Chapter 17: Acceleration
The call came at 6 PM the next day.
I was in my apartment, reviewing the workshop photographs for the tenth time, when Debra's ringtone shattered my concentration. Her name lit up the screen alongside a photo of her flipping off the camera—her idea of a contact picture.
"Dex!" Her voice was three octaves higher than normal. "Oh my God, Dex, you're not going to believe this!"
My stomach dropped. In the background, I could hear what sounded like crying. Happy crying, but crying nonetheless.
"What happened?"
"Rudy proposed!" The words tumbled out in a rush. "He took me to this beautiful spot overlooking the water, and there were candles everywhere, and he got down on one knee, and—Dex, I said yes. I'm engaged!"
[THREAT LEVEL: CRITICAL]
[BRIAN MOSER IS ACCELERATING TIMELINE]
[ENGAGEMENT = INCREASED ACCESS TO DEBRA]
[RESPONSE REQUIRED: IMMEDIATE]
"That's..." I forced the word out. "That's great, Deb."
"You don't sound happy."
"I'm surprised. It's fast."
"I know, I know, but when you know, you know, right?" She laughed, breathless with joy. "He's the one, Dex. I've never been so sure of anything in my life. He understands me. He listens. He actually cares about what I think and feel."
Because he's building a profile, I thought. Learning your weaknesses. Finding pressure points.
But I couldn't say that. Couldn't explain how the man she loved was the Ice Truck Killer. How he'd left bodies arranged like art installations across Miami. How his workshop contained heads in freezers and traps designed to maim intruders.
"Have you set a date?"
"Not yet. Rudy wants something soon—he says he doesn't want to wait. But I'm thinking spring, maybe? Give us time to plan something nice." She paused. "You'll be there, right? Best man? I mean, you're my brother, it has to be you."
The irony was so sharp it drew blood.
"Of course, Deb. I'll be there."
"I love you, you know that? Even when you're being weird and robot-y. You're the only family I've got."
"I love you too."
The words surprised me. Not because they were false—they weren't—but because they came so easily. Somewhere in the past weeks, Debra Morgan had stopped being an inherited obligation and started being someone I genuinely cared about.
Which made Brian's threat infinitely worse.
After we hung up, I poured whiskey.
The bottle was something expensive that Dexter's memories identified as a gift from Angel—Christmas two years ago, never opened. The amber liquid burned going down, but I poured another anyway.
"Drinking won't help," Harry observed.
"Nothing helps."
"That's not true. Action helps. Planning helps. Executing the plan helps."
"I can't tell her." I stared at my phone, still showing the last text from Debra: a string of heart emojis and exclamation points. "If I tell her the truth, she won't believe me. Rudy's too perfect. Too careful. She'll think I'm jealous or crazy or both."
"And if you kill him?"
"She grieves a man who never existed. Spends the rest of her life wondering what happened to her perfect fiancé." I finished the second glass. "Either way, I destroy her."
"There's a third option."
"What?"
"Kill him so cleanly that she never has to know. Let Rudy Cooper disappear. Let Brian Moser vanish like he did at ten years old. Give Debra the gift of uncertainty instead of the curse of knowledge."
[CODE ANALYSIS: OPTION VALID]
[PROTECT THE INNOCENT: DEBRA QUALIFIES]
[NEUTRALIZE THREAT: BRIAN QUALIFIES]
[METHOD: CLEAN ELIMINATION — NO EVIDENCE, NO BODY, NO EXPLANATION]
I turned the idea over in my mind. Brian could disappear. The Ice Truck Killer case would go cold—tragic, but cold cases happened. Debra would mourn, but she'd heal eventually. Move on. Find someone who wasn't a monster pretending to be human.
It wasn't a good option. But it might be the least terrible one.
"How do I get him alone?"
"He gave you the workshop address. Use it. Force a confrontation in a space he thinks he controls. Then redirect to your territory."
"He's smart. He'll see through—"
"He's smart, but he's also arrogant. He believes he's superior. That you're still Harry's trained dog, following rules, predictable. Use that against him."
I set down the whiskey bottle—half-empty now—and picked up my phone.
"Your workshop. Tomorrow night. Alone."
The reply came in seconds, as if Brian had been waiting for exactly this message.
"Wouldn't miss it."
[HUMAN MOMENT]
I sat in my apartment until midnight, not drinking anymore, just... existing. The television played something I wasn't watching. Outside, Miami hummed with its usual nocturnal energy. Inside, I contemplated the fact that I was about to try to kill my biological brother.
The whiskey hadn't helped. Nothing helped. But tomorrow night, one way or another, this would be over.
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