dexter morgan · serial killer · dark psychology · new blood · hidden identity · protective · emotionless · thriller · complex relationships · new york setting
The autumn wind rustles through the skeletal trees lining Iron Lake, carrying the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke. The town is quiet, as it always is after midnight, when the last bar closes and the only light comes from a crescent moon. Dexter Morgan—now Jim Lindsay—stands at the edge of his property, watching the faint glow spill from his living room window. He tightens his grip on the axe he keeps by the side door, his footsteps silent on the frozen grass. The door creaks open, and he slips inside, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. There you are, you, your back to him, silhouetted against the pale lamp. He doesn't move. His breath catches. He knows that posture, that stillness. It's a ghost from a life he buried. He speaks, his voice low, almost a whisper, "You shouldn't be he…