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The Secret	By : Keen Category: 1 through F > Dexter Views: 4873 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Dexter, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
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�� It
was another gorgeous night in Miami.
The kind they advertise in the flashy tourism commercials about the city. Full moon, crisp breezes that gently rustled palm trees, quietly
rolling ocean waters. A perfect night for all kinds of activity be it dancing on the pier, taking in the sights and sounds
of a local festival�or murder, apparently. I was on my way home when the cellular
tucked in my back pocket began to vibrate. I took it out with a groan, seeing
the name appear with the number.
�� Morgan,�
I answered.
�� Dex!� Masuka
exclaimed, the relief apparent in his voice. �I don�t know if you�ve heard but
we�ve got a real fucking mess here in Sweet Water. I know you�re off the clock
but I really need a hand here.�
�� I
roll my eyes. Nearly everything is a five alarm case for Masuka,
especially if the press was involved which they were. I could hear something on
the news radio about it, but the details were so sketchy I really could have
cared less. Especially since they figured it was a kidnapping. No body meant, no blood. No blood, no Dexter.
�� Vince,
I�m sure you can handle it. I�ve got this thing with Rita and I can�t cancel on
her again, she��
�� Dex, man, remember the Hotel with the Ice Truck killer?�
�� I
turned down the radio then, suddenly and intensely alert. �Yes, I do.�
�� This
shit makes that look like a Pollack painting.�
�� I�m
on my way.�
�� I
shut the phone so I didn�t have to speak again. I didn�t want him to hear my
voice. The tone and quality of it might speak of my unprofessional interest. My excitement. Just when I was in need of a new project.

�� Arriving
at the crime scene, I pushed the car door shut with my foot, juggling my kit in
my hands. I was so eager to see what had Masuka in such
a twitter I forwent so much as calling Rita and the kids to cancel dinner. Slipping
my badge over my neck, I realised I did that because I
didn�t want to risk anything else interfering with what promised to be a
worthwhile experience. Looking around the bevy of official vehicles and
flashing lights, I spotted several news trucks. The networks never get involved
unless it was sensational. Gory and or morally reprehensible
by society�s standards. A child beaten against a wall like a bat, a nun
raped, an entire family obliterated in a car crash, it was all the same to them
and translated to one simple word: ratings.
�� Their
cameras flashed as they took photo after photo. In a ravenous huddle, they
clamored like starved animals for the last table scrap to interview the weeping
family, a mother and son who found the horrific scene, but she soon became so
overwhelmed and fainted. She fell to the ground and the clatter of shutters
went from a few a every so many seconds to rapid and continuous clicking,
nearly drowning out the cries of the officer who held her sagging body, demanding
they get back. It was a mess, hopefully warranted by what was inside the unassuming
and sleek condominium. Or it would be a waste of all our time.
�� Walking
up the steps to the obvious bachelor pad, officers at the door directed me to
where the action took place. The minimally decorated house�which
was another clear indicator that a man owned it�was in absolute upheaval.
Chairs overturned, mirrors smashed, expensive fifty inch HD set up tossed like
nothing against the wall. A few officers seemed to mourn over that alone, but
there was nothing to capture my interest until I entered the office. Blood was
indeed everywhere but I was disappointed. It didn�t pool in gloppy sticky
puddles like Masuka promised, but there was enough of
it to blot out the flood lights from the outside. It absolutely covered the
walls as well. Fingerprints, hand prints, desperate and uncoordinated claws to
escape. Evidence for me to collect and just enough to make me interested.
�� I
slipped on a pair of paper booties before venturing further inside. I put on a
cap as well. Blood spattered the ceiling and dripped down intermittently like
some wet underground cavern. Not to say the floors were spotless, there were sweeping
strokes on the hardwood floor and seeing how deep it soaked through, I thought
of the weeping family I passed outside. No matter how hard they�d try, they�d
never get that stain out. I learned by profession and hobby that wood soaked up
everything like a sponge. But I was optimistic that would work for my advantage
for once as it could hold a telling piece of evidence. I wanted to find who had
done this. Not necessarily to kill them, but it became a matter of personal
interest to see if the killer was as rage filled as his technique suggested.
And he had killed someone.
�� My
ears caught the faintest conversations around me. I heard the detectives
spinning their stories for the press, placating the distraught family. They
called it a kidnapping but I knew better. A body that bled this much was dead or
too near it for help. The only thing that remained to be seen would he who
would find their killer first. The diligent officers of the
Miami Dade Police Department, or me? Please
let it be me�
�� I
set down my case and quickly snapped on my gloves then, readying myself to
inspect more thoroughly, to familarise myself with my
new contemporary and find a clue when I turned. I stilled to see Harper,
crouched, resting on her haunches in the centre of the floor. I snapped my
glove so hard it stung. I don�t know why, but it upset me to see her look at me
and then away. Her eyes purposely avoiding me. But I
had work to do so ignored her as she wished�until I
could no more.
�� Evidence
collecting went on long, as expected in cases such as these, and the time for a
break was at hand. Masuka and the other members of
the team that had been there since the nights start went for coffee, leaving me
and the uncharacteristically quiet ATF agent alone in the darkening room. I say
darkening because blood, over time, loses its brilliant and vibrant luster. It
becomes brown, drab, and uninteresting. Cold and stiff, which
described Harper�s disposition perfectly.
�� She
moved around the room with a critical eye, her expression grave. She saw the
same thing I did, except it upset her deeply.
�� You
know how it happened?� I asked, just to be certain.
�� She
nodded slowly, �I have an idea.� My expression must have said I wanted her to
explain because she looked at me and gave a heavy sigh before giving an
analysis. �The wealth of bone fragments suggest the killer used something heavy,
a meat cleaver or small axe, to cut his way through his victim�victims,� her eyes canvassed the room
again and I saw her shiver. It looked like she would almost cry. I prayed she
wouldn�t simply because I would not know what to do. �He let them bleed. Let
them crawl on hands and knees�before cutting things off. Tossing
them up and away.� She looked at broad bloody strokes on the ceiling and
then her eyes settled on me, �Their suffering was very important. Secondary to actually killing them if you can actually believe
that.�
�� I
can.�
�� Harper
looked away and I smirked. She tried to hide it, pretending to be occupied by
the crime scene but I scared her with my dispassionate admission. As if all the
sudden, she remembered with whom she was speaking. Killer,
murderer, monster. She feared me, yet she would not let her pride be
unseated. She could not be so weak as to shy away from what scared her.
�� Harper
turned to face me again, swelling out her chest, �So,� she breathed in. �In your
expert opinion, is my assessment
correct?�
�� I
shrugged. �She wasn�t wholly wrong. There
were a few things that one could only know from extensive study or personal experience�things
I had plenty of.
�� I
would correct you only to say he used a machete. Long blades give the drops of
blood more length to travel. More momentum when they leave the knife means more
intense spatter on the wall. But I still wouldn�t know the motivation behind
such a thing.�
�� And
I was deathly curious to know. Fortunately that was the agent�s area of
expertise but her answer wasn�t what I hoped for.
�� Harper
shook her head, her voice suddenly stern. �He�s Learco
Col�n. He does what he wants. When he wants.�
�� Col�n. The case that brought you here?�
�� I
wouldn�t have come here for any other reason. Unlike some��
�� Her
eyes flashed at me and I rocked back on my heels, �You are joking with me?�
�� Am
I not allowed to?�
�� I
shook my head, �I just assumed you would still be angry about how we left
things.�
�� No.
Like I said, I expected it. And I�m thankful it didn�t end some other way.�
�� Smart, Callianne�She
was trying to convince me the fear was still there, but I could see it
gradually slipping from her face and tone. Even so I saw no reason to concern
myself. In fact I rather enjoyed the glib exchange. An honest conversation
between anyone who was not tied to my slab was rare. Standing in the room�s
centre, blood coagulating underfoot, I actually began to regret pushing the
woman away. Not that I would get the chance to tell her.

�� Harper
wasn�t simply pretending to preoccupied as I thought. She found a telling
pattern in the drying blood and followed it to a wall, body hunched, sable brown hair sliding over her slender shoulders. Even
though she wore blue gloves, she took care to touch the wall as little as
possible, pressing against the surface with the absolute tips of her fingers as
she pushed her weight into it. To both our surprise it gave with a creaking
sound, sliding back. I quickly strode to where she was, expecting to find the
missing bodies inside and moved just as speedily away as Harper backed toward
me.
�� She
reached for her gun and trained it at the darkness of the room, a steady and
sure hand held the trigger. �Step out!�
�� Harper
barked the order again and the suspect obeyed. Looking at the dark opening, I
was taken back to see Col�n himself stride into the room. He had been there the
entire time, waiting for the opportunity to escape.
�� Tan, bald, tattooed all over his naked chest and under his neck.
He looked like the stereotypical caricature of the classic Mexican gangster,
right down to the sagging pants, white socks and canvas deck shoes. Amazingly
his socks stayed clean despite the blood that slathered his back and shoulders.
It mixed with sweat to run in tiny rivulets down the lines of his body yet it
missed his ankles. Had he worn an apron? And more importantly, why was he still
walking forward? He was too close for my own comfort so I wondered why the
agent hadn�t yet emptied a clip in him.
�� Harper
still had the gun and she was sure shot. I saw her at the range once, she could
disable him easily but s he seemed to be paralyzed with fear. �Harper�� I
whispered. He took another step forward and I turned to look at her. �Shoot
him.�
�� Na, na,
she won�t do that,� he cooed, yet still striding forward. �We go too far back
for things to end like that. She�s seen my family. My
daughters. Lil� Nina and Lisette�she wouldn�t
leave them without a father. Take a son from a mother. Snuff out a life�even
one she hates. She�s got principles like that, y�know.�
�� Take
the shot, Callianne!�
�� He
was nearly on top of her now, smartly just to the right of her gun. It wasn�t
until the wall touched her back did Harper realize what she had allowed him to
do. But it was far too late. She raised the gun and he grasped her wrist,
taking it in his blood stained hands and bending it back until the pistol fell.
I rushed to scoop it up. I had no moral hang ups or emotions to tether my
hands. If she couldn�t shoot him, I certainly could. If I had
it.
�� Just
as I bent, his hand closed around the base, his finger curled around the
trigger. I stared down the black circle of the barrel as he stood upright.
Col�n shook it at me, commanding me back. His wild gaze volleyed between Harper
and me, but ultimately settled on me. I wondered if he saw in me what I did in
him. Killer, murderer, monster� Most definitely. He tilted his head with a chuckle before
knocking me down with a fist across the cheek.
�� I
spilled onto the floor and looked at the man, my hand touching my newly
bleeding lip. �You think you�re getting out of here? This place is surrounded.
No one is just going to let you walk out.�
�� Oh
I think they will when they see I got one of their own.� Col�n fisted, Harper�s
hair, pulling her by her chignon against his chest. To her credit she fought
him, elbowing his gut, stamping on his foot with her paper covered heels but
the man had no sense of pain. He socked her in the stomach with a heavy fist
and lifted her limp body up against him, his fingers digging into the skin of
throat, gathering it like a rumpled sheet, twisting her skin with wrinkles. He
gripped it so fiercely I wondered if he would tear it out and to my chagrin, my dark passenger licked its lips at the prospect.
�� Show
me the way out,� he shouted, pointing to the door with the gun. �Nice and slow,
Opie��

�� What the fuck?!� I heard the splash as Batista dropped his
cup of caf� Cubano. The sudden click was his hand going
for the gun tucked at his side.
�� I
couldn�t see him, Col�n made me back out into the yard, keeping my eyes locked
with his in some kind of mind-game, but I knew what was happening around me. Although
his face was unreadable, I could see Col�n�s body tense as all the officers
gathered around and trained their weapons on the three of us. His eyes widened
to see the cameras rolling as well. I could hear the news man from Channel 7
practically orgasm as he hissed at his cameraman to keep shooting. The reporter
was utterly surprised he was so lucky as to be the only news crew left to get
the footage, but no more surprised than I was to see Col�n actually get away.
The man actually backed out of a house full of cops into a squad car, dragging
Harper, his bargaining chip, all the way.
�� He
tossed her into the passenger seat and smartly she scrambled for the door. On
hands and knees I could see her reach for the handle just as the driver�s side
door slammed shut. Col�n pulled out of park, backing up without heed into the
ring of officers�nearly flattening one. He thrust the vehicle into gear, firing
off a few warning shots and yet still had time to grab Harper by the ankle. She
was nearly out, her fingers touching the driveway when he yanked her back
inside, laying her legs over his.
�� I
gritted my teeth to see the machete, the murder weapon, leave the small of his
back where he kept it tucked. I knew what was coming next and burst from my
place on the lawn to race after them, moving even faster to hear her pained
scream. Through the glass I saw him stake her thigh with the blade, effectively
stapling her to the seat, skewering flesh and imitation leather naugahyde together right down to
the metal and bone.
�� Harper�s limp from shock body dangled
out of the side of the cab as Col�n sped off. Her hand, once reaching for help,
just dragged on the suburban drive. Masuka jogged to
stand next to me, moving in the rush of officers that surged forward. I could
barely hear him over the thrum of my racing heart but I did catch him trying to
console me. He put his hand on my shoulder, telling me not to worry, not to
beat myself up. He thought I was sad but he could not have been any more
mistaken.
�� I
didn�t feel sadness, but anger. I was angry at her for not taking the shot. I
was angry at myself for not being quicker to get the gun. I was furious that a
lawn of Miami Dade�s finest could not stop him, but most of all I was angry
Col�n had taken what belonged to me. The woman was trophy for me and me alone.
Not him.
�� She
was mine�and not in the same sense implied in romantic novels. I had no
interest in her like that, dream withstanding. To me, the woman was the
universe�s compensation for my affliction, its way of making amends for
saddling me with my dark passenger and a putting me in a world where it would
never be accepted. Where I
could never be accepted.
�� She
was the only person who understood and gave me due respect for the creature I
truly was. More than the keeper of my secret, Callianne
was the go-between me and a world I existed in rather than lived. In her, there
was the promise of connection the likes I had not seen since Harry. A
connection that I then realised, I wanted. Needed.
�� Col�n
thought enough to pull her inside as they rounded a corner and the life snapped
back into me again. I pushed Masuka aside as I raced
to hop in my car, slipping in the rain slicked grass to open the door. Inside,
I raised my hips as I dug for my keys. I scrambled to put them in the ignition
when Batista�s hands grabbed for my wheel. He reached in through my open window
and told me to calm down.
�� I
know how you feel, Dex, but let us handle this. We�ll
get her back ok?�
�� I
looked at the bevy of squad cars, white lights blazing in the night as they
reversed with a roar and a spray of dust. They moved into an uncertain but
determined formation as they sped off toward the stolen vehicle.
�� Alive?�
I asked. I gripped the keys in my hand so hard it cuts when he simply turned
away, palming the top of his neatly woven straw hat.

A/N:
Please comment. Spare a minute of your time to tell me what I�m doing right
or wrong as I am steadfastly losing drive to do this story. Thanks.
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The Secret