AN: A story I wrote for the Dexter: Slice of Life fan contest over at FanLib. I enjoyed writing this one because I used my sister and one of her friends as the victims. Not to mention how fun it was to be in Dexter's head. I may do a follow up when I finish a few other projects.

Bright Miami sun beating upon my eyelids woke me before the alarm did. Part of me was awake already, had been awake for some time, restless and wanting. It was months since I played with my last friend, John Marcos the rapist who loved 15-year-old girls. I slid out of bed and headed for the shower, replaying that night in my mind like a movie. I got dressed, had coffee, ate breakfast and drove to work with the thoughts of Marcos and his victims dancing in my head. The memories were stirring my Dark Passenger to a frenzy; he craved- no, I craved death. But I would control myself, I had to. Had to wait, had to plan… Things were quiet but I'd find a new playmate soon. Miami was full of psychos. I should know.

I entered the Miami-Metro Police Department with my face arranged in that friendly, open human manner. Smiling and saying "good morning" where appropriate but avoiding any unnecessary conversation, I made my way to my desk. I had perfected my mask, some days I didn't even have to concentrate to put it on. Most people like me but that's because humans are gullible, they rarely look beneath the surface. Especially Vince Masuka, who waved me over to show me some perverse computer game with boobs that he was amusing himself with. Masuka was all surface, obsessed with the flesh. Personally I didn't see the appeal but I made the expected appreciative male responses and left him to his game.

Having finished the reports on all my active cases, I was afraid there wouldn't be work for me to do but a fresh file sat on my desk with a hasty note from Deborah. Flipping open the file, I sat and began sifting through the crime scene photos of a young white female, Violet Brewer, that had been murdered in her apartment. Her throat had been slit and judging by the arterial spray all over the walls, he had sliced her carotid; death by exsanguination. It was a clear crime of passion, too messy and tasteless to have been planned. There was so much blood. Too much blood, the monster in my head whispered.

He- I was right; most of the blood should have ended up on the wall the body was facing but there was still a considerable pool of the crimson fluid staining the carpet. Another victim, he hissed, he killed two. You know what we do to butchers like him. The Dark Passenger was worked up by the sight of this woman's callous dispatch to the next world and he longed to give the same treatment to her killer.

I closed my eyes, letting malevolent thoughts ran rampant- Violet's faceless killer, trussed up on a bed of plastic, surrounded by the photos of his misdeeds… slicing into him and taking a drop of blood for my slides… chopping him into neat pieces with the hum of the saw and his muffled screams as background music….

"Sleeping on the job already, bro?" teased a familiar voice. I opened my eyes and whatever Deb saw in them made the smile on her face flicker.

Composing my features into a warm expression, I greeted my foster sister, "Hey Deb. How's the new case going?" I waved the file at her. "Tell me more about the scene."

Distracting her with a case was a ploy that always worked. The wrinkle in her forehead smoothed out and she grabbed a nearby chair, swung it around and straddled it. "Front door was damaged, the guy broke in and the place was trashed. Coulda been a robbery gone bad so the killer possibly didn't know the victim?" Deb suggested, watching me for a reaction. I merely raised an eyebrow and let her continue.

"She was found in the dining room, on a chair facing the wall. Throat was slashed, deep but not from ear-to-ear. It was quick and violent so maybe she screamed and he silenced her? But if it was that, no one heard anything. There's security cameras in the building and we'll see if we get anything from that. Oh yeah and there were missing pictures so we're trying to find out what else was taken," she finished. Deb cocked her head and studied me. "What does the blood say?"

"First of all, two victims. Violet's blood shouldn't have pooled like that," I indicated a couple of the pictures, "so there was someone else there. And they're dead too."

"How do you know it's not the killer's blood?" Deborah challenged.

I looked up and her and smiled, "I just know. Get the results from the blood on the carpet. Two donors. Two victims. You'll see."

Deb bit her lip as she considered this. "Well what makes you think this alleged other person is dead?"

I wanted to laugh at her naïveté but it would have been unseemly. Instead I replied, "You saw what he did to Violet. You really think he'd let the other one live?"

"Hmm. I'll check it out," she responded distractedly and started to get up.

"And Deb? This was about Violet Brewer. Whoever did this knew her, loved her and hated her. Look at her exes," I suggested. Deborah nodded and smiled her thanks before disappearing.

The rest of the morning and afternoon went slowly. I filled out my report, caught two other cases and worked on those just as diligently, trying to distract my inner monster with work but he wasn't swayed as easily as my sister. My mind was stuck on the Brewer case so I spent my lunch break pouring over the scene photos, this time studying the things in the background: family photos, cat toys, shoes, novelties and trinkets that humans seemed compelled to collect. With my Dark Passenger urging me on, I looked her up using the vast police resources at my fingertips.

I found something interesting right away; a restraining order from a year ago, against an ex-boyfriend Michael Merrick. I dug up all I could about him: addresses of his properties, divorce record, an old spousal abuse claim. Didn't hurt to be prepared. Doakes wandered by as I was printing out Merrick's information and I smiled winningly but it didn't fool him. It never did. 4 o'clock came and brought Deborah back to my desk.

"Dex, you were right, as always. Two donors from the blood on the carpet."

She dropped a photo on my desk and said, "Amber Garcia, a friend of Violet's, didn't show up for work. We got her DNA from her husband and ran it against the second sample and it was a match. Unfortunately, that's all we have. One dead, one missing and presumed dead, and no viable suspects," Debs said regretfully.

"What about the guy Brewer had a restraining order against?"

My foster sister looked at me, surprise and a little suspicion on her face. "How'd you know about that already?"

"I overhead Angel talking about it," I lied easily. That seemed to appease her.

"Oh. Well it looks like Merrick just got back to town this morning and so far, his alibi checks out." Deb's cell rang and she answered it quickly. She spoke very little, obviously taking orders, and when she hung up Deborah made the frustrated face I associated with Lieutenant LaGuerta.

"Gotta run, bro. Another body. No rest for the wicked and all that." She was gone before I could reply.

When Deborah was out of sight, I pulled out a printed copy of Michael Merrick's driver's license and let the Dark Passenger pour over it hungrily. He was guilty. The beast in me knew it but, of course, I had to do more research and be completely sure. It was the right way, the Harry way… My ringing phone interrupted my thoughts and I answered it absently. Rita, loving girlfriend and pretty disguise, was calling to check on me.

I exchanged the customary greetings with her and bravely stumbled through words of human affection. She shyly invited me to dinner, adding that the kids would be with the neighbors. I knew what that meant. Exposure, skin, touching, losing control… inwardly, I shuddered with revulsion. Keeping my voice light and friendly, I declined and promised her some time together tomorrow night.

Deliberating over Michael's information again, I smiled coldly and thought, sorry Rita, I have other plans tonight. After a few more minutes of chatting about our days and her kids, I hung up with Rita and impatiently waited for the end of my shift. Finally, it was over and I was on my way out when Detective Angel Batista intercepted me. For some reason, the man considered me a friend so I had to talk to him, even though my monster was grinding his metaphysical teeth.

Allowing him to fall into step with me, I feigned interest as he recounted his day's events. We had reached the parking lot before something he said caught my attention. "What was that?"

"You know, the Brewer case. We found Amber Garcia's body dumped in Cutler Bay about two hours ago," Angel repeated.

"Really now," I muttered, my mind whirring. What a lovely coincidence, I thought, Merrick's ex-wife and son live in Cutler Bay…

"Yeah," Detective Batista went on, "it was weird. The sick pendejo cut out her tongue and sewed her mouth shut."

So she couldn't tell what she saw, even in death, mused my Dark Passenger. Oh yes, Merrick is the one. "How horrible," I said aloud, arranging my face in a mask of disgust and disapproval. "So, where exactly was she found?"

"Whispering Pines Park, on Ridgeland Drive," replied Angel. "I think Deborah's still out there, but she's just chasing her tail. LaGuerta is pressuring her for results we just don't have yet…"

I had stopped actively listening to Angel. Whispering Pines was just two miles from the ex-wife's house; another convenient coincidence. I shook off Batista as politely as I could and climbed into my car, heading for Cutler Bay. If I gambled, I'd bet money that Merrick was vulgar enough to visit his son after he dumped the brutalized body off in the park. After all, he would have been in the neighborhood.

Now I may be a monster but I'm not a careless one so it didn't take me too long to notice the burgundy car following mine. It wasn't following me close enough for me to see who was driving and for a moment I thought I might be overreacting. On an impulse, I took an unnecessary left turn and my suspicions were confirmed when the burgundy car mirrored my move. Increasing my speed, I wove deftly through the traffic and made a confusing amount of turns, circling and doubling back on occasion.

Once I was convinced I'd lost the car, I continued on my route to Cutler Bay. The unknown pursuer wasn't enough to dissuade the dark mutterings of my Passenger. I located Merrick's ex-wife's house; sure enough, there were two cars parked in front of it, one of them Michael's red Toyota. I slipped my car into a line of other parked ones across the street and waited.

My dark half wasn't patient and I regretted waiting so long between play sessions. The street was fairly deserted on this unseasonably warm night so I decided to risk a little stroll. The oppressive Miami heat stoked the flames of my desires as I stalked closer to the little white brick house. As I drew closer to the lit living room window what I saw made me freeze and my eyes narrowed dangerously. Merrick was in there with his son playing board games as if he weren't a depraved murderer. This was just another night to him.

To avoid temptation I had left the kit I used for special friends like Merrick at home but I made up my mind to follow him tonight and other nights. I'd get to know Michael Merrick very well before I satisfied my own murderous urges. No one would miss someone like Merrick… except for the little boy sitting across from him who had no idea what his father was truly like. The kid didn't know how lucky he was that his mother hadn't went the same way as Violet and Amber.

The crunch of gravel had my head snapping around. I could have sworn I saw the tail of the same burgundy car turning the corner and I was spooked. Even my eager Passenger was uneasy as I quickly but casually returned to my car. I weighed the pros and cons of staying to do surveillance when the burgundy car sailed by on the street in front of me. I finally got a good look at the driver; our eyes locked and only one thought echoed in my mind.

Fuck

Peeling out of there with my mind whirled, wondering how I was going to explain my actions to Sergeant Doakes when he asked, and he would ask even if he made me sweat about it for awhile first. As I raced to the shelter of home with my tail between my legs I could feel the burgundy car dogging me. I also had the feeling this was going to become a trend and that soon enough, Doakes was going to become a major pain in my- no, our, ass. I shot a glance in the rearview mirror and he was there. I sighed.

Looks like I was going to be having dinner with Rita tomorrow night… and the night after that… and the one after that too.