InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "FEEED ME, SEYMOUR!"

Dexter Morgan (mydarkpassenger) wrote in colligo_threads,
@ 2010-11-05 00:38:00

Entry tags:

!closed, dexter morgan, jim moriarty

WHO: Dexter Morgan and James Moriarty
WHAT: A murder. With added sociopath.
WHERE: Apartment 505C
WHEN: Around midnight.
RATING/STATUS: High, for murder and gore. In progress.

The frightened babbling stopped instantly.

The blood pooled out slowly, and Dexter let out a long, releasing sigh as it seeped gently through the plastic wrap. The wrap that was stretched tight over a pale chest, holding the naked body to the table in the centre of the room. The knotted muscles in Dex's broad shoulders relaxed, like a weight being lifted. It couldn't have been held off any longer. He'd tried to placate the dark passenger with animals. Dogs, left carelessly and stupidly in the park for children to find. That had been an accident. He hadn't meant to upset the kids. But even animals only worked for a while, and before long he was here again. The dark passenger in the back of his head scratching, calling. The pressure in his chest building.

Dexter sighed, watching the light exit the man's eyes, the final breath seep uselessly from his punctured chest. A single cut, severing the aorta. Clean. Perfect. A shadow of a smile crossed Dexter's lips. It had been difficult, finding someone who fitted in with Harry's code in this city of drones and heros. Perhaps even this man wasn't completely perfect, didn't fit exactly. But Harry wasn't here. And Dexter had a need that had to be filled.

With a sigh, he turned away from the table, striding across the room. Plastic sheeting covered the walls and floor, blood already dripping down to pool under the table. The light was dim, creating a strange blueish hue that lit his face and coloured the black plastic apron he'd tied around his neck and waist. Dexter placed the knife he'd used to make the first cut down beside the rest of the carefully arranged instruments. It was strange, how easily a serial killer's arsenal could be collected together.

Dexter flipped down the protective visor to cover his face and flexed his fingers in their rubber gloves. No leaving bodies in the park for children this time. Just because he was somewhere else did not mean he had to abandon the ritual completely.

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mydarkpassenger
2010-11-05 07:58 am UTC (link)

Dexter froze, surgical saw balanced in one hand, staring through the shield provided by his plastic visor.

Rule number one: Don't get caught.

If Dexter had been full of any particular emotion, he probably would have been angry, scared. Even guilty. As it was he felt a faint twinge somewhere deep in his gut, and slowly placed the delicate saw back onto the platter of shining blades. He let his tongue dart out, carefully dampening his lips as the tension stretched across the stained room. The only sound, as Dexter carefully moved his hand over to the knife he'd just abandoned, was the steady drip, drip, drip of crimson blood against plastic wrapping.

The newcomer, who'd managed to break the lock and slip in so silently, did not look like a cop. In fact, the playful smile struck some kind of note Dexter wasn't used to, and there was a hollow gleam in his eyes that he almost recognized. But that didn't make any sense. Dexter knew, logically, that he'd probably have to kill him.

"I had to," Dexter told the stranger, letting his gloved fingers trail over the knife and onto the spare syringe he kept loaded with sedative. His voice caught as he spoke, a perfect mimicry of a troubled, broken man. A perfect impression, if he said so himself. If this man was the police, he'd be hoping to take him alive. Dexter let the hand with syringe fall to his side, and he took a careful step around the table and the lump of bound human flesh arranged neatly upon it. Dexter's fingers were slick with warm blood as he took another step, feeling the glow of his last kill quickly vanish. How frustrating.

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crimeconsultant
2010-11-07 01:05 am UTC (link)

"Hmm?" Jim replied absently, his gaze flickering from the corpse to the man responsible. "Oh, yes! Of course you did." His tone was filled with mock understanding. He wasn't going to waste his time trying to play up the part of a normal person. Not with this man. This very unusual, not-normal-at-all man. No, no pretending he actually cared or any of that nonsense with this one. There just wasn't any need.

"Still," he drawled thoughtfully, "I'm not certain anyone else is going to see it that way." Slowly, methodically, he began to move closer to the body. Hands still shoved deep in his pockets, his dark gaze - eyes alight with a touch of insanity and no small amount of intelligence - locked on Dexter.

He was certainly intriguing. Definitely not a thug and certainly not a first-time killer either. No, this man was a professional. Meticulous, methodical, and likely with a set type of victim that would prove quite telling should Jim discover just what it was. For the moment however his mind had already jumped ahead to the situation at hand rather than what had led to the murder in the first place. There would be time to ponder that later.

Peering down at the corpse, Jim's lip rose in faint disgust. "They really are messy, aren't they?" he mused. "The human body does some truly vile things when death is upon it. At times I find myself wondering just how we manage to keep so much liquid bound inside such a frail form as this." He paused, one hand moving from his pocket to the quickly cooling blood. He dipped a tip of one finger into the crimson liquid then raised his hand a bit toward the light. Rubbing his thumb and finger together, he sniffed at it then shrugged. He pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket with his free hand and absently wiped the blood away.

"Oh," he tossed out, glancing over his shoulder at Dexter with a look that was downright lethal. "I really wouldn't recommend doing something foolish like attacking me or even," he gave a sharp bark of laughter, "try to kill me." He grinned quite suddenly, the expression nearly all teeth, and slid his now clean hands back into his pockets. "I mean, you didn't really think I came in here unprepared for something like that, did you?"

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mydarkpassenger
2010-11-08 02:18 am UTC (link)

Dexter's perfect impression of a broken, scared man fell away instantly, his naturally neutral expression falling back into place like shutters as he watched the stranger move closer. Two pairs of eyes locked. And he knew then, absolutely, that they were the same. How odd. He'd never met another before. Besides his brother, and that hadn't ended well for anyone. There was no real emotion in the eyes currently searching his. He was sure that this man pretended just as much as he did. Or perhaps not. Perhaps he felt no need to... blend in.

How liberating that must be.

Dexter didn't reply, but he took a defensive step forward as the newcomer placed his finger in the blood. Blood. Hot, sticky, red blood. Dexter's own paradox. He loved it and despised it in equal measure. But he did not appreciate this stranger barging in and putting his hand in his work. If Dexter had been an artist, with his masterpiece drying on a canvas, would this man have come in and made a handprint in the wet paint?

The man turned, met Dexters gaze with a flash of danger in his eyes that froze him in his tracks. Dex took a deep breath, curling his fist around the loaded syringe and taking a step away, not turning his back but pacing around to the tools that lay like soldiers on the metal tray. Dexter placed the sedative down, ran his fingertips of the handles of the tools. Bone saw, syringe, knives, scalpel, pins... Counting them. Regaining his control before he found the mans' stare once again.

"What do you want?"

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crimeconsultant
2010-11-11 01:11 am UTC (link)

Now that was more like it. Now they were making progress. Jim smiled thinly, lips barely parting as he laughed low and deep in his chest. "What do I want?" he echoed, peering toward the ceiling and letting out a sharp bark of laughter. "What do I want?"

He straightened instantly, hands back in the pockets of his pants and his expression a demure one. His eyes were the only giveaway that something wasn't right. The only warning that something dark and dangerous lurked just beneath the surface. "I want so many things," he admitted in a subdued tone, stepping a few paces along the length of the corpse then doing an about face, toward Dexter.

"I've an offer," he said simply. Flatly. There really wasn't a question as to whether or not Dexter should agree to what he was about to propose. "A question for a question. It seems the fairest way to both get what we want." He didn't add more, not willing to tack on a question as to whether the man agreed or not. He either would and they'd begin, or he wouldn't and...

Well, then Jim would simply have to kill him.

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mydarkpassenger
2010-11-11 01:35 am UTC (link)

There was definitely something about this man. Something almost familiar. Dexter examined him carefully, considering, before finally reaching up and taking the plastic visor away from his forehead, letting the blood-splattered plastic hang from his gloved fingers before placing it down with the tools.

To any outside observer, the scene must have looked quite horrific. A dead body bound in cellophane, the blood weeping from a clean stab wound in its chest and dripping slowly onto the plastic covered floor. Dexter, dressed in his plain T-shirt and trousers, covered with a black apron and blue surgical gloves - both plastic again. Then the stranger, with his suit, blank face and dangerous eyes. All as silent as each other.

Dexter felt... a connection. How very odd. Not pleasant. Not unpleasant. Just... there. Last time he'd felt that it had been his brother stood before him. Then he'd killed him. Hung him on his own table and watched him bleed out.

Dex nodded, once, slowly. Agreeing to the strange request but staying within reaching distance of the shining row of metal blades. "Alright." Another pause, then... "Why are you in here?"

Why was he interrupting the ritual?

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crimeconsultant
2010-11-13 09:50 pm UTC (link)

Ah. Much better. Jim's eerie smile widened slightly and he rocked back on his heels, laughing lowly. Oh this was going to be fun. He could already tell. And this man, this wonderful, dangerous, mere shell of a true human in every way that mattered man was going to keep things quite fun for some time to come, too. Jim could hardly wait.

"Curiosity, of course," he said, seemingly out of the blue. Slowly he began walking an invisible line around the corpse, gaze flickering across the expanse of the room before landing back on Dexter. "I was walking by and heard a noise," he elaborated the answer to his question. He shrugged ever so slightly. "Decided to investigate. Awfully naughty of me, I'll admit, but then I've never been known for being... proper."

He smiled widely once more, turning suddenly on his heel and moving back in the same line he'd just walked down. "My turn!" he all but sing-songed. A soft, maniacal giggle followed before he suddenly went completely still. Slowly he turned his head, dark eyes locking on Dexter. His lips quirked upward ever so slightly.

"Why did you kill him?"

Perhaps a rather obvious question... to anyone who didn't know the art of murder as intimately as Jim did, that is.

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