Jeff Lindsay - Dexter by Design

“All right” she said. “Love you.” I hung up and turned back to the doctors. One of the interns had peeled back Deborah's eyelid and was glaring at her eyeball with the aid of a small flashlight. The real doctor was watching him, holding the clipboard.

“Excuse me” I said, and he glanced up at me.

“Yes?” he said, with what I recognized as a fake smile. It was not nearly as good as mine.

“She's my sister” I said.

The doctor nodded. “Next of kin, all right” he said.

“Is there any sign of improvement?”

“Well,” he said. “The higher nerve functions seem to be coming back on-line, and the autonomic responses are good. And there's no fever or infection, so the prognosis seems favorable for a slight upgrade in condition within the next twenty-four hours.”

“That's good,” I said hopefully.

“However, I do have to warn you” he said, with an equally phony frown of importance and seriousness. “She lost an awful lot of blood, which can sometimes lead to permanent impairment of brain functions.”

“But it's too soon to tell?” I said.

“Yes” he said, nodding vigorously. “Exactly”

“Thank you, Doctor” I said, and stepped around him to where Chutsky was now standing, wedged into a corner, so the doctors could have full access to Debs.

“She'll be fine” he told me. “Don't let these guys scare you, she's gonna be absolutely fine. Remember, I had Doc Teidel here.” He lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “No offense to these guys, but Teidel's a hell of a lot better. He put me back together, and I was a whole lot worse than this” he said, nodding at Deborah. “And I didn't have any brain damage, either.” Considering the Pollyanna optimism he was showing, I wasn't sure about that, but it didn't seem worth arguing about. “All right” I said. “Then I'll check back with you later. I have a crisis at home.”

“Oh” he said, with a frown. “Everybody okay?”

“All fine” I said. “It's the Cub Scouts I'm worried about.” And although I meant that as a light-hearted exit line, isn't it funny how often these little jokes come true?

The Cub Scout den that Rita had found for Cody met at Golden Lakes Elementary School, a few miles from our house. We got there a little early and sat in the car for a minute, and Cody watched without expression as a handful of boys his approximate age ran into the school wearing their blue uniforms.

I let him sit and watch, thinking that a little preparation time might do us both some good.

A few cars pulled up. More boys in blue uniforms ran into the building, apparently eager to get inside. Anyone equipped with a heart would certainly have found it warming at the sight —one parent was so enamored of the scene that he stood beside his van and video-taped the stream of boys running past and inside. But Cody and I simply sat and watched.

“They're all the same” Cody said softly.

“Just on the outside” I said. “It's something you can learn to do.” He looked at me blankly.

“It's just like putting on one of those uniforms” I said. “When you look the same, people think you are. You can do this.”

“Why?” he said.

“Cody” I said, “we have talked about how important it is to look normal.” He nodded. “This will help you figure out how to act like other kids. It's part of your training.”

“Other part?” he said, with the first eagerness he had shown, and I knew he was longing for the simple clarity of the knife.

“If you do this part well, we will do the other part” I said.

“An animal?”

I looked at him, saw the cold gleam in his small blue eyes, and knew there was no going back from where he already was; the only thing I could hope for was the long and difficult shaping that had been done to me. “All right” I said. “We'll do an animal.”

He watched me for another long moment, and then he nodded back, and we climbed out of the car and followed the pack into the cafeteria.

Inside, the other boys —and one girl —ran around making lots of loud noise for the first few minutes. Cody and I sat quietly in our tiny, molded plastic chairs, at a table just barely tall enough to smack you in the kneecaps if you tried to walk around it. He watched the others at their noisy play without expression and without any attempt to join in, and that was a starting point, something I could do with him. He was far too young to be known as a brooding loner we needed to get his disguise in gear.

“Cody” I said, and he looked at me with the same lack of expression.

“Look at the other kids.” He blinked, and then swivelled his head to take in the rest of the room. He watched without comment for a minute, and then turned back to me. “Okay” he said softly.

“It's just that they're all running around and having fun, and you're not” I said.

“No” he said.

“So you will stand out”1 said. “You have to pretend you're having fun here.”

I don't know how” he said, a major speech for him.

“But you have to learn,” I said. “You have to look like all the others, or—”

“Well, well, what's wrong with you, little guy?” a voice boomed out. A large and offensively cheerful man came over and put his hands on his bare knees so he could shove his face closer to Cody's.

He was bursting out of a Cub Scout leader's uniform, and the sight of his hairy legs and large belly seemed very wrong. “You're not feeling shy, are you?” he said with a huge and terrible grin.

Cody stared back at him without blinking for a long moment, and the man's grin began to fade a little. “No” Cody said at last.

“Well, good” the man said, straightening up and moving back a step.

“He's not really shy” I said. “He's just a little tired today.” The man turned his grin on me, looked me over for a moment, then stuck out his hand. “Roger Deutsch” he said, holding out his hand. “I'm the den master. I just like to get to know everybody a little before we start.”

“Dexter Morgan” I said, shaking his hand. “This is Cody” Deutsch held his hand out to Cody. “Hi, Cody, glad to meet you.” Cody looked at the hand, then at me; I nodded at him, and he put his small hand into the meaty paw held out in front of him. “Hi” he said.

“So” Deutsch said relentlessly, “what brings you to Scouting, Cody?”

Cody glanced at me. I smiled, and he turned back to Deutsch.

“Have fun” he said, his small, deadpan face looking like he was at a funeral.

“Great” said Deutsch. “Scouting should be fun. But there's a serious part, too. You can learn about all kinds of cool things. Is there anything special you really want to learn about, Cody?”

“Animal carving” Cody said, and I had to fight not to fall out of my tiny chair.

“Cody” I said.

“No, that's okay, Mr Morgan” Deutsch said. “We do lots of crafts.

We can start with soap carving and move on to wood.” He winked at Cody. “If you're worried about him working with knives, we won't let him hurt himself.”

It didn't seem polite to say that I wasn't worried about Cody hurting himself with a blade in his hand. He already knew very well which end to hold, and he had shown a precocious talent for finding the right way to put in the point. But I was fairly certain Cody could not learn the kind of animal carving he wanted in Scouting —at least not until the Eagle Scout level. So I simply said, “We'll talk it over with Mom, and see what she says” and Deutsch nodded his head.

“Great” he said. “In the meantime, don't be shy. You just jump in here with both feet, buddy.” Cody looked at me, and then nodded at Deutsch.

“All right” Deutsch said, finally straightening up. “Well, let's get this thing started then.” He nodded at me and turned back to begin rallying the troops.