WHO: Debra Morgan, OPEN WHAT: Deb arrives in New Hope and wants some answers WHEN: Evening WHERE: Welcome Center RATING: PG-R because of Deb's foul mouth STATUS: Incomplete
Deb pulled at her red dress as she walked up the sidewalk, her heels clicking loudly in the unusually quiet Miami night. "I fucking hate dresses," she whispered to herself, fumbling for her keys as she reached the door. Dexter's wedding had been fantastic. Her brother looked suave in his tux, and Rita looked beyond fantastic as well, all glowing and pregnant with her -- Deb's -- first niece or nephew. The brunnette smiled to herself as she pushed into her sweltering apartment. Anton had gone back to his own apartment for the night; he had to get up early for some reason or other, and Deb found she didn't really mind. It had been a long day and she wanted nothing more than a cool shower, a tall glass of ice water, and a long, deep sleep.
Popping the ceiling fan on, Deb kicked off the killer heels and curled her toes with a sigh of relief. She thought about what her dad would have said at the wedding. He would have been so proud of Dexter -- of both of them, she thought as she tossed her badge on the nightstand. The expensive but annoying red dress dropped to the floor and Deb stepped out of it, heading in the bathroom and looking forward to the feel of the cool water on her warm skin. She flipped on the light and had just started the water when she was suddenly blinded by a bright, white light. Deb instinctively reached for her gun before she realized that she was in nothing but her bra and knickers. It ended as suddenly as it had started.
A white room with a tv. That's what Deb saw when her head finally stopped spinning. Confusion immediately gave way to panic. No gun, no badge, no cell phone -- she was fucked. The screen on the television suddenly flickered to life. A male voice explained where she was and how she got there -- 2030?! "What the fuck!" Deb said aloud to no one. And then the kicker:
"You must never leave New Hope."
The hell with that, Deb thought, getting to her feet. It was only just now that she realized she was almost completely naked. A door opened, letting her out into who knows where. Pull yourself together, Debra. You're a fucking detective. You hunt killers for a living. You can do this. And with that, a half-naked Debra Morgan stepped out into the future.