“So it tells you, what?” she said. “Hey, somebody who thinks he’s Batman did this.”
“Kind of,” I said. “Just, you know. The little hints I used to get.”
“Used to get,” she said.
I really had to look away again. “It’s gone, Deborah,” I said.
“Something about all this Moloch stuff scared it away. That’s never happened before.”
She didn’t say anything for a long time, and I saw no reason to say it for her.
“Did you ever tell Dad about this voice?” she said at last.
“I didn’t have to,” I said. “He already knew.”
“And now your voices are gone,” she said.
“Just one voice.”
“And that’s why you’re not telling me anything about all this.”
“Yes.”
Deborah ground her teeth together loud enough for me to hear them. Then she released a large breath without unlocking her jaw.
“Either you’re lying to me because you did this,” she hissed at me,
“or you’re telling the truth and you’re a fucking psycho.”
“Debs—”
“Which one do you think I want to believe, Dexter? Huh?
Which one?”
DEXTER IN THE DARK
199
I don’t believe I have felt real anger since I was an adolescent, and it may be that even then I was not able to feel the real thing. But with the Dark Passenger gone and me slipping down the slope into genuine humanity, all the old barriers between me and normal life were fading, and I felt something now that must have been very close to the real thing. “Deborah,” I said, “if you don’t trust me and you want to think I did this, then I don’t give a rat’s ass which one you believe.”
She glared at me, and for the very first time, I glared back.
Finally she spoke. “I still have to report this,” she said. “Officially, you can’t come anywhere near this for now.”
“Nothing would make me happier,” I said. She stared at me for a moment longer, then made her mouth very small and returned to Camilla Figg. I watched her back for a moment, and then headed for the door.
There was really no point in hanging around, especially since I had been told, officially and unofficially, that I was not welcome. It would be nice to say that my feelings were hurt, but surprisingly, I was still too angry to feel miffed. And in truth, I have always been so shocked that anyone could really like me that it was almost a relief to see Deborah taking a sensible attitude for once.
It was all good all the time for Dexter, but for some reason, it didn’t really feel like a very large victory as I headed for the door and exile.
I was waiting for the elevator to arrive when I was blindsided by a hoarse shout of “Hey!”
I turned and saw a grim, very angry old man racing at me wearing sandals and black socks that came up almost to his knobby old knees. He also wore baggy shorts and a silk shirt and an expression of completely righteous wrath. “Are you the police?” he demanded.
“Not all of them,” I said.
“What about my goddamn paper?” he said.