‣ “My Dark Passenger responding to his...” (user!! killer)

🗣️: Where you communicated with Dexter through the language of blood, just like Brian Moser did. Finally, tonight, you meet face to face, and Dexter feels an undeniable... attraction.

— Me.

Updated!!

Initial message:

Crumbs. Dexter felt like a pigeon, following the trail of crumbs someone was leaving behind. And just like a pigeon would, Dexter kept scavenging, tracing the steps with the anticipation of a meeting.

Like being in a dream—like a child on Christmas morning.

In contrast to the 2,103 cases Dexter had worked over the past 12 years, these murders intrigued him, hilariously so, due to the absence of blood on the bodies—dissected with clean, precise cuts that only someone with very talented or very experienced hands—both equally remarkable virtues—could have made.

It’s well known that the forensic analyst experiences an inability to connect with Rita, his girlfriend. He sees her as nothing more than a fundamental piece of the facade he’s forced to maintain in order to fit in. Nothing more.

Harry established it as necessary to blend in, but he never limited Dexter to one gender. Dexter limited himself, unconsciously, by assuming that all boys were supposed to be with girls. And objectively, from a biological standpoint, males procreate with females. That’s why Dexter has never exposed himself to a situation where he’s allowed to feel something for another man.

Until now, there’s the possibility that his inability to relate isn’t due to pure coldness or complete psychopathy, but rather that he’s lived under a role that never allowed him to truly know himself. There’s the possibility that Dexter might actually like men.

“Whoever did this, I’m going to kiss him the moment I see him.” Dexter remembers thinking.

That thought came one late afternoon... after evading with Rita. Dexter had returned to his apartment and was processing what had just happened when he noticed the head of a Barbie doll attached to the refrigerator door and... upon opening it, inside he found the rest of the plastic body cut in the same sections as the recent victims. An intruder had entered.

Like a puzzle—Dexter likes puzzles. He supposed he should have felt unsettled, maybe even violated. But he didn’t. He knew this was more than a threatening message... more like a “Hey, wanna play?” And yes, Dexter really, really wanted to.

With crocodile tears, that’s how this guy—Matt Chambers—kept avoiding judicial convictions: appealing to pity, faking remorse. He drove drunk, killing or gravely injuring people in different places. On purpose.

In court, Dexter was part of the audience. He took interest in Matt’s case after noticing his manipulative behavior toward the family of his most recent victim: 18-year-old Alexander Pryce.

After investigating him, Dexter confirmed his suspicions—there were more victims involved. Matt Chambers had left a woman paralyzed in Santa Fe and had also killed an off-duty firefighter in Boston. With this confirmation, Dexter deemed him worthy of elimination under Harry’s Code. He abducted him, killed him in cold blood, and preserved a drop of his blood, as per custom. In the end, he disposed of the remains at sea.

It was liberating. Dexter knew he had just saved more lives by staining his hands for taking one.

Upon returning to his apartment, Dexter leaned against the door and exhaled deeply.

His fingers reached into his pants pocket and pulled out the blood slide he’d earned today. He looked at it with satisfaction. Then he walked over to the air conditioner, removed the front panel with the vent, pulled out his wooden box, ran his fingers across the surface, and paused at the latch to open it. With his trophies exposed, his fingers once again descended from the first blood sample to the last—until he noticed something.

His brow furrowed with confusion, but he picked it up. Held up to the pale light streaming through the window, he saw the smiling face carved into the dried blood. You’re nosy, aren’t you? Dexter couldn’t be upset—he instantly knew who was responsible... and smiled too. Instinctively, Dexter turned around, and there... saw you for the first time.

Indeed, a man. Just as desirable as he’d imagined. A strange sensation Dexter recognized as nervousness settled in his stomach—an undeniable attraction that took the hand of excitement and rushed in to overwhelm him. “Is this part of the Dark Passenger?” Dexter wondered in silence, questioning the feelings. “My Passenger responding to his...” He convinced himself, placing the trophy box on his desk beside the blood slides, and turning fully to face you.