Dexter stares deep into the eyes of Debra, who returns the stare with an odd look that could only be described as fear and shock…or was it something deeper? Whatever the case, Dexter would have to choose his next words carefully.
"That's what she said."
Debra's eyebrows shoot straight up, and Dexter rolls his own eyes. How could he be so foolish?
Harry appears next to Dexter, and pats his son on the back. "Dexter, you can't make that joke if it was something you said originally. That's like comedic masturbation, son. It doesn't fit the code."
Dexter slaps his forehead and turns to Harry. "Of course…I'm sorry. That was just poor comedic timing…or poor writing."
Debra's look of fear turns to one of confusion. "Dex, who the fuck are you talking to?"
Dexter has to think fast. He stands over the body of Travis Marshall, holding the knife that he just plunged into his chest to kill the religious nut job. "Nobody, Deb. What am I, crazy?"
"I'm not sure if you're crazy…I'll ask my shrink next time I see her on company time."
Debra slowly builds up the courage to walk over towards her brother, who remains stoic. He points at Debra, who stops.
"You just stepped through Harry. Did it feel cold? Like walking through a mist?"
Debra looks confused. "What the fuck?"
Debra examines the body on the table, and she gasps in shock. "Oh wow…a guy on the show that I haven't slept with yet. Good one, Dex. Way to be a cock blocker."
"Deb…don't be so hard on yourself. There's still Mike."
"Who the fuck is Mike?"
"You know, Anderson? The new detective?"
Debra looks confused once again. "We have a new detective? Is he the one that is good with computers?"
"No, he's the one that didn't have any lines."
"We could only hope."
Debra laughs. It was good to see that Dexter still had a sense of humour in spite of this situation…whatever this was. But one thing was for certain…she loved him. Like, more than a friend. Like, more than a brother. Hell, even more than Quinn…you know the guy who used to be a good cop? Man that was hot. She wasn't leaving here until he knew how she felt.
"Dexter…I have something to tell you…"
Dexter puts down his circular saw in frustration. "Deb…can you find a power outlet for this, please? I forgot my bloody extension cord."
The smile falls from Debra's face. "Yeah, sure."
Dexter was always doing this to her; shutting her out. It was so frustrating. Maybe she was being too subtle. Maybe she should be dropping hints instead.
"Say, Dex? I can't find a place to put this in…but maybe you can…"
Dexter stops unwrapping the body on the table and spins around, confused "I'm sorry?"
Too subtle. She would have to try harder.
"You feel like taking a trip to Alabama this weekend…with me?"
Dexter slowly begins to saw through the flesh of his latest victim. "Alabama? Does it have good place to hide bodies?"
"No…just thought it'd be nice to get some of that culture into us…into me."
She slowly unbuttons the front of her shirt, and peels it off. Dexter drops the saw, and his jaw. Ghost Harry slowly begins to play with his nipples.
"That's how we Morgan's do, Dex."
Dexter slowly walks towards Debra, and takes her shirt out of her hand. "Thanks, Deb. This will do nicely.
Dexter walks back to the body, and begins to wipe the table clean of Travis' blood with the shirt.
"You know Dex, that's not the only fluid that shirt can mop up."
Dexter stands up, slowly examining the crime scene. "I don't think there's any saliva…but thanks, Deb. I love you."
Debra attempts to burst into tears, but to her shock, none come.
"Holy mother fucking shit. I think my tear ducts are all dried up. How did this happen!"
Dexter walks to his sister, concerned. "Deb, you are horribly dehydrated. How many fingers am I holding up?"
Debra begins to sway, and falls to the ground. Dexter holds her close, and yells out to Ghost Harry. "Call an ambulance!"
Ghost Harry runs to the payphone outside, but the phone passes through his ghost hands. "No! Damn my ghost hands! Damn them to hell!"
There is a tap on Harry's shoulder, and he turns around. There stands Professor Gellar, holding his shoulder. Harry yells out, "What happened to you!"
Gellar moans in pain. "I was out dancing with my friend Travis when a truck full of Twist-ies ran me down. I never saw it coming…"
Harry raises his eyebrow at Gellar. "You didn't see that coming?"
Back in the church, Deb is near passing out.
"Dex…I need to say something…"
Debra passes out, and Dexter throws his arms up in the air.
Hours later, Debra wakes up in the hospital. She grabs the arm of the doctor, and brings him close. "Where's my brother…where is Dexter?"
The doctor looks at Debra, confused. "He's been arrested…he's a serial killer."
"You don't understand…I need to tell him I love him…"
"No…you don't understand…he's a killer."
"I won't let you come between us!"
Debra smacks the doctor in the face, and flees the hospital. As she exits, she conveniently spots Dexter being led away by Quinn and Batista and loaded in the back of a police car.
Debra runs up, but Quinn holds her back. "Deb…wait…please…marry me. I'm so lonely."
"Fuck off, Quinn!"
She throws him aside, and he falls to the ground, drunk and redundant. Debra stares at Angel, as if challenging him to a spot of rough and tumble.
"Angel…I need to talk to Dexter."
Angel takes off his hat…after all, it is night time. After some hesitation, he puts it back on. To cover up both the shame of his bald patch and the 'Maria LaGuerta Gives The Best Blowjobs In Miami' tattoo he got emblazoned above his fringe.
"Deb, he's going away for a long time."
"So is your face."
Angel narrows his eyes, and steps aside. "Well played."
Debra hops in the police van, and holds Dexter tight.
"Dex…they say you're a killer."
"It wasn't me…it was my dark passenger."
Dexter sighs. "Some black guy I picked up on the way to the Church…never trust a hitchhiker, you know?"
Debra laughs. If Dexter said this is what happened, this was what happened. After all, she loved him.
Dexter smiles, and casually takes off his cuffs and puts them on Deb.
"Me too, non-relation."
Just as they are about to kiss, Debra wakes up in a sea of sweat and various other fluids in her bed. She sits up, and gasps.
"Holy mother fucking swear word. Was it all a dream?"
A laugh comes from the end of the bed, and Debra screams.
Standing at the foot of her bed stands a well built African American male wearing a striped jumper, and with large claws coming out of his gloved hands. Debra recognises his face immediately. He waves with his clawed hands, and jumps at the screaming Deb.