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Chapter 6
“What are you planning on doing, Dex?” Darcie asked, her mood back to being chipper.
Dexter stared at the white walls of his room. “I'm not sure yet,” he glanced over at his destroyed screen, “but I need to I need to find a computer first.”
Darcie jumped on the chance to share one of her belongings with Dexter. “You can use mine if you want.”
“It's at the club, right?” Dexter tightened his grip on his bag, then threw it over his shoulder.
"Yeah. I have a gig tonight if you wouldn't mind waiting until then." Darcie could hear the tinge of determination tainting Dexter's voice. But those who are determined to do something – then make rash decisions - are almost always destined to fail. Dexter needed someone to be with him to make sure he at least had a plan. Darcie could feel it.
Feeling the adrenaline rush seep out of him, Dexter let his pack hang on his shoulder, freeing up a hand. That hand was soon on his desk. Beyond his desk was a window which displayed the area in front of his house. Elementary school students ran through the yards, appearing to be playing a game of tag. Birds chirped, preparing fir their joyage to avoid the cold. The trees' budding branches swayed in the wind.
He then stepped back, and suddenly it was as if his vision had turned black, and white. His home was dreary - broken in more ways than one. Patting his back pocket to make sure his wallet was safely with him, he walked out the door. "Want to go out to eat again? I am in the mood for pasta."
The hall beyond him was painted gray and dotted with brown defects in the walls. An area that was once cozy and homey to Dexter now felt alien. But he kept his stride, making his way down the lint-infested stairs.
Dexter's proposal was the final piece needed to calm his girlfriend. "Of course I would; how about the place on Second Street?"
As he made his way out the front door, the click of him unlocking the bolt aroused his mother out of hiding. "Where do you think you're going?" The shrill of her voice literally hurt Dexter's ears.
But he prevailed. "Out." He replied as he opened the door.
His mother began walking towards him, a glint in her dark eyes. "Oh no you aren't. Not for a long time. All the thing-"
Dexter slammed the door behind him, beginning to make his way down the driveway and away from his former home. Even while the voices of children dominated the outside world, he could still hear his mother screaming. It was muffled, yet clear. Offensive things. Dirty things. Things no mother should ever say to their child.
But Dexter only balled his fists, determination moving him forward.
At that point, all doubts about his situation were removed. He felt free and open; the warm sun beating against his black clothes gave him strength. He would do it. He would make things right again.
-----
Dexter greeted Darcie with a kiss before he sat down on the high stool across from his date. The round table between the couple was not even a yard in diameter; small enough that they could lean over it and touch their lips together, which they did several times throughout the evening. The lights around the couple were dim and the people noisy, but the food smelled of mouth watering garlic.
“What happened to you?” Darcie exclaimed after she had a chance to analyze her boyfriend's face.
Dexter rubbed his fingers over the bruise that led from the bottom of his chin to beside his left eye. “My mom...” he sighed, “I'd rather not talk about it.”
Concern filled Darcie's eyes, but it was countered by understanding. She disliked when people had asked that, too. “I told you not to go home...” She caressed the wound. “Does it hurt?”
Dexter shook his head. “Not really.” It was slightly swelled, and pulsed every so often, but was completely numb.
“That's good,” Darcie nodded thoughtfully. “How about you, though? I mean, mentally.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the waitress, who blandly asked what they would like to drink. She left the second she was given the information she requested without giving a confirmation of their order.
Dexter unwrapped his silverware. As if there was no pause, he continued. “I don't even know.”
Darcie reached her hand under the table and placed it on his thigh. “And that's okay.”
“All I know is that I want to fix this. Even if I can't bring my dad back.” The tears didn't come to Dexter anymore; they had all been washed away by fear, anger, and disgust.
Darcie, though ready to support her boyfriend, still had her doubts of his ability to act while under his burdens. “How do you plan to do that?”
As he spoke, Dexter tried to fit the pieces together in his head. “Arterers tend to leave 'signatures' on their pieces. The crystal in my father's head-” The image flashed in his mind for a split second. “The crystal is a signature of a certain art murderer called Chrystal.”
Darcie shifted in her seat. She was afraid of what Dexter was getting at.
“She usually keeps a blog of what she does and where. It shouldn't be too hard to track her down.”
Drinks were placed upon the table, accompanied by the waitress whom asked the couple if they knew what they would like to eat. Both had known what they wanted before they came, and ordered promptly; almost as promptly as how the waitress left, happy to get away from the customers for even a few short minutes.
“And what do you plan to do when you find her, Dexter?”
“Get evidence to convince my mom that I didn't kill Dad.” Under the table, Dexter balled up his fist around his napkin.
Darcie's face was starting to feel heavier and heavier to her. Her heart sunk, falling off the chair and onto the floor, staining the carpet with her blood. Her voice was only a whisper, and if it wasn't for their proximity, Dexter would have never heard her. “I don't like this.”
Assuming that he knew what she meant, Dexter met his girlfriend's eyes. “I'll make it better soon.”
Darcie glanced at her deflating heart. Everything is better. The words that were on the tip of her tongue tempted to come out, but she held them in. Like a candy, the words dissolved when she looked back at her boyfriend. She felt so selfish; things were better for her, not him.
Or were they?
Either way, Dexter was becoming as frail as his mother. Darcie sighed, attempting to release a bit of the stress building up inside her. “Just... just be sure to think things through first.”
The flames in Dexter's eyes were slowly dying from their climax. He nodded, grunting affirmatively.
Watching her boyfriend carefully, Darcie took a sip from her drink. She was beginning to be able to notice the slight changes is Dexter's posture and facial expressions; his back was slowly returning to its usual curve. She was having a conversation with herself in her head, trying to decide when would be the best time to dissuade Dexter from his plot. Finally settling on waiting for her time to strike, she let the conversation move on.
By the time the waitress returned with their meals, the couple had continued on to more lighthearted topics, such as schoolwork and silly school drama. As the two ate and continued discussing their peers' latest escapades, neither of them knew that other topics were still in the back of the other's head. The guises they originally wore slowly becaome their real emotions, and soon only the topic at hand mattered.
Both our protagonist and his date ate heartily and left the restaurant with no doggy bags or boxes, only a full stomach and Dexter's backpack. As they began their trek to the club, Darcie checked her phone for the time; it was almost time for her to play. She was opening tonight, she informed Dexter, and had an MC. It was going to be a longer set than usual, she said.
Dexter's mind was beginning to resume its earlier processes. He explained to Darcie that instead of watching her on stage he'd like to stay in the room and do some research on her computer.
Darcie was dissappointed by this; since this was a bigger show, she was hoping Dexter would watch her perform. But, deciding that being supportive of her boyfriend was more important, she agreed.
The club was nearly empty when the two got there. There was a total of three additional people in the building: the bartender, the owner, and a new face testing out a microphone at the front of the room. Dacie led the way to the stranger. When he noticed her, he coolly jumped off the stage, his spiked blue hair not moving a bit.
The two shook hands as he introduced himself as “MC Hedgehog”. As if he was watching through a glass pane, Dexter felt alienated as the two exchanged pleasantries.
Darcie spoke with an assertive undertone she had never used with Dexter. It was sort of ironic to see this teenager, a clear foot shorter than this muscular, tightly clothed man that appeared to be a decade older than her, speak as though she was senior to him. The master of ceremonies admitted he was nervous and excited to be rapping over “The most popular hardstyle DJ on the East coast”.
As the DJ and MC's conversation finally came to a close, Darcie offered her boyfriend the keys to her room, as she was going to be preparing the stage for the show. Grateful, Dexter accepted, and soon he was on Darcie's laptop, attempting to navigate Darcie's interface.
It wasn't long before Dexter had an internet browser up, long with his email. But, something stopped him from looking up anything right away; he went with his instincts, and decided to let out his emotions – in an email to Luke. By the time he was done the music outside the door was causing the desk to shake.
Sifting through search engine results, forum posts, blogs, social networks. It wasn't long before he found what he was looking for. It seemed that Chrystal had kept online records of her victims; pictures of those she was stalking made up the majority of the site's content.
One of those pictures was of a familiar man. He stood five foot two; he didn't appear old, but his thinning hair hinted at his true age. His figure was stout, but not fat; muscular, but not buff. It was the body of a man who had built himself to what he was after many years of hard work and dedication. Someone who had a family, whom he watched over and protected from the distance.
He was walking through the darkness. He wasn't looking at the camera, as if he had no idea there was someone watching him. He clutched his Blackberry in one hand. His nostrils were inflamed. He had his right foot forward; even not in motion you could feel the power he was stepping to.
“It's time.” The caption under the image drove Dexter to scroll farther down the page.
There he found several more pictures of his father, both dismantled and alive. Only one didn't have him in it. It was a picture of a blank place in the woods; a small opening between the trees with grass and budding flowers.
“This place looks like a great spot for a piece,” read the caption.
Dexter moved back up the page, finding another empty picture, posted just a few hours before. “I think this place is next.”
The dark concrete and bricks filtered out the light, creating a shadow in the alley. On the wall gratified in light blue and pink were the words: “The Neon Bass Shop: prepare for the rave”.
Dexter had an epiphany. He stood, turned around, and lifted the blind from of the nearest window. This window, which faced the front of the building, gave Dexter a view of the alleyway directly across from the club. People crowded around, not making too much commotion. Glow sticks cut through the darkness. Above the crowd's heads, at a steep angle, Dexter made out the words “The Neon Bass” adorned on the wall.
Dexter rushed back to the computer, quickly scrolling upward. Picture after picture, the same person. Different cloths and poses. The subject had no clue there was someone taking pictures of him. The man was maybe in his thirties. He dressed in purples and yellows, his ears gaged, his goatee trimmed, along with his sideburns. This man was being stalked, and his life was going to be taken.
Dexter scrolled to the latest post. It, unlike the others, was simply a sort paragraph.
“This is the first time I'm going to do a piece on a Wednesday, even if it is so early in the day it still feels like Tuesday. You ready?”
Tomorrow was Tuesday. That would be his chance.
Dexter's email beckoned him.
“Wow... you really expect me to believe your shit? Darcie's your girlfriend? In your dreams. She's a DJ? What the hell are you smoking? And to think I almost believed you about your dad dying. I'm sick of your silly excuses for not working on the site. I can get someone else to do the images.
Don't you dare reply to this with more god damn lies.
~Luke”
Dexter rolled the chair back and leaned, staring at the ceiling. Another casualty. Another taken from him by Chrystal, the art murderer.
Dexter sat up again for just long enough to shut down the computer. He had all he needed now. Time. Place. Motivation.
Suddenly, Dexter felt exhausted, as if his search was on foot, not online. He stood, then made his way to his girlfriend's bed, crawling in.
Even as his eyes were closed his mind was busy fitting together the pieces of his plan. The puzzle was missing several pieces. And one piece, cut nothing like the rest, would not fit no matter which way he tried. It was as if it went to another puzzle.
An hour later, when Darcie found her boyfriend sleeping in her bed, she couldn't help but smile. She quietly changed into her night cloths, brushed her teeth, then returned to Dexter's side. Though she could feel his warmth and his blood pump through his veins, she felt distant from her partner. No matter how tightly she held him, she couldn't close the emotional gap that was between the two of them that night.
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I'm new (sorry) so I thought, for such a clearly defined, well-written, interesting story, I'd take on the role of simply being your error-checker - there were so few mistakes, it was obvious that you'd spent time going over it, which is such a joy to see, so I'm liking you already for that xD
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