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Last Man Standing

Timothy had thrown the handcuffs. Dexter placed one ring around his left wrist. He looked deep into Timothy's eyes and smiled wickedly. This time Timothy didn't flinched noticeable, instead he walked towards Dexter.

Dexter was losing. No.

Game over.

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"What's wrong, Dexter? Ashamed I outwitted you once again?" Timothy snarled.

Deliberately slow, Dexter's eyes remained focused on Timothy's while he placed the second ring around his right wrist.

With the gun still directed at Dexter, Timothy pointed at his unfastened wrist.

"Are you afraid to die, Dexter?"

Is this it?

I probably would be afraid...if I could...as it is it seems like there is only nothingness...or else...anger...

Still stalling Dexter cocked his head to one side.

"Not really, everybody dies. And everybody knows it. People wish it was later rather than sooner. But how often does one get to choose when time has come? Are you going to kill me now?"

"Lock the fucking handcuff!"

It was Dexter's time to snarl. "Make me."

Timothy grimaced. "I wish it hadn't come to this."

There was a gunshot. The impact threw Dexter to the ground.

Fuck...

Breathing was hard. Consciousness was slipping. Dexter tasted warm blood in his mouth.

Then there was a second gunshot. Timothy ducked while wildly trying to perceive where that bullet had come from. He turned to where Dexter had landed. There he was motionless.

"Fuck! What the hell!"

Darkness was closing in, after taking another look, Timothy hurried along, crawling towards the cabin, muttering.

"Fuck, he's dead. He's really dead!"

It was too late now. Dexter Morgan, the Bay Harbour Butcher just died.

I feel myself falling...falling...falling into darkness.



To Be Continued...



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Resuming storytelling. Will appreciate ab-reader. Thanks for all the people waiting.



Enjoy this tiny bit. More pretty soon.