In DEXTER MORGAN's apartment. Enter DEXTER and DEB MORGAN. It's Christmastime and they are both wearing KNITTED SWEATERS. A CHRISTMAS TREE stands motionless in the corner.
"So let me get this straight," Deb said, speaking slowly and deliberately, "You're a serial killer, Dex?"
"Yes." How did she find out? Oh, right, all the people I killed.
"Dexter, you know you can't keep being a cop. This is awful!"
"Look, Deb, there's something you need to understand."
"What?"
"I only kill serial killers. Everyone I've killed has killed at least two people."
"Whoa. I guess that's a little better, Dex. Not by much, but still,... it's a start"
"Yeah."
"And then you cover it up by doing the blood work yourself. Of course."
"Exactly. And I'm the best blood work man in the country."
"Does anyone else know, Dex?"
"Doakes is the only one that suspects me. Everyone else just thinks I'm cool." Or do they? Oh, well, I've never cared too much whether anyone lives or dies. I guess it would be foolish to start speculating about how they feel about me. Except... Deb... I hate that she knows, but I guess I'd hate her never finding out even more. And... Doakes...
"Okay, Dex. If you quit killing and being a cop tomorrow would you be safe?"
"Doakes might still be able to find me." Doakes will stop at nothing to find me. I don't know how he knows, but he does.
"What if you just stopped killing people?"
Out of the question. "Hmm.... but I'm doing right, aren't I?"
"No, not really, not this way. I mean, look at it another way: It sounds like you're killing people so cleanly that you can somehow avoid leaving behind any evidence."
"Yeah. Mostly. A few people might be able to figure it out, but I don't think Miami Metro has anyone like that. Maybe Doakes. Maybe. I doubt it." Personally I would have just killed Doakes because I'm a careful guy, but now with Deb in the loop, it seems like I'm not going to have much success killing him with impunity.
"If that's so, if you're so good at killing people, why don't you use those forensics powers to get them into the criminal justice system in the first place? I mean, wouldn't it be worse than dying for their names to be in infamy forever, their legacies destroyed, their incomes garnished, perhaps their lives ended by capital punishment?"
"Because a trial takes a year or more, costs the state millions, gives those scumbags 2 years to think about what they've done and say good-bye to their families. No, that's not acceptable."
"But Dex, this is America. You can't just kill people because you want them dead, even if you're certain they're objectively worse than you. That wouldn't make a very good country. We have processes, evidence; it's the reason we're living in a society that can support cops that do the right thing rather than an anarchic hellhole predicated on might makes right. However you feel about the government, it's better that we bring even the lowest of citizens before his peers. It's the democratic spirit, and in the right hands can be one of the greatest expressions of justice of which man is capable."
"Okay, Deb, I'm gonna level with you. I just really like killing people, a lot; it's like a biological impulse for me because I was baptized in a room of blood and left for dead in the harbor, and this is the only way I can satisfy my urges while feeling like I'm doing some part in maintaining justice."
"Well, fuck."
"Yeah, kind of an impasse. By the way, Harry knew."
"Shit, Dex, really?"
"Yeah, it was his idea."
"Okay, well, there's got to be a better way. You're my brother and I'm not gonna give up on you."
"There isn't. Trust me."
"Look, Dex, this is Florida. If we can't find an outlet for a homicidal maniac we might as well just disband as a state. Without those outlets we might as well just be a city block with a giant Cuban bar/restaurant, an old folks' home, a child welfare station, and Disney. Georgia can annex us, I guess. Maybe toss in a nice statue of, like, Zora Neale Hurston. Trust me, we'll find something."
"Okay, sis. If you can think of something... I'm open to anything."
The formerly-motionless Christmas tree moves from side to side. Suddenly the tree produces a gun! "Surprise, motherfuckers." It's Doakes!
"Doakes! But I thought you were dead!"
"No." Doakes says, waving away further questions, "Look, I heard everything, Morgan. You sack of shit, I always knew you were up to no good. Freeze. Unless that fucking mistletoe is a grenade launcher I've got you dead to rights."
"Up to no good? Come on. Doakes, look, I've done the math. I've saved 6000 people. 360000 person-years. Are you telling me that I'm just screwing around? And I can't control it."
"Morgan, I swear to God, I knew something was up."
"But can you acknowledge it might be a good thing?"
"No, Morgan, it's a bullshit rationale. I know because I'm also a serial killer. I've seen shit no one should ever see."
"Fuck," Deb says.
"Hi, Deb. You're handling this bullshit with Morgan a lot better than I am. I probably would have just shot him."
"He's my brother! Don't kill him, Doakes. There has to be another way. You found a way, after all, didn't you?" Deb is pleading more than she's asking. "Plus, this is Florida, right?"
Doakes considers for a moment. "Well to be honest, I found a way out by killing so many people that I had enough memories of killing to effectively replace the real thing. Everywhere I go looks like a crime scene and I can vicariously experience it." Then, pointing his gun with more vigor, Doakes says, "That's probably not good advice, Morgan, I'm sorry." Doakes laughs. "I guess that wasn't the solution you guys were looking for."
Deb says, "Yeah, that won't do, Dex."
"Hold on, Deb." I figure I'd at least say, "Is there some way to use this knowledge in a constructive way, Doakes?"
"Well, Morgan, since you're asking, what I used to do when I was winding down is give murderers the means to kill themselves in custody (and I'd do more than plant the idea), but when they'd start to go for the jugular I'd keep them alive, and then I'd kill them the rest of the way."
"Holy fuck what is up with you people?"
"Deb, just a moment. We're brainstorming. So, Doakes, could we maybe work out some kind of hand signal for that kind of situation? Like, after I get a serial killer into custody, you know."
"We'll call, like, an audible. Some real spread offense shit."
"An audible?"
"Yeah, Morgan, did I stutter, you piece of shit? Blue-42, Blue-42, hut hut... HIKE and make that motherfucker in custody take his own life for self-serving reasons. I'm a man of principle now. I've got a code, and I don't do that shit anymore, but I definitely could help you do it in the future, because I'm seeing it's the only way to make this the best police department in the country and keep the scum off the streets and make Florida the jewel of the American Southwest. It can be done, I really believe that. We'll work on some psychological techniques so that you have to kill less often and you'll get it right eventually."
"Alright, thanks!"
"Don't encourage him, Doakes! Good lord, you're just as bad."
"Hold up, Deb. But... and this is important, Morgan. You're a sick fuck and you're always going to be, you're always going to hurt the ones around you. Murder is always going to seem like a plausible solution, and it never is. Look at the situation plainly: We're highly trained forensics experts. We can control who lives or dies if we're smart about it, just by doing our jobs. That means we need to think only in terms of evidence, the arrest, the arraignment, the conviction, and the execution... That's all. Nothing else matters, motherfucker. That's our ultimate goal, every time. What we've done in the past doesn't change that. Even though you're a sick fuck, I can work with you. But every time you kill someone on the streets you make it harder and harder for me to keep you safe, make it harder and harder for Deb to look at you as a person. You're a monster, but if you have any fucking self-respect you'll find a way to get through this part of your life with some vestige of humanity intact. Any questions?"
"Can I still kill that ice truck killer?"
"No. Evidence, arrest, arraignment, conviction, execution, Morgan. You heard a word I said, motherfucker?"
"Fine, fine. Can I still kill anyone that suspects me?"
"Morgan, you piece of shit. Don't make me kill you right here and now."
"Sheesh, I was joking, Doakes!" But I wasn't joking.
"But you aren't joking, motherfucker. This is an intervention. Admit you have a problem, motherfucker."
"Fine, it's maybe wrong to kill people, and I'm a sick person for wanting to do it."
"And what about the people you save?"
"They can be saved just as well through the criminal justice system. Just because I need to kill doesn't give me the right to kill."
"That's a start. You sick fuck, Morgan. I knew it from the start. Alright, anyway, let's do some case work. Deb, get some candles or shit, let's figure out the how to catch the Ice Truck Killer." I had to admit, Doakes had me nailed down really well. How he gets off acting so self-righteous about it though..., I'll never know.
"I'll drink to that." Doakes says as he lights up a cigar and blows it into the ceiling fan, sending the smoke all across the room. Just like a serial killer would. What a pro.
And then Doakes fell down. Doakes was dead. Deb had shot him.
"Look, I just thought, who is that guy to control you? He's a serial killer. Killing is wrong."
"But I'm a serial killer too, Deb."
"Yeah, right, Dex. That's really funny."
"But-"
"Let's call the police department. Gosh, I wonder if Doakes was the Ice Truck Killer."
"Probably." All according to plan. The forgetting serum was kicking in. Deb had forgotten everything. My secret was totally safe, and we had the recording of Doakes admitting to being a serial killer. This incontrovertible evidence would go far in terms of clearing the suspicions caused by having Doakes die in my apartment.
Montage of DEXTER killing serial killers, rising through the ranks of the police force.
Deb is in a new uniform saying to a room of cops, "I guess the Ice Truck Killer wasn't Doakes, but he was murdered by someone! Thank you, anonymous stranger!"
I wink across the room. I'm neither anonymous nor a stranger. Deb can never know. That's my tragedy. If she ever found out, I'd have to give her another forgetting serum - death.
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