Categories > Original > Drama0 Reviews
I'm posting this as original since there's no "Dexter" category in either the TV or Books categories. No copyright break is intended. I rated this PG13, but take into account this is Dexter - it ...
It had been about half a month ago. It seemed that the Christmas' spirit invaded the town sooner every year. The stores were packed with toys and candy. Some malls had already hired their Santas.
They had merely gone for ice-cream, him, Rita and the kids. One thing had led to another and, before Dexter knew it, he had insisted that Astor and Cody should go sit on Santa's lap and ask for their Christmas' gifts. Dexter felt silly for insisting on such a thing, for it wasn't something that he would normally do. Still, it had seemed right at the time and he had enjoyed the look of joy in Rita's face.
Santa had proved quite an obnoxious guy. The kids had kept saying he smelled funny and Dexter had noticed the bottle half-hidden inside a paper bag by the Santa's chair. After that, things had turned quite sour: Cody had wanted to flee the moment Santa grabbed him and placed him over his knee, voicing his disapproval quite loudly. Santa had retorted with some heavy cussing that hadn't sit well with either Rita or Dexter. The inevitable result had been the family leaving the premises feeling cheated to the very core of their souls and the kids, especially Cody, with sad faces.
Dexter wasn't disappointed or feeling cheated. He didn't believe in the kindness of human nature, since he had no faith in "God". Santa was mere folklore.
But there was something about that guy.
Driving under the influence of alcohol. Malcolm Hayes ran over a pregnant woman a year ago. She had her C- section scheduled for Christmas' Eve evening. Last minute gift shopping proved fatal. Lost her baby and can never have children again.
Malcolm had been charged.
Normally he would have been sentenced to quite some time in jail: after all, it had been manslaughter. But circumstances had combined to make it all different, and wrong. It was his first misdemeanour, he had recently joined AA's, and he was the Mayor's distant cousin.
Apparently the Mayor had put in a good word with the judge, and Malcolm only had to serve four months in jail and promise to stay in AA for at least two whole years. Meanwhile, young Elisabeth Norton had lost her first child, a boy, and her husband due to her mental instability in consequence. She could never have children again and, every time she came to that particular mall, she had to stare in the eye the drunkard that had destroyed her life, aware he was as drunk now has he had been that night.
Dexter had followed the guy to an AA meeting. Human err. He had no faith in that notion, but hell, people could at least try to change, right? Not Malcolm. When he sat by the door, he watched Malcolm getting wasted during the meeting. When he followed the man to the parking lot, he saw him driving home and almost hitting an old guy that happened to walk on the sidewalk.
Evil Santa. It's about time everyone stops covering for this lowlife. It's time he faces consequences for his actions. It's time for him to learn his final lesson.
Not that I believe in that kind of thing...
Miami, 24th December, 2.00pm
Dexter had been driving for a while. He had left Rita's house right after lunch. He wasn't on duty today. He had hanged around the house the entire morning, but there was so much he could take.
He lacked the feelings that usually went along with the season. He found it hard feigning all the joy and companionship the kids and the women in his life demanded. So, right after lunch, he left. At first he didn't have a destination marked - it was still early. Later, though...everything had to be carefully executed, all precisely according to plan; the clock would be ticking for Dexter that night.
Once again driving.
These last couple of hours were hectic.
Christmas is a burlesque parade; a parade of the absurd. I don't understand - never did - the concept of a baby being born to this world to suffer for my sins. Poor thing - whatever did he do to deserve this?
I've never asked a higher being for salvation. The first rule is never to get caught - getting caught means damnation, not getting caught means salvation: it is that simple.
I can't find any amusement during these festive times. Being alone with my thoughts just for a little while suits me just fine. I'll have time enough to tire of all human interaction later on. This is refreshing and it does taste like freedom. I didn't mind setting the Christmas tree with the kids, shopping with Deb and Rita.
But, honestly? I was already fed up.
Plus I have work to do tonight before the late supper at Rita's...
After he had noticed the particular Santa that day at the mall and spying on him for a while, Dexter had picked up his file and studied it extensively. He had also learnt the location of Malcolm's house and that was of the most importance for his personal agenda; for that would be the stage for the Santa's last performance.
Miami, 24th December, 10.00pm - Malcolm Hayes' House
Dexter had decided that he would give Malcolm a parting gift of sorts. He didn't allow just anyone to die at their own houses, but this would make things quieter.
I'm the ultimate Santa. The one that truly judges good and evil.
Dexter sat on a comfortable couch and waited. The room had been prepared, and the man had been knocked out (nothing too difficult considering he was already half way there by the booze), restrained and gagged.
Finally the man showed signs of regaining consciousness. Dexter turned on the little chandelier by the couch.
"Hello, Santa. Hope you don't mind, I've made myself comfortable. You have quite the cosy house."
The man blinked a couple of times, trying to focus his blurred vision. He first tried to move his arms and then his legs. It was impossible.
Then the male voice had to be real, not something inside his head. He tried to move his head and see who spoke, but he couldn't turn. And to increase his state of fright, he finally understood that he had been gagged.
Dexter got tired of the show. He got up and reached for the gag removing it from the man's mouth.
"I'd advise you not to raise your voice. You will die, but how quickly you will go depends on your behaviour. You understand, right? I hate explaining myself over and over again. I should also inform you that I don't have much time; I have some late supper to catch up on, being Christmas' Eve and all. So let's make this quick, shall we?"
"Wh-what is the meaning of this?!"
Even though the man was naked, Dexter could still smell alcohol on his skin. The smell was kind of nauseating, but not so much that it would prevent Dexter from finishing that pitiful life.
Dexter sighed and stared at the man. He had placed himself right beside the restrained man so that he could stare at him and the man might somehow see the eyes of his killer before he went to...a better place.
If one could call hell a better place.
"I guess you didn't understand. Well, I'll give you the short version. This is your death-bed, last stop before hell. And it's in your own house, I'm considerate like that," Dexter replied with a shrug. "Now... out of curiosity. Keep in mind, this won't change your fate, but it will make your departure a bit easier - or not. Well, Santa, I was an awfully bad boy all throughout the year, but I'm still hoping that I might redeem myself on this very night, maybe even get myself a nice gift. So, tell me...will I?"
"The judge who let you go is far crazier. Four months for DUI, hit and run charges? You've killed a truly innocent being, on Christmas' Eve no less. You know, I'm not one to bother too much about the Holidays, but that just doesn't...feel...right..."
"I was found guilty, but the judge understood. I'm an alcoholic in treatment!! I regret it, I regret it every day!"
Dexter ran his hand through his hair. The guy was seriously irritating.
"Is that before or after you started drinking every morning? Come on, give me something to work with. You don't feel guilty. You don't even feel responsible, do you?"
"I'm attending the AA meetings as the court ordered! I'm a citizen in recovery. I've done wrong, but I want to fix it, from the bottom of my heart!"
This isn't even amusing.
Dexter ran a hand down his face, annoyed.
"Will you cut the crap? You're dead. The least you could do is have the decency to say: Yeah, I deserve it, I'm a lowlife, I was released from jail after murdering a human being and yet I still kept lying to myself and others."
Dexter picked up a scalpel from the small table where all his tools of death rested.
"I think you completely miss the point when you take an unconcealed bottle of vodka to the AA's meetings. You're not in recovery. You're a train wreck, a disaster waiting to happen again. One moment you're holding a kid on your knee and promising him Christmas gifts and the next you might be sending him to the afterlife without a thought on the subject."
The man stared at Dexter's general direction with a dumbfounded expression.
The old man's eyes opened wide.
"I know you...You were with those annoying brats at the mall, and at the meeting...I saw you..."
Dexter skilfully ran the scalpel through the man's cheek. Afterwards he proceeded to collect a drop of blood with a pipette. He turned his back on the drunkard while he let the blood drop from the pipette to the blood slides.
"I was curious."
Dexter faced the man, his eyes narrowing and an evil flame burning in them.
"For all I knew you could actually be making an effort. It would probably not save you from ending up in this position sooner or later, but I could have overlooked it for a little while. After all, Miami is full of scumbags."
"You...you're insane! Let me go!" the man said, fully awake now. He didn't raise his voice as he had been instructed, but he started struggling to get free from the plastic film that was wrapped around him tightly.
Dexter chuckled. "That's useless, you're tightly secure. If anything you'll end up bruising yourself."
Though the man understood useless it was useless to trash and twist, he just couldn't help himself.
Panic. Dexter had witnessed it several times before. It was only natural. In the end, everyone wants to hold on to that last shred of hope. That they will somehow get out of their predicament.
"Being the mayor's distant cousin sure pays off."
Magic words. The man stopped moving.
"Wh-what do you mean? Please, let me go, I repent, I repent. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I've tried so many times to quit, I just can't let go...you don't understand!!"
"Oh, but I do. I have an addiction too, and I've learnt that I'll only stop when I die. See what I'm getting at?"
"No, please, nooooo!!"
The song of an electric knife shut down that last cry.
Ah. Christ's born. Salvation to the world.
Dexter took his time to finish. It might seem pretty simple if one ever took the time to watch a butcher perform his job to cut pieces of meat, but it certainly wasn't.
Everything takes time if one wants the job well done.
Miami, 25th December, 7.00am
The ITK (Ice Truck Killer). The body had been skilfully arranged at the feet of the huge Christmas tree. A witness had called the police when her dog had started sniffing the packages left by the pine tree and bitten into one.
Its content had been easily identified: a frozen foot.
There had been about twenty packages wrapped in the same wrapper, one with Christmas motifs. And they all had the same red ribbon on them.
The police had arrived soon afterwards.
Dexter happened to have been at the police station at the time the call was received. He decided to go and have a look. But if it was the ITK again, his skill wouldn't be needed.
Dexter easily crossed the police line by showing his card and waving in Batista's direction. The detective quickly gave orders to the officers to let Dexter pass.
But as he approached the site, where about half the packages had already been unwrapped revealing their contents to his fascinated eyes, Dexter felt his knees giving way underneath him.
There was no blood.
Dexter's eyes glittered. It was simply one of the most admirable, beautiful visions he had ever set his eyes upon. He continued to approach the opened packages. Before he could think twice, the words escaped his throat.
"This is exquisite, magnificent!"
Masuka, who till some seconds ago had been absorbed with his work, raised his eyebrow.
"Say what, Dexter?"
Dexter bent so he could take in the sight before him the better. Yes, he was completely mesmerized by the vision. More and more often as of late, those bloodless human parts were becoming a means for their creator mock Dexter himself. Dexter couldn't explain even to himself why, but that was how it felt. That he was challenged.
Dexter looked over his shoulder in Masuka's direction with an expression of woe.
"I mean, it's kind of mind blowing, Masuka. How did he do it?"
The shout had come from his left by the police line Dexter had crossed only a few minutes ago.
Ah, Doakes. Always keeping me on my toes.
Sergeant Doakes approached Dexter and Masuka just as Dexter got back on his feet. For a few seconds, their eyes locked and they stared fiercely at each other.
"What the fuck are you looking at, creep? Is it turning you on?"
Dexter smiled kindly.
"No sir, just looking randomly."
"Go back to the lab, lab rat. I'm sure you have blood to analyse, reports to write."
Dexter started walking away, unable to help himself but look back. Doakes gestured again how he was watching him.
I'm watching you too, Sergeant Doakes.
Dexter placed a hand to his forehead in a mock salute. When he looked straight ahead, his eyes narrowed.
My one and only nemesis.
A slap put his hollow face back in place.
"What the fuck was that just now, Dexter?"
Dexter sighed and raised his eyebrows in his characteristic manner.
"Beats me, Deb. I guess Sergeant Doakes has taken a liking into disliking me..."
Dexter smiled innocently.
"Aren't you looking truly charming today."
Debbie gave him a second hard slap on his arm.
"Will you stop being a fucking creep. I've heard that line already."
"Yeah, that pervert has already complimented me on my hooker outfit".
Speaking of the devil.
"Hey, Debbie, need my help to get into character?"
"Keep dreaming, you perv."
"Hey, Dexter, man, that just now, it was harsh. Cold as ice...Doakes hates you."
"No worries, Masuka, I'm used to it already."
Masuka patted Dexter's shoulder in a compassionate manner.
"Yeah, you had better. The Sergeant isn't known to change his opinion about someone easily."
"Well, I should be getting back to work, as we speak."
At that precise moment a shout reached them.
Dexter smiled while he waved at the Sergeant. His smile, though, never reached his eyes.
"I'm going now, Sergeant Doakes."
The eyes of a killer. That's what I see when I look at Doakes.
And I bet that that's what he sees when he looks back at me.