Dismembered 🔪 Dexter

07. Harry

Setting up the kill room went surprisingly quick with a partner. Elena was thorough, careful to cover every inch of the walls with plastic. Even with meticulous attention to detail, I knew that Elena's slip ups were why we were here in the first place. Even with twelve-- now thirteen-- kills under her belt, she was still inexperienced. I had been reluctant to get involved, but it was obvious if I didn't, if I left her completely to her own device, it could lead to an even bigger mess up. Elena had a lot to learn, and I couldn't teach her all of it, but this was a start.

I had tried to stay away from Elena, to stay out of her mess, but there was something about her. A certain... magnetism. The night I had her on my table, completely vulnerable with a knife hovering over her face, she was calm, like she knew I wasn't going to kill her. Not even I knew I wasn't going to kill her. Not until I found out she was like me.

Now West was secured to the table with plastic film like Elena had been that night, vulnerable under the blinding transportable lights that illuminated the room so we didn't have to hold our flashlights.

"Now what? We wait for West to wake up?" Elena asked, placing her hands on her waist out of habit.

"We could, but it could be hours before he wakes up." I answered her, reaching into my pocket and digging out a little tube. I held it under West's nose and cracked it open. The college kid jolted to life like he was being raised from the dead.

"Smelling salts. Why did I never think of that?" I heard Elena say to herself, more to herself than to me.

"Where am I? Who the hell are you?!" The kid yelled, as if he was the one in a position to make demands, squirming helplessly under plastic bondages. He nervously looked around the room, as if he was searching for a way out, as if it'd do him any good. He spotted Elena, who was standing in the outskirts of the room, observing the scene playing out with fascination. "It's you." West said, clenching his jaw with acid in his tone. "This your pimp or something?" he snapped at her, nodding towards me.

"I wouldn't speak ill of the man with a freshly sharpened knife in his hand." Elena said with a relaxed voice.

Elena's rituals had failed, so mine took over. I lowered the scalpel to his cheek and dragged the blade through his skin, blood pooling quickly.

"Fuck!" He exclaimed in pain. "Let me go, man! Or I'll fuck you up!" I couldn't help but be amused by the naive kid. He fought against the restraints, yelling slurs and threats, as if they would do anything.

"You're in no position to be making threats right now." Elena chimed in again, slowly strolling forward towards the table. West was still wincing from the cut in his cheek and the skin he had rubbed raw fighting against the plastic, but what was really getting in his head was Elena.

"You sick bastards!" He accused, angrily thrashing.

Elena let out a deeply rooted, resentful chuckle. "We're sick?" She said. "We're sick?!" She yelled, slamming her palm against the table. "Sick is luring girls to a room in your frat house. Sick is raping them while their screams are muffled by whatever old Alpha Fucking Alpha t-shirt you could find on the floor!" Elena grabbed a knife from the tray of weapons and held it to his throat, close enough his first layer of skin began to split. "Sick is leaving them to rot in a swamp. No dignity, no respect. Nameless. You're the sick bastard. You deserve to die!" With every word, the blade was cutting deeper into his skin.

"Elena." I said quietly, carefully trying to get her to take a step back, but she shrugged my hand from her shoulder.

"You deserve to be wasting away at the bottom of the ocean." Elena growled. There were tears welling in her eyes. She was too close to this. This was about more than just a college kid guilty of a few murders.