Jeff Lindsay - Dexter by Design

I followed them across town to North Miami Avenue, and dropped back a little as they turned onto NE 40th Street. I was fairly confident I knew where they were going now, and sure enough, Simeon pulled over in front of the building where Deborah had first met my new friend Doncevic. I drove past, circled the block once, and came back in time to see Doncevic get out of the Lexus and head into the building.

Happily for me, there was a parking spot where I could see the door. I pulled into it, turned off the engine, and waited for darkness, which would come as it always did, to find Dexter ready for it. And tonight, at last, after such a long and dreary stay in the daytime world, I was ready to join with it, revel in its sweet and savage music, and play a few chords of Dexter's own minuet. I found myself impatient with the ponderous, slowly sinking sun, and eager for the night. I could feel it stretching out for me, leaning in to spread through me, flexing its wings, easing the knots out of the too-long unused muscles and preparing to spring My phone rang.

“It's me” said Rita.

“I'm sure it is” I said.

I think I have a really good —what did you say?”

“Nothing” I said. “What's your really good?”

“What?” she said. “Oh —I've been thinking about what we said.

About Cody?”

I pulled my mind back from the pulsing darkness I had been feeding and tried to remember what we had said about Cody. It had been something about helping him come out of his shell, but I did not remember that we had actually decided anything beyond a few vague platitudes designed to make Rita feel better while I carefully placed Cody's feet on the Harry Path. So I just said, “Oh, right. Yes?” in the hope of drawing her out just a bit.

I was talking to Susan? You know, over on 137th? With the big dog” she said.

“Yes” I said. I remember the dog.” As indeed I did —it hated me, like all domestic animals do. They all recognize me for what I am, even if their masters do not.

“And her son, Albert? He's been having a really positive experience with the Cub Scouts. And I thought that might be just right for Cody”

At first the idea didn't make any sense at all. Cody? A cub scout?

It seemed like serving cucumber sandwiches and tea to Godzilla.

But as I stammered for a reply, trying to think of something that was neither outraged denial nor hysterical laughter, I actually caught myself thinking that it was not a bad idea. It was, in fact, a very good idea that would mesh perfectly with the plan to make Cody fit in with human children. And so, caught halfway between irritated denial and enthusiastic acceptance, I quite distinctly said, “Hi didda yuh-kay”

“Dexter, are you all right?” Rita said.

I, uh, you caught me by surprise” I said. “I'm in the middle of something. But I think it's a great idea.”

“Really? You really do?” she said.

“Absolutely” I said. “It's the perfect thing for him.” I was hoping you'd say so,” she said. “But then I thought, I don't know. What if -1 mean, you really do think so?” I really did, and eventually I made her believe me. But it took several minutes, since Rita is able to speak without breathing and, quite often, without finishing a sentence, so that she got out fifteen or twenty disconnected words for every one of mine.

By the time I finally persuaded her and hung up, it was slightly darker outside, but unfortunately much lighter inside me. The opening notes of “Dexter's Dance Suite” were muted now, some of the rising urgency blurred by the soundtrack of Rita's call. Still, it would come back, I was quite sure.

In the meantime, just to look busy, I called Chutsky.

“Hey, buddy” he said. “She opened her eyes again a few minutes ago. The doctors think she's starting to come around a little bit.”

“That's wonderful” I said. “I'm coming by a little later. I just have some loose ends to take care of.”

“Some of your people have been coming by to say hi” he said.

“Do you know a guy named Israel Salguero?” A bicycle went by me in the street. The rider thumped my side mirror and went on past. I know him” I said. “Was he there?”

“Yeah” said Chutsky. “He was here.” Chutsky was silent, as if waiting for me to say something. I couldn't think of much, so finally he said, “Something about the guy”

“He knew our father” I said.

“Uh-huh” he said. “Something else.”

“Um” I said. “He's from Internal Affairs. He's investigating Deborah's behavior in this whole thing.” Chutsky was silent for a moment. “Her behavior?” he said at last.

“Yes” I said.

“She got stabbed.”

“The lawyer said it was self-defense” I said.

“Son of a bitch” he said.

“I'm sure there's nothing to worry about” I said. “It's just regulations, he has to investigate.”

“Son of a goddamn bitch,” Chustky said. “And he comes around here? With her in a fucking coma?”

“He's known Deborah a long time” I said. “He probably just wanted to see if she was okay.” There was a very long pause, and then Chutsky said, “Okay, buddy. If you say so. But I don't think I'm going to let him in here next time.”

I was not really sure how well Chutsky's hook would match up with Salguero's smooth and total confidence, but I had a feeling it would be an interesting contest. Chutsky, for all his bluff and phony cheerfulness, was a cold killer. But Salguero had been in Internal Affairs for years, which made him practically bullet proof. If it came to a fight, I thought it might do quite well on pay per view. I also thought I should probably keep that idea to myself, so I just said, “All right. I'll see you later” and hung up.

And so, with all the petty human details taken care of, I went back to waiting. Cars went by. People walked past on the sidewalk.

I got thirsty, and found half a bottle of water on the floor in the back seat. And finally, it got completely dark.

I waited a little longer to let the darkness settle over the city, and over me. It felt very good to shrug into the cold and comfy night jacket, and the anticipation grew strong inside with whispered encouragement from the Dark Passenger, urging me to step aside and give it the wheel.

And finally, I did.

I put the careful noose of nylon fishing leader and a roll of duct tape in my pocket, the only tools I had in my car at the moment, and got out of the car.

And hesitated. Too long since the last time, far too long since Dexter had done the deed. I had not done my research and that was not good. I had no plan and that was worse. I did not really know what was behind that door or what I would do when I got inside.

I was uncertain for a moment and I stood beside the car and wondered if I could improvise my way through the dance. The uncertainty ate away my armor and left me standing on one foot in the dangerous dark without a way to move forward with the first knowing step.

But this was silly, weak and wrong —and very much Not Dexter.

The Real Dexter lived in the dark, came alive in the sharp night, took joy in slashing out from the shadows. Who was this standing here hesitating? Dexter did not dither.

I looked up into the night sky and breathed it in. Better. There was only a piece of rotten yellow moon but I opened up to it and it howled at me, and the night pounded through my veins and throbbed into my fingertips and sang across the skin stretched tight on my neck and I felt it all change, all grow back into what We must be to do what We would do, and then We were ready to do it.

This was now, this was the night, this was Dark Dexter's Dance, and the steps would come, flowing from our feet as they had always known they must.