The big man had told him he wasn't a good person anymore, which hadn't phased him like it should have, and then the City had upheaved itself, which phased him quite a bit. Despite living here so long, despite all he'd seen and everybody he'd met (Spock came to mind quite quickly), he'd never expected anything like this.
Everything vanishing, and then rebuilding itself in almost exactly the same way?
Made no sense.
Dexter had no issues finding what he wanted to find, no more than usual anyway, but it wasn't always complete when he found it.
There was, of course, curiosity about why it was going on. But the lust for death and killing overwhelmed any desire he had to find out the details of anything else.
He'd called in sick days and vacation days, saying he just needed some time off. People at work wouldn't worry about him so much now. They wouldn't wonder where he was. What he was doing. And as long as he was careful, well. None of it would matter anyway.