you harboring me, they'll arrest you." I looked at Dexter, "and demote you." I told Debra. As I walked towards the door, I was stopped by Dexter.
"This will pass after a couple of days. Just lay low then come back.". I nodded at him and gave a gracious smile before leaving the residence. Not sure where to go, I ran, ran to the last place I thought I'd ever go to, the last place life and death became aware to me.
Everything was just as I remembered it. The men, high on the drugs bumbling through the streets, the women looking for customers.
"Got any weed?" asked one pothead, his beanie on his lopsided head and a grey coat hanging off his body; I shook my head and moved on. The house slowly came to view as well as flashing lights; red and blue.
"Shit." I whispered angrily. The lights were blaring just down the other way, towards where I was standing. The once littered street of people was now a desert and I was the only one left. Quickly, I lept into the bush that was nearby and waited for the lights to pass. Time and the patrol cars seemed to creep by ever so slowly. After eternity had passed and the lights were gone, the streets became lively again, to their best extent. It was only after I saw a druggie pass did I crawl out of the bushes and ran to the desolate house. It was just as it was when I had "cleaned" it of it's horror. It was a horrendous experience, seeing as how I was only there hours before about to face my own death. The flashbacks always got to me, the plastic, hanging menacingly on the walls. This time, I was lying on the floor, unknowingly in the spot the table was at and when I closed my eyes, I was there. The plastic hung on the wall stapled to the corners where the ceiling and the wall met, I was on the table, the same familiar heat on my back was there and the strain of the wrapping on my skin as I tried to struggle. There appeared Dexter on the top on my head, he took my blood. But instead of not killing me, I felt the knife plunge into my throat. I awoke gasping and sweating on the floor, no plastic, no death, but a blinding light burning through the window; daylight. It was midday and no sound came through on the streets, the prostitutes and druggies were gone, until nightfall again.