Daringly Decapitating Dexter

Clean-Up Time

Edward's blood dripped down, forming a pool beneath the table. Hot, sticky, messy, awful blood covered the floor, the wall and me; it dripped down from my vizier onto my rubber apron and finally onto the floor. It was a good thing I'd dressed appropriately. Blood; sometimes it sets my teeth on edge; other times it helps me control the chaos. I turned my attention back to my victim; it was clean-up time. My ritual was complete; it was intoxicating. It was this moment which brought me certainty, connection, peace. I wiped down my vizier and removed a large bone saw from its compartment and set to work. I first sliced both legs at the thigh, before chopping them each into three pieces and placing them into two bags. I then moved onto the arms; which were separated into upper and lower and placed into one bag. Next was the head; which I had a head start on courtesy of my reciprocating saw. It too went into one bag. All that remained was the torso, which I bisected just below the ribs and placed each half in one bag. The body may have been placed into six neatly wrapped hefties; but I still had the room to clean up. I used ammonia and hydrogen peroxide to clean the blood off the plastic wrap, before using a wet vacuum cleaner to clean up the resulting liquid. To make sure all the blood was gone, I used luminol to examine the scene. After I was confident that the body and blood had been packed away; I began to take down the plastic wrap. The plastic wrap took up four trash bags and was packed into the plastic-covered trunk with the body and blood. Before I left the kill room, I took a final look with luminol and UV light to ensure I hadn't left any trace. With Harry's Code engrained in me; the scene was spotless. I left the scene behind and drove to my small, rundown, ill-frequented marina. Just the way I liked it; nobody to see me; nobody to see my extracurricular activities. I parked the car near to my boat; quickly checked for potential witnesses, then unloaded Edward's remains onto my boat. I've always liked the ocean; it gives me peace; space to think; I always find dry land so suffocating. I piloted my boat out of the marina. Effortlessly; I didn't need light to show me the way I'd come so many times before. On my way to my dumping grounds, I stopped at a deserted bank, where I grabbed some rocks to weigh Edward down. My secrets must stay in the deep; never to surface again. I reached the open ocean. Vast empty. Like me. I went at top speed, creating deep ripples in the otherwise calm waters. They radiated outwards until they had touched everything; affected everything and nothing was still anymore. After an hour or so I had arrived at the gulf stream. I spent a minute in the calmness and serenity of the silence. I like to pretend I'm alone; really alone. Post-apocalypse or pandemic. No-one left to act normal for. It would be freeing, but for now I must ensure my dark secrets stay in the abyss. One at a time, I threw each bag into the ocean; watching it disappear to where I had sent so many others to a watery grave. At last, I held the final bag. I slowly released it from my grip and watched as it slipped beneath the waves. Though Edward was gone, my cleanup process was far from complete. I emptied the contents of my liquid vacuum overboard; ensuring that I vacuumed up enough seawater to clean any remaining chemicals from its inside. When I took the bags containing Edward from my car; I also took the bags containing the plastic sheets as well as the sheet in my trunk; but I wasn't going to dump that with his body. It was too buoyant plus I really hate littering. I came back to dry land; but this wasn't my marina; it wasn't even Miami. I was in a desolate, unmonitored, industrial estate. The kind of place where a roll of plastic sheeting would go unnoticed, but still, I had be careful and follow the Code of Harry. I went from dumpster to dumpster; in each one I left a jagged section of plastic sheeting. No-one would notice a scrap of plastic sheeting in an industrial dumpster, especially just before bin day. I liked this place; it was one of a few I regularly frequented. No surveillance. No security. No witnesses. I threw away the last piece of plastic sheeting and headed back towards my boat; tomorrow was a busy day. Before I left, I checked the boat for any stray drops of blood. Finding none, I headed back to my marina. By the time I pulled my boat into its allotted space; it was well past midnight and I do have a day job. The car was just where I left in and I took in back to the impound before anyone would notice its absence in the morning. There was only one working camera at that impound so it wasn't hard to avoid. By the time I got back to the street I'd left my car in, it was almost one in the morning; I had to get back. 

I drove back to my apartment complex, parking my Taurus in the car park before making my way up those very familiar steps and turning the key to enter my pristine, neat, ordinary apartment. Sleep. Sleep would be good; but I had too much to do. The code demands upmost caution. I unwrapped my set of kill tools, carefully placing them back into the false bottom of my trunk; I then approached my air conditioning unit, taking a minute to bask in its ice-cold air, before removing its outer cover and unclipping its inner one. The only thing between my truth and the outside world. I carefully removed the rosewood box contained inside and flipped the latch open, revealing all my old friends again. I slowly ran my fingers over the 46-blood slides; each one bringing back another happy memory tainted with bloody fun. Cindy Landon. Black widow. Chainsaw. Mike Donovan. Child murderer. Reciprocating saw. And Little Chino, such an elusive little sport. I remember that day well, A nice night with a night fellow. I spoke aloud to myself, to Edward "Edward Weiss, welcome to your last change of address. You'll like it here. You and your neighbors have so much in common" I smiled as another little friend entered my box of memories; before snapping the lid shut and carefully placing my friends back into their snug hiding place. The code of Harry, my foster father was satisfied and so was I. My dark passenger sunk back beneath the black ocean of my life and for now, the need had been satisfied. But I had another need, a primal sacred need which called out to me and would be satisfied this night. Because this night is the night I finally sleep. I laid down on my bed; my head empty; the voices gone; surrounded by calmness and serenity and fell asleep. Nothing goes bump in Dexter's night.