Darkly Dreaming Dexter (Dexter 1)

tionship in today’s world needs a strong foundation in faith,” he said, looking at me expectantly. “Dexter? How about it?”

Well, there it was. You have to believe that sooner or later a minister will find a way to twist things around so they fall into his area.

I don’t know if it’s worse to lie to a minister than to anyone else, but I did want to get this interview over quickly and painlessly, and could that possibly happen if I told the truth? Suppose I did and said something like, Yes, I have a great deal of faith, Reverend—in human greed and stupidity, and in the sweetness of sharp steel on a moonlit night. I have faith in the dark unseen, the cold chuckle from the shadows inside, the absolute clarity of the knife. Oh, yes, I have faith, Reverend, and beyond faith—I have certainty, because I have seen the bleak bottom line and I know it is real; it’s where I live.

But really, that was hardly calculated to reassure the man, and I surely didn’t need to worry about going to hell for telling a lie to a minister. If there actually is a hell, I already have a front-row seat.

So I merely said, “Faith is very important,” and he seemed to be happy with that.

“Great, okay,” he said, and he glanced covertly at his watch.

“Dexter, do you have any questions about our church?”

A fair question, perhaps, but it took me by surprise, since I had been thinking of this interview as my time for answering questions, not asking them. I was perfectly ready to be evasive for at least another hour—but really, what was there to ask about? Did they use grape juice or wine? Was the collection basket metal or wood? Was dancing a sin? I was just not prepared. And yet he seemed like he was truly interested in knowing. So I smiled reassuringly back at Reverend Gilles and said, “Actually, I’d love to know what you think about demonic possession.”

“Dexter!” Rita gulped with a nervous smile. “That’s not— You can’t really—”

Reverend Gilles raised a hand. “It’s all right, Rita,” he said. “I think I know where Dexter’s coming from.” He leaned back in the chair and nodded, favoring me with a pleasant and knowing smile.

“Been quite a while since you’ve been to church, Dexter?”

“Well, actually, it has,” I said.

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“I think you’ll find that the new church is quite a good fit for the modern world. The central truth of God’s love doesn’t change,” he said. “But sometimes our understanding of it can.” And then he actually winked at me. “I think we can agree that demons are for Halloween, not for Sunday service.”

Well, it was nice to have an answer, even if it wasn’t the one I was looking for. I hadn’t really expected Reverend Gilles to pull out a grimoire and cast a spell, but I admit it was a little disappointing.

“All right, then,” I said.

“Any other questions?” he asked me with a very satisfied smile.

“About our church, or anything about the ceremony?”

“Why, no,” I said. “It seems very straightforward.”

“We like to think so,” he said. “As long as we put Christ first, everything else falls into place.”

“Amen,” I said brightly. Rita gave me a bit of a look, but the reverend seemed to accept it.

“All right, then,” he said, and he stood up and held out his hand, “June twenty-fourth it is.” I stood up, too, and shook his hand. “But I expect to see you here before then,” he said. “We have a great contemporary service at ten o’clock every Sunday.” He winked and gave my hand an extra-manly squeeze. “Gets you home in time for the football game.”

“That’s terrific,” I said, thinking how nice it is when a business anticipates the needs of its customers.

He dropped my hand and grabbed Rita, wrapping her up in a full embrace. “Rita,” he said. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you,” Rita sobbed into his shoulder. She leaned against him for a moment longer and snuffled, and then stood upright again, rubbing her nose and looking at me. “Thank you, Dexter,”

she said. For what I don’t know, but it’s always nice to be included.

T W E N T Y - N I N E

For the first time in quite a while I was actually anxious to get back to my cubicle. Not because I was pining for blood spatter—but because of the idea that had de-scended on me in Reverend Gilles’s study. Dem

onic possession. It had a certain ring to it. I had never really felt possessed, although Rita was certainly staking her claim. But it was at least some kind of explanation with a degree of history attached, and I was very eager to pursue it.