Dexter's Final Cut (34 page)

And as Renny focused on his heckler and crushed him, I saw the Thing behind his eyes, the Thing I thought I might have seen, and now there was no doubt, none at all. Above all the noise of the crowd I heard the sibilant roar of the huge Dark Thing that reared triumphantly from the deep shadows behind Renny’s smile. And I watched it uncoil and flare up into its great shadowy length, and reach its long and sharp claw at the heckler, and it was there for all the world to see, and although no one else did see it, I saw it and I knew.

A Passenger. No doubt about it.

I don’t know how or why, but I always know it when I see it. I always have. And there was no doubt now, none at all: Renny had a Dark Passenger, just like me.

Renny moved on, and I am sure the rest of his show was every bit as funny and filled with savage insight, but I did not notice. I was lost in a train of thought that took me far away down the tracks, and I would not have noticed if Renny set himself on fire.

At first I merely thought about the fact that Renny was a monster, just like me. But that led me on to thoughts that were far loftier, and much more to the point. Because Renny had a Passenger. I didn’t know how he managed its care and feeding, but he had one. And if he could survive, and even flourish in Hollywood … why couldn’t I?

I pictured it in my imagination: Dexter lounging by the pool in Bel Air, watching the shadows grow deeper as the sun drifted down into the Pacific Ocean and a slow fat moon began to creep up into the sky, and Dexter feels the old Happy Night thrill begin to take him over, and he rises from his poolside perch and with his customary
care he pads into the large and airy house on his predator’s feet and reaches for his ready-packed bag of toys and tools and away he slides into a night that is just as dark and welcoming, no matter that the sun sets, instead of rises, in the water.

It could work. There was no reason it shouldn’t. And I could not shake the idea that I would be far happier on that western shore, in a land of new opportunity, a fresh panorama of unexplored darkness.

But of course … I had not actually been invited. And there was no reason to think I would be. Jackie certainly had her own life in California, with her own friends and routines and security measures, and aside from one quick kiss, she had given me no indication that I would ever be a part of that life. If I was logical about things, I had to admit that most probably, when the pilot was finished shooting here, she would thank me, hug me, and return to the West Coast, leaving Dexter behind as no more than an occasional fond memory.

And no matter how much I wanted it to be more than that, I couldn’t make that happen, and I couldn’t even say what that “more” would be.

So as Renny’s performance wound on to its no doubt hilarious conclusion, it was a somewhat Disheartened Dexter who finally came back to his grumpy senses as he realized that everyone around him was leaping to their feet and applauding madly. And because the First Principle of the Harry Code is to fit in, Dexter stood and clapped, too.

Rita stood next to me, clapping with manic enthusiasm. Her cheeks were slightly flushed and a very big smile was plastered on her face, a smile like I had never seen before, joy and thrill mixed together with excitement. She looked ecstatic, as if she had just gotten a glimpse into a world of magical beauty. I am sure the show was enjoyable, but Rita seemed transported to another plane. I had sat beside her on the couch and watched TV with her every night for years, and never suspected that the world of entertainment and its denizens were so important and enthralling to her. I couldn’t imagine how anyone with a three-digit IQ could possibly be so mesmerized—but of course, I knew Renny and Robert much better than she did.

And when the applause finally trickled to a halt, she still stood there, staring at the stage, as if she was looking at a spot where a
miracle had just happened. It wasn’t until Robert tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Hey, Dex—I gotta get going,” that she finally stopped beaming at the empty stage and went back into shock.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh my— Dexter, Mr. Chase is …” And she collapsed into silence, blinking and blushing.

“Just Robert,” he said, predictably, and he smiled at her. “And can I call you, uh …?”

“Rita,” I told him.

“Rita. Right! Well, hey, Rita, you got a great guy here.” He clapped me on the shoulder to show how much he approved of me. “You’d better hang on to him,” he said. He winked at her, and put a hand on her upper arm. “You let him hang out with these Hollywood types, and they may try to steal him.”

Rita turned even redder. “Thank you, Mr. aahh, I mean Robert, I—oh,” she said. She put the knuckles of her right hand into her mouth, as if she’d said something awful and wanted to punish her teeth.

Robert didn’t seem to notice. He just squeezed her arm and said, “My pleasure. Great to meet you, Rita.” He gave her arm another squeeze, and looked at me. And then, with annoying inevitability, he shot me with his finger-gun again, and said, “See you Monday, partner.” He pushed past us and walked away up the aisle. Rita watched him go, knuckles still in her mouth. “Oh, my God,” she said.

I glanced around. Jackie was standing at her seat with Debs, but she was looking at me, and I was suddenly very tired of Rita’s worshipful blathering over Robert. “Come on,” I said. “I’ll walk you out to your car.” And to my complete surprise, she threw her arms around me and gave me a crushing hug, accompanied by a series of wet kisses on my face.

“Oh, Dexter, thank you,” she said. “This has been the most amazing— To see Robert Chase, and actually
talk
to him …!” she said into my ear, and she planted another damp kiss on me. “And Renny Boudreaux was
wonderful
—I mean, the language was a bit rough. But seriously—thank you. Thank you so much for this.”

It seemed like a bit much; the tickets hadn’t cost me anything, and I had been ordered to show up with Rita. But I just said, “You’re welcome,” and pried myself out of her embrace. “Where did you park?”

“Oh,” she said, “just a couple of blocks away—at the hotel?”

“All right,” I said, and I tried to steer her out. But apparently she wasn’t finished yet.

“I really— I mean it. Thank you, Dexter; this has been so, just, like a dream,” she said.

There was more, and I just kept nodding and smiling, and finally she wore down and I got her moving up the aisle toward the lobby and out the door at last and into the bright downtown Miami night.

I walked her to the parking garage, listening to her recap of the show, telling me Renny’s best lines—all of which I had, after all, just heard myself. But she took great delight in repeating them, and eventually I tuned her out altogether until we arrived at her car.

“Good night,” I said, and I opened the car door for her. She leaned forward and kissed my cheek again.

“Thank you so much, Dexter,” she said. “It really was wonderful—and when will you come home?”

“Just a few more days,” I said, and I’m pretty sure I kept the regret out of my voice.

“All right,” she said. “Well …” And I began to think she would stand there in the open door of her car until she was struck by lightning. So I planted a peck on her cheek.

“Good night,” I said. “I’ll see you soon.” And I took a step backward to give her enough room to close the car’s door, with her on the inside. She blinked at me for a moment, and then she smiled.

“Good night, Dexter,” she said. And she got into the front seat, started the car, and drove away. And I went back to find Jackie, thinking I might as well enjoy myself now.

It would all be over soon enough.

I
N THE NIGHT
I
WOKE UP TO THE SOUND OF SIRENS
. T
HEY WERE
a few miles away, winding up the scale in their flat, urgent wail, but the sound was coming closer, and without even thinking about it I knew what that meant and where they were headed: here, to this hotel, because another body had turned up, which meant—

Patrick
, I thought.
He’s done it again
. And in my half-sleeping brain I could see his eager face as he slipped out of the chains I had put so carefully around him, and in half-waking horror I watched as he slowly, happily began to swim in toward the hotel, toward me, his rotting face set in a dead smile—

The image was too close and far too real and I jerked my eyes open.
Impossible
, I told myself. But in the darkened room with the sirens wailing and sleep still crusting my brain it did not seem impossible.
He’s dead
, I told myself,
absolutely positively dead
. And I knew this with complete certainty, but just as surely the sirens were coming closer, and just as surely I knew they were coming here.

I looked around the darkened room and tried to focus on real things: a chair, a table, a window. The ghosts began to fade back into dreams, and I took a deep breath—and then a new thought came
barreling in, and in its own way it was just as troubling as the first nightmare:

What if I killed the wrong person?

What if that had been some Eagle Scout–innocent kayaker, who just happened to resemble a blurry picture on Facebook? And I had stabbed him and drowned him and sent him to feed the crabs, thinking it was Patrick—and now the
real
Patrick was right here, right now, in this hotel, and he had just killed someone, and he might even be on his way up here, to this room—

I was wide-awake now. I rolled off the couch and stood there for a moment, blinking stupidly, and then I picked up the Glock and padded across the floor to the door of Jackie’s room. I paused there for a moment, listening for any sound, and as I put my ear against the door it jerked open and I almost fell over.

Jackie stood there, eyes wide, one hand on the doorknob and one hand at her throat. She was wearing a plain cotton nightgown that came down to midthigh, and somehow, on her it seemed more enticing than anything Frederick’s of Hollywood could ever come up with. I gaped for just a moment before her voice brought me back to the real world.

“I heard the sirens,” she said. “I thought …” She glanced down and saw the pistol in my hand and her eyes went even wider. “Oh,” she said.

“I thought so, too,” I said, and she nodded.

For half a minute we both just stood there, listening as the sirens wound their way closer. There was never any doubt in my mind that they were headed here, but even so, we both held our breath as we heard the high, screaming note slide down the scale and then stop right below us, in the courtyard of the hotel. I went over and slid the balcony door open. I stepped out and looked down. Two patrol cars had parked at sloppy, cop-in-a-hurry angles. Their doors hung open and the flashing lights reflected up and onto the front of the hotel, and as I watched, more cars pulled in behind them, motorpool cars filled with detectives. I went back in and stood beside Jackie and we watched the lights flashing through the open balcony door until Jackie finally remembered to breathe.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh, shit.”

“Yup,” I said.

Jackie inhaled raggedly, and then said, “It isn’t … I mean, we don’t know … Shit.” Even with the incomplete sentences, I followed her logic exactly. And although I wanted to reassure her, tell her it really wasn’t, it really
couldn’t
be, that half-dreamed image would not leave me, and I just stood there and felt the sweat come out of my hand and onto the grip of the Glock.

Jackie shook her head, and then walked quickly across the room to the couch and sat down, leaning forward, knees together, with her hands on the cushion beside them. I followed and sat beside her. There didn’t seem to be a whole lot to say. I remembered that I was still holding the Glock, and I slid the safety back on.

We were still sitting like that five minutes later when the house phone rang. I picked it up and said, “Yes?”

“What the fuck is going on?” a voice said; I recognized it as my sister, Deborah, and she sounded very tense. “Are you all right?”

“We’re fine, Debs,” I said, as soothingly as I could manage. “Are you here at the hotel?”

Debs breathed out, sounding almost like she was expelling a lungful of cigarette smoke. “I’m downstairs, in the lobby,” she said.

“What happened down there?” I asked, which was unnecessary. I was pretty sure I knew
what
had happened; I just didn’t know to
whom
.

“There’s a dead woman up there, one floor down from yours,” Debs said, and her voice sounded very harsh. “She’s pretty torn up, but she’s carrying a driver’s license in the name of Katherine Podrowski. That mean anything to you?”

“Podrowski?” I said, and behind me I heard Jackie gasp and then make a brief whimpering sound.

“Kathy …?” she said.

“A room service waiter saw blood coming under the door. He used a passkey, took one look, and he’s still crying,” Debs said. “It sounds like our guy did it again.”

“But …” I said, and happily for me, I stopped before I said anything more.

“Is it Kathy?” Jackie said in a hoarse and frightened whisper.

“She’s been ripped up, gutted, and her eye is missing,” Deborah
went on, rather relentlessly, I thought, and very definitely harshly now.

“Which eye?” I asked her.

Deborah hissed, long and loud.

“I’m coming up,” she said, and hung up the phone.

I hung up, too, and went back to sit beside Jackie. “It’s Kathy,” I said.

“Oh, dear God,” Jackie said. She hugged herself, and then she began to shake, and then she was crying. “Oh, my God,” she said. For a few moments she cried and rocked, arms locked tight around herself. Then she took a long and ragged breath, and leaned forward over her knees. “Oh, Jesus, oh, shit,” she said. “This is my fault; it’s all my fault.” And she put her hands over her face and, after a moment, her shoulders began to shake again.

As I have mentioned, I don’t really understand most of human behavior, but I do know a standard cue when I see one, and when a woman hides her face in her hands and cries, any man seated next to her is supposed to provide comfort and support. So I did that, putting one arm around Jackie and patting her shoulder gently with my hand.