Time is relative. I know people have said this before but it's true. It's true because I have enough time to imagine and think a million thoughts as the woman's hand raises to the door and she knocks three times. Even though I want to believe it is Lumen, even though there is no other explanation for the syringe, my fear of disappointment, of rejection, tries to find other solutions to this situation. The shadows of the opposite buildings make her hard to make out.
"Who is it?" Daniel's voice is gruff though the closed door.
"Tommy sent me." Her voice goes through me like a knife but I have no time to process because the door opens and Daniels comes out, chuckling in the dim light. He is slim, dirty and in a dressing gown.
"Oh, he's good man." He leers as his eyes rake her body. He puts out an arm to pull her close and she flashes up her hand and jabs the needle in his neck. I see the fingertip pushing down the syringe and he slumps against the doorway. She glances along the alley and I shrink back into the shadows. It is her, Lumen Pierce. Her soft features sharp with concentration as she drags his body into the other motel room, slipping inside and shutting the door with a click. I tiptoe forward; scuffing over the tracks of his feet made she pulled him along. Covering her evidence over without even thinking.
I crouch at the window and peer up. The curtains are closed and something else blurs my sight, plastic sheeting, I realise in wonder. I feel my heart racing, my brain has stopped working for a second as I fight to take in this information. She is killing him. Dexter style. I feel myself smile and there is pride, lust and regret in my expression. I need to see what happens.
I run around to the back of the motel block, remembering the bathroom window that my fellow stalker used when she broke into Daniel's rooms. As I run I realise that this must have been Lumen. She was there, doing just what I was doing. Watching him, gathering her evidence. We are partners even though we don't speak anymore.
As I slide my body through the open window I am aware that I am excited. Excited to see her again and excited to see her kill. I try not to focus on the searing desire which is flooding my system, try to ignore the throb building in my flesh. I drop gently to the floor, she doesn't hear me and from the sounds in the room I know she is wrapping the body.
There is no bathroom door in this apartment but the light and the sheeting hide me enough to let me see. I know that a person looking in a doorway will look at head height, it's instinct, the direction from where we expect danger to come, so I lie on the cold bathroom floor, feeling my body's arousal as I press myself to the ground.
She has him on the rickety table. He is naked and bound in the shiny film. Webbed up like the victim of a Black Widow spider. The floor, the walls, even some of the ceiling is preserved in plastic. Lumen is laying something out on the bed, also plastic wrapped and prepared. My heart quickens as she takes the knife from the back pocket of the shorts and places it down carefully, the crackle of the plastic telling me it is a weighty weapon. I watch her bend in those tight shorts. Her long legs taut in her posture as she arranges the plastic more carefully over the edge of the bed, tucking it under the legs at the bottom. Her breasts fall gently forward in her cropped vest top and I feel a stab of longing through me. The animal in me growls itself awake. I want to break from my hiding place, push her on the bed, make her mine again. But I don't.
I don't because I can hear the voice, the voice of the rejection, the hurt and the pain that I have been living with since she saw all of me and left. It tells me she doesn't want me.
I argue with myself. She said she's lost her darkness but this woman who is lovingly preparing her kill room and polishing her knife with a soft cloth is not without shadows. Maybe she was wrong about it all? So why hasn't she contacted me? Come home? I realise my choice of words with a lump in my throat.
She puts on her apron, kicks off her high heels and covers her feet in small surgical slippers. She smoothes the plastic of the apron down over her thighs, the skin sticking to the plastic. My mouth is dry. I try to swallow, I shift on the floor and the friction rushes through my body.
Lumen opens an envelope, taking from it glossy photos. She bites through the sticky tape with her teeth, the sound, the flash of her sharp canines slicing through makes me moan softly. She stops and looks about her, to Daniels, still out cold on the table. She smiles to herself. I feel my heart pound against the tiled floor.
She sticks the photos onto the plastic sheets covering the far wall, just in Daniel's line of sight. She has seven photos, I frown, I only found four victims, five, if his daughter is dead already. She has found seven; I shake my head in wonder. How long has she been watching him?
She moves quickly now to the side of the table by his head. She is facing me and I see her expression as she waves the smelling salts under his nose. He chokes himself awake, coughing and retching. She lifts his head gently, like a mother, and I know she doesn't want him to choke to death. His death is her possession. Her precision, the passion in her movements are overwhelmingly erotic. I feel on fire.
"What?" he grunts, jerking up against the wrapping and I watch his feet thrash, Lumen looks at his feet too. I see her thinking. Next time she will bind her victim more carefully. I smile, it's like telepathy.
"Shhhh." She murmurs soothingly as she strokes back his hair, I've seen her do this before. The gesture so gentle, so much like a lover that it sends a terrible thrill through me. Daniel stops thrashing and I know his eyes will be wide, frightened. I know because I can see that fear etched on Lumen's face in excitement.
"Who are you? What are you doing?" he whispers, his voice trembling. She leans close to him.
"I am revenge. I am Tina Medway and Rebecca Joyce and Terry Hardy and Billie Dudley and Sophie Marks and Judy King and Jessica Daniels." She recites, pointing in turn to each photo of a smiling girl. Daniels begins to shake. He realises he's been found out. So, of course, he lies.
"Who? I don't know those girls." He begins to whine but then Lumen's hands are on his cheeks, I see her muscles tense as she squeezes his jaw. Without warning my mind flashes to the same muscles flexing as she grabs the sheets of my bed, her body arching up under me. I bite my lip and squirm against the cold floor, desire and longing biting into me hard.
She turns and picks up something from the bed, something that has lain beside the large carving knife which I cannot bring myself to think about for fear I might give myself away.
She picks it up and moves back to the table, positioning herself behind his head, she looks down at him and smiles.
"You don't have to be sorry now," she says softly as she brings down her hand and I see what she is holding. It is the small pearl handled knife which I bought for her on the market, the night before we killed Chase. This small indication of her feelings pushes me further to the edge. Watching her kill was always a turn on, watching her like this, forbidden and voyeuristically is almost too much. My blood pounds in my ears as she bends and I imagine I hear the slice of the blade into skin as Daniels hisses through his teeth. Lumen is smiling, intent on her work, as she picks up the slide from the table and smears her blade across the glass. It is the same ritual as my own, adapted to suit her personality. She doesn't need the science of the pipette to catch the blood; she isn't a member of Miami Metro's geek squad. She is a wronged woman. A dangerous woman.
"You've not got any time left to be sorry." He moans and thrashes and it's how I feel too. His expression one of fear, mine of desire.
She holds the slide up to the light, it comes between us as I look up at her, realising the appropriateness of my submissive posture on the floor as I watch her coming into herself like a goddess, a red goddess. Lumen blooms before me as she takes the carving knife.
My heart is racing, the tension in my muscles almost holding me off the floor and I have to move to accommodate the tremendous pressure of the blood surging in my groin. Lumen climbs onto the table, my ears are ringing and I can see her chest rise and fall with the excitement of the moment. Daniels is making mewling noises and I am glad because I cannot help but moan as I see her swing her leg over him and position herself straddled over his lower chest. If it wasn't for the knife in her hand, this would look like a scene from a bondage porn movie. Her tight shorts cut into the muscles of her thighs, the smooth curve of the flesh pushed up under the sharp hem. The plastic apron taut across her breasts, riding up at the front so she can get her legs wide over him. Under it I can see the cropped shirt high over her navel, the soft round of her belly, the dip down to her hipbones sear though me as I remember my hands over that velvet skin, my tongue. Her breasts heave and I watch the friction of them against the fabric of her shirt and my hands grip the floor. Her face flushes, pupils wide and aroused as she holds the knife above her head, the angle and the arc perfect for the target of his heart. Time seems to spin out, lost and sweetly painful, as she kneels over him panting and biting her lip hard.
I watch her gloved hands flex over the handle of the blade and the image of those fingers on my body comes to me unbidden. I almost feel her hot hands on that part of me which is pressed tightly against the floor, as though I can squeeze the mounting pressure I am feeling out of my skin.
Her arm swings down and the tension is unbearable. I feel myself grinning fiercely and I see my expression copied on her face. Involuntarily my hips move against the floor. Lumen's mouth is open as the tip of the knife penetrates his body.
"Dexter." She says it once, gasping and lost in the moment, how I have heard her say it before, under me, over me, her body as open as she has now made Daniel's. I want to close my eyes against the onslaught of sensuality but I can't avoid seeing the blood welling from him, spilling out of him like release as she gasps over him, looking down, her hair sticking to her face with perspiration.
Together we ride this wave of pleasure. The body of Bryan Daniels thrashes between us like a surrogate for our lust, like a puppet moved by our desires. I hear his last breath and watch Lumen's body shuddering as she accepts his death, the gift his departing spirit submits to her. She falls forward, hands either side of his head, the image is too intensely erotic for me to bear. I have to go. One more glance at her sweat sheened body, vest clinging to her skin, ribcage heaving in her excitement and I will be undone. The animal will break his bounds and there will be no turning back. The sharp spur of rejection gets me silently off the floor while she relishes the afterglow of her kill and I make myself leave.
Outside I lean against the wall and try to calm myself enough to walk. My legs are like jelly and my erection feels like it has stolen all my energy. It pounds at me, relentless and demanding. I can't go out into the street like this.
I am just deciding what to do, how to deal with the roadblock my body has thrown at me when I hear a noise through the bathroom window. It is Lumen and she is talking to herself, whispering fiercely in the darkness. Why isn't she cleaning up? Why has she left the body cooling on the plastic wrapped table? I strain to hear her words.
"Oh for god's sake. Fuck." She swears and I smile at first and then panic when I think she might have found something to indicate that I have been there, lying on the floor watching her kill and going out of my mind with lust. She speaks again, my bright angel.
"Ridiculous, just ridiculous. Right, ok then." She sounds exasperated, then determined. Her voice is still breathy and then I hear a sound which makes my heart stop beating. The sound of the zip of her shorts being pulled down and a soft moan. What is she doing in there? My brain can't figure it out then my cock does and it invokes an image of Lumen's hands, long fingers slipping under the open waistband of her jean shorts and under the cotton of her panties. I stifle my own moan, my hands move to my waist, smoothing flat against my stomach. Surely I am wrong? Surely she isn't taking time from clearing up her kill to make herself come? The knowledge that this makes her feel as strongly as I do is overwhelmingly erotic.
"Oh god, Dexter." The words freeze me in place, all of me is utterly still except my hand which takes this opportunity of stunned silence to push into my trousers and take a hold of my painfully hard erection. "Oh, oh." She breathes the sound out, faint but it burns into me like the words will be imprinted on my skin.
There is a sliding sound, a thump and I imagine her sitting now on the floor, her fingers moving against her, into her. I stroke along my length with the movement which my body begins to recognise as belonging to Lumen. I can hear her breathing, jagged and hitching, and the small moans she makes and my fingers work with her, almost as though there is a line between us. Her movements elicit my own.
A small thudding noise, her feet jerking against the floor as a low growl builds in her chest begins to send me towards the edge. The pressure building in this alleyway feels like it could power a small nuclear device.
"Oh god, Dexter, Dexter!" she hisses and I spill over my fingers, deaf to everything but her voice.
"Lumen." I murmur, my breath hard and burning in my chest, my legs trembling. For a moment there is silence between us. Then I hear her scrambling to her feet, I look up and fingers appear on the window ledge. I panic, will my legs to not let me down and I run. I don't look back until I am three blocks away, my body protesting against the sudden surge from post orgasmic lull to frenzied escape.
I bend, hands on knees dragging air into my lungs for a moment of two. Absentmindedly I wipe my hand on my khakis and bite the side of my lip. What is she doing?
"Well, that's obvious, she's killing again," I jump as Harry leans against the wall of the nearest building, his arms folded, his foot against the bricks. I nod. "But what was all that?" he jerks his head back the way I have run. "There, in the bathroom?" he raises his eyebrows and then looks down the street as though he is embarrassed. I look at my feet, eyes sliding from the stain on my trousers guiltily. This is not the time for the 'birds and the bees' talk. Especially since the insects and avians in question are pretty fucked up.
But he's right. What was that back there? I don't have a problem understanding that killing makes her feel that way. It would be hypocritical of me to assume any such thing; I know my own reaction to taking a life, the release, the dreadful building of tension until my knife opens a body. The metaphor is hard to ignore. But she said my name. She said my name with her fingers touching herself. As she came she was thinking of me. The thought rocks me more than anything that has happened tonight. I look up, Harry is watching me.
"She still wants you, Dexter." His simple sentence hits me like a truck. I feel my stomach clench, adrenaline floods my system, makes me feel like I could walk on air, run faster than I ever have before. I find myself grinning widely, my cheeks hurting in my glee. "What are you going to do now?"
I pause. I don't know the answer to his question. If she wants me then why hasn't she come to find me? She knows where I am, where I'll be. It's then I remember the woman watching me drinking my beer on the balcony, at the wall of the parking lot, on the beach. Is Lumen watching me? Why would she do that? Why not just speak to me, call me, tell me she's back in town?
I decide I have to go back. I have to find out where she's staying. She must be somewhere in the city if she's hunting here. I start to walk back to the motel, glancing at my watch and knowing she will still be clearing up. The image of her cutting up Daniels sends a tremble through me. But she's back; she came back, I smile as I pad along the dark street.
VB is a gem for betaing. Thanks if you reviewed so far. It makes ff less lonely when I know what you think If you're going to just favourite me as an author or the story alert, please consider sending me a quick line. I need to know what I'm doing right. I'm super critical of myself and it seems that Dexfans are critical too. Eek. Bad combo, feeling a bit paranoid. Cx