By J.K. Barlow | TV | October 5, 2009 |
By J.K. Barlow | TV | October 5, 2009 |
Tonight’s episode is called “Living the Dream” and it opens with a rehash of the “tonight’s the night” bit that opened Seasons 1 and 2. (This bit didn’t open Season 3, which may tell us something about the quality of Season 4.) Headlights appear out of the darkness; it’s Dex, driving an SUV, his face lit in red. The voiceover tells us tonight’s the night; a primal, sacred need calls to him, and tonight it’s time.
Then we’re in a well-lit bathroom, where John Lithgow is running a bath.
Dexter stops the car and gets out. “Tonight’s the night I finally … sleep.”
Now John Lithgow is naked and laying a towel on the floor. A woman walks uncertainly up the hall, enters the bathroom, closes the medicine cabinet door and sees naked John Lithgow in the mirror, standing behind her. Naturally, she screams — wouldn’t you? But John’s quick and gets her in a chokehold. She stops screaming.
Dexter, outside his car, hears a baby cry. He opens the door, and I guess we can assume that Rita popped that kid out, because there’s a baby right there in a car seat. “Okay, Harrison [Really? Harrison?], the driving thing didn’t work, the singing thing didn’t work, you planning on both of us not sleeping for another three months?” Little Harrison cries some more. “Apparently so.” Dexter cautions the child not to wake his mother. “If you could talk you’d tell me not to worry about you, right?”
Now Lithgow’s in the bath with this woman, who is also naked. She’s still struggling, but his arm is still firmly around her neck, and he manages to knock her out and whispers, “It’s already over.” Then he takes a straight razor and cuts her OH NO NOT THERE oh wait - in the femoral artery. She wakes up a little as bloody water runs down the tub sides. She’s fading. He shows her reflection in a hand mirror. She expires. Shot of Lithgow and her from above; he’s still cradling her body in the reddening water.
And then it seems we are being treated to another Dexter title sequence, but this time something’s a little off: The music is flat. Dexter slaps at the mosquito, and misses. Pulls the t-shirt over his head, and he looks like hell. And there’s a spit-up stain on it. He takes the t-shirt off. His leather shoelace breaks. Staring into the mirror, he yawns. We pan out to see Dex in shirt and tie, and hear the sounds of Marco Polo being played in the distance. “There’s this cliché where serial killers are always described as quiet, kept to himself, kind of a loner,” he monologues. He steps on a quacking toy. “Maybe it’s a cliché for a reason.”
Dexter exits the bedroom into morning chaos. He can’t find his keys, and Rita and Astor are having a little confrontation over Astor’s music, its volume, and how Rita is “so unfair.” Dexter reveals that he’s only slept an hour and a half, and Rita chides him: On days when he has court, like today, it’s okay to wake her even though he’s agreed to take the night shift. All that matters is that Harrison has a father who’s there for him. Dexter still can’t find his keys. Cody’s been in the pool, likely the source of all that Marco Polo-ing, and Rita orders him into his school clothes, just before finding Dexter’s keys in the fridge. She says that if he doesn’t get some sleep soon, he’ll lose his mind. Dexter says he lost that years ago. Why does he hint?
While creepy music plays, Dexter exits a nice little house with a terra-cotta roof in a well-appointed suburb. “Dexter Morgan: good suburban husband, happy father of three, on paper anyway,” he muses to himself. The clean-cut next door neighbor asks him what’s the news; Dexter says he doesn’t know yet. Rita runs out of the house with Dexter’s cell phone and chats with the neighbor, whose name is Elliott, about the beautiful day, and about taking turns ferrying their children around. “It takes a village,” he notes. I bet Elliott’s the neighborhood philosopher.
Dexter puts his arm around Rita and they stand there smiling at the kids when suddenly, out of nowhere, Rita drops the most shiver-inducing line I have heard on this series so far. “Car pools and swimming pools,” she says. “How much are we living the dream?” Seriously, I watched Dexter dismember a half-decomposed body in a cabin in the Everglades while Doakes sat there and listened, and I didn’t bat an eye, but this one made me twitch. Anyway, “So much,” Dexter agrees. But he’s a sociopath.
Deb’s in bed receiving cunnilingus (I guess, though his head seems to be more in the region of her belly) from Anton. From the sounds of it things are going all right, and then suddenly he pops up and asks her if she can TiVo Jon Stewart for him — ah, monogamy. Joke joke. Deb loves Anton. Pillow talk, but Deb’s late for work. Anton says that if Deb hadn’t moved in he would never see her. Apparently Anton works on some kind of cruise ship, playing music about skinny bitches for two days at a time. Deb says she likes his job because it keeps him from getting sick of her. Anton replies that that’s never gonna happen, because Deb makes him happy! It’s adorable.
In the courtroom, Dex is expounding on the results of some blood work. Detective Quinn is sitting in the back with what we can assume is the victim’s family. Though Dex is a little disorganized, he sounds okay to me, but for some reason the defense lawyer looks skeptical. “Passive flow pattern blood stain,” apparently, is the one phrase that tips the lawyer off: Dexter’s got the wrong notes. He’s got the results from the Leonetti case — but this is the Gomez hearing. “Do you frequently become confused and disoriented when conducting your spatter analysis, Mr. Morgan?” Dexter explains the baby situation. So is sleep deprivation affecting his judgment? No, it was a momentary mix-up! He looks at the judge for mercy, but the judge is unimpressed. Quinn walks out of the courtroom in disgust. The lawyer suggests to the judge that Dexter is generally unreliable, and the police department who trusts him must be unreliable as well. Shots of sad little kids in their Sunday best underscore just how much Dexter has fucked up.
Sitting outside that fast food cart where they often eat lunch, Deb is talking to the bleached-blonde girl from the police archives. Deb says she’s halfway through all her dad’s female C.I.s. Blondie says she should be spending more time with that man of hers, but Deb is undeterred. When Blondie asks, Deb says the point of all this is to know that her perfect fucking father wasn’t so fucking perfect. This quest is the meaning of her life.
Enter Dexter stage left, who is immediately confronted by Quinn, saying “Hey buddy” in a pretty un-buddylike way. Quinn: “Guess where I was yesterday?” Dexter doesn’t know. “I was at a store. Want to know what kind of store?” Was it a grocery store? Nope. Turns out he was at a clothing store helping a lady (the wife of the victim from this morning, we presume) buy her son’s first suit — something a father should do — for the day in court. Benito Gomez apparently beat this kid’s dad to death in front of him, and it’s not the first time he’s done something like this. Quinn does not accept Dexter’s apology because it’s not going to stop Gomez. Deb tries to run interference, but Dexter says it’s okay — he screwed up, it’s his fault. Quinn apparently can’t take this blatant display of decency and storms off, leaving the gory photos with him. Deb is shocked that her brother is capable of screwing up, but he says not to worry — he’ll be okay.
During a staff meeting, Quinn is staring menacingly at Dexter. Vince Masuka leans in to let Dex know that if he needs any help with the angry Irish, just to let him know, and Dex says thanks, adding that Masuka is a good friend. He is, isn’t he? In his own way. Dexter’s holding tightly to the folder on the Gomez case, and thinking that sometimes a good kill “just falls into your lap.” The meeting is interrupted when LaGuerta receives a report of a body in Kendall. Deb and Quinn are put on the scene. And apparently there’s blood — lots of blood.
Yes, it’s Lithgow’s bathtub job. Dexter is taking pictures, and Masuka is cracking jokes: “Talk about your blood bath!” Snigger, snigger. This garners him a dirty look from Quinn. “Tough room,” says Masuka. Really? I’m having a great time! Deb, Quinn and Masuka hash it out: the femoral artery was severed, and she bled out in minutes. There’s no weapon on the premises, so it’s probably a homicide, and if the judge doesn’t agree he can suck Masuka’s uncircumcised dick. In a nineties flashback Deb tells him that’s “way TMI,” but agrees that it’s a homicide. The victim just got promoted to sous chef, apparently. Dexter notes that it’s a well-organized crime site and that the killer cleaned up after himself: no blood stains at the base of the tub. He thinks to himself that this guy clearly doesn’t have kids. Quinn, of course, tells Masuka to keep an eye on Dexter’s work if the girl’s parents want to see anyone go to jail for this.
Quinn, exiting the house, is ambushed by a cute, pencil-skirted journalist named Christine Hill. She knows the victim’s name — Lisa Bell — and starts grilling Quinn. Homicide? Suicide? It wasn’t pills — so she must have bled out, right? Yep, this girl knows her suicides. Hot. Quinn gives her his card, saying she should call him if she breaks the case before they do. Some mild flirtation follows, and then Quinn checks out her ass as she walks away.
Back at the station, Deb is freaking out because the water cooler is empty. LaGuerta: “Tough crime scene?” Deb says no, and then kind of, and then yes. “You know, when things are going good, I think that’s God’s way of saying cover your ass, because something’s going to jump up and bite it. Hard.” What, Deb, bitter? Remember when LaGuerta was a total bitch who hated Deb and wanted Dexter? I miss that. Now apparently they have girl talk and trade advice about men. LaGuerta says to knock it off with the crazy-making over men. Deb asks if that’s an order, and Laguerta says it’s just some free advice from someone who’s been there before. Man, Doakes has got to be a huge elephant in the room in any discussion of LaGuerta’s romantic history.
It seems that Anton wanted LaGuerta to meet some friend of his. LaGuerta says musicians aren’t her type, but Deb says the guy is a restaurant owner. A Cuban restaurant, no less! Three of ‘em, and what’s wrong with musicians? Nothing. Why should LaGuerta care if the guy’s Cuban? Never mind. Anyway, Laguerta says she’ll let Deb know when and if she’s interested in meeting someone new.
Dexter is yawning in the lab and relishing the quiet- - no crying babies or Marco Polo. “Just me. And blood.” Together again. He’s researching Benito Gomez, and finds he lives in a trailer park. Too busy for an ambush, but Dexter also discovers that Benito frequents Tito’s, “the only still-open-for-business establishment in a lonely strip mall.” Much more suitable for Dexter’s purposes. Rita calls because Harrison won’t go down for his nap, and asks Dex to sing for him. Dex obliges by singing “America the Beautiful” while flipping through crime-scene photos, and I guess it works, because she leaves him alone.
He mentally goes over his schedule: Lisa Bell blood work, Benito recon, and then sing the remaining 95 verses of “America the Beautiful” to his son. (Are there really 95 more?) “Who knew life could get so… un-simple?” Or complicated? Maybe?
Later that night, Masuka is looking for strip bar companions, but is shot down by Quinn (“got a date”), Deb (“fuck off and die, and die again”) and Dex (“I’m going home to my family” — lame). Masuka is feeling no love until Angel walks in talking about some guy who got shot in the head on his honeymoon while being robbed. Apparently Robbery’s got squat, leading Angel to think it’s going to be “a total goat-fuck.” Masuka thinks Angel could use a drink; Angel agrees that he could use a Cuervo or ten. Masuka skips to the elevator in a cloud of giggles.
Dex is driving through Miami, scoping the nightlife. He gets to Tito’s and there’s Benito right in his crosshairs, sitting right in front of the open door. Dex likens his “dark passenger” to a trapped coal miner while gloating that his blood work is what’s going to do Benito in. Benito gets up and leaves, and Dex notes there are no security cameras, and that Benito parks away from the lights. Tomorrow it is.
LaGuerta is tousling her hair in the mirror. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually come by,” she says shyly. Cut to ANGEL, SITTING ON HER BED! I guess Masuka was just his alibi. LaGuerta asks Angel to tell her this isn’t crazy, and Angel says “Yeah, it’s crazy. Crazy good.” They fall onto the bed. And scene.
In the nursery, Dex is using his big scary crime-scene camera to take pictures of the baby. Rita urges him on — Harrison’s so cute when he’s sleeping — and Dexter says we all start out that way: pure and innocent. Then you grow up, and things happen. Things, indeed. Rita says nothing’s going to happen if he has such a great dad watching over him, and Dex concurs that Harrison’s a lucky guy. Just then Astor starts blasting her music and wakes the baby. Rita tells her this is not how you get an iPod, and then makes her put the kid back to sleep. Dexter thinks Rita should just “end the terror” and get Astor an iPod, but Rita says it’s just a power play, and that’s not how things work in this family. Cody dashes in wearing his bathing suit and Rita says that there will be no more Marco Polo in the mornings. No iPods? No swimming pools before lunch? Man, Rita really lays down the law. Cody exercises his nascent debating skills by claiming that Marco Polo before school is important, and Rita counters that getting ready for school is even more so. Cody looks at Dexter and says, “When I grow up I want to be just like you. Do what I want, when I want.” Dex thinks, “You and me both,” but out loud he says, “I want to be just like you!” and hoists the kid up on his shoulder. I’m not convinced.
Over at the station, LaGuerta and Angel are having an awkward silence in the elevator, the source of which is revealed when Masuka steps in between them eating some manner of breakfast pastry. He opines that Angel could have totally fucked that stripper. The elevator pings, the doors open, and LaGuerta exits saying, “Get to work, gentlemen.” “What got into her?” Masuka asks, oblivious of the answer, which is standing to his left.
Back in Lisa Bell’s bathroom, Dex is playing around with some red yarn when Deb enters and asks if this is Extreme Makeover: Forensics Edition. (Oh, tell me that wouldn’t be prime-time GOLD. It would be just like Sunshine Cleaning, but with more throw pillows and stenciling and enthusiasm.) Dex says that on the first go-through, he found some blood that wasn’t the victim’s, and probably not the killer’s either, since the sample was pretty degraded. He isn’t sure of the source. Quinn: “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” A forensics flunky finds some blood under the tiles, and it looks like it really is from some other source entirely, though it did come from the bathtub. Quinn asks why Dex would needlessly complicate an already complicated case with his theories, as if theories aren’t what they work with all the time, and Deb drags him out into the hallway and says she’s got to go, and that Quinn should try to manage things without “going all asshole” on her brother. Quinn grins a grin that makes you want to slap him.
Dex gets a sample and is gazing at it, trancelike, thinking that “blood always tells,” when suddenly Special Agent Frank Lundy materializes behind the slide. “How’s my favorite blood-spatter analyst?” Dexter practically blushes as he responds, “Great! How’s my favorite serial-killer hunter?” Dex says he just missed Deb, but it turns out Lundy is here to see Dex. He seems very interested in the murder, and makes some pretty educated guesses on details he doesn’t know. Lundy asks if he can drop by the station later, and Dex says sure. “Shit,” he thinks to himself as Lundy walks away.
Deb is parking her car in a modest residential neighborhood. Looks like the business that took her away from the crime scene is her eternal search for the Loose Informant; she’s got a pile of folders in the passenger seat, with photos attached, and when she picks one up we see Laura Moser’s mug shot underneath. As luck would have it, Laura’s file is last. But right now Deb’s all about the penultimate CI. A classy older lady answers the door and greets Deb. It looks like they have an appointment. In the kitchen, Deb introduces herself as Harry Morgan’s daughter, and the woman asks how “Handsome Harry Morgan” is doing these days. Deb reveals that he’s dead, and then gets right to the point: “Did you and my father have… a good relationship?” Pause. The woman explains that Harry Morgan was a driven man, and got what he wanted; unfortunately, he never wanted her. That was unfortunate because she would have been all over Handsome Harry.
Dexter, back in the forensics lab, has settled on a shut-down boxing arena just outside of town to chop up Benito Gomez. He looks to the door just as Deb walks into the office and sits down at her desk. In answer to Angel’s question, she says she’s been “looking for misery.” Angel: “No upside to that.” Deb: “So I’m fucking learning.” You had to learn? Some guy from Robbery shows up with a flash drive regarding the groom-shot-in-the-head case, and Angel marvels that a man’s life can be reduced to a few bytes, though Deb has to help him with that word. Robbery Guy opines that in this economy, the last thing Miami needs is dead tourists. Robbery Guy is all class. Just then LaGuerta hurries by and says that Angel had better make it a quick solve, because the mayor’s freaking out over this case. It always bugs me when they say stuff like that. I mean, what if it isn’t a quick solve? Robbery Guy takes this opportune moment to ask what happened between Angel and Barbara Gianna from Vice, which, good question, Robbery Guy! Angel says they broke up because they wanted different things. Like, she didn’t want to date a john? This has been a lead-up for the guy to ask if he can ask her out. Angel says go for it; I always knew he wasn’t the jealous type. As Robbery Guy walks away, Dexter does too, and gets in the elevator, trying to look inconspicuous.
That’s because he’s going back to his old apartment, where he still keeps his glass slides on top of the air conditioner. “The perfect husband would have gotten rid of his old apartment. But I kill people. Not exactly the perfect husband.” I know we all tune into “Dexter” for these trenchant observations. He takes out the box of slides, opens it, and starts whispering to them: “Someone new is moving in. Be nice.” Actually no, the crazy shit is why we tune in.
He goes to the bedroom to get his knives ‘n’ things, and then hops in the car. He enters the boxing arena and turns on the lights: “The land that time, and Florida Electric, forgot.” That ring right in the middle looks pretty ideal; he gets in and surveys the arena, hearing the ghosts of the cheering audience. In no time he’s brought out the plastic, sealing the whole ring off in a sort of translucent tent; nice, but I’d want to be able to see the door.
He’s parked in front of Tito’s again, watching Benito, when he falls asleep. He’s woken some time later by the tapping of a cop’s flashlight on the window. Cop: “Tell me you’ve got a reason for sleeping alone in a car outside a bar other than you’re drunk.” Dex says he’s just tired, but the cop asks for his license and registration, which Dex hands over. He includes his Homicide credentials, which don’t get him any slack. The cop makes him recite the alphabet backwards. While he’s doing so, Benito walks out of the bar, gets into his truck and drives away. The cop, convinced that Dexter’s not drunk, takes a look at the car seat and teddy bear in the back of the SUV and tells Dex he’s got more important places to be. “Tell me about it,” says Dex. He’s hinting again.
At home, Rita — who thought Dex would be “working late” — tells him the baby’s down. Rita says that means it’s time for sex, and not “rushed, frantic, the-kids-are-asleep sex.” Nope. What Rita’s got in mind is “slow, hot, steamy, naughty sex.” Dex gives her an out if she’s too tired, but is too much of a gentleman to mention he’s so tired he could sleep standing up and also that he is a largely emotionless sociopath. Rita says she’s been pretty horny ever since the move and the baby cut down on their time together. Dex says he’s totally horny too. Rita pushes him onto the bed and tells him to close his eyes, and then brings out a HUGE basket full of oils and lotions and whatnot, including — no, really — a pink feather duster. Apparently she was saving them for some “real time alone.” To his credit, Dex puts on a brave face.
After all the tickling’s done, sleeping Dex and Rita are woken by the baby. Dex offers to go, since Rita’s already “done so much.” That’s twice Rita has made me shudder in one episode. In the nursery, Dex stuffs a bottle in Harrison’s mouth and tells him he’s a good boy and that Daddy kills people. Only bad people, though. He tells the kid that he’s not going anywhere; that he’s already lost his innocence, and he’s not going to sacrifice Harrison’s too.
In front of the police station, at the Cuban food cart, Dexter orders his third triple red-eye, whatever that is. The kid working the stand tells him he’s tempting the heart gods, but that’s the least of Dexter’s worries. Elsewhere in the parking lot, the pencil-skirted journalist — I mean, Christine — brings Quinn a copy of her article. It’s made the front page. She’s working on a follow-up, but Quinn can’t help her out because the department has bigger fish to fry. Christine is all over that, off the record, so Quinn tells her about the newlywed that got shot in the head. Christine changes tactics and invites Quinn out for a drink, as a thank you. It’s pretty awkward, but Quinn doesn’t mind and says they should make it dinner. Oh Quinn! Why would you needlessly complicate an already complicated case?
In the lab, Masuka has the blood work from that degraded sample in Lisa Bell’s bathroom. There’s no point in running it through the database, because it’s so old that DNA can’t be retrieved. Dex doesn’t want to give it up just yet, and runs Lisa’s address through the database instead. They discover that on April 11th, 1979, a homicide nearly identical to Lisa’s was committed in the same house. This victim’s name was Vicky Newman. Suddenly Lundy, who never knocks, is right behind them. Of course, there’s no love lost between Masuka and Lundy, so things are a little bit awkward. Masuka reminds him that he was “L.F.I. on the B.H.B.” He starts asking Lundy if he’s working on another case, but Lundy cuts him off because he wants to speak to Dexter alone. Masuka makes up some bullshit excuse and goes.
Lundy says Masuka’s right about why he’s in Miami. There is a case. But he’s retired and doesn’t have the FBI’s resources behind him — that’s why he needs Dexter. He’s tracking down “the one twisted son of a bitch who got away.” Dexter looks pretty uncomfortable at that, but asks him who the twisted son of a bitch might be. Lundy calls him the Trinity Killer — he’s been killing in threes, all over the country, for years. But because law enforcement across the country don’t communicate too well, Lundy can’t prove he exists, and no one at the FBI wants to help him out. But Lisa Bell’s profile fits the previous victims’, and that means the Trinity Killer is in Miami.
Then we’re in a dingy old locker room, with a copy of the article on Lisa Bell’s murder sitting alongside some clothes neatly folded on a bench, and someone crying “No … no … no …”
Back in the lab, Dexter asks how far back Lundy’s cases go. About 15 years, Lundy says. Dex tells him all about the weird coincidence of two identical murders in Lisa Bell’s house.
Moving through the locker room, which is bathed in green light from an exit sign, we hear sobs and more crying, getting louder, and the sound of running water.
At the lab, Lundy: “Well he’s come full circle. He’s back where this all began. Thirty years. You know what this means.” Dex knows very well what it means: “Trinity’s the most successful serial killer to ever get away with it.”
Now we’re in the very steamy showers, and a very naked John Lithgow is standing under the jet. He grabs the knob and makes the water, which is already pretty hot, as hot as it can go. He grimaces and starts screaming, a low, guttural scream.
Back at the department, Deb’s on the phone with Anton when Lundy walks in. She hangs up pretty quick. Lundy says “Hello, Debra.” Debra says “Motherfucking fuck.” So she’s a little thrown to see Lundy again. Deb asks him why he’s here, if he’s on a case. He says he’s retired, so she asks again why he’s here. He replies, maddeningly, “Life has a natural forward momentum. Certain things are inevitable.” They both glance at a photo of Deb and Anton that she’s got framed on her desk. He congratulates her on making detective. Deb asks how long he’ll be here and he says he doesn’t know. Lundy says he’ll be seeing her and Deb’s like, “Yeah. I guess. Maybe. I mean I don’t … I don’t know….”
Over at the elevator, LaGuerta and Angel are being all flirty — “Big plans this evening, Lieutenant?” “Oh, the usual.” You can tell they’re waiting until they’re somewhere private to jump each others’ bones, but just as the elevator doors are closing Masuka grabs them and jumps in, standing between the two once more. He suggests drinks, but receives no answer.
Dexter’s still in the lab, retooling his plans for kidnapping Benito Gomez. He can’t go back to Tito’s, that’s for sure, meaning he’s gotta get him where he lives, at the Triple Palms Trailer Resort. It’ll be difficult, but he’s got no choice. Dexter has to do it right because he’s “killing for two now.”
It works out well. Dexter knocks on the door and, when asked what the fuck he wants, replies “You,” injects the guy, and that’s that. Now he’s got Benito all wrapped up in the boxing ring, but he’s still looking pretty beat. He briefly envies Benito his unconsciousness, then smacks himself and inhales something — no idea what — to wake himself up. Next, he wakes Benito up. Benito recognizes him just before Dex sticks the cotton wool in his mouth. Then it’s the usual: Cut the cheek, make the slide, “You’ve made a lot of people very miserable, including me,” blah blah. Dexter retires to the corner for a moment, contemplates, and asks “Can I do it? Can I have it all?” It looks like the answer will be yes, until Rita calls and tells him he needs to go to an all-night pharmacy. Dude, why did you even pick up? Why did you leave it on? Couldn’t you have told her you were in a meeting? Dex is standing there like an idiot with his hand over Benito’s mouth. He says he’s kind of in the middle of something, but since Harrison has an ear infection and is in a lot of pain, Rita tells him whatever he’s doing can wait. I don’t know how we didn’t notice it in the last three seasons, but Rita is kind of a ball-breaker. Well, look at her mother. Dex says he’s on his way and hangs up. “Kids,” he says to Benito, and then speeds up the murderin’ and dismemberin’ “for the good of the family.” But he’s sweaty, dropping body parts, and doesn’t look like he’s enjoying it at all. Finally he loads everything into the back of the SUV.
We see his headlights coming out of the dark in an echo of the opening scene. On the drive home, with Harrison’s medicine in the passenger seat beside him, Dexter contemplates “rebooting,” changing the procedure. He’s got to take care of his family, but he also has a calling that he can’t ignore or deny. He can do it, he tells himself. But he’s so tired, he starts hallucinating Harry on the side of the road, under the street lights, telling him he doesn’t need to sleep. Thanks, Harry, but if he can see you saying that I think it’s a lost cause. Dexter’s eyes close, his head falls, when suddenly Harry is standing right there in front of the vehicle screaming, “You need to wake up!” It backfires (told you) and Dex swerves off the road. It’s a bad crash — the car flips three times and ends up on its head, with Dex — and the body parts? — inside.
J. K. Barlow lives in Europe, which stresses her out. She doesn’t currently have a blog — or not one she wants you to see — but she can be reached at i.barlova at gmail dot com.