Unique - Act III (i) - Imposter
Act III - Imposter
Sunday holds its own pleasures. Most people dread it, as the harbinger of the week to come, but I revel in it. There's more freedom in the end of something than the beginning. I'm certainly feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. My dark passenger lies satiated in the recesses of my mind, like a lion returned to its den: not asleep, but content. For now, at least.
Next to me, Rita shifts and leans back. We're sitting together on the couch, her head on my shoulder and her feet up on a pillow. She is flipping through a book of baby names. Every few minutes, she says one aloud, as if trying it on. Most are discarded with a frown, but occasionally she'll say, “What do you think of this one?”
I make the appropriate noises. It's a tedious exercise.
The pregnancy still feels abstract, as if she were just talking about adopting a kitten or a goldfish. I move my hand to her stomach and think, This will be my child. That's my child, kicking against my hand. It's an unsettling feeling. Maybe it will feel more real tomorrow.
The phone rings. I hear the clatter of running feet, and the phone is picked up before it can even get to the third ring. Rita lifts her head. I can hear Astor's voice, and so can Rita.
“Astor, who is it?” she calls.
“Ashley,” Astor shouts back. She goes back to her conversation. A minute later, she pops out of the kitchen, phone in hand.
“Mo-om,” she says, elongating the word. “Ashley's going to the movies, can I go?”
“I don't know, Astor,” Rita starts, but I cut her off. “I can take her,” I say. My escape from baby-land is imminent.
“Well, okay,” Rita concedes.
“Yes!” Astor does a victory fist pump and dances back into the kitchen. Distantly, I hear here say, “she said yes!” After another minute, she pokes her head back out. “Can you drop me off at Ashley's mom's house?”
“Sure, no problem,” I say. I smile at her, but she's turned away, indifferent.
Rita catches my expression. “It's a tough age.”
“No kidding,” I say. I shift my weight, and Rita obligingly moves over and sits up, giving me room to stand. I stretch and fumble for the keys.
“Astor,” I call. “Let's go.”
Astor lets out a noise of disgust, but runs out to the front door. I follow her out, shutting the door behind me.
I drop Astor off at her friend's house and take the long way back. Sam Winchester will discover his brother missing soon, if he hasn't already. I'm hoping he will blame the disappearance on one of their many enemies. I was able to improvise with Dean- I doubt any such opportunity will present itself with Sam. It will require planning. But that's a problem for tomorrow, when I'll have access to the information I need. Today...today is to be savored.
I park the car in the driveway and get out. I head back into the house just in time to hear Rita say, “I think I hear him coming in now.” I walk into the kitchen and find Rita on the phone. She says, “here he is,” then hands the phone to me. “It's Debra.”
Deb. She's working today- maybe she's found something and needs me to come in. “Hey, little sister. What's up?”
“Dex! You'll never fucking guess.” Or... she's calling because she wants to share the latest gossip. I probably should have seen that one coming.
"Guess what?"
"You know the fed, the one LaGuerta was practically creaming herself over?”
Dean. “Uh, yeah. I could have lived without that image, though.”
I can almost see her grin over the phone. “He's not a fuckin' fed- can you believe it? He's like some kind of lame-shit vigilante. LaGuerta's going to have a cow.” Deb never got the memo about gloating.
“Wow. Really?”
“You better fucking believe it.”
In the background, I hear the doorbell ring. Rita smiles at me and mouths, I'll get it. I can hear Cody stampeding towards the door. The neighborhood is full of kids.
I cradle the phone closer against my ear. “So who is he really?”
“One Dean Smith, supposedly. I dunno. I wasn't able to find anything on him, but that doesn't really mean much without more to go on.” Out in the hall, I hear Rita opening the door. She's talking to someone.
“How'd you find out?”
“It's crazy, Dex. Two agents showed up- and fuck, the FBI's making them pretty these days. They've been chasing after him for at least a couple weeks, I think.”
“So not connected to the Canary Factory, then.”
“Doesn't seem like it. Can't catch a goddamn break anywhere. Anyway, they want to talk to you and LaGuerta. They said they'd be back tomorrow.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Hey, so when did you hear all this?” I'd thought I would have more time. My run in with Sam was a mistake. Shit.
Cody comes tromping through the kitchen and heads back out into the backyard. “You're the first I've told. They left like two fucking minutes ago,” Deb says, "I wouldn't hold out on you, bro.”
Sometimes I'm really grateful Deb's my sister. This is one of those rare times. “Of course. What's family for, if not gloating to?”
“Shut up, motherfucker. Hey. Do me a favor?”
Rita's laugh drifts into the kitchen. There's a nervous quality to it. It's followed by the low rumble of a baritone.
“Yeah, sure. What?”
“When the feebs talk to you tomorrow, find some reason for the tall one to stick around? I'd fuckin' owe ya one.”
I'm not even listening anymore. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. Listen, Deb. I've got to go.” I hang up the phone, not even waiting for her response.
There's no way they could have made it here from the department in just a few minutes. Not even if Deb had been exaggerating how recently they'd been there. I can't shake the notion. I grab a knife from the stand and slide it into my sleeve. I hold the arm behind my back, and head out to the hallway.
Rita is standing uncomfortably, crowded up against a wall. When she sees me, relief washes over her face. “Dexter,” she says. “These two men, um. Wish to speak to you.”
Sam Winchester looks me in the eye and smiles. He remembers. His eyes are hard with fury, but his words are even. “Just a couple of questions.”
The mysterious Cas, standing behind him, cocks his head and stares at a point several inches behind and to the left of my shoulder. “I don't think that's anatomically possible.” He's not saying it to Sam, or Rita, or me. His eyes never leave the space behind me. I have to fight the urge to turn around, to look and see. There's nothing there. I know there's nothing there, but my skin crawls anyway. “Rita,” I say. “This is just some work stuff.” I smile at her, not taking my eyes off Sam. She pulls me aside, and drops her voice to a whisper. “Dexter, are you sure?” She glances back nervously at the two men.
“Yeah, totally fine," I say, shrugging. "Don't worry about this. I got it. And anyway, I'm pretty sure Cody's in the back, trying to turn the whole lawn into a mud pit.”
“That is worrying,” she says, smiling weakly. She has the most magnificent capacity for denial of human being I've ever met. “I better go stop him, then.” She walks out, and after a minute, I hear the door click shut.
No one moves. I stare at these men, these men who have walked out of the darkness and into my "normal' life, like some physical personification of my dark passenger, and wait. I want to see what they'll do. What they're here for.
“Nice family,” Sam says. And that's when I know: I'm going to finish him. He'll be mine.
“You killed my brother,” Sam says, leaning forward until his face is right in mine. I lunge forward, but he expected it. He meets me and spins my forward momentum into the wall. He pins me there and stops. I know the look in his eyes. He breathes heavily, but not from exertion. I stare back at him, defying him.
Cas, still staring at nothing, says, “Dean says, Stop. The family's still outside. You're drawing too much attention.” His delivery is utterly flat and distant.
Sam's isn't. “Oh, that is fucking hypocrisy, coming from him,” Sam spits.
“He says, Shut up, Sam.” Still in that almost monotone. Still fixedly staring at nothing.
Sam glares in the direction of the same empty space. This is my chance. I slam my elbow into his solar plexus. He lets me go and falls back, wheezing. I pull the knife from my sleeve and swing around to face the mysterious Cas. My shoulder aches from the angle at which it was slammed against the wall, but not enough to slow me down. I slash at him, but the man- who'd done nothing but stare into space for the last few minutes- moves his arm up in a lightning-quick gesture and grabs my wrist. His gaze doesn't waver. He's not even looking at me. I try to pull free, but he's stronger than he has any right to be. He pushes my arm back and down, then turns his head to face me.
He brings up his other hand and moves it towards me. I try to duck and twist out of his hold, but it's useless. The hand is closer now. Somewhere, a million whispers grow from the edge of audibility to a roar. They sound urgent, but I can't make out the words. There's a flicker over his shoulder that resolves itself into the face of Dean Winchester. He's smirking at me.
Before I can react, before I can even look again, I feel the brush of a hand against my forehead and then-
Nothing.
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