ALONE. alone at last. why, thank god almighty indeed.
dexter watches her silhouette vanish ---- dear debra. so naïve. so heedless. careless. restlessly so. always has been, and surely always will be if dexter has anything to say about it. how she needed her biddable brute of a big brother, brainy and even benevolent on the outside. so compassionate, caring if only slightly callous beneath the surface. the stories that can be told from the inside, however ---- oh, the stories. his dark passenger chuckles at the mere thought, the scamp. the irony, oh the delicious hot breath of irony ! dearly devoted debra has dedicated her life to thwarting the hellions, scouring miami’s bed skirts for teeth-gnashing, weapon-wielding monsters . . . and yet they still linger, prowl with ill-intention right under her nose, practically clinging to her nostrils by their talons. not unlike this particular gentleman. not unlike dexter himself.
two monsters. two japanese fighting fish in the same bowl. no more pleasantries, no more tooth-gleaming grins that would put POLITICIANS to great shame. he’s done enough of kissing the baby in the eye of the public --- and it was due time to throw it out with the bathwater, yes ? it was and is a strategic game, of course ---- the complex politics of which could make a seasoned and reputed senator trip on the lace of his shoe. but dexter knows this dance. dexter knows the rhetoric of villainy banter. all would be said and done soon enough, and he would make his point, make his presence known. leave the master heckler to haggle with this cruel and unusual entrepreneur. she is off limits. harry wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
dutiful, devout dexter stands mere feet from dear debra's catch of the day, a mere scrap straight from the garbage chute. his hands have found solace in the comforting depths of his pockets if only to keep himself from leaping, launching himself upon the exposed neck of his new adversary ( how the skin quivers teasingly against the traffic of michael’s autonomic pulsations, expands tautly over the apple of his trachea . . . how EASY it would be to clamp his fangs into this piece of forbidden fruit, indulge ! the prospect is tempting, but more or less a pipe dream ).
in keeping with the tempo of their sprightly interaction, dexter rocks from his heels to his toes, his grin growing grimmer with the passing shades of his impatience. and to get the ball rolling, dexter glances up at the sky above, leaving that fat-faced, blood-red MOON in his blind spot. no need for further encouragement from the rising symphony of menacing pleas.
❛ what wonderful weather we're having . . . ! ❜ dexter observes, and quite shrewdly of course ---- a conversation starter that masquerades as ENTRAPMENT. he will not be the first to ring the boxing bell, no, but he is certainly inclined to believe that he will be throwing the final punch. ding, ding, ding !
