Dexter had come the next day, and every day while Elizabeth recovered in that hospital bed. It was a pleasant surprise to see his smiling face everyday despite the growing ache. She could feel the desire within her, spreading through her blood like a virus. She should have already been stalking her next victim but she’d been in the hospital. It was unbearable even as she was able to stand on her own without supervision. The only thing that kept the inner darkness at bay was the possibility that Dexter may have been like her.
Gratefully today she was discharged and life continued on as normal.
While in the hospital she made her official statement on the attack in her apartment with everything she “remembered”. Shortly afterward Dexter told her that the case of Piper Adams’ murder had been closed. Now she was free to commune with Dexter in public without sullying his credibility by being a suspect in one of his cases. Lucky for her, Dexter had asked her out to dinner that evening. He informed her that he wanted to make up for all of the hospital food she had to eat. Since it was such a nice offer she couldn’t refuse, not that she would have.
Dexter was a beautiful creature of darkness. He was so inexplicably average it was like looking at a mirror. Nothing about him would stand out to anyone unless you knew what you were looking for and even then… it was a difficult thing to see. If, in fact, that was what she saw in him.
Elizabeth ran another frustrated hand through her hair trying her damnedest to keep the edges of tape from snagging in the unruly mop of too long hair. It didn’t really work the way she had hoped and she ended up ripping off the bandages on her arms despite doctors orders. Once the bandages were removed she couldn’t help but admire the wounds, turning her arm in the mirror to get a full view of them.
That’s what they said she’d have, scars. She had never had outward scars before, all of her damage was on the inside from years of abuse. Now she’d have scars some on the outside. Disgusting. She was already beginning to hate herself for it.
Elizabeth had to restrain herself before she put her fist into the mirror and caused more damage. She didn’t need any more of her blood shed, especially not when she was being picked up by Dexter shortly.
Grinding her teeth to get control of her temper she dropped her arm and stormed out of the bathroom. She wasn’t sure she could look at her disgusting body anymore.
She breathed heavily as she sat herself in the chair in her living room. Her dark temptations were starting to get to her. She felt agitated, she needed release but she wasn’t prepared for it. She wasn’t physically strong enough to make sure that she didn’t get caught but she was beginning to deteriorate from the inside.
Every muscle in her body ached, pleaded, moaned for the release that only a kill could give her. She needed it. She couldn’t wait any longer. 3 weeks in the hospital under surveillance to make sure she was healing properly before they let her out was enough to make any sane woman go stark raving mad. She wasn’t an average sane woman but the lack of victim, or even prospect, made her a risk to everyone.
Elizabeth couldn’t see him tonight. She needed to kill something. If she saw him then she might lose herself and try to kill him. She needed to get out of there but she knew if she left then she was going to kill someone recklessly but if she stayed then she put the one person that held her interest at risk.
She had to go.
Elizabeth stood up and grabbed her keys. As she reached for her coat…
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound made her freeze. She was caught. No not caught, but she couldn’t escape the date now.
Elizabeth took a deep breath, grabbed her purse, placed her keys inside before she opened the door to see Dexter’s smiling face with a single Lily, how appropriate. She gratefully accepted the flower smelling it momentarily, “Thank you.”
“You look, nice,” he said as his eyes looked her over before they came back up to her face.
“Thank you again. Shall we?”
“Yes, we shall,” he said offering her and arm. Elizabeth stepped out of her apartment, carefully locked her door before she took his arm. “Thank you for coming with me. I know you’ve had a rough past month,” he said looking down at her with a smile.
“Trust me, I’m glad to be out of the house,” even though I’d rather be finding something or someone to kill. Elizabeth’s body felt like it was freezing yet on fire. She wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to last before she’d snap, and the date just started.
Gratefully Dexter opened the door to allow her to seat herself in his car. She slid in slowly, carefully. He was soon in the car beside her, lights on and car started. The date was on and all she could think about was what was in that car that she could wrap around his neck and kill him with.
Elizabeth took a deep breath as she rubbed her hands together nervously. This was wrong, she shouldn’t need a kill so soon after her last one, 4 weeks was not a long time between kills, if you did them more often then people got suspicious. The ache wasn’t about the kill, no it was about redeeming her pride after being violated. Without the actual culprit that stole her dignity she had to torture some other man to get a similar satisfaction. She needed blood on her hands, in her control. Her choice on how fast or slow it falls. She needed to show him who was boss. She needed…
“Are you okay?”
Elizabeth’s eyes shot to Dexter, a little more venomous then she had intended.
“You just look really nervous. I promise I won’t bite.”
That wasn’t the problem.
Elizabeth huffed her frustration. “I know. I just feel…” she wanted to tell him honestly, go to jail, die, kill or go home, “empty right now. The man took something from me. Something I can’t exactly explain without sounding strange but I want it back and despite how much I want, no, need it. I’m not ready for it,” she clenched her fists, kneading her thigh with her knuckles.
“What did he take from you?”
“He took my,” pride, sex appeal, faith in myself, “happiness from me. You’ve been the only thing that’s kept me from hating myself. I just feel,” disgusting, angry, frustrated, violated…
Elizabeth hadn’t noticed that the car was stopped but when Dexter gently moved her chin to look up at him, it was apparent now. “A sadness that eats you from the inside out?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“It will go away.”
“I don’t know ho…” she couldn’t help herself, he was so close. He smelt of blood again and now that she had her lips pressed against his, he tasted of it as well. She was sure that both the smell and taste were just in her head but that didn’t stop her from pressing harder.
It wasn’t like Elizabeth to get so physical. She preferred her loneliness normally but the kiss was a personification of her frustration, her ache. She needed something to dull the need, to dull her senses although the kiss wasn’t working.
“Take me home Dexter,” she breathed breaking her lips from his, her fingers gently caressing his skin.
Elizabeth’s eyes opened to see an empty pillow. She could hardly believe what she had just done, although it wasn’t much of anything. Dexter had gotten her to his apartment and she fell asleep on his bed. Why had she fallen asleep? She didn’t remember being tired before she had gotten there and yet, she had fallen asleep.
Elizabeth rolled to her back, looking over the room.
It was clean, modern looking. Nothing out of the ordinary that would lead someone to believe that he was like her. Which meant that if he was like her, he was careful.
Elizabeth sat up, continuing her search of the room with her eyes for what would let her know if he was like her. She idly began to scratch her arm as she stood up. She began looking over the mundane items on his dresser, his nightstand. She opened his closet still scratching at her arm.
Shirts, pants, suits.
“Sleep well?” a voice came from behind her. Elizabeth quickly spun on her heel to see Dexter a lot closer then she had anticipated.
“I think so,” she replied with a breath of amusement.
“You’re bleeding,” he said pointing to her arm moving closer to her to look. He offered her his hand to her to inspect further.
She gave it to him, her eyes looking down to the damage she had caused. She hadn’t even noticed that she had broken the skin. “I am,” she said plainly. “I don’t know what happened. I didn’t even feel the itch,” she lied. She did feel the itch but it wasn’t on her skin, it was under it, coursing through her veins in a place that only one thing could help scratch.
“Let me get something to clean that up. Um… what were you doing in my closet?” he asked as he dragged her with him to the bathroom.
“Looking,” to see if you hid what I think you are in there.
“Looking for what exactly?”
“I was just looking,” she told him as he moved deftly to grab a cloth and rubbing alcohol. He quickly ran her arm under cool water before wiping away the clear liquid and dabbing it with alcohol. The stinging from the alcohol brought her back down to earth. She felt almost centered with the pain, then it was gone and so was the control. She felt the numbing ache in her stomach, the need for a kill, for revenge. The itch.
“There’s not much in there except an old chest and my clothes,” he said as he worked.
“What’s in the chest?”
“My father’s gun.”
“Why do you have it?”
“Because we used to go hunting together and those were some of my best memories of my father.”
Elizabeth nodded as he returned her arm to her with a bandage in place. Another scar, she thought sourly as her eyes went to the mirror where she could see them both.
“Have you ever felt that there was something you knew about someone but you were too afraid to ask if you were right and the thought of it made you anxious?”
“Well yeah, but I normally just ask them and if you’re wrong they tell you, then you don’t have to stress about anymore.”
“But what if it was a secret, something no one was supposed to know.”
“I guess it would depend on the what you knew.”
“Dexter,” Elizabeth said, turning her eyes from the mirror up to the man himself. “I think you’re like me.”
“And what is that exactly?”
Elizabeth looked in his eyes, trying to read what he was thinking, trying to gauge what he was going to do when he heard this. The ache roaring within her, her need to practically bathe in blood, to hear someone scream out her name and ask her to stop. She didn’t know how to quiet it and she didn’t have the ability to do it on her own, not yet, not without hurting herself further. She had to know, perhaps he’d help her.
If he wasn’t like her then perhaps he’d turn her in.
If he wasn’t then maybe he’d ignore it as delirium, or have her institutionalized. It would make the world a safer place, that’s for sure.
If he wasn’t then she’d have to kill him.
If he was then she may have to kill him.
If he was she may have to let him live.
If he was…
“A Serial Killer.”