Thread: Cough Drops and Corpses: A Dexter RP (SevenxWine)

The air was close, hot and sticky that unforgiving October night it was a Thursday, and the beaches were littered with sweating, lively bodies. At sunset, couples would walk along the sand and shyly hold hands, but it seemed that when dark fell in Miami, the predator came out in everyone who inhaled the night air. Dexter Morgan felt it too, but he was different from them certainly, he engaged in intense, sweaty nights the way anyone else did, but his company tended to be a little different. And much quieter. Eventually. Tonight, he was enjoying the company of Wilbur Fator, a member of Miami's Elite - he was a man originally from the South, borne of a well-off family and carefully groomed Dexter always appreciated when people were immaculate. Fator liked to spend his mornings on the golf course, his afternoons on the porch with his pretty wife drinking Mojitos, and his evenings in small dark basements where he paid a human trafficker to bring him a fresh young Cuban boy every month. Fator liked them young, dark, and pretty, and enjoyed taking his time with them - Dexter had seen the videos for a man from the South, Fator wasn't terribly discreet. It would be awful if his wife saw the videos. Presently, Dexter was on board his little luxury - his beloved boat, Slice of Life he wasn't a sailor by any means, but Dexter's foster father Harry Morgan had instilled a love of the water in him at an early age. He'd been coming out to Bay Harbour since he was three, and he couldn't bring himself to stay away from the spot - he supposed it was some sort of sentimentality, but he wasn't sure how that sort of thing applied to him. He whistled a sprightly tune as he idled the boat, and then turned off the engine he was several miles out on the water, comfortably out of view of anyone - most people avoided the water at night, unless they were up on the beach. The darkness scared them. Dexter liked it it was quiet. He turned to face Wilbur Fator he was a big, well-built man, so Dexter had needed to use several hefty bags for all the pieces - he couldn't remember which bag he'd put the head in, but it didn't really matter. Dexter wasn't one for keeping trophies, at least, not the kind that some of them liked to take - he was satisfied with his blood slides, a tiny piece of memorabilia from each monster that had kept him company on these late night trips. With practised ease, he hauled each hefty bag over the side of the boat and watched as they were swallowed up by the black, shifting water he always weighed them down with rocks from the harbour - it was a rookie mistake to think the body would keep itself down. Even the dead had gas, and it tended to make them bouyant, and when that happened, curious boaters and fishermen couldn't help but peer in, wondering what they might find like a toy in a cracker jack box, only instead of a cheeky slide whistle, it was a dismembered hand. Fun for girls and boys. Satisfied that there were no bits of Mr. Fator trying to stick around a little longer, Dexter started the engine again he would have enough time to get home, catch a few hours of sleep, and be ready for work. Work. Unlike many Miami residents, Dexter Morgan liked his job working for the Miami Dade Police Department, he wasn't a cop like his currently damaged foster sister Deb - he was a lab rat, a forensics guy. It kept him low-key, kept the attention away from him. Or at least, he'd thought it did, up until recently. Things had gotten unexpectedly complicated when Dexter had discovered he had a brother, one from a life he could barely remember. It had been the life where he'd been Dexter Moser, and his mother had been Laura Moser, and life had been beautiful and perfect up until the day he watched her get torn to messy, wet shreds by a chainsaw. It had changed something in him, maybe killed something in him - he still wasn't sure exactly what it was that was missing, but his brother Brian was missing it too. They were two of a kind, and Brian had known it long before Dexter - he'd been old enough to keep the memories that Dexter had lost, and as such, he'd been subject to the whims of various foster homes, halfway houses, and orphanages while Dexter had been eagerly adopted by the cop who had worked the crime scene. It was somehow unfair somewhere along the line, the decision had been made that Dexter could be saved, and Brian couldn't. Dexter got a relatively normal childhood after that, save for the awkward teenage years where other boys were chasing girls, and all he could think about was what his classmates would look like in pieces. But Harry Morgan had straightened that out there were rules to abide by. It was what kept Dexter from being like all the others, rather than just being a monster, he was a choosy monster. He only allowed other monsters to accompany him on nights like these. Funny that Harry never mentioned he'd had a brother. But Brian had never forgotten, and had decided one day that he couldn't go without his baby brother anymore, and he'd been overjoyed to discover that Dexter was - just like him. So overjoyed that he'd done everything in his power to get close to him, teasing him with the jigsaw puzzles made of dead, frozen hookers. Breaking into his home and playfully leaving him clues. Dating his sister, Deb. Trying to kill her. Trying to get him to help. He'd even set her up the way Dexter liked it unconscious, strapped to the table, an electric saw at the ready. It had been an interesting reunion. He'd had Brian in his grasp after he'd made a second attempt on Deb's life, he'd had him hanging by his ankles, strapped down in his own home, prepped for the kill. He'd put him out so he wouldn't have to feel any pain - but then Brian had opened his eyes. The rules said that he should have killed Brian when he'd had the chance, but he couldn't do it, and he couldn't kill Deb either - he kind of liked her. He'd let him go. He'd let Brian go, and told him to go away, to get far away from Miami and never come back, because then he really would have to kill him. He told himself that he would. And now he knew for a fact that he had been lying the certainty was gone, leaving dearly devoted Dexter disoriented in the dark. What had once been a clearly paved path edged with rules and boundaries that kept him from ever crossing The Line had suddenly transformed into an endless, misty field filled with the sort of temptations that his Dark Passenger just loved. It was all because he had broken the Code that Harry had laid down for him - all because he had let Brian live. And then in an act of outrageous stupidity, he had even agreed to visit his brother in New York, like friendly relatives getting together for a holiday. Dexter had assured himself he was only going so Brian wouldn't come to Miami that was too risky, he might get himself killed. Or or he might be a danger to others. Something like that. He had brought a knife with him when he had gone to visit at one point he had even steeled himself to use it while he stood opposite to Brian in his little kitchen in the ill-gained New York apartment but he hadn't done it. In fact, he'd pretty much done the opposite of killing him, he'd done things with Brian, things that he was sure were very, very wrong for people who weren't like him. For one, he had shared a kill with him a middle-aged blonde - guilty of poisoning her three husbands - had been strapped to a polished, clean steel table in some old abandoned warehouse down a backalley in the worst part of the city. She had been there for hours, held down by the clear saran wrap that Dexter had always favoured, mouth duct taped and a folder full of evidence beside her for Dexter to sort through. It was all Brian's doing - it had been very thoughtful of him. The memory of it all still made Dexter shudder, because Brian had watched him the entire time - hadn't taken his eyes off of him once, in fact - and if he thought about it, he could remember the bizarre sensation, the strange thought that his brother's eyes were burning into him and leaving a mark somewhere inside. And afterwards, they hadn't even had a chance to clean up, they hadn't even made it through the parking lot when Brian had pounced on him they'd struggled and torn at eachother, eventually they even managed to get back into the apartment just before the aggressive pawing had stopped being enough for either of them. Hands and knees had been replaced by tongue and teeth and nails, they hadn't even closed the door behind them before they were all over eachother. It was wrong, it was so, so very wrong. Harry would have disapproved. Harry would have also disapproved of what he had done to Brian on the couch later on that evening - Dexter had never used his mouth like that before, but it had been worth it to see the wild expression on Brian's face. Rubbing at his hair with gloved hands, Dexter stared out at the water and listened to it lap against the sides of the boat the moon was three-quarters full that night, and the sight of it provided a cold, clean comfort. In that moment, in the middle of the bay, an oddly introspective Dexter was struck by the strange and empty sensation of loneliness - it was followed quickly by a fiery trail up his spine when he thought about Brian's eyes. The way he looked at him. The understanding . But Dexter knew that he couldn't think about it anymore he had to limit those thoughts because they led to terrible things, the kind of thoughts that threatened to pull him overboard and plunge him into waters that he would never escape from. Waters where his Passenger was at the top of the food chain, and the world was subject to his whim. It couldn't happen. He bid farewell to Wilbur Fator and quietly left his quiet little world behind, hid the blood slide behind the air conditioner, and retired to his bedroom as he got under the covers and stared up at the dark ceiling, it occurred to him that monsters didn't get happy endings - all they got were precious, sparing moments of freedom. And he had never felt more free than in the moment where his hand had touched Brian's to accept his knife.