Dexter's been in the bar all night. Once Mike wandered off, he had finished his slowly-nursed beer and then retired to an empty table in the corner. He'd been observing the other patrons of the bar ever since. (Except for the few hours he'd fallen asleep at the table. He'd intended to ask for a room, but hadn't gotten around to it before sleep ( Read more... )

Dexter whistles absently as he pulls off his gloves and blood-soaked apron and looks carefully around the room. Everything is clean, or as clean as it had been when he'd arrived. There are no errant splatters of blood on the floor or the walls, there are no marks left from where he had taped down the plastic sheeting and rubber tarp, the tools of ( Read more... )