Dexter had made a decision, so he was outside the warehouse guarding the only door that was lit. His thoughts this time were all over the place.
Sometimes, even monsters feel lonely.
I know it sounds contradictory. Monsters shouldn't need company, right? We are made of shadows, primal urges, blood, and sharp knives. But tonight… Tonight I found myself smiling.
It wasn't just any smile. It was sincere. Honest. Almost human.
Larry. A criminal profiler with a dark side as sharp as mine. Who would have thought? At first, I thought he was a threat, someone who had dug too deep into the files, into my patterns, into the invisible scars left behind. But no. He offered me something different. Company. Complicity.
And now… he's in there, having fun with the Ice Truck Killer. I'm not lying when I say I wish I was invited to that party, but I'll learn to share.
Yes, that still hurts. Not because I wanted to be there, but because I should have been the one. Because justice—mine, the Dark Passenger's—had to be fulfilled by my own hands. But Larry took it from me. Not for revenge. Not for justice. Just to prove he understood.
And I… let him do it.
Leaning against the warehouse door, with the thick air of the canal filled with moisture and fresh blood, I wondered if all this was a good idea. Teaming up with someone like Larry? Trusting another predator? What if he was using me? What if one day he decided I was the next experiment?
Doubt crept in like a poorly held scalpel, slowly cutting through my thoughts. But then, for a moment, I felt… happy. Is that even possible for someone like me? Happiness? Maybe it was just the thrill of not being alone. Of having someone to share the silence after the cut.
And just then, as if the universe mocked my moment of vulnerability, I heard the voice.
"Don't move, Morgan!" Doakes's voice rang out sharply.
Because, of course… it had to be him.
I turned slowly, feeling the barrel of a gun already aimed at my chest. Doakes was there, sweating, panting, but with eyes full of determination.
"What are you doing here, Sergeant?" Dexter asked calmly, staying composed despite wondering if he was dreaming right now.
I wish this were a very bad nightmare, but the truth is what's happening exceeds all expectations.
"I saw you and that damn Larry dragging a body from that damn car," Sergeant Doakes said through clenched teeth. "Then I saw you drive here. I'm not stupid, Morgan. Where is he?"
Dexter's mind raced, trying to lie and manipulate as he always had. Now that he was involved in all this, the only thing he had to do was protect Larry or they'd both spend the rest of their lives in prison.
And not only that: the Ice Truck Killer was inside, tied up, tortured, bleeding. He couldn't let Doakes see him. Not because he cared about Larry, but because this whole castle of darkness could collapse with just one call to dispatch.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Dexter replied, forcing a smile. "I'm following a lead. You know, those blood spatter analysis things you hate so much."
"Cut the crap, Morgan. I'm sick of your games. This time I got you. Take me to Larry… Now!"
Doakes's finger tensed on the trigger.
And there was Dexter, caught between the bleeding past inside that warehouse and the relentless justice aimed at him in the present.
Only this time… he didn't know what to do.
"All right…" Dexter walked into the warehouse.
Sergeant Doakes, restless as always, watched everything Larry was doing with that person.
"Larry Luk, I knew it!"
Larry, who was about to finish, looked at Sergeant Doakes with a confused gaze and after a frenzy of torturing the Ice Truck Killer, raised both hands.
"Sergeant, listen to me." Larry wanted to talk to the furious sergeant.
"Shut your mouth, come closer, and you better not make any sudden moves or I'll shoot you, damn it." Sergeant Doakes didn't know what to think; all he could do now was arrest them both and then interrogate them.
Larry frowned and said, "It's the Ice Truck Killer."
"Don't lie to me, Larry. Surely you and that idiot Morgan thought about killing that man and finding out what it feels like to kill." Sergeant Doakes could no longer see reality; he was completely lost.
Brian got up from the floor with difficulty, staggering, blood running down his forehead to his jaw. His arm hung uselessly at his side, twisted unnaturally. He breathed with effort, but his eyes were still alive, furious, filled with an unbounded hatred.
Behind Larry, barely conscious of the movement, Brian reached his good hand toward the back of the man who had been torturing him. His fingers found what they were looking for: the cold steel of a gun hidden in the holster.
Dexter saw it first, his eyes widening for a moment. But he didn't have time to speak.
Larry felt it too, too late. He turned his face, reacting purely by instinct.
"No!" Dexter shouted.
Everything happened in a split second.
Sergeant Doakes, his nerves already tense like electric wires, saw Brian's movement and pulled the trigger.
Brian fired too.
Bang! Bang!
Two shots thundered simultaneously, like dry thunder trapped inside the warehouse.
The sergeant's bullet hit Larry's shoulder but struck Brian's neck. His body shuddered once before collapsing silently.
Brian's bullet, deflected by the weakness in his arm and the trembling pain, lodged in Doakes's head, just above the ear. It wasn't a fatal wound but devastating.
Doakes fell backward like a stone, the gun slipping from his hand as his body convulsed briefly. Blood began spreading like a dark stain under his head.
Brian staggered backward clutching his neck, gasping, the gun still smoking in his hand. But the sergeant's shot had already reached him. He coughed, spitting blood. He looked at Dexter one last time and smiled with the irony of someone who has nothing left to lose.
"In the end… you and I… aren't so different…" Brian fell to his knees, then sideways, dead.
Dexter didn't move. Not yet. He watched the bodies. One wounded for protecting them all. Another dead for trying something stupid. And one more, about whom he didn't know if he was alive or dead.
Silence thickened. As if darkness itself refused to breathe.
Dexter lowered his gaze, feeling the weight of the night stabbing into his back.
None of this was planned. Nothing was clean.
But that's chaos… and chaos had already made its choice.
…
"Zz… This is Dexter Morgan, forensic technician of the homicide department. Requesting immediate backup at the industrial warehouse at Dock 47, west zone…"
"Repeating: industrial warehouse at Dock 47. Two critically injured. I need two ambulances. One injured is Sergeant James Doakes, shot in the head, still alive but in critical condition. The other is Dr. Larry Duk, also gunshot wounded in the shoulder, bleeding out. Highest priority."
"Copy that, Morgan. Backup and medical services en route. Estimated time of arrival: seven minutes. Is the perimeter secured?"
"Zz… The shooter is neutralized. No other active threats. I'm alone on site. And… prepare for a complicated scene."
"Understood. Hold position. End of communication."