Dexter and Debra were created by Jeff Lindsay. I have no rights to the characters, but the story is mine. Mine, mine, I tell you, all mine! Mwahahahaaaa!
Author's note: This is basically going to be a collection of one-shots that all tie together. It starts 2 months after the end of Season 2.
Dexter Morgan sat at his desk, staring at the blank sheet of paper. He had to do this. It was time to tell everything. He recalled the night when he'd almost told Debra, nearly two months ago. Back before the Bay Harbor Butcher case was officially closed, and his least favorite moniker had been officially retired. Since then, he'd come to realize that his sister deserved the truth. But could she handle it?
He'd decided to write her a letter. The envelope was already marked: "To Debra Morgan, to be opened in the event of Dexter Morgan's death." That way, she'd learn the truth and he wouldn't have to deal with the consequences. But why did he want to write it in the first place? Maybe it was still some deep-seated desire to have his secret known to someone, which of course was too dangerous as long as he was still around to get caught. Pen in hand, Dexter began writing.
Deeply Devoted Debra,
I've built my entire life on a carefully crafted card castle of lies and deception. Now that I'm Dearly Departed Dexter, it's time that you knew the truth. Forget everything you think you know about me. There's so much you don't know, that nobody knows. Beyond my penchant for alliteration, there are deep and dark secrets that I've spent a lifetime hiding from the world. I've never shared my whole story with anyone. Some people know bits and pieces. But the consequences were too great for me to tell everything. Of course, now I'm beyond consequences.
I've wanted to tell you before. I almost did, once. But this needs to be you decision. If you're happy remembering me as the devoted brother, loving boyfriend, dedicated forensics expert, I'm beyond trying to convince you otherwise. But when you're ready for the truth, read on.
I've always known that I was different, but for the longest time I didn't know why. You know that I didn't remember anything from before Harry took me in. I remember now, though. Things all started coming back to me when we were working on the Ice Truck Killer case. Harry found me at the crime scene where my mother was murdered. I'd seen the whole thing and spent two days covered in her blood. I also had a brother named Brian. Don't bother looking for him; as of press time, Brian has been dead for a while. The police ruled it a suicide.
What happened to me that day changed something inside of me. There's a darkness in my soul. It's something I can't escape. Harry saw the darkness inside of me, but he loved me in spite of it. That was when our training began. That's why he spent so much time with me when we were growing up. He knew I needed his help more than you did. And he was trying to protect you. From me.
Harry taught me the importance of pretending to be normal, how to fit in, how to fake any emotion. I grew up not feeling anything, but pretending to fit in to a normal family. Up until recently I would have said that I'm still pretending, that I can't feel anything at all. But I wonder how long you can pretend to believe something before you begin to believe it yourself. It's strange to have people like you, and Rita and the kids, who trust me and depend on me and even love me. I've gotten so good at faking it that I can fool almost anyone. If it wasn't for Doakes, I'd have a perfect record. Go me.
But that's not the only part of the darkness inside me. I have violent urges. Harry knew about those too. He thought I could learn to control them, but I can't. There's no easy way to say this, so I'm just going to come out and say it: I kill people. But only murderers. Harry taught me the rules, how to keep from getting caught, how to choose my victims. I've always followed Harry's code. I've never hurt an innocent person in my life.
The guilty, on the other hand, get chopped up in pieces, packed into garbage bags, and tossed into the ocean. Sounds familiar, right? Yes, Deb, I was the Bay Harbor Butcher (God, I hate that name!). I seriously considered telling you, but I didn't think you'd take it well.
I didn't kill Doakes. That was never part of my plan. I just wanted to frame him. I wouldn't have even had to do that if he hadn't found me out. I suppose I didn't do much to help things. It was obvious that he hated me, but I knew how to play the game. I provoked him and made everyone think he was losing it. The more he protested, the less they listened.
Then he broke into my apartment and stole the box of slides. I kept it hidden behind the cover of the air conditioner. Then Doakes ran off and they found the box in his car, where it was promptly turned over to Forensics. I swear I had nothing to do with that. I was convinced they were about to arrest me right up until the moment they told me to analyze "Doakes's" box. Conveniently, there were no fingerprints on it anywhere.
Forensics is the ideal job for a criminal. The police trust you with evidence.
But getting back to Doakes, I wasn't sure what to do about him. I couldn't kill him; I couldn't let him live. He followed me out to the Everglades. I was actually holding him hostage when Lila found him. He, of course, told her everything. She responded by turning on the gas and the stove and driving away.
I responded to that by tracking her down in Paris. She was a liability, and it even fit within the Code. You can't argue that she didn't deserve it.
Actually, that whole fiasco wasn't the first time I was afraid of discovery. My work caught the eye of the Ice Truck Killer. He pulled up one of my bodies and left it for the police. A woman involved in human trafficking named Valerie Castillo.
Do you remember that one? You've always had good instincts, Deb. Sometimes too good. You were so convinced that it was someone trying to copy the Ice Truck Killer. Technically I'd argue he was copying me, but we can overlook that detail. It took some planning and tampering with evidence, but I managed to convince everyone that the husband did it. Sorry.
If it makes you feel any better, he wasn't in any condition to complain.
So now you know. It's not the whole story, but it's more than I've ever shared with anyone else.
Take care, Deb. If I could feel love, I'd love you.
Dexter sat back and looked at his work. He read over the letter again. Was he right to leave out as much as he had? But Deb didn't need to know everything. Like the fact that the Ice Truck Killer and Dexter's brother Brian were the same person, or how things had really ended between them. She definitely didn't need to know about Harry's suicide. Dexter hadn't gone anywhere near that one. Had he said too much already? It was impossible for Dexter to predict her reaction. He considered for a moment, then signed his name at the bottom.
Yes, one day Debra would know Dexter's dirty secrets. Too bad he wouldn't be around to discuss them with her.