Chapter 10

Dexter

So everything I'd ever done had led me to this moment. The end I'd just talked about with Hagerman, now here for me in the form of my sister.

Her gun was leveled at my chest, but it shook so badly that she'd be as likely to hit what remained of Mr. Hagerman as me if she fired. Her face was a sickly cream color, and her eyes more haunted than they had been the night I saved her from Brian. I felt a twinge of pain through the numbness. Just the prelude to what would come when the shock wore off, I was sure. Some distant part of me noted with detached curiosity that I was experiencing one of the most intense sensations of my life—I hadn't known I was capable of feeling this kind of ache. Interesting.

But the rest of me was too busy taking in everything flitting across my sister's face to make much note of the thought. Her mouth was twisted, her gaze hollow. Her face trembled, but never settled into a single expression, as though the muscles and skin were unable to contain or express whatever feelings were roiling through her at the moment.

"And I thought you were protecting me…"

Just when I'd thought this situation couldn't get more confusing.

"Protecting you?" My voice sounded far away to my ears.

"From the Bay Harbor Butcher." Her laugh was like broken glass, with all the jagged edges of shattered trust. "I thought you were tracking him down. That you were confronting him tonight. I came to back you up." I heard that awful laugh again that was mostly a dry sob, bearing no resemblance to anything I'd heard from my sister before. That distant part of me, the Dexter I usually was, wondered whether this was the beginning of hysteria. But he was very far away from me, now, unable to help me. I was on my own in this one. In any case, Wednesday night's conversation now made more sense; everything always fits neatly when you have all the pieces.

"Deb…" What was there I could say to reassure her when I was splattered with blood and had a nearly decapitated Mr. Hagerman stretched out only a foot behind me? I couldn't very well claim it wasn't 

what it looked like. For all I knew she'd seen the whole thing from the beginning. That was as good a place to start as any. "How long have you been here?"

"A minute or two. Long enough to… Oh, fuck, Dex…" Why, whenever people realized what I was, did they seem to feel the need to repeat the same phrase over and over again? "Dex… Why?"

As if I could ever answer that. There wasn't much point in anything but the truth now, though. I had no plans in place for this kind of situation, nothing I could base my reactions on. I didn't think I could scrape the scattered pieces of myself together right now to put up any kind of front, anyway.

"I don't know. It's what I am."

"How could you betray Dad like this? Betray ME like this?" Her voice was rising in pitch, the gun shaking ever more wildly as she swayed unsteadily on her feet. Her eyes finally left me to roam over the room, growing increasingly horrified as they took in each detail. I slowly brought my hands up, trying to find a way to calm her. Still strategizing, even as my life as I knew it came to an end.

"Deb, you should put down the gun. You're about to pass out."

"Are you fucking kidding me? You want me unarmed while I'm alone with the Bay Harbor Butcher?" I heard that edge of hysteria again in her voice and felt another stab of pain. I marveled at that last fact. I'd faced the possibility of Deb's death before, and I'd thought that had drawn the strongest reactions from me I was capable of having. But the look in her eyes right now was worse. I knew I was feeling something, but it was too large, too far beyond my experience for me to categorize or understand it.

"I would never hurt you, Deb. Remember, you were the first one to realize that the Bay Harbor Butcher—" the name felt distasteful in my mouth "—only kills murderers."

"It's still fucking SICK and WRONG and..." Her voice broke as her eyes finally left Hagerman and my stained clothes to return to my face beneath its plastic, blood-speckled mask. Whatever she saw there made any further protests dry up and she simply stared at me in mute horror.

"I know. Deb, you really should put that down before—"

"I've never passed out in my life," she snapped, and, even though it mostly consisted of anger directed at me, I was glad to see a glimpse of the old Deb again in this cracked figure with tears running steadily down her cheeks. But her sudden stumble belied her words. She grabbed blindly for one of the plastic tarps, ripping it from the cord it was attached to as she sank down to her knees and shattering the perfect little world I'd created for my time with Mr. Hagerman. I winced as the gun fell from her hands with a clatter and skittered across the ground to come to a rest almost at my feet.

I crossed over to her in two steps, but hesitated uncertainly, remembering my blood-covered hands.

"Shit," she murmured, blinking unseeingly up at me and groping for a gun that was no longer there as consciousness slowly receded. It looked like there was a first time for everything. I quickly pulled my gloves off and knelt beside her, placing one hand as gently as I could at the base of her neck to keep her from tumbling backwards. She still had enough presence of mind to flinch away from my touch and push her feet ineffectually against the concrete floor in an effort to get away from me, but her limbs were clearly no longer entirely under her control and wouldn't obey her.

"You'll be okay when you wake up. I promise." Finally she lost her inner battle, and her eyelids dropped.

I acted quickly after that. I couldn't afford to have her regain consciousness while I was still disposing of the body; I didn't think either Deb or I could handle that at this point. I found my tranquilizer, changed the needle on the syringe, and filled it with significantly less of the powerful drug than I would administer to one of my victims. Considering I frequently chopped people up, injecting them was certainly never a problem for me, and yet the sensation of sinking the needle into the back of Deb's arm, where I hoped she wouldn't notice the injection site, felt profoundly wrong.

I could work in relative peace, now, but I didn't have as much time as I would have liked. All thoughts of artistry and enjoyment were gone; my goal now was just to get the body and kill site broken down and packed away as quickly as possible.

Normally I would have switched from tool to tool during this part, but I stuck with the reciprocating saw as the most efficient option, crudely dismembering what was left of Hagerman and stuffing the pieces clumsily into the black Hefty bags. I was irritated to notice that my hands were trembling. I knew I should be using this time to plan what I would do when my sister woke up, but I couldn't seem to make my always calculating mind work properly as I packed my tools away and bundled up all the tarps, rubber sheets, and shredded plastic wrap. Deb's mute, but still accusing, presence made it impossible for me to think beyond the next step in the ritual.

I was probably never more careless and oblivious to possible witnesses than I was that night as I ferried the unconscious Deb and the bags of Mr. Hagerman to my boat, dumped the body, made my way back, and picked up my car again. I was distracted, checking on Deb every few minutes. I'd never been particularly concerned about the possible effects my chosen tranquilizer might have on my victims, but now I was constantly watching the steady rise and fall of her chest from the corner of my eye. I had another dose ready, placing it first on the dashboard and later at my feet on the deck, all the while debating with myself whether I should actually risk giving my sister more if she was to start waking up.

Fortunately, I never had to make that decision. She was still out cold when we reached my apartment, and all I could do was hope that there was no one to see as I carried her awkwardly inside and stretched her out on my couch. I left her only long enough to change my clothes, wanting to distance myself as much as possible from the Dexter she had seen at the factory. I also made sure her gun was stowed away deep in one of my dresser drawers—I didn't want her near that again tonight. Then there was nothing more for me to do but sit in the chair next to the couch and wait for her to wake up.

Only then was I able to think. But with no clear task ahead of me, I found disbelief and panic filling me again.

Deb was a good person and an honest cop. What could she do but turn me in? Could I bring myself to allow her to handcuff me and bring me into the station, in front of Angel, Masuka, LaGuerta, and the others? I'd always thought I didn't care about them, much less what they thought about me beyond maintaining my front, but I'd felt sick at seeing their expressions when I'd been brought in by the FBI a few months ago and thought their stunned looks of horror were directed at me rather than Doakes. Before that, my capture had been a vast, but undefined terror. Now I could picture how it would unfold in perfect detail. Could I go through that again?

But, as I looked at my sister's vulnerable face, finally relaxed in a drugged sleep, how could I do anything else? I'd given up a brother who accepted me for her sake; it looked like I would give up my own life, as well, if it came to that.

I was still chewing over this startling revelation that challenged all my assumptions about what I was when Deb finally stirred. She blinked up at my ceiling in confusion for a few moments, then suddenly her whole body spasmed. She sat up abruptly, grabbing her upper arms and looking around frantically.

"It's okay, Deb, everything's okay." She shot me a look of disbelief. "You're okay," I amended. She relaxed a fraction, which surprised me. What horror could her mind possibly have conjured up to rival my presence?

"I thought I was back there with you and Rudy," she muttered. "I was tied down just like you had… that man." Her eyes were widening, quickly filling with fear as she took in her situation. Alone, helpless, with her brother the serial killer.

"I would never do that to you, Deb," I rushed to assure her. It looked like I was going to be repeating myself a lot tonight, too. Her head jerked up, and there was a strange, smoldering anger in her gaze as she met mine.

"Don't fucking play with me. I've done this before, remember?"

"I'm not Rudy." I searched for something to say—I needed to make her focus on the Dexter she'd thought she'd known her whole life rather than the one she'd seen a few hours ago. "I'm still your brother, and you'll never be in any danger from me."

"You've lied to me our entire lives. What makes now any different?" I'd been somewhat prepared to defend my code and to use it to try to convince her that I wouldn't hurt her, but this I hadn't seen coming. I fell back on what was a surprising solution for me—the truth.

"I don't have any reason to, now. And if I wanted to hurt you, why would you be waking up unharmed on my couch?" Deb had always been blunt—maybe she would appreciate a similar directness from me.

"Because you sick psychos like to play mind games," she shot back, but the accusation seemed to lack conviction.

"I'm not playing games with you. I didn't plan for any of this to happen." She simply looked at me for a long moment as her anger faded to a blank numbness.

"But you are the Bay Harbor Butcher." She whispered it, like she was testing the concept out, and her face began to crumple again. That didn't seem to call for a response, but, when I didn't speak, her empty stare sharpened for a moment. "Say it. I want to hear you say it."

No point in denying it, now.

"Yes, I'm the Bay Harbor Butcher." She shuddered, opened her mouth to possibly swear again, closed it, and buried her face in her hands. That one demand seemed to have used up the last of her energy, and now she didn't even have the strength for fear. I'd never seen her like this, and I was more unsettled than I would have liked to admit. Her posture reminded me of a collapsed tent—something in which every support had been removed. Surprisingly, I could relate—a near first for me. I recognized in her all the alien feelings that had gone through me when I'd learned of Harry's suicide and the complete repudiation of the code I lived by that it represented, but her slumped shoulders and hunched back expressed that utter devastation far more completely and eloquently than my own feeble, underutilized emotions had even been able to experience. It left me shaken to realize that I had been my sister's constant as much as Harry had been mine. She'd said as much before, and I'd used the fact as a justification for my decision to frame Doakes, but only now did I fully realize what that meant.

"I'm sorry." I wasn't sure what precisely my apology was for, but I was sure that it was sincere. The silence stretched and I fidgeted slightly, not knowing what she wanted me to say, if anything. I finally just asked the question that was pressing on my mind.

"Are you going to arrest me?"

She snorted, somehow managing to make even that tiny noise sound wet and shattered. She must have been crying silently underneath her hands.

"Would I make it to the station? And would there be any evidence left to link you to tonight?" The words were muffled, spoken into her palms.

"Deb, I will not hurt you. No matter what you decide to do." I hoped I wouldn't have to say it again. Her head snapped up, and her red-rimmed eyes were blazing again over her damp cheeks.

"The Hell you wouldn't. You killed Doakes. You fucking BURNED him alive!" She was angry again, her body rigid and her chin raised, but I preferred enraged Deb to the broken Deb that had been sitting here a moment ago.

"Deb, I swear, I did not kill Doakes." She gave a derisive laugh of disbelief. I didn't see a hint of fear in her now as she furiously met my gaze, any concerns for her own safety swept away by her outrage at what I had supposedly done to our one-time colleague. I'd always known my sister, for all her lack of confidence and impetuous behavior, had an iron core, but this was the first time I'd seen it so clearly. I leaned forward, hoping my expression was earnest.

"Just hear me out, please? He figured out I was the… Bay Harbor Butcher. He took my slides to get them privately tested. When Lundy decided Doakes was the Butcher, Doakes came to confront me personally and caught me disposing of a body. We fought. I won." She wasn't going to like this next part. "I wasn't sure what to do, so I locked him in a cage in the cabin."

"You locked Doakes in a cage." Her voice was empty enough that I wondered whether she was masking a new sense of fear. What was to stop me from doing something similar to her?

I drew in a deep breath.

"Uh… yes. But it was only meant to be a temporary measure."

"Before you sent him to jail for the rest of his life? Or the chair? You framed him, Dex!" Deb was younger than me, unarmed, most definitely not a serial killer with dozens of victims to her name, and looked too weak with shock to stand. So how was it that I now found myself fighting the urge to squirm under her gaze like a misbehaving child?

"I just needed some time to work a few things out and set some of my affairs in order. Yes, I had set up everything to frame Doakes as the Butcher, but I wasn't sure I would go through with it. I… had actually decided to turn myself in." To you, I added, silently.

"But you didn't."

"No, not after what happened." No need to tell her I'd come to the decision to frame Doakes anyway before things had resolved themselves.

"So what are you saying did happen? If you didn't kill him, how did he die?"

"Lila."

"Lila killed Doakes." I nodded. "Why would she do that, Dex?" Her voice was flat, disbelieving.

"I'm honestly not entirely sure. She went to the cabin, learned I was the Bay Harbor Butcher." The name was coming more easily to me now. I wasn't sure that was a good thing. "I think she thought she was doing me a favor."

"And you just let Doakes take the fall."

"He was dead. He couldn't be hurt by it. I'd have been facing an electric chair too if I'd allowed myself to be caught." She brooded on that for a moment.

"What happened to Lila?"

No way around that one.

"I killed her." She winced, but didn't push that issue any further. She hadn't been Lila's biggest fan. I took the moment to shift the topic slightly, though not to a subject that was any less dangerous.

"Deb, I may be a monster sometimes, but I swear, I have never killed anyone who wasn't a murderer. Usually several times over. You have never been and never will be in any danger from me. If you want to turn me in, I won't do anything to stop you." I steeled myself. Time to address the other issue she'd brought up. "And as for there not being enough evidence to link me to tonight…" It went against all my instincts and training to do this, but I sensed I couldn't leave this situation half-resolved, with her hesitating to make a decision because she wasn't sure what my reaction would be or whether there 

would be enough evidence to connect me to my kills. I'd rather put it all on the line here and now than live with that kind of uncertainty again.

I got up and walked slowly over to the air conditioner, aware of her eyes on me the whole time. Watching me the way any human would watch a predator. I lifted off the front and pulled out the filter behind it, staring for a long moment at the slender box that might now hold my death in it as surely as it held the deaths of all my friends.

"What are you…" but she trailed off as I reached in and drew the box out. I sat down again carefully, placing it on the coffee table between us. Her jaw was visibly clenched, her face hard. I opened the lid, running my finger along the edge of the relatively short line of slides out of habit before taking tonight's slide out of my pocket and slipping it into the waiting slot. She closed her eyes, clearly not wanting to accept what she was seeing.

"Why are you showing me this, Dex?"

"Because I want you to know this decision is entirely yours. Everything you would need to link me to each of the criminals I've killed in the past months is in there." I sat back, feigning a calmness I didn't feel as the box lay open between us, baring the most intimate aspect of my life to her gaze. She followed my eyes to the slides. "I would like to try to explain some things first, though. If you'll let me."

"What is there to explain?" Her voice was soft again, hollow.

"Anything you want me to. Ask whatever you'd like. I'll answer it if I can, no lies or half-truths." Maybe just a few omissions. I wanted to be as honest as possible with Deb now that the one secret that had made all the others necessary was exposed, but I also didn't want the next time I saw daylight to be through a barred window if there was any way I could avoid it.

"You, volunteering information about yourself? That's a first." The corner of her mouth lifted slightly as she spoke, just a hint of an expression that faded almost immediately. I didn't think she was aware of the motion, but I took it as a hopeful sign. "So you've killed…" her eyes ran over the slides. "Four people since you lost your first box? And the first one had, what, over forty? Jesus, Dex."

I didn't have a response for that. And then she did the last thing I'd have expected—she reached out and drew tonight's slide from the box. Her distaste was evident on her face, but she balanced the tiny piece of glass carefully between her fingertips, looking down at the drop of fresh blood with an unreadable expression. My own throat felt tight. I'd never seen someone else handle my trophies—not even when they'd fallen into the hands of the FBI, as I'd been the one to process them. It was… strange, to say the least. I didn't have much time to ponder my own reactions to that sight, however, as she was talking again.

"You said you've only ever killed murderers. Why?"

I'd hoped we wouldn't get to this part so quickly.

"Dad. He recognized my urges when I was very young and he… taught me how to handle them, helped me to channel them in a way that would keep both me and the innocent people around me safe."

For several moments she simply stared at me.

"No. No fucking way. Dad didn't teach you to kill people."

"No, he didn't—What made me the way I am happened before he ever took me in. It isn't true that I don't remember anything from before he brought me home, and he didn't find me at the scene of an accident. It was a crime scene. I saw my mother murdered by three men with chainsaws and spent days sitting in her blood with the body." No need to tell her that those memories had only recently returned, or about Harry's role in my mother's death. "Dad thought it changed something inside me. Made me need to kill."

My eyes had drifted to the slides during my story, but now I looked back at Deb. Her face was stricken.

"Dex… I'm sorry." I shrugged slightly and went on.

"So, when Dad realized what I was, he gave me a code to live by that uses my needs as much for good as possible. He taught me how to be sure of the guilt of the people I hunted and how to avoid being caught."

"And you think only killing other murderers makes what you do okay?" Yes, I wanted to say. I cleaned up the streets, took out the trash. But somehow I doubted that was the answer she wanted, and so I hesitated, trying to decide how much of the truth I should tell. My pause was enough for her to guess the answer. "Never mind. But… Dad taught you these things?"

"Some of them. Mostly the things that keep me from getting caught—the tarps and gloves and such that you saw tonight." Reminding her of the scene at the factory clearly hadn't been a good move; her face furrowed again and her grip tightened on the slide. I worried that she might break it. "He never helped me kill anyone."

"I just… can't imagine Dad doing those things." But, even as she denied it, I could see all the pieces falling into place as she remembered the times Harry and I had gone off together, forcing her to remain at home or with friends. My tendency to burn ants when I was a boy, my somewhat overenthusiastic passion for hunting as a teenager, and Harry always hushing and explaining away any doubts or uncertainties she had about me as we were growing up. Harry's own indignation when a killer went free.

Her inner struggle was visible as she rearranged her view of her entire childhood. She sniffled slightly, and I tensed, not sure how I should respond if she starting crying again. Would she want any comfort from me? Should I sit beside her like I had two nights ago, or would that just make things worse? I was spared from that decision as she visibly fought the reaction down. I couldn't help feeling a bit of pride on her behalf when, sooner than I would have believed possible, she went on with her interrogation.

"So do you feel anything? At all?" She knew what being a serial killer and a sociopath meant better than anyone.

"Yes." I was surprised to find I could honestly answer that one without hesitation. I couldn't have two years ago.

"Something for other people, I mean, not just enjoying your…" she gestured at the box. "…activities." I chuckled dryly at her euphemism, so like my own.

"Still yes. I used to think I couldn't, but lately… I first noticed it with Rita. Relationships had always been no more than a cover for me…" She winced at that. Remembering Rudy, no doubt. "But I found that I wanted to spend time with Rita and the kids, and not just for the sake of appearances." As I outlined what I was going to say next, I was faintly amused to note how reversed our positions were about to be from the usual situations in which Deb insisted on oversharing every detail of her love life. "Every time I've slept with a woman, it's brought any relationship I had with her to an end. Too obvious that Dexter wasn't entirely emotionally home, I guess." I felt laid bare to be speaking aloud the kinds of phrases that usually never left my inner monologues or my conversations with my playmates. Yet, as vulnerable as it made me, it wasn't entirely unpleasant. "But with Rita it's been different."

"Ok, that's enough on that subject," she said, hurriedly. Maybe she'd have a little more sympathy next time I didn't want to hear about her sex life. But would there ever be a next time? I'd never have thought I would hope so. "Anyway, I guess it's good to know I'm not the only one around here to have fallen for a serial killer."

Had she actually just made a joke? Deb looked as startled as I, and the tension in the room seemed finally to be easing a little as we fell into old rhythms. I felt strangely giddy for a moment—a very rare emotion for me. But I'd never imagined I would actually be able to sit here with my sister, all my secrets exposed, honestly revealing my thoughts to her and not sending her running from the room.

I hated to spoil the moment with what I was going to say next, but I hoped it would benefit me in the long run. This was dangerous material to bring up, but it had to be addressed sometime. Better sooner than later. "And then there was you. When Rudy took you… He'd known what I was and had been toying with me during the entire Ice Truck Killer investigation. Leaving things for me at the crime scenes, at my apartment. Teasing clues to his identity, which I could never quite put together." I saw the shock of that filter through her features. Fortunately no anger at me for concealing those facts seemed to be following on its heels. "It wasn't just bad luck on your part that he latched onto you, Deb. He was looking for a way to get at me. I'm sorry you got caught in the middle." Her empty look didn't change. Maybe all this had become too much for her to process. "When I finally realized who he was, and that you were alone with him… I realized beyond a doubt that I… care deeply for you, Deb."

The words felt awkward. I'd been more effusive in the past, of course, when I was merely pretending to be her loving, dutiful big brother and saying what was expected of me without ever examining to what degree the sentiments were true or false. But I could see in the mingled pain and acceptance my words produced on her face as that numbness broke that she knew this was, in many ways, the first time I'd ever spoken honestly to her in our lives. Her eyes were dry now, though, and no more questions seemed forthcoming.

"So… what are you going to do?" I asked, quietly. The question that all this came down to.

She didn't answer for a long time, just stared at the slide she held, slowly turning it over and over again in her fingers. The blood looked very bright every time it flashed against her chalky skin. She finally stopped, meeting my eyes. I held my breath, feeling my heart racing as it had when I'd first seen all my work coming to the surface on a TV screen. Then she reached out and carefully replaced the slide in its spot in the box. I couldn't mistake the symbolism of that gesture, and the air slid out of me in a long sigh.

"Thank you. I have to ask, though… Why?"

"Don't push your luck, Dex. I'm not sure myself." Fair enough. I nodded. "I guess it's mostly selfish. You're my brother, and you're the only family I have left. I can't give up my one relative, even if he is a serial killing, sociopathic vigilante." The last was said with a shadow of that familiar quirk on her lips, and in my relief I gave a surprisingly genuine laugh. Her eyes were still pain-filled, though.

"I won't lie and say I feel any remorse for what I've done. You know enough about what I am to know that I can't. But I am sorry that I've caused you any pain." She nodded slightly.

"I believe you. I probably shouldn't, but I do."

"Thanks."

"This doesn't mean that what you do isn't fucked-up and wrong, or that I don't wish you would stop."

"I know."

She reached out and closed the box, pushing it as far away from her as it could go on the little table.

"I think I want to go home now. Alone." It was a test, I knew. She wanted to see if I would really let her go. I'd be happy to, except…

"Uh, I'm not sure where your car is. I didn't see it at the factory…"

"Oh, shit. It's still at Hagerman's lab."

"Do you want a ride?" A little test of my own. She hesitated.

"Sure. Thanks."

--

The drive back to the lab was silent. It was an awkward silence, of course, but not as tense as it might have been. Deb's eyes were bruised with exhaustion, and, with her head leaning against the side window, they often drifted closed for a few moments. I felt a tiny spark of warmth at the fact that she was comfortable enough in my presence to let her guard down at least a little bit, even if she was clearly keeping herself from falling entirely asleep.

Everything I'd said to Deb about the moment she'd been on Brian's table being nothing less than a life changing incident for me were true, but I wondered whether I'd ever had more tender feelings towards her than I did right now, watching the continually shifting colors on her face as we passed streetlights and neon signs. "Tender." Now there was a word I'd never thought I would be applying to myself with anything but irony.

As I drove, I thought back over the things I'd been considering in the minutes before I'd subdued Hagerman. I hadn't been sure how I was going to satisfy that irresistible urge for connection safely. It looked like that choice had been taken out of my hands, but for once, I didn't mind. Even knowing that I was entirely at the mercy of my sometimes flighty sister, I felt more peaceful than I had in a long time. It was the peace of a silenced, satisfied need that was not much different than the peace killing brought me. I doubted Deb would appreciate the comparison, but there it was.

I wondered how far her acceptance would go. Would my little side job become a regular topic of conversation? Would we never mention tonight again? Even if the latter was the case, I thought it would be enough. Just knowing someone else out there knew the truth about me was sufficient. Of course, I hadn't told her everything about Brian's identity or the reason for Harry's death, but all that could wait. Maybe forever.

At the sound of a soft snore, I realized that, despite her intentions, my sister had fallen asleep. I risked reaching out one hand to brush the hair back from her face, startling myself with my own gesture. She didn't stir and, slightly embarrassed, I returned my hand to the wheel.

I would have to wake her up in just a few minutes, but for now, I let her sleep. She would have plenty to think about tomorrow morning.

We both would.

--The End--

Notes: Thanks to everyone who has been reading, especially those of you who have left reviews! I've really appreciated all your comments!