Darkly Dreaming Dexter: A Novel by Jeff Lindsay

Author:Jeff Lindsay [Lindsay, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780307275103
Amazon: B000FCK8ZK
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2005-06-28T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

IT WAS THE STATIC OF HIS RADIO THAT GAVE HIM away. I was deeply involved in something I’d never tried before when I heard it. I was working on the torso with the knife point and could feel the first real tinglings of response down my spine and through my legs and I didn’t want to stop. But a radio— This was worse news than a mere guard arriving. If he called for backup or to have the road blocked, it was just possible that I might find a few of the things I had been doing a little difficult to explain.

I looked down at Jaworski. He was nearly done now, and yet I was not happy with how things had gone. Far too much mess, and I had not really found what I was looking for. There had been a few moments where I felt on the brink of some wonderful thing, some amazing revelation to do with—what? the water flowing by outside the window?—but it had not happened, whatever it had been. Now I was left with an unfinished, unclean, untidy, unsatisfying child rapist, and a security guard on his way to join us.

I hate to rush the conclusion. It’s such an important moment, and a real relief for both of us, the Dark Passenger and I. But what choice did I have? For a long moment—far too long, really, and I’m quite ashamed—I thought about killing the guard and going on. It would be easy, and I could continue to explore with a fresh start—

But no. Of course not. It wouldn’t do. The guard was innocent, as innocent as anyone can be and still live in Miami. He’d probably done nothing worse than shoot at other drivers on the Palmetto Expressway a few times. Practically snow-white. No, I had to make a hasty retreat, and that was all there was to it. And if I had to leave the janitor not quite finished and me not quite satisfied—well, better luck next time.

I stared down at the grubby little insect and felt myself fill with loathing. The thing was drooling snot and blood all together, the ugly wet slop burbling across his face. A trickle of awful red came from his mouth. In a quick fit of pique, I slashed across Jaworski’s throat. I immediately regretted my rashness. A fountain of horrible blood came out and the sight made it all seem even more regrettable, a messy mistake. Feeling unclean and unsatisfied, I sprinted for the stairwell. A cold and petulant grumbling from my Dark Passenger followed me.

I turned out onto the second floor and slid sideways over to a glassless window. Below me I could see the guard’s golf cart parked, pointing in the direction of Old Cutler—meaning, I hoped, that he had come from the other direction and had not seen my car. Standing beside the cart, a fat olive-skinned young man with black hair and a wispy black mustache was looking up at the building—luckily, looking at the other end at the moment.

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