Disclaimer: I don't own anything

I slightly changed the ending of this chapter so that it flows better into the second one. Enjoy

« Maybe everything is as it should be »

I take a breath, steady my hands on my trusted blade, and stab Travis in a smooth movement, puncturing his left ventricle. I hear a gasp, I look up.

The next moment would be carved into my memory forever.

And, like every defining moment in my life, it's filled with blood, from Travis's slowly leaking on the plastic sheeting I carefully laid out, to the blood draining from my sister's face as it becomes ashen white, and of course my own, pumping adrenalin like liquid fire in my veins.

I knew then that Debra's face would join my mother's, and Rita's, in that part of my soul that transcends good and bad, life and death.

That I could be remade or broken, in this instant, but that I would be forever changed.

I could see Deb's face clearly, even from across the darkened church, every line, every imperfection was in sharp relief , from the curve of her mouth, to the nape of her neck, all the way up to her eyes, her eyes…

All my senses were in overdrive, as they always were in those glorious moments when I take a life. I could smell the dust, and mould coming from the dilapidated building, the outside brought with it the smell of the sea and the sound of a passing ambulance, my mouth tastes like ash, and my skin is both frozen and on fire.

And underneath it all is my old companion, the blood. I can smell the faintly sweet scent it has when it's just been spilled, I can hear it dribbling on the floor, I can feel it running down my hands, I swear I could even taste it's copperish quality on my tongue.

I felt overwhelmed, both the incredible high of killing, and the absolute horror of having my Dark Passenger displayed in front of my sister's eyes , coalesced into a single outburst.

« Oh God »

Travis had been right, the world, my world, had ended tonight.

Lending credence to my theory that irony was the only true higher power, and that we were all it's victim's, myself most of all it seems.

« De… »

I can't bring myself to say her name, it seems disrespectful somehow in these circumstances.

As I look back into my sister's eyes, I feel the strangest sense of connection, it's as if we are both being shattered in the exact same moment. And despite the cold that's starting to seep into my bones, and the whispers in my head that have reawakened, I have never felt so closely connected to a human being.

Standing in front of me, is the first and only person in the world to, as of this moment, have seen every facet of Dearly Deranged Dexter, son, father, brother, and now serial killer.

And that person is Debra Morgan, my emotional , foul-mouthed, beautiful foster sister.

I realize that everything is, indeed, as it should be.

My recent forays into theology have convinced me that despite my Dark Passenger I still have some light in me, that I would be judged not only for the evil I've done, but also for the good. But it would not be some imagined father figure that would judge me ( I already had enough of those), no it would be her.

I would tell my sister everything, and let her be my judge.

I slowly laid my knife on the table, and stepped in front of Travis's body in some vain attempt to spare my sister the gruesome details ( my Dark Passenger suddenly worried about the logistics for the disposal of the garbage, but I pushed him to the back of my mind). I take a single slow step towards, and she recoils as if burned.

« No! Stay… Stay away… »

Those two words cut me like a scalpel, my mind, alight with blood, immediately goes back to Harry, and Sergeant Doakes , the last two cops to have seen my Dark Passenger in action.

The high of killing, the sense of completeness, of connection, leaves me instantly, and the only thing left is cold and the scent of blood.

I stop, the darkness recedes, and all that's left is her face, from which I can't look away.

The myriad of emotions, all of them too fast and too complex for me to have any hope of understanding, that seems to go through her is, as always, staggering. Yet one that is absent is the look of adoration, of love, that was always there when she looked at me, I only notice it now that it's replaced with what I assume is horror, and something else.

The ending of a life, especially if that ending is brutal, deliberate, and done in cold blood, always awakens something powerful in people. In regular human beings, it seems to resonate with some primal fear and disgust that forces them to stay as far away as possible. Of course for me, it awakens something entirely different.

She sinks to her knees.

« De… »

Once again I try to say her name, once again I can't. I sink to my knees as well. And once again, I can't help but notice the irony of me and my sister kneeling in a church, Travis's rapidly cooling body behind us, his precious Saviour above us.

She begins to hyperventilate, and her eyes still haven't left me.

Stuck in that surreal moment, I think back on my time with my sister over the years. She had been my only constant, since beginning my life as a Morgan. The Ying to my Yang, the light to my darkness . The one person who had always loved me. She had kept me tethered to my tenuous humanity many times.

After Harry's death I had given serious consideration to leaving Miami, feeling the need to be free of his shadow and the heaviness of the lie that for many years I believed I had kept up only for his benefit. I had thought of starting somewhere new, alone, unencumbered, only my Dark Passenger for company, but it had been the thought of leaving sweet little Debra (as she still was then) all alone, so fragile in her grief, that had kept me in Miami, and on the path Harry set for me.

It was the thought of killing her that kept me from joining my brother Brian in a rampage that would have petrified America with terror, under the assault of two masters of their craft, both completely free. My blood brother had chosen his victim well in Debra, he had seen my life clearly, far more than I, and he had known that she was the one person that prevented me from being him. Unfortunately for him, she was also the one person I could never kill, no matter the temptation. And the temptation was strong, I had wanted to know Brian, and to be known by him almost more than anything, I had never felt more connected to anybody at that point, and more than that I wanted what he had, the freedom from Harry, the Code, the lie, the mass of drones constantly swarming all around me, it called to some deep part of me.

But as I'd held the knife in my hand, my Dark Passenger in full control, having succumbed to the whisperings of my brother, I had what alcoholics refer to as « a moment of clarity » , and I saw the two paths stretching out in front of me, and I knew that the one without her in it was one I could never take.

It was also her who helped me through my darkest hour during the Bay Harbor Butcher investigation, when I had contemplated turning myself in.

« Fuck! »

Startled out of my musings, my eyes refocus and I can see that Deb is now on her feet, looking a little more in control with her hand wrapped on the handle of her gun.

« Debra… » I answer, still at a complete loss over what to say, but now able to pronounce her name.

« Dex, what the fuck… »

And that says it all, now doesn't it? I almost crack a smile.

« Deb… relax your breathing or you're gonna pass out » I tell her, as I can see she has begun to sway a little.

« Don't! Just don't ! » But she takes my advice anyway, and seems to relax a little, her hand doesn't leave her weapon though.

« Dex, tell me there is an explanation for this…please » she pleads in a small voice.

And for a second I wonder, denial is a powerful emotion, especially within debra, it's practically her default mode for dealing with anything she doesn't like. This particular trait of my sister's has served me well over the years, overriding everyone of her finely tuned cop instincts, to the point where I was firmly convinced that the only way she would ever conceive of me doing something bad, would be to find me…in the exact position I am now.

But maybe it goes even beyond that, if I told her that Travis was my one and only victim, killed to protect her beloved nephew, I knew that she would grab onto it like a drowning man, and might just ignore everything else ( i.e., every thing in her life that would make sense if one just added to the equation : Dexter Morgan, Serial Killer).

Yet, I find that the idea of her knowing only half my secret doesn't sit right with me, for some reason…

« SAY SOMETHING! »

I jerk up. Ah, lost in my thoughts again, I'm strangely contemplative given the situation.

I stand up, and walk sedately to the small table wrapped in plastic upon wich my tools are laid out, decision made.

« There is, an explanation, and I will give it you…but I'm afraid you won't like it »

I slowly lift my hand in front of me, between my fingers is the eternal resting place of one Travis Marshall.

I look at my sister through the blood, she's never looked so beautiful.

I slowly lower it and look at my sister once more.

I give her a smile, my true one, it's a little dark, and a little predatory, but it's honest.