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snicker-doodles-666 · 30 days ago

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Our Little Game of

Cat and Mouse Pt. 3

|Trigger Warning: Brian is his own, so is Jane at this point, gore/murder, stalking, flashbacks to rape, first kill|

Word Count: 8k

Chapter Three: Icy Discoveries

Jane’s POV

One shot.

One shot from my gun was all I could do.

My would started spinning.

Placing a hand down on the top of my Impala to ground myself I took a deep breath.

I slump down, back into the drivers seat.

“Fuck.”

I lean down on the passenger seat and retrieve my phone from the floor, flipping it open and scrolling down to Dexter’s contact I gave him a quick ring.

“Hey Jane, is everything okay?” He asked upon answering.

“The son of a bitch hit me and got away.” I responded, giving a subtle pause.

“But I am fine. Can’t say the same about my passenger side.” I finished.

I angrily jammed my keys into the ignition and gave them a good jerk sideways.

The Impala’s engine roared to life.

“Yeah baby, we’re still in business!” I yelled as I slammed both my hands on the steering wheel repeatedly with excitement, still holding my phone.

“Ya hear that Dex! She’s purring!” I continued yelling into the phone.

“Yup.” Was his only response, a very Dexter response.

He wasn’t a car guy so it was a reasonable response.

Playing around with the shifter in neutral I slap it into first and with some light foot work my Impala began its intimidating roll.

‘Well not so intimidating now, I might actually kill this fucker for hit and running my baby.’

“Anyone show up for you yet?” I casually brought up.

“Not yet.” Dexter murmured.

“Okay, I’ll drop off the Impala and meet back up with you in the Accord.” I proclaimed before hanging up.

It was only when I pulled into my garage and got out of my vehicle that I truly saw the damage.

It wasn’t even too bad. Easy fix, thank fuck.

‘I really love my tanker.’

Now following through with my promise, I swapped keys and departed my home once more, joining Dexter in the Waiting Game.

It was about another week before there was any new news about the killer.

‘And in that week I fixed that fucking dent and the scuffed paint.’

But back to the new news, it was amazing, perfect even.

The ice truck had been found by my lovely, soon-to-be partner, Deborah Morgan.

To my relief u was her first call before dispatch, I don’t exactly know why but I love her for it.

Pulling up behind her BMW, I hoped out and strolled up to her driver side window.

As I walked up and squared down next to her door, Deborah rolled her window down.

“Wanna go take a looksie?” I ask with a happy chirp in my tone.

“No dispatch said to wait for back up.” Deborah imposed.

“Buzzkill.” I comment, giving her a dramatic, double thumbs down then looking over to the trunk for a decent moment.

“So how long are they gonna take? I want coffee and there’s literally a cafe right behind me.” I chimed, tearing my gaze away from the truck and back over to poor nervous ridden Deb.

“I got off the phone like five minutes before you got here.” She informed me, unable to tear her gaze away.

I shrugged and snuck off to the cafe.

As I walked up to the counter I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched.

Choosing to accept it and putting off scanning my surroundings till after I’ve ordered and payed for my usually:

A hot triple expresso shot mocha.

Waiting for my drink I began eyeballing around my surroundings through my peripherals.

‘Quite conspicuous I might add.’

I didn’t notice anything or anyone who seemed too out of place.

That was until my eyes landed on quite the looker, sitting alone at a corner table next to the windows.

He was gazing out the windows as if he was focused on something outside of the cafe.

He had lightly curly raven hair but as the sun shined down on him you could see hints of brunette highlights scattered about, the way the light hit his eyes made them look green, very masculine features, defined jaw, clean shaven…

‘Kissable lips.’

He wore a white button up with a dark blue tie, sleeves rolled up his forearms.

‘Mm his arms, his hands.’

A watch was wrapped around his wrist and had black dress pants and black dress shoes.

‘God you whore, quit drooling over him.’

‘I think I really need to get laid.’

“Jane, your usual.” The young female Cuban barista called to me as she slid my mocha across the counter to me.

To which I grabbed, “Thanks Jazzie.” I chimed with a smile.

I turned around and looked ahead outside of the cafe, to the ice truck, only to see back up was now arriving.

“Fuck, I don’t wanna miss this.” I say aloud to myself and scurry out of the cafe.

Quickly joining the team outside of the rear end of the ice truck, “Let me do it! Let me do it!”

Angel had just grabbed the ‘industrial grade’ bolt cutters for the lock on the truck.

“Okay, okay, get some gloves and you can.” He reassured, knowing for sure this would be the highlight of my day.

I handed my coffee to Deborah, who took graciously held onto it for safe keeping, “Thank you.”

Slapping on a pair of latex gloves, I grabbed the boot cutters from my fellow detective, Angel.

Placing the over grown scissors into place, biting at the lock, I give a quick squeeze and the lock pops off, dropping to the ground.

Unlatching the door and pushing it up to open giving us full access, I hoped up into the truck, dragging the bolt cutters behind me like a dead puppy.

Sitting at the end of the truck was a small table with a block of ice, chilling right on top.

Upon closer inspection there were painted finger tips in the ice block.

Those finger tips looked as if they were floating, like this was a display item at a museum.

It was simple but beautiful.

But there were those colors again, the colors from my little handy gift.

Pink, yellow, purple, orange, green.

‘What do these colors mean?’

“What do the colors mean?” Dexter quietly questioned to himself from beside me.

‘I always hated when he did that, telepathic lizard.’

“Well all our other victims had all their phalanges intact so it’s probably a good bet there’s gonna be another body soon.” I blatantly said swiveling my head back and forth from Dexter to Angel.

“Yeah, that’s a safe bet.” Angel nodded in agreement.

“But now the questions are when and where.” Deborah pointed out.

“Ah yes, when and where.” I repeat.

It wasn’t too long before Sergeant Doakes and Lieutenant Laguerta finally arrived in scene along with the rest of forensics.

The truck had begun being processed as evidence and Laguerta was determined to find any piece of solid evidence on this killer.

“I don’t care if you have to tear the whole truck apart piece by piece, find me something!” She demanded to the forensics analysts.

But they won’t find anything, simply because this killer is too smart to be caught.

It was a few more days until the body was discovered and reported to homicide.

Within that time we found out the finger tips belonged to a sex worker by the name of Sherry Taylor and also found absolutely zero evidence on the truck, as I predicted.

But this crime scene was different, not in a motel or somewhere else so completely out in the open.

No this body was discovered at the Miami Blades Hockey Rink.

‘Score for the killer.’

As I walked through the metal double doors into the arena I was hit with cool air that felt like winter.

Like a cold blizzard, so comforting.

I walked through the isles and down to the rink itself, everyone else seemed to be having issues on the ice but it didn’t cause me to much problems.

My eyes scanned and finally made contact with the body, that beautifully chopped, stacked up corpse.

Right in the goal net, twelve of the thirteen body parts were wrapped in butchers paper and white string, the head.

The torso was chopped into three pieces and set as a nice stand for the head to be propped up onto.

And there the head was, nearly perfectly centered, displayed for the world to see.

‘He continues to impress me even when he pisses me off.’

‘This truly is a lovely art display.’

I look around at my fellow colleagues,

Angel was squared down next to the body, giving it a good once over.

Deborah and Dexter were off to the side chitchatting, most likely about the case.

The Lieutenant was helplessly trying to flirt with the Sergeant, what a great time for that Laguerta.

I turned back over to Angel Batista, I quickly took notice of his now changed expression.

“Hey guys, come look at this.” He paused as he pulled out something from between the body parts.

The rear view mirror from the ice truck.

‘Very poetic.’

‘It was obvious what it meant, I’m watching, I see you behind me but I’m still a step ahead.

‘Probably the most likely scenario.’

Fellow colleagues gathered near to look and mumble questions about it all. But it’s obvious common sense clearly wasn’t so common anymore.

It’s really not that hard of a thing to figure out, now who this message is directed towards is a different story.

Dexter, Deborah and I pull away from the crowd, to the side lines,

“So, what could the mirror mean?” Deb asked blatantly, giving up on the guessing game.

“C’mon Debs, you’re not retarded. It means he’s watching obviously.” I stated.

She paused then nodded, finally getting the whole picture.

Very quickly after this, the serial killer was dubbed: the Ice Truck Killer.

And we had just a little bit more in-tell gathered with some video surveillance collected from the Hockey stadium.

Lieutenant Laguerta had set up a debriefing meeting, where she decided to would be genius to place the security guard that was ‘caught’ on the surveillance footage placing the body, as prime murder suspect number one.

However, it’s easy to debunk her theory, getting her to listen is another story altogether.

An actual detective could take a closer look at the lightly blurred camera footage and see that this security guard, Tony Tucci looked pretty reluctant to be on the ice, holding those body parts.

‘But I’ll just keep my opinions to myself.’

The Lieutenant also decided we should be putting in all our efforts into finding Tony Tucci and arresting him…

‘What a smart lady.’

‘Why am I even here?’

‘Sometimes I really hate my job.’

I didn’t believe her even for a second, and thankfully I wasn’t the only one, my amazing besties, Deb and Dex obviously knew better, but I could also tell the Sergeant wasn’t buying a word of it either.

After that debrief work went on pretty quickly and soon enough I was already back at home, settling back in.

When I got an unexpected call from none other than Dexter.

Flipping my phone open to answer it, “Yellow.” I greeted.

“Red.” He responded, his tone was calm and almost focused.

“Red.” I repeated back to him as if I was sounding it out.

“Yes, I got a gift wrapped in red ribbon.” I swear I sensed a hint of amusement lacing his words.

“Now who’s the one give vague answers?” I retort.

“The gift was a Barbie doll, cut up, ribbon wrapped and stuffed in my freezer.” Dexter cooly explained.

“Huh, he’s getting bold.” I chuckle, more to myself than to Dexter.

All of this seemed to be ramping up to something and I’ll admit it’s making me excited just by the thought.

I couldn’t stop thinking about this killers methods.

Such precise and clean cuts, no blood, he cuts those women up in such lovely pieces.

‘Dare I say I admire this Ice Tuck Killer?’

That’s it, I’d have to go back out tonight, try to satisfy the excitement, think of something else.

Tonight I would have two more trophies.

I started thinking about the thrill, holding a beat-less heart in my hands, fresh blood running down my forearms.

The bitter scent of copper filling the room that would soon be turning red.

“Jane?” Dexter said questionably over the line.

Which seemed to be enough to boot me out of my thoughts of premeditated murder.

“Yes, sorry I’m still here, just day dreaming again.” I honestly admit.

“Have you had anymore gifts or maybe even an encounter with this guy yet?” He asked, suddenly sounding a little serious.

“Nada.” I respond.

“But I am curious when this Ice Truck Killer will strike again.” I added, a smirk stretching across my lips.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. I’m kind of tempted to help you find this guy.” Dexter divulged.

“I would love the extra help, but I’m gonna go try to accomplish some digging.” I lie and hang up the phone.

In the next coming hours I began to get myself ready for tonight’s affairs.

Another kill.

And another hooker would do.

I didn’t particularly enjoy planning on such short notice, but I can work with it.

‘Sorry Dex, but I’m not a code follower as long as I have caution.’

‘Besides, is there really such thing as a good hooker?’

Back to prowling through the night life along the streets of Miami, searching for my next victim.

This night I decided to wear a split black and red crop top that showed quite a decent amount of my midriff, black denim, nearly, booty shorts with black fishnet stockings and six inch black heels.

I had some purple glimmer eyeshadow smudged on my eyelids and a light layer of gloss coating my lips.

I circled the block twice before my eyes landed on a target, a younger hispanic woman.

She had black hair, caramel like complexion with dark brown eyes, she was roughly my height.

She wore a light purple crop top, matching color short skirt, four inch pink heels and held into a sparkly pink clutch.

And she looked very naive and easily manipulatable, plus she was already stumbling the direction I’d be walking her.

Closely tailing behind her as we got closer and closer to my dark, dingy, empty ally way.

Now how was I going to do this, you might ask.

Very easily.

With just a dash of charm.

And a lot of incentive.

I dug my hand into my surprisingly spacious clutch, hovering my finger lightly over the trigger of my revolver.

Pressing the clutch against the small of her back as I pull her upper arm, yanking her a step back into me.

I smiled kindly as I guided her down the ally and whispered.

“I have a loaded gun to you back, hun. Don’t scream. Don’t try anything. Just co-operate.”

The hispanic woman only nodded.

I continued pushing her further down the ally way, towards my fixed up Chevrolet Impala.

“Ya know, you whores make this too easy.” I begun.

“Despite that fact, I’m sure he’d still be amused with the show in about to put on.” I finished as I slammed my key into the trunk lock and quickly pull it open, still holding onto the woman.

“Are you going to get in the trunk or do I have to force you?” I genuinely ask, typically the victim doesn’t want to die so they usually procrastinate the inevitable.

Tears start running down her cheeks, “Please, you don’t have to do this.” She stammered, pleading with me.

“Really, the water works ain’t gonna work on me, honey.” I chuckled.

“Get in the fucking trunk.”

“Please.”

‘Hey, at least I was a polite serial killer.’

Surprisingly, with a decent amount of hesitation, she eventually climbed into the trunk all on her own.

‘So obedient, good.’

I fully pull out the revolver from my clutch and slam the butt of the gun against the woman’s head.

Out cold.

Getting back in the driver seat, I began my journey to my usually abandoned kill site.

As I laid the woman down onto the center kitchen counter I removed her clothes and strapped her down.

Setting up all my other tools, my mind began wondering what I would do to my new playmate.

‘Maybe I could try being a little more intricate this time.’

I shoved a gag into her mouth and started my work, slowly and precisely digging in my scalpel, slicing into her still warm and very alive flesh.

The typical ‘Y’ shaped autopsy incision. Blood pooled and over flowed out of the cuts, more so when I ripped her thick flesh away from her rib cage.

Muffled screams and the added sound of my freshly started reciprocating saw whirring filled the kitchen.

Sawing away at her run cage to get into her chest cavity was the annoying part, everything else, however, was enjoyable.

I never really enjoyed being so overly careful with the ribs, one small slip, the saw goes in too deep.

And oops, hunks of bits and pieces of lung start flying out of the chest or getting stuck in the ribs.

‘Not too pretty.’

Cautiously, I pulled out the beating heart, I severed everything still connected and watched the beating come to a halt.

‘Heart goes in jar. Ribs go in body. Skin goes back over and gets sewn shut.’

‘Now smile for the camera, skank!’

Click.

I placed my trophy hearts and photo to the side and prepped for the coming part.

I was really going to enjoy this next part. Savor in it, draw it out.

I swapped my scalpel in for a cleaver, taking a few flawless swings, cleanly detaching the fingers.

Then I came down once more, hard.

Dismembering her hand at the wrist, then again to the other hand.

Switching back to the reciprocating saw, I took her apart piece by bloody piece.

Wrists to elbows, elbows to shoulders.

A little decapitation.

The torso was pieced off into three, incisions under her bust and right above her hip bones.

From ankles to under the knee, under to over, then finally one last sever at the top of her thigh.

Cleaning up, changing my outfit and bagging up the bloodied pieces into three separate trash bags this time.

Head in one, torso in another and all the limbs in the last bag.

I securely tied all the bags closed and commenced the process of transporting them into my trunk.

But where should I display this one?

I ponder in my driver seat for a good long moment until I came to a decision.

The park.

And so I set off, skidding on a fitted ski mask and pulling into a spot.

It was still pretty early in the morning, about one o’clock.

Not very many people travel through the park at this time of night.

Lucky for me, when I pulled in I noticed there were no other cars in the lot.

I took the bags and carried them with me into the park, looking for the perfect park table-bench-combo.

I finally set my eyes on it. Meticulously I set up the body parts in the table.

All while humming some mindless tune.

‘I was proud of my work, couldn’t you tell?’

Finally satisfied, I balled up the three bags and brought them back with me to the car.

Popping my trunk to shove the bags under the board that sheltered what should’ve been a spare tire, but was now just empty space.

It was a quick drive home and I desperately felt the need to shower the night away.

I stripped down completely and practically jumped into the shower.

Scrubbing off all the dried specs of blood off my body and out of my hair, letting the soap and scolding hot water wash the rest of the evidence cleanly away.

I stood in my own personal steaming hell for a good minute after the suds dissipated.

Letting the water release the rest of the tension and stress in my sore muscles.

At long last I emerged from the shower and dried myself off as I made my way back to my bedroom.

I slipped into a dark blue nighty and lace blue panties before leaping into bed, letting out a small huff as my body made contact with the mattress.

Looking over to the clock it was already 1:30 in the morning, I was supposed to be up by six.

‘Guess that means no Ambien for me.’

I groaned and laid my head on the pillow, closing my eyes for a brief period of time before finally drifting off to sleep.

Until very suddenly I was awoken, somewhere around 3:20 in the morning.

It wasn’t shock or fear or panic.

It was the feeling of knowing someone is here in my house.

The same feeling I have when Dexter breaks in, however, this is different.

‘Not Dexter.’

Slowly I growled out of bed, loose grip on the 9 mm hand gun that resided under my pillow.

Stalking over to the doorway, I stopped to listen for a second.

Subtle footsteps.

‘Could you be my mystery friend?’

Tiptoeing down the hall, I brought my gun up as I rounded the corner.

There he was, my intruder. Standing in front of my fridge, using a magnet to stick a new letter to my top freezer door.

“Put your hands up and turn around slowly.” I sternly demanded.

I notice him pulling his mask back down over his face before finally complying with my demands.

“You’re a real smart ass, aren’t you?” I comment, pointing my gun at his chest.

He seemed relatively surprised, he probably didn’t even hear me sneak up on him.

I wave my gun to the right, motioning him to move, “Couch, now.” I command.

My voice was still calm and collected, strong and stern. But in truth, on the inside I truly didn’t know what I should do.

Mostly if this was the Ice Truck Killer.

He moved, forward instead of the directed right. Not what I wanted at all.

Two predators held at a stand still, waiting for the other to make a move.

But what should I do.

“Stop moving or I shoot.” I exclaim, exaggerating the fact that I currently had a gun pointed at him.

“I think we both know you’re not going to shoot me.” He spoke in a low tone, taking another step forward.

Keeping the gun pointed at him I stood my ground, “Fuck.” I pause.

“Are you the Ice Truck Killer?” I asked keeping my composure intact.

Another step. “You really are a smart one detective.” It was his only response, but it was confirmation enough.

One more step and my gun was pressed against his chest, my finger was off the trigger at this point.

Is this really happening? I’m still dreaming, aren’t I?

The Ice Truck Killer is right in front of me and I don’t know what to do.

Cuff him, shoot him, make friends with him.

‘Oh hey bud, it’s okay I’m a killer too, by the way I really love your work.’

Yeah, no.

When I finally snapped back to reality I took notice that my back was pressed against the wall.

The bottom of his mask was pulled up over his nose, revealing his mouth.

“You know, I’ve really taken a special interest in you Jane.” He purred in my ear.

I had only just now noticed his gloved hand had taken ahold of my firearm, sneakily disarming me.

He threw the gun behind him onto the couch, his other hand firmly pressed on my chest keeping me against the wall.

He gently leaned in, his lips nearly against mine.

I could feel his breath against my face with a minty menthol scent attached.

His other hand came back up, using his index finger knuckle to guide my gaze up a smidge by my chin.

He carefully grazed his lips against mine, teasing at first before firmly pressing his lips to mine.

It was short lived, a quick kiss that left me wanting more.

He smirked before pulling his mask back down.

Slowly I was starting to fully come back to my senses, this was the Ice Truck Killer in front of me.

The same motherfucker who hit my goddamn Impala!

Fuck, why’d I think of the Impala?

Giving my head a small shake, I clear my head of all the filthy thoughts that were just there moments ago.

With both hands I shoved the man back, causing him to stumble, but was easily able to ground himself.

At this point I was disarmed, I was at quite the disadvantage here.

“Oh so we’re playing this game now, huh little mouse?” He chuckled and started for me again.

I steadied my footing and swung a kick at him, to which he caught.

Leaving me only with my left, grounded, leg.

With enough momentum, I decided the fall was worth the lay out of I land this.

I leaned back completely, nearly in a handstand position, my now non-balancing leg is being shoved full force into the man’s chest.

He dropped my right leg and stumbled back, as my back hit the ground I let out a small groan.

I attempted to get back up but fell short handed in a skills check category.

Halfway up and my ankle gave out and I smacked my head back on the ground.

“Fuck.” I mumble and roll fully onto my stomach, getting on all fours to attempt getting up that way.

As I attempted the bad ankle again I felt a strong arm wrap around my neck.

I was pulled up to my knees by my neck and my back was pressed against his chest.

At this moment I couldn’t breathe, everything felt so much lighter, my head began to spin.

At this point there was nothing I could do.

He was much stronger than me, fighting him off wouldn’t amount to much.

What? Thrash about like a dying fish? Give him the satisfaction of my struggle.

‘Ha not gonna fucking happen.’

‘I’m just gonna take it, let him decide if I truly am worth killing.’

All I really did was limply hold onto his forearm and bicep.

I didn’t claw or try to pull his arm away.

I accepted it.

When I was so close to the edge of fully passing out he leaned close to my ear once more.

“I can’t wait till I can finally have you all to myself my dear Barbie.”

And that was it.

Everything faded to black.

When I came too I was on the cold hard wood floor, he had left me alive and passed out on the kitchen floor.

I gradually got up, steadying myself with the kitchen counter, I got a glint of the note on the fridge for me.

Stumbling over I move the magnet and grab the note.

‘Barbie’

His little nickname for me, neatly handwritten on the front. Opening it up it read:

‘You’re such a ready for making me wait so long to watch you work again. I can’t wait for the day I get to work on your gorgeous body. Strap you to my table, bleed you dry, watch the light leave your eyes.

Examine every single inch of your body before and after I chop you up into multiple pieces, really get to know you inside and out. But don’t worry doll, you’ll be my prettiest work of art. So perfectly present wrapped for your buddies down at Miami Metro.

You’re a work of art and I intend to display you as such.

Love, Ken’

If this was his idea of a love letter then I don’t know whether to be flattered or concerned.

‘I’m a work of art? Gorgeous…’

‘He really must have taken an interest in me.’

I opened up my nearly empty freezer to be met with a barbie doll, cut up and wrapped in dark blue ribbon.

The doll also had dark brown hair and brown eyes, like me.

‘Oh that sick fuck.’

I closed the freezer door and headed back to my bedroom with the note, stuffing it in the top drawer of my nightstand on the right of my bed.

Glancing at the clock it read, 5:40 in the morning.

I begrudgingly began getting dressed for the work day.

Knowing I would soon be summoned to a crime scene by dispatch, I made a point to quickly get ready.

Tossing on a black button up, grey dress pants with a darker shade of grey striping down, the trusty belt, blue knee highs and steel toes.

And as if almost on cue the phone started ringing with the caller ID reading: Dispatch.

“Yellow, Detective Janet Whitman.” I greeted.

“Hello Detective, we had a homicide at the park near Miami Bay.” The dispatcher informed.

“Okay, left or right off the highway?” I asked, like I actually needed to be told.

“Left.” She confirmed.

“Gotcha, be there in 15.” I enlighten before hanging up.

I grabbed my keys, badge, gun and left, getting into my daily Accord and making my way over to the crime scene.

My crime scene.

Yet again.

Upon my approach to the crime scene I took note of my colleagues surrounding the body.

Deborah, Dexter and Batista.

I vigilantly observed Dexter’s not to happy glare, he was good at hiding it.

But for someone who’s known Dexter for a while, I could obviously tell he was irritated with me.

“That copy cat again?” I leaned over and whispered to Batista.

“It’s lookin like.” He disclosed, keeping the conversation on the hush, hush as well.

“This copy cat is probably just feeding this Ice Truck Killer’s ego, I mean he’s getting all the credit.” I explained still in a whisper.

“Or maybe the killer is angry, this Ice Truck Killer is usually very clean, no blood. These are very clean incisions but it’s messy, lots of blood.” I go on with my counter thought.

“I mean it would make sense if the Ice Truck Killer gets mad about this copy cat’s credit being put on his name.” Deborah chimed in.

“Or the copy cat could end up getting pissed about not having any credit and end up letting the body count pile up.” Deborah placed in her counter thought as well, she’s quite a smart cookie.

“Something tells me that the copy cat probably doesn’t care.” I mused at my own work displayed in front of me.

“What makes you think that, Jane?” Deb queried, full of curiosity.

“Uh I don’t know Deb, just a hunch.” I hastily corrected myself.

‘That was kind of a cocky statement on my part, I really need to learn how to shut the fuck up.’

Throughout the rest of the work day I kept getting evil glares from Dexter.

That glare that says ‘I know what you did’.

In all honesty, I expected him to pull the whole, we need to talk or just pull me into his lab.

But nope.

Just that fucking glare.

He knew for a fact I was the one behind that body today. To him it was as obvious as the last puzzle piece.

I had broken our deal as well and I was fully aware there would be hell to pay.

Today I had a decent amount of paper work to get done so I didn’t leave Miami Metro until late in the evening.

It was around 9:45 in the night when I got back.

When I walked into my house it was completely dark, per usual.

The dark didn’t bother me, I knew this house like the back of my hand.

The thing that did bother me, however, was the presence of someone else in my house.

‘Not this shit again.’

Given it was a familiar presence, most likely Dexter, so I didn’t read too much into it.

I scanned the living room, kitchen, down the hall.

No one.

Nothing at all.

Until I actually started making my way down the hallway.

I glanced through the doorway into my ‘laundry room’ basement, my shelf had been moved.

And the door to my trophy and kill room was open just ajar.

I paused in the doorway then everything clicked in my mind.

I ran into my room and lacked the door behind me.

“I’m not playing this fucking game Dexter!” I yelled, backing up away from the door.

I kept backing up until I backed into something or should I say, someone.

Before I had a chance to attempt an escape I felt a firm arm wrap around my waist and pull me back.

And then that was quickly followed by a dull sting to the neck.

Dexter had hit me with a dose of his M99.

My failed attempts at struggling were short lived as I succumbed to the tranquilizer.

Here I was, being knocked out once again by a serial killer, not even within a twenty-four hour time span.

It was in fact, eight-teen hours.

When I finally re-awoke, I cautiously eyeballed my surroundings.

I was still extremely groggy and my vision was still blurry, but I could feel.

And what I was feeling was the cold.

My mouth was excruciatingly dry.

I couldn’t barely move.

I was stripped naked, wrapped in plastic wrap.

‘Dexter’s signature MO.’

The dull light that hung over head suddenly became very overwhelming and blinding as my vision was slowly un-blurring.

Finally able to see the room and scanned around, I quickly took notice that this was my basement.

I was on my table!

To the right of me was a small, stainless steel, rolling table, on it sat two jars and two pictures propped against.

My recent trophies.

To the left side of the room was Dexter, casually leaning against the counter.

“Good you awake. We can start.” He walked up to the table, leaning over me, placing both hands at either side of my head.

“We’re gonna have a little chat about those two right over there.” He illuminated as he lifted a hand, motioning to the trophies across the room.

My gaze followed where he motioned then back over to him, meeting his eyes.

I was surprisingly calm, I didn’t feel at all like my life was in danger.

‘This was like two adults having a forced sit down to work out a situation.’

‘However, this is two serial killers, one’s plastic wrapped to a fucking table and the other is going to be doing all the bitching.’

“Okay, let’s talk.” I said, emotion void from my tone.

“First off, why did you kill them?” He started.

“Remember, honesty will set you free, Jane, dishonesty however…” he trailed off as he picked up one of my knives with a gloved hand.

Gently running a finger along the blade fairly close to me.

I figured out now would be the best time to spill my compelling argument.

“You know what, to get the Ice Truck Killer’s attention and honestly they’re hookers, Dex, it’s not like anyone will miss them.” I declared.

“Okay, i get you wanted to get the Ice Truck Killer’s attention but you could’ve gone about it other ways.” He paused a moment before continuing.

“But I looked into those women you killed, they were innocent Jane. I can’t just let you kill innocent people.”

I didn’t say anything.

What could I say?

A smart ass remark.

To Dexter.

Right now? An absolute horrible idea.

“We had a deal and you broke it. Tell me why.” He entailed.

I thought for a second, “I don’t know Dex, I just did it.” I confess, I truly didn’t know why, I had an idea and just ran with it.

Dexter sighed, fully standing back up. “Why do you have such an interest in the Ice Truck Killer?” He asked with a pensive tone.

My face went lightly flush, “I, uh.” I couldn’t even get a sentence out now.

I didn’t wanna confess all of everything to Dexter!

He picked up the two notes with my little nickname written on the front, “Think very carefully about your next answer.”

“Oh fuck, okay, he was here this morning, early this morning.”

‘Well here goes nothing, you wanted the truth bud.’

“I caught him leaving me another gift.” My mind drifted off to think about that short lived kiss, my face now turning noticeably pink.

“He told me he had taken a special interest in me.” I half complete the story for him.

“Is that all?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow at me.

“He kissed me.” I start.

“Huh… wow.” Dexter scoffs.

“Then there was an extremely short lived fight, got me in a headlock and held me there until I passed out.” I finished.

There it is, the whole truth and nothing but.

“How indecisive of him.” Dexter mused for a second, before starting again.

“Did you see his face?” He was suddenly a little more serious.

“No Dex, he wore a mask and only pulled it up enough to kiss me.” I reply.

“Damnit, you better not be falling for another serial killer.” He rolled his eyes.

“That’s a low blow, even for you! Daryl was the biggest mistake of my life, you know that!” I snapped, venom dripped from my words.

“I know Jane, I. I didn’t mean it like that.” He corrected, he pondered for a moment before looking back at me.

“Jane, you need to promise me something.” His tone laced with sincerity for a second there, he held out his pinky.

Years and years ago, a little after Dexter became the lovable killer he is now.

When he was just starting out in forensics and I was about to make my move to Washington for college.

It was my twenty-first birthday and I was celebrating by my lonesome.

Alone young ‘weak’ woman.

Prime target for getting roofied.

But in the long run, poor, naive little me didn’t think it would happen to me.

I’d see it. I told myself.

Well I was dead wrong, a college boy about my age kept trying to buy me drinks, flirt with me, ask if he could take me out.

He had medium brown hair and bright blue eyes, medium build and a little taller than I.

I refused him each time and eventually he decided he was going to have his way one, way or another.

He slipped the little pill in and drink, stirring it around with the straw just a smidge.

Then laid in wait.

It wasn’t too long until I was paying for my drink and leaving the bar, making my way back to my car.

I open up the back driver door and sit my bag down on the seat to shuffle through the contents of my bag.

Keys, keys, keys.

The brunette male came up behind me and pushed me into the back seat, rolled me over and started forcing my panties down.

He was practically on top of me, my purse had fallen to the bottom of the seat, lying sideways on the floor.

Some of the contents spilled out but not the specific one I wanted.

The male had already undone his belt and pants, he forced them down and gave his cock a quick stroke.

“You really shouldn’t be such a cunt.” He spat.

I tried struggling as my hand was on the floor struggling for my knife, it was here somewhere.

It had to be.

“Fuck, stop get off of me!” I sobbed, but obviously words aren’t my preferred weapon of choice.

He quickly slid a condom in, rolling it down his member and took a firm grasp on my legs, forcing them open.

“You really put up a fight, I like it.” He grumbled as he forced himself in me.

Not giving me time to adjust he started thrusting in me, a decent pace at first.

My fingers finally grasped the knife in my bag and I flip it open.

Yanking it out of the purse and quickly plunging it into the brunettes chest.

“Oh fuck.” I stammered.

I forced him off of me and rolled him into the seat and propped myself up in a squared position.

I made sure he was fully in the back seat before I closed and locked all the doors.

Slumping into the drivers seat I reached around the back for my keys that were on the floor behind the passenger seat.

Put them in the ignition and started the car.

I drove out to a pay phone that was in a mostly unpopular area.

My first and only call, to Dexter.

“Yellow.” He greeted in his usual ‘I’m around people’ default tone.

I’m just grateful he answered instead of Deborah.

“Hey it’s Jane, I’m kind of in a bind. I really need your help.” I rambled, probably speaking a little too fast.

I was on edge.

“What do you need Jane.” His tone now serious.

“Meet me at the park three blocks from the boat docks. Please.” I sounded desperate, because I was.

I did just fucking off someone for the first time.

“Okay I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, just breathe.” He said reassuringly before hanging up.

He could tell I was obviously shaken up about something.

The drive was rather fast, but the waiting, felt like an eternity.

When Dexter finally pulled into the parking spot next to mine, that was stuffed away from the rest of the park, he hoped out of the driver side.

I did the same, biting at my nails and leaning against the door.

He walked over to greet me, “So what’s this bind you’re in?… oh.”

He paused as he took notice to the dead body lying in the back seat.

“Uh-huh.” I nodded.

“First, what the hell happened?” He asked.

He needed to know, for his codes sake.

He would be judge, jury and possibly executioner to his own best friend depending on the answer.

“He roofied me and practically started raping me in my back seat!” I practically yelled.

He clasped his hand over my mouth, “Sh! Stay quiet.” He whisper yelled.

“You can’t get too emotional here.” He added, slowly removing his hand.

“Okay, now, second. How much do you care about your car?” He shot me an unsure glance.

“I don’t.” I pause, “Wait, why? There’s stuff I still need in there.” I start to whisper yell myself.

“If that’s the case, only keep what you absolutely need, everything else is trash.” He walked over to his trunk.

“Everything needs to go and lucky for you, I have some garbage bags on hand.”

Dexter started pulling out a few garbage bags, two sets of gloves and disinfectant wipes.

Handing me a pair of gloves and trash bags, he kept the disinfectant wipes to himself.

“Alrighty now let’s clean this up.” He chimed, sitting in the driver seat, slipping on his gloves and started wiping every surface down.

As he did that I slipped on my own gloves and started bagging up all my belongings.

The throw away bag ended up being two bags, while the keel bag was only one small lump.

Once we both finished our parts I tied the bags and we put them in Dexter’s trunk.

“Now what Dex?” I asked, still a little nerv-ridden.

“Now, we dump the car, I know a good drop off spot.” He said as he went back over to his driver side.

“Keep your gloves on and follow me.” He dipped down into the car and soon we were off.

Soon we ended up on a long, twisted, lonely road with a few pull off spots that ended in steep drop offs.

Dexter turned his indicator light on, signaling me to pull off with him.

To which I obliged.

I put the car in park and stepped out, he did the same.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, you’re gonna straighten out the car. Nose to cliff. Toss her in neutral and we push her in.” He instructed and I nodded.

Straightening out the vehicle and leaving it in neutral, as told, we began pushing until the car tipped and fell off the edge.

Boom!

Evidence gone.

Hopefully.

Dexter turned to me, “Jane, I need you to promise me something.”

He brought up his hand and stuck out his pinky finger.

I looked at him, he looked like he was in deep contemplation.

“Promise what?” I questioned.

“Promise that you won’t say a word about what happened here tonight.”

Nodding, I wrapped my pinky around his, “I promise.”

“Promise you what Dex?” I asked earnestly.

“Promise me you’re gonna stop fucking killing hooker, you tell me when this goddamn Ice Truck Killer shows up or if you find anything out.” He took a brief pause.

“And please, Jane, please don’t fall for him.” He finally finished, pleading with me.

“Jesus Christ, Dexter, I promise.” I calmly say, with an added eye-roll.

Honestly I don’t know how those last two are going to go.

Don’t hind information on the Ice Truck Killer.

Don’t fall in love with him.

But he’s so interesting, brilliant, an artist.

How could I not be interested?

“Thank you Jane. Do you finally understand, why I did this?” He asked as he grabbed the knife from earlier once more.

“Yeah. To get it through my head that if I don’t follow your code, then you’ll have to put the hurt on me.” I explained, tossing in a joke.

“Yeah, something like that.” He shrugged before cutting the plastic wrap, freeing me.

He grabbed my pile of clothes, that he neatly folded up, and tossed them to me.

“Get dressed.” He said as he turned around to face the corner, kinda like a kid in time out.

I got off the table and began pulling on my clothes.

“Ya know you’re pretty lucky Jane. I’ve never let anyone off my table. I’m glad we were able to come to an understanding, but please don’t test me.” He delineated to the wall.

“No more dead hookers.” I proclaimed.

I finished dressing myself then looked over to Dexter, “You can stop talking to the wall now.” I chimed.

He turned around, facing me now. “Do you mind if I crash on the couch?” He asked.

Like he didn’t just pretty much threaten to kill me.

“Dude, really?” I glare.

“Well I’m sorry, it’s already.” He paused to look at his watch, “Midnight.” He ended.

“Plus I’m a good serial killer deterrent.” He smirked like a smart ass.

“Fine.” I begrudgingly agree and walked past him to head back up stairs to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of whiskey.

“We should probably catch up on some sleep, I have a feeling we’re in for a new surprise from our friend.” Dexter reminded from behind me.

“Yeah, yeah. Lemme enjoy this fucking glass and I’ll go to bed.” I waved my hand as if waving him off.

“What makes you say that though, I’m curious.” I asked, referring to his comment about our mutual admirer.

We sat down on the couch, “Well think about it Jane, the hockey rink, what happened with you last night, leaving us gifts.”

“He’s ramping up to something and I’m sure it’ll happen soon.” He explained, making a very valid point.

“Yeah you’re right.” I trailed off into thought.

After a little bit of time passed and my glass of what was whiskey now empty. I headed off to bed.

I drifted off in my bed and Dexter passed out on my couch.

Neither of us knew it yet, but tomorrow was the start of something new for the Ice Truck Killer.

We knew something was bound to soon happen.

But when.

Tomorrow? A week from now?

Neither of us had the answer, but we were definitely anticipating the outcome.

#brian moser #brianmoserxoc #brian moser x reader #dexter oc #dexter

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snicker-doodles-666 · 1 month ago

Text

Our Little Game of Cat

and Mouse Pt.2

|Trigger Warning: Brian is his own warning and so is the FMC, gore/murder, sexual content, fingering, somnophilia (sleep ‘actions’), stalking |

(Another thing is I feel like I stuffed a lot in the chapter and I feel like it seems rushed 👀 idk it could just be me)

Word Count: 6k

Chapter Two: Night Stalkers

Jane’s POV

Loud blaring noise from my alarm clock shot me awake. My hand almost immediately slamming on it to shut it the fuck up.

‘Five in the fucking morning.’

Still a bit groggy and tired, I sat up in my bed, quickly making the realization that something wasn’t right.

‘My space had been violated.’

Cautiously I got out of bed, still wearing my clothes from last night, I creeped around my house, room to room.

Checking every door and window lock. Nothing was unlocked, nothing was missing but something was added.

A little gift.

Sitting perfectly visible in the coffee table in my living room.

A disembodied arm, cut off just before the elbow, blood staining the glass it was upon, nails painted.

The polish on each nail was different, starting at the thumb was pink, then yellow, purple, orange and then ending off with green on the pinky.

Accompanied by the arm was a plain white card.

I picked up the card and opened it.

It read;

‘Barbie,

I really enjoyed watching you work last night. I hope to have the pleasure of seeing such beauty again soon.

xoxo, Ken.’

I stare at it for a moment, admiring the neat handwriting. When suddenly I hear the sound of my phone going off.

I set down the card back onto the coffee table and check my phone.

‘Dispatch Calling.’

‘Well here goes nothin.’

“Detective Janet Whitman speaking.”

“Hello Detective, you’ve been called to a crime scene at the Urban Motel Inn. Do you need the address?” A soft voice asked over the phone.

“No I know where it’s at. I’ll be there in twenty, thank you.”

Hanging up the phone I quickly tossed it and grabbed the arm and card, bringing them both down to my basement and placing them on the table.

I went back upstairs into the room to change out of last nights attire.

I stripped completely down, picking out a black and red bra and panty set, red knee-high socks, grey flared dress pants, a plaid flannel button up and my signature steel toes boots.

I grabbed my Honda keys and make my way out of the house and in my vehicle, then to the crime scene.

‘My crime scene.’

I pull into the lot of the Urban Motel Inn, turn off my engine and began re-holstering my service weapon, clipping that and my badge onto the side of my belt.

As I walked up to the scene where my recent victim laid chopped up I noticed something was missing.

‘Her arm is gone.’

‘Her fucking arm is gone!’

‘This son of a bitch. How long was he stalking me for?’

Thankfully Dexter snapped me out of my panicked paranoia.

“Hey Jane, you’ve alright? You look like you’ve seen a corpse.” He joked, slapping me on the shoulder, but really he knew something was bothering me.

“Yeah Jane, you’re looking paler than usual.” Batista pointed out.

‘Fuck people noticed, save this dumbass.’

“Nothing. It’s just those incisions. They remind me of a case I worked in Washington.” Fuck wrong direction.

“Oh you’re talking about that Heart Surgeon that was all over the news about a year or two ago?” Batista questioned.

‘Fuck it, roll with it.’

“Yeah that bastard. But maybe this is just this new serial killer trying something new. God forbid we have another psycho running around.” I answer.

“Maybe if this is who you’re thinking, he’s following you, Whitman. You were almost the Heart Surgeon’s victim right?” Doakes added in out of nowhere.

‘Leave it to fucking Sergeant Doakes to look into the transfers past, fucking asshole.’

“Yeah I was and yet you bring it up so casually but honestly I wouldn’t put it past this guy, he’s never left a live victim.” I gave a slight pause.

“Those incisions though, they look identical to the ones made in the Washington case.” I finished.

“Either way this is different from the usual MO if it is this new serial killer or a copy cat we need to keep it away from the press.” Doakes mentioned in his usual stern tone.

“Angel, what do we have?” Doakes turned to Batista.

“Well from what it looks like, this victim doesn’t have an incision to the carotid artery like the others. It seems the killer may have cut her chest open while she was still alive.”

“But obviously we’ll know more after the coroner and tox screens come back.” Batista added before finishing.

Dexter chimed in, “Unlike the other victims there blood here.”

“What about the fucking arm?” Doakes questioned.

“We’ll have forensics searching but we have nothing about the arm yet.” Batista confirmed.

“Maybe the killer kept it or forgot it?” I shrugged.

“A possibility.” Doakes said before going back to Lieutenant Laguerta to give her a status report.

The rest of the time spent at the crime scene was pretty uneventful, consisting of the usual questioning of current residence and staff, taking notes…

‘Blah, blah, blah.’

Back at the station, I met up with Deborah and Dexter, who had stopped for donuts.

“Don’t mild if I do.” I chimed as I reached into the box and pulled out a powdered donut.

“So guess what!” Deb started, gave a slight pause and before Dex or I could even guess she spoke again.

“Okay so, Captain Matthew’s put me on the fucking case!” She cheered with excitement.

“That’s great Deb!”

“Yeah, congratulations.” Dexter said trying to give her his best attempt at a cheerful tone.

He moved the open box of donuts towards her, offering a celebratory snack. Which she happily took.

“Well I’m gonna go catch up on the case, I’ll catch you two later.” Deborah proclaimed as she walked off biting into her donut.

Dexter and I chatted on our way up to the second floor homicide division.

Once there he set the box on my desk, leaning over slightly in my direction, “We need to talk.” He whispered to me.

‘Probably not a good sign.’

I followed Dexter to his lab, holding the door for me and abruptly shutting it behind me, he stood in front of it, now staring at me.

“What was that at the crime scene?” He wasted no time getting straight to the point.

“It was nothing, like I said it reminded me of a case from Washington.” I lied, apparently horribly.

“Bullshit Jane, we both know you’re the Heart Surgeon. You did this.” He retorted.

“Okay, yeah, fine. I did it.” I admitted putting my hands up in a mock defense.

“Are you dense? Are you trying to get caught?” Dexter’s calm façade now fading.

“No I’m not, I’m trying to get that new killers attention.”

‘Only truth will set me free.’

“You can’t be serious. That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say!” He exclaimed.

“C’mon Dex, you can’t tell me you’re not curious about this guy too.” I taunt.

“I am, you know I am Jane, but, killing an innocent person just for a killers attention is ridiculous.” He attempted to reason with me.

“It’s a fucking hooker none of them are innocent.” I joked, to which he didn’t appreciate, he shot me a glare of annoyance.

“Okay, okay! I get it, go by your code or end up on your table.” I say with an underlying sarcastic tone.

“No more killing hookers and you shouldn’t be trying to get this guys attention we don’t even know who he is.” Dexter said in only the way a brother would.

“Fine no more dead hookers from me but I will admit, I think I did already get this killers attention.” I fidget with my fingers a bit, taking a decent pause.

“Are you gonna elaborate on that?” Dex asked, impatiently.

“The hand, it was kinda on my coffee table this morning. I think that new killer is following me.” I explained, leaving out the part about the note.

“Well fuck Jane. You really screwed the pooch on this one. You could be putting yourself in major danger.” He ran his hands down his face in annoyance, letting out a small huff.

“Look I can handle myself but if I do need you I will call you, and vice versa, if you find anything about this guy, call me.” I gambled, it was a decent deal, I stuck my hand out.

“And no more dead hookers.” He added on, I gave him a little nod and he grabbed my hand firmly.

‘Finally Dexter and I are teaming up for what’s hopefully a team kill.’

Unfortunately the rest of the work day wasn’t as amusing as that little situation, it more so flew by and as soon as I knew it, I was on my way back home.

Finally pulling into my drive way, parking in front of my garage, I got out of my car and headed inside.

‘I could probably catch up on some sleep.’

I went into my room and began stripping down till I was fully nude, tossed my dirty clothes in the hamper next to my clothes and made my way to the bathroom.

Turning on the hot water I wait, occasionally testing with my hand until the water was scolding.

‘Just enough to get a feeling of what it would be like to burn in the fiery pits of hell.’

Stepping into the steaming shower, I lean my head back, letting the heat tinge my skin red, letting my mind wonder to unmentionable thoughts.

Thoughts about this new serial killer, wondering what he looked like, thinking about why he’d want to watch me.

What was his interest in me? Am I just gonna end up almost being a victim or was it a genuine interest?

I start rubbing the soap all over my body, slowly as I was still lost in my thoughts.

I wasn’t fully here. All I could think about is this little chase.

One I’m worried I won’t see the other side off, but also strangely turned on by the thought of.

‘I really hope he’s hot.’

I finished washing the soap off my body and stepped out, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around myself.

I went back to my bedroom, looking for some night attire, landing on a black lace nighty and matching lace panties.

Slipping them on I then make my way to the kitchen, snatching a cup from the cupboard and a bottle of whiskey. I poured myself a decently sized drink.

Out of pure boredom and curiosity, awaiting the buzz from the whiskey, I made my way into the home office and began thumbing through my father’s old police reports.

Looking for anything that could catch my eye, some light reading before bed.

Occasionally sipping my glass of whiskey and flipping through papers I finally land on something that sparks my interest.

From my dad’s old vice days. A police report dated, October 3rd 1973.

I recognized a few of the names, my father’s, Ivan Whitman. Harry Morgan, Dexter’s adoptive father and Dexter Moser?

‘So that was his original last name.’

I read a little more through, coming across a name that didn’t ring a bell at all; Brian Moser.

“Dexter has a brother?” I say aloud to myself, now fully invested in learning more.

Once I finish skimming through the report I start rummaging around for my dad’s old vice journals.

‘1978, 75, 74, aha 1973’

I grabbed the journal and held it up as if it were a prize I had just won.

I spent a good half hour reading the journal, I learned a decent amount about Dexter’s past from this, as my father and Harry trusted each other.

I learned that the Morgan family originally tried to adopt both Dexter and Brian but they quickly realized that Brian needed another kind of environment and that he was a ‘handful’ as Harry put it.

They sent him to Harbor Lights Mental institution, definitely would have to hack in to see those records if I even can. That institution has been closed down for a while now.

I opened up the desktop on my computer and go to work, I look in the bottom corner at the time.

‘It was 9:50 pm.’

I began my work, thanks to my tech pal up in Washington I had a personal lesson in hacking into patient records, so this was no biggy.

About 10 minutes of fast paced typing and I was in the systems website, scrolling through previous patient files.

‘Brian Moser, gotcha.’

I click on the file and take a thorough look through.

Underlying admission diagnosis was anti-social personality disorder, followed by more diagnoses later down the line.

They kept him until he was 21 and then just let him go, that’s suspicious, definitely not something mental institutions just do out of the blue.

I sighed and closed off the tab, making sure to do my best to cover my search history and web browser. I got up, grabbed my whiskey and went back to my bedroom.

‘Now I just have more questions than answers.’

I decided to call it quits for the night and yanked open the top drawer of the nightstand, right of my bed.

Pulling out my bottle of sleeping medication I pop two and chase it wish the remainder of my whiskey.

Setting the now empty glass down on the night stand, I crawl into the middle of my queen sized bed.

Red satin sheets and pillowcases with a big red velvet comforter on top.

I laid on my back on top of the comforter, staring up at the ceiling.

It didn’t really take long for the Ambien to take its effect, a little over 10 minutes and I was drifting off.

Brian’s POV

‘I just couldn’t help myself. Last night when I went to her house it was just to drop off her little gift.’

‘No looking around, just in and out.’

It was around midnight when I was at her back door, picking the lock, making quick work of it, I creep into her kitchen getting a more detailed look around.

Everything was pretty clean and organized. From the kitchen was a dining room, hallway then the living room and front door.

Dark grey walls, wooden floors, furnished with a decent sized grey couch, the coffee table, entertainment stand with a television and a few miscellaneous items and pictures placed about that I’ll soon get to.

Dining room table had a small pile of mail on the surface, finally a name.

“Janet Whitman.” I say aloud to myself, savoring the way her name rolls off my tongue.

Setting the mail back down I look over to a white cloth that was laid out and a disassembled hand gun on top, awaiting to be cleaned.

‘Now this is throwing me for a loop.’

I picked up her detective badge and give it a good look. “You naughty little killer, you’re a fucking pig too.” I let out a quiet chuckle, setting the badge back into its place.

I stalked over to her entertainment stand and take a closer look at the things that were placed about.

Her holstered service weapon, not the smartest idea to leave that loaded and lying around, two different sets of car keys.

There were three pictures framed on the stand, two standing the other flipped face down.

The two that were still standing were of Jane, Dexter and his god awful ‘adoptive sister’ Deborah.

One was a picture of Jane and Deborah in high school, Deborah was piggy back style hanging onto Jane and it looked like they were both in prom dresses.

The other standing picture was of the trio together, like it was a family reunion photo.

‘If you’re this close to my brother you’ll most definitely be worth wrapping around my finger.’

I picked up the picture that laid face down, it was of Jane and some guy, kissing in a snowy, fairy light strung place.

Carefully I pulled the picture out of the frame and looked on the back.

‘Jane and Daryl, Leavenworth 2004, proposal day.’

Putting the photo back into its frame I went to put it down when I noticed a diamond engagement ring that the photo had previously hid from my sight.

‘Guess you’re not engaged anymore.’

I start stalking down the hallway, checking out each room.

A home office, the bathroom, nothing too out of place yet.

Then my eyes fell onto stairs, going down. Following the steps down to her basement which was used as a laundry room.

‘Who the fuck has a basement in Mia- oh, I get it now, smart girl.’

My eyes landed on a book shelf that’s obviously been moved one to many times.

I press my face against the cool brick wall to take a peak behind the bookshelf only to be met with a door.

‘I’m not chancing this yet, but I give your props Jane, you’re creative.’

I shook my head in amusement and made my way back up stairs. There was one more room left, her bedroom.

I slowly push open the door that sat ajar, revealing her room, very organized and neat like the rest of her house.

In the far left corner of her room, straight across from me, sat a big full body mirror, on the right was a nightstand with a lamp.

Her bed where she was currently sleeping, another nightstand with another lamp.

The far right wall had a door which lead to her walk-in closet, a hamper then the wall on my right held her vanity with a pull out bench.

I started at her vanity, staring at the dark oak finish, then the items displayed, some make up, perfume, jewelry.

Picking up one of the bottles I gave it a smell.

It was a sweet vanilla scent.

Grabbing the other bottle and smelling that one as well, it was a fruity floral.

‘She has good taste.’

I looked at her jewelry, diamonds, gold, rubies, pearls.

‘Expensive taste. How does she afford this on a detective’s salary?’

The last thing I picked up from her vanity was her lip balm, I twist off the can and swipe the balm across my bottom lip.

‘Mm strawberry.’

Setting the lip balms back down I finally turn back to her sleeping form, she definitely was pretty fucking hot.

On the outside I don’t think I could make her any more perfect, even if I chopped her up.

But there’s still the inside, what kind of person is she really.

‘A serial killer moonlighting as a detective.’

‘Yeah, sure, but I wanna dig deeper, find out every dirty little secret.’

‘I wanna figure out every sick little fantasy that crosses her mind.’

‘But not yet, not now, cause now you’re sleeping so peacefully.’

She was only wearing a lace nighty, that was a little too short, and a pair of matching panties, that were slightly visible.

I took a step closer to the bed.

Taking a glance at her nightstand to the right of her bed, I notice an empty glass and an open bottle of pills.

I creep over and lean down to read the label.

‘Ambien.’

‘Oh your making this to easy for me.’

She shifted in her bed, sprawling out fully on her back now, arms at either side of her head, her legs were spread open.

‘Oh you poor little doll, I really could do whatever I want to you right now.’

‘You wouldn’t even know it.’

I prop my left knee into her bed, using my opposite arm as a secondary prop.

Bringing my left hand up to her face, I gently brush her dark brunette hair behind her ear.

My hand cautiously moves, grazing my thumb over her lips, caressing down her neck, collarbone, down her arm.

Then moving onto her waist, my hand stopping at her hip, giving it a small squeeze, to which caused her to let out a whimper.

‘Fuck, you’re so helpless.’

‘So pathetic.’

I leaned my head into the crook of her neck, taking a deep breath, taking her all in.

Her skin was so soft and pale, she smelt so good like her perfume and she was just a little cold to the touch.

As I was taking her in my hand subconsciously traveled over to her panties, using my middle and ring finger to firmly rub her core.

Jane starts letting out soft, sweet moans, slowly grinding herself on my fingers.

I spent a few good minutes warming her up before pulling her panties to the side.

I ran my middle finger up her soaked slit, for once I actually wasn’t disgusted by a woman’s wrinkly lump of flesh.

She definitely did have a pretty, slight rosy, pink slit, perfectly shaved with a little bit of a landing strip up top.

Bringing my middle finger back down to her opening I slid both my middle and ring finger in.

“You are so fucking wet for me, Jane.” I mumbled against her neck.

When I started to thrust my fingers in her I began noticing a tightness in my pants.

‘I shouldn’t be indulging myself like this.’

‘But I’ve already gone this far, why stop now?’

Bit by bit I got more aggressive with her cunt, her moans becoming more frequent.

I started kissing and nipping my teeth against her neck.

Fucking my fingers as deep as they’ll go in her, she was getting wetter with each thrust.

My hard on was making itself so painfully noticeable, I wanted to just take her right here, right now.

But this will have to suffice for now, besides she’s just about finished.

With a few more good thrusts of my fingers her warm, wet mess was running down my palm.

A big smirk crossed my face and I repositioned myself to hover back over her.

‘Fuck that was hot.’

I pulled my fingers out of her wet cunt and scraped my tongue up my hand and along my middle finger.

Making sure to get a good taste of her.

She tasted so sweet, like candy. I licked my ring finger and wiped the rest of her wetness on my jeans.

Gently, I pulled her panties back into place and got off her bed.

I looked down at her, biting my lip and palming at my hard on.

I looked over to her hamper and noticed the clothes from last night were piled on top.

‘Perfect I get a souvenir.’

Rummaging through the pile of clothes I pull out those lace black and blue panties and stuffed them in my front pocket.

Looking over to the alarm clock I’m most definitely alarmed by what time it was.

‘Three fucking thirty in the morning!’

‘I’ve been here over three hours. My hard on can wait.’

I carefully made my way back through her house, out the back door being sure to lock it behind me.

When I got back in my red sedan I sat there for a moment, the only thing running through my mind was her.

‘Janet Whitman.’

‘My perfect little doll.’

‘Hopefully I don’t have to kill her too soon.’

Jane’s POV

I woke up suddenly a little after four in the morning.

Sweat beads running down my face.

My space had been once more, violated.

He had been back.

And according to my wet panties, looking around wasn’t the only thing he did.

However, I myself, didn’t feel violated, in fact I was deeply turned on by the thought.

‘What did this sick fuck do to me?’

My mind continued to ponder over numerous questions as I got up to take a quick shower.

What does he want from me? When’s he going to kill again? When am I going to meet this guy face-to-face?

My mind also trying to decipher the questions at hand.

So many different answers and possibilities.

Maybe he just wants a hot, murderous partner in crime, or I was going to end up being his next victim.

When, a good question, soon, I hope he kills again soon.

I’m hoping I’m not the victim so I can continue admiring his beautiful art display he presented us.

It was like every time he strikes again, dumping another chopped up pile of flesh, I feel like a kid on Christmas.

I hoped out of the shower and dried myself off on my way back to my room.

Once dry, I carelessly toss my towel on my barely over flowing hamper, to my displeasure, some of the pile spilled onto the floor.

Grunting in frustration, I squat down, still butt naked, in front of my hamper.

Piece by piece, tossing clothes back in I made an annoying discovery.

‘Something is missing.’

‘I found the bra, where are the matching panties?’

Holding the black and blue laced bra up with one finger by the strap, I give a slight second of a pause.

‘That dirty fucking panty thief.’

I rolled my eyes then begun the process of getting dressed.

Starting with the undergarments, I slipped into a blue matching bra and panty set and a pair of darker blue knee-high socks.

Over that, I put on a blue flannel button-up, black work jeans and my trusty steel toed boots.

Heading into the kitchen, I started a pot of coffee, it was now only 4:30 in the morning and I was too awake to just sit here.

So once my coffee was done, I poured myself a to-go cup, grabbed my Honda car keys and headed out.

I pulled out of the driveway with my particular destination in mind but my mind had remained racing.

‘I should probably go talk to Dex, maybe he has some idea or theory about this that I haven’t thought of.’

It’s nice to have someone who thinks like a killer around, but when two killer minds clash together.

Let’s just say I think if Dexter and I really teamed up on this, we’d be able to crack the code.

And it was settled, to Dexter’s apartment it was.

But how am I even supposed to mentioned what happened last night with our new little friend.

‘Oh hey Dex, I’m pretty sure our new serial killer buddy has a somnophilia fantasy he acted out with me last night.’

‘By the way he’s also apparently a panty thief.’

No.

That’s probably the worse approach I can think of.

Mostly because Dexter is like family and he definitely would not appreciate a hooker butcher breaking into my house to have his way with me.

I pull into the parking lot to Dexter’s apartment complex, shifting my car into park, turning off the ignition and pulling out my keys, I hop out.

Making my way to his front door I grab the handle and jiggle it, until I hear that all to familiar click of the lock unlatching.

It was how I let Dexter know it was me at his door, he didn’t like that I did it but he got used to it.

He opened the door to me, he looked groggy like he had just gotten up.

“Jane, what are you doing here at five in the morning?” Dexter questioned me, moving aside to let me in then closed the door behind me.

“I’m bored, couldn’t just sit at home, plus we need to talk.” I spill as I sat down on one of the stools in front of the kitchen counter.

Dexter returned to prepping and cooking his breakfast.

Now that I’m actually in front of Dexter I can’t help but think about that police report I found last night.

His brother, Brian Moser. Does Dexter even know he has biological relatives?

Ask if he has any decent theories about this new killer lurking about.

That killer who might happen to be my night time visitor.

“So, what’d you wanna talk about?” Dexter asked, breaking not only the silence, but me out of my thoughts as well.

“Well, I’m pretty sure our killer payed me another visit last night.” I started.

Dexter glanced over to me, “And?”

“Now we can officially classify him as a creep.” It was all I said in that moment, which caused a pause in Dex’s movements.

“You really have a back for eluding the proper answers, don’t you.” He commented, hinting at me to spit it out.

My face started to turn flush, thinking about it, I don’t even know what happened.

I don’t know what things this mystery man did to me while I was unconscious, how far he went with me.

How much pleasure he must have felt toying with my body, how still and doll-like I must’ve looked to him.

But I do know two things, he was there last night and he was even bold enough to snatch himself a souvenir.

When I snapped back out of my thoughts, Dexter was waving his spatula in my face.

“Earth to Jane.” He chimed.

“Yeah I’m here, sorry Dex, I just have a lot of shit on my mind.” I shamelessly admit.

“Well you know you can always unload that shit with me, it’s good to talk to someone like minded.” He reassured.

“Okay here’s what I know happened, someone, who I’m guessing is the new killer, broke into my house and had a look around.” I explained, hesitating to say the rest.

“How do you know?” He asked, hands still at work as he finished cooking up breakfast.

“Uh… because I just do.” Hesitation still heavy in my voice.

“You’re gonna need to give me more than that to go on.” He side eyed me.

“Okay, okay, he stole a pair of my panties and I know because I only have matching sets.” I finally spit out, sheepishly.

“Wow, okay. I see why you hesitated on that.” He said cautiously.

“Yeah but I mean it is kinda hot.” I mumbled to myself, sadly, it was loud enough for Dexter to catch.

“You sick bastard.” He chuckled.

Thankfully he didn’t pry for more information, cause honestly my little friend had all the opportunity in the world to have me to himself last night.

I don’t know what he did to me but boy is it bugging me not knowing.

Dexter evenly split the sunny side up eggs and bacon on two separate plates, sliding me one of the plates then sitting next to me, I decided to ask the other question I’ve been dying too.

“So Dex, got any theories about our killer?” I nonchalantly throw out while taking a bit of my bacon.

“Deb and I had an idea that the killer could be using a refrigerated truck, due to the fact that it would be easier transport to drop off the bodies.” He took a small pause.

“And cell crystallization, thank Deb for that idea which lead me to the idea of the truck.” He finally finished.

“Okay that could definitely be a good lead. Deb is so smart, her being in vice truly is a waste of a good mind.” I admit, giving proper props to Debbie.

“You’re telling me. I glad they finally let her in on a case but in all honesty I wanna catch this guy myself.” Dexter said as he downed the last bit of food on his plate.

“I understand that all too well.” I agreed.

“But, I did already agree to help Deb on this one.” He mentioned.

“Fair point, but, I never did.” I said giving Dex a wink.

It was two weeks, two agonizingly long weeks until there was word about this new killer.

Word about the refrigerated trunk.

From my dear ol’ friend, Dexter.

He called me saying that he had a hunch about this ice truck he was following. He had a feeling this was our guy.

And I believed him.

Thankfully I was already cruising around the area near Biscayne Boulevard, the street Dexter was currently following the truck on.

I was only up this early because I couldn’t sleep myself, with this whole case and my little stalker I have a lot I thought about.

In my Chevrolet I slide through a stop sign and make an illegal left onto Biscayne.

I finally found Dexter’s dark grey Ford in the light traffic. I floored it through a red light to catch up behind him.

I grab my phone and call him once more. To which he quickly answers.

“On your six, Dex.” I inform and I flip the kill switch to my head lights and tail lights.

“Good, this guys still two lights ahead.” He responded.

Two lights, then three, then four.

He was getting further away from us until finally he turned off onto a poorly lit road.

“Fucking lights.” I say into the phone.

“Yeah, I think we lost him, Jane.”

Dexter finally turns down the road, me following about three car lengths behind.

“I don’t see the truck.” Dexter informed over the phone.

He was nearly at the end of the road when headlights turn on, accompanied by the roar of the engine coming to life.

The truck was facing us and now of the move again. He threw something out the driver side window at Dexter’s car.

This was my cue.

I flipped on my kill switch for my head lights and tail lights, the lights flickered on just before the ice truck drove past me.

‘Hopefully that flash banged the fucker.’

I revved my engine hard, my rear tires spinning out causing a slight fishtail and skidding up the pavement.

I crank my steering wheel to the left and shifted into 1st.

I shot a quick u-turn and made fast work in my footwork and straightening out the wheel, shifting accordingly.

I was now in pursuit.

“Jane be fucking careful, I’m gonna call the Lieutenant.” Dexter warned.

“Okay don’t tell anyone I was here or going after this guy, got it Dex?” I sternly commanded.

“Got it.” Click. He hung up, I flipped my phone shut and threw it down onto the passenger seat.

I followed the truck for a good amount of time, he knew I was following him.

And if he’s truly my little home intruder then he’s enjoying that I’m following him.

As we drove, things started to look familiar, too familiar.

This is the abandoned neighborhood, my kill site.

This was my little home intruder.

We were currently on a long stretch of straight road, it was a wide road, big enough to fit a center turn lane.

And this area, this time of night. Completely desolate.

Ideal for what I have planned.

The truck was speeding up to a solid 50 miles per hour, to which I smirked.

‘I finally really get to test this baby out.’

I slammed my foot onto the gas petal, pushing it down to the metal. Shifting up to fourth gear, I jerked the wheel, sliding into the on-coming lane.

A little faster, shifting into fifth gear, I’m side by side with the truck. I pulled out my service weapon and fumble to cock it quick.

As I look back up, the nose of my Impala was just a tad bit ahead of the ice truck and I was too late to fire a round.

He swung a hard left into my passenger side door, my head snapped to the left, smacking into the driver door window.

I was disoriented but still was able to shift into neutral, pull the emergency brake and turn off the ignition.

I grabbed my service weapon, a 9 mm, once more and popped my driver door open.

Taking a step out and aiming at the now fleeing ice truck.

I took a deep breath and closed one eye.

With a gentle exhale, I squeezed the trigger.

‘Bullseye.’

The bullet shot his driver side mirror clean off.

‘You’re lucky I’m just giving you a warning shot.’

#brian moser #brianmoserxoc #brian moser x reader #dexter oc #dexter

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snicker-doodles-666 · 2 months ago

Text

Our Little Game of Cat

and Mouse

|Trigger Warning: Brian Moser is his own warning, descriptions of murder/gore, mentions of drugs, prostitution|

(This is y’all’s introduction to the lovely Heart Surgeon, Janet Whitman!)

Word Count: 2,727

Chapter One: Chilling New Case

Jane’s POV

It’s been a little over three months since I’ve been back in my hometown of Miami, Florida.

Upon hearing my contemplations of return my mother wasted no time in buying another house and letting me essentially live in my childhood home, rent free.

My lovely mother, Maggie Whitman, even left me her pride and joy, a 67 Chevrolet Impala. It had a beautiful black glossy finish and the ideal trunk space for those special occasions.

In the time that I’ve been back, I got a transfer into Miami Metro’s Homicide Division as a detective.

Thank god Washington let me out of their grasp. I like the blanket of constant cold and rain but I really fucking hated the people.

‘Bon voyage’

I had also been reunited with two of my high-school friends, Deborah and Dexter Morgan.

They’re ‘brother and sister’, I say that in quotes because Dexter was adopted into the Morgan family.

Surprisingly though I was more closer to Deborah, but Dexter and I were far too similar, our nightly hobbies oddly correlated.

He had a darkness nearly close to mine, nearly.

He has his code, I only rely on caution.

‘Oh yeah, that reminds me.’

‘I’m Janet Whitman’

‘I’m also the Heart Surgeon.’

My killing really started during my time in Washington state, in 1996. By now my body count is nearly in the 60’s.

Sadly my caution yielded me to put a halt to my night time hobby. I had an unsettling feeling about how close my team was getting to being on my ass with the Heart Surgeon murders.

They began theorizing that the killer was a woman.

Not a good sign.

Now I have a decent sized scar in the center of my chest and a decent alibi, good enough to throw them off that female serial killer theory.

Suddenly my phone began to buzz. Grabbing it, I looked at the name on the small display.

‘Deb Calling.’

Flipping the phone open to answer, I put it up to my ear.

“Jane! Hey, I know it’s your day off but could you come down to this little shitty fucking motel, there’s another body.” Deborah practically yelled into my ear.

“Fuck, okay. Send me the location and I’ll be there soon.” I informed before flipping the phone shut, ending the call.

I fumble for my keys and badge, threw on some shoes and made my way out to my little Honda Accord beater.

On the short drive there I started getting lost in my thoughts.

‘If this one has the same M/O then we’re dealing with a serial.’

There had been two other motel killings the last few months, I was only here for the second one. Pretty gruesome.

Both victims killed the same way. Slit to the throat, both cut into pieces so cleanly, like every cut was had the killers full attention.

In all honesty, it’s nice to see a clean kill, no sloppy, jagged cuts. Just patient and precise cuts.

Like my work, precise, careful, clean and methodical.

It takes patients to extract a still beating heart.

I pull into the motel parking lot, just behind the crime scene tape that was blocking off the nearby area.

Snatching my badge and shutting off my vehicle, I hop out of the driver seat, shut the door and entered under the ‘caution’ tape, nonchalantly flashing my badge to the officer on the other side.

I noticed Deborah and Dexter talking in the doorway of one of the motels.

‘I can’t wait for Deb to be transferred into homicide, her being in vice is a waste of a good mind.’

I walked over to the duo, Dexter, per-usual was dressed normally but poor Deborah was trapped in full sex suit.

“Ya look great Deb!” Sarcasm laced my words.

“Fuckin’ thanks for noticing, asshole.” Deborah jokingly snapped back.

I clapped my hands together, “So, where’s the body?”

“The pool. I was just about to head over.” Dexter informed.

We both made our way over to the big show, the body.

Upon approaching the scene, my heart skipped a beat. This was…

‘A masterpiece.’

The corpse was laid out on a table. Certain severed parts were wrapped in what looked like butchers paper and tied neatly.

The parts that weren’t wrapped looked so well preserved, pale, lifeless flesh and bones right in front of me.

Each severed piece looked so clean and each cut was well thought through.

But something was missing, there was no blood around at all.

‘What was this feeling? Admiration?’

‘It could be, I have to say this third kill has piqued my curiosity.’

‘I want this killer in my favorite set of bracelets.’

‘I want to drag him into the station like a dog on a leash.’

‘Or maybe even add his heart to my collection.’

I quickly composed myself, snapping out of my trance. I start paying attention to the conversation between, Dexter, Batista and Masuka.

“Look here, this leg was severed into three clean pieces, but we’re going on the theory that the killer may have gotten interrupted. He started a fourth cut but stopped.”

Batista pointed out, hovering his hand over the fourth incision.

‘Not likely.’

“This killer seems too methodical to let himself kill in a spot he’d be interrupted.” I chimed in.

“You may be right, but Laguerta is already starting to question everybody that was here, if they saw anything.” Batista added back.

“Of course, once she gets an idea she runs with it and it becomes her way or the highway.” I rolled my eyes.

“Yeah.” Batista chuckled a bit at the comment, then it was Masuka’s turn to chime in.

“Isn’t today your day off, Jane?” He asked.

I nodded, “Well Deb called me here so I had to see what was up, but I’m leaving to enjoy the rest of my day off now.”

By the time I got back home and inside, I had already came up with a plan, hopefully to catch this new serial killers attention.

‘He likes hookers.’

‘But if that doesn’t work maybe the coming kill will.’

I made my way to the inside of my walk-in closet and began fingering through the hangers on the rack.

After a few moments of fumbling through the clothes I decided upon a short blue dress with spaghetti straps.

I pulled it off the hanger and tossed it onto my bed, then began my search for accessories.

Blue fishnet sleeves and a pair of smokey grey heels. Should be good enough, don’t wanna over do it.

Once I felt like it was finally late enough, about 10 PM to be exact, I started getting ready.

I stripped down to my black bra with blue lace, matching panties and a pair of nude thigh-high pantyhose, then tossed on the outfit I had put together.

I haphazardly smudged on some shimmer eyeshadow, painted on some lip gloss and spritzed my body in a little bit of perfume, calling it good at this point.

‘Definitely slutty enough.’

I hoped up from the seat of my vanity. I think a special occasion like this calls for a drive in the Impala.

I pulled the Impala out of the garage and drove my way out to a decently popular side of Miami, staking out a good, hidden parking spot.

Finally stumbling onto a dark, empty ally way, I pulled in and parked close to the end.

‘Time to put on a show.’

Walking the bustling streets, I scanned my surroundings. Watching, waiting for the perfect target.

Which is surprisingly easy considering all these bitches are strung out half the time.

I was walking around for a little bit, when out of nowhere this younger platinum blond haired woman nearly stumbled over in front of me.

She had some pretty green eyes that were currently a little red and puffy, probably due to withdrawal, the blond wore a skimpy pink two piece outfit with black fishnets hugging down along her legs and a pair of barbie pink heels.

Carefully I caught the stumbling woman and helped her balance herself.

“Hey, are you okay girl?” I questioned with fake sympathy and concern.

“Yeah girl, it’s just I’m really strung out and need a fix, but my pimp won’t let me have no more cause I fucked up and didn’t earn enough last week.” She overly exaggerated.

‘Ramble, ramble, ramble.’

“Don’t worry, hun, I’ve gotcha. Us girls have gotta stick together, right.” I smile, the best look of sincerity I could muster at the time.

I put my hand on the small of her back and began guiding her.

“My stash is in my pimps car, but not to fret I have the keys.” I giggle as I jingle the car keys.

Immediately a look of relief crossed the poor woman’s face.

“Oh my gosh, you’re such a life saver.” She smiled back, wide and genuine.

It was only a five minute walk back to the ally where my car currently resided. We both weaved through the crowd of people until we made it to the empty, unlit ally way.

Once at my trunk I pulled out the proper key, still holding conversation.

“So what’s your poison?” I casually asked, as if this were a normal topic.

“I usually prefer clear.” the blond chirped.

I nod. Unlocking the trunk and fully popping it open.

‘Still empty, but not for long.’

“Um hey girly, there’s no drugs in there.” She chimed again, sounding slightly unsettled this time.

“I’m fully aware of that.” I turned to her, quickly shifting my stance.

My left foot flat for my balance and my right leg hooking behind her calf as my hip pressed to hers, with a sharp pivot and shove, she was in my trunk.

Then with a hard punch to the side of her temple she was knocked clean out.

After slamming the trunk shut, I got back into the drivers seat and started the engine.

Driving a decent way into the outskirts of Miami city limits, there was an abandoned, over grown neighborhood that I’ve been eyeballing for a kill site.

‘Maybe this would be a good spot for Dex, too.’

I pulled the Impala into the driveway of one of the now long forgotten houses.

Cautiously I pulled the unconscious hooker out of my trunk and hoisted her up onto my left shoulder.

Closing the trunk up again, I began to make my way around the back of the house, entering in through the sliding glass door.

I gently laid the woman down into the center island counter in the kitchen.

Pulling out a pair of gloves I slipped them on and started my prep work.

Drawer after drawer.

Tool after tool.

I had all my various devices displayed neatly along the counter tops.

My polaroid camera and an open preservation jar, containing a perfect mixture of ethanol and formaldehyde.

For my trophies.

Scissors, scalpel, bone saw, curved needle and thread, restraints, a rag as a makeshift gag.

I began with the restraints and gag. Strapping her down well so when I start my incisions she won’t be able to squirm around too much.

‘And now I was ready to really begin.’

I cut off her crop top and bra and started in with my scalpel.

Digging it into the flash on her right shoulder, slicing sideways til the first incision met the middle a quarter down her sternum.

Then repeated with the left side, digging the blade in the middle meeting point, I sliced down to the ending point of her sternum.

Now the female was right awake, letting out muffled cries and failed screams.

I smirked then started humming a little tune, Call Me by Blondie, kinda fitting if I do say so myself.

Setting the scalpel down I yanked her flesh away from the bones to reveal her ribcage. I grabbed my bone saw and flipped on the power switch.

The whirring of the saw drowning out my hums as I began sawing around the woman’s ribcage.

Which happened to be a breaking point for her, as she quickly passed back out from the pain.

I turned off the saw and carefully removed her ribs from the chest cavity, revealing my prize.

Her still beating heart.

Setting the ribs aside, I dug my fingers around her warm, bloody chest, gripping onto the heart and extracting it.

Making sure to be equally as gentle when severing the valves and arteries connected.

I spun to the direction of my open preservation jar and dropped the heart in.

Back to the now deceased woman, I shoved the ribs back into their proper place, pulled the flesh flush over the ribs and began sewing her up.

Pausing to grab my polaroid I took a quick picture of my work, my second trophy of the kill.

Waving out the now ejected photo for a second then, putting down both the camera and photo I went back to work, the dismembering part finally upon us.

Making small incisions where I intend to detach, working my way from the neck all the way down to her feet.

Alternating between the scalpel and bone saw I made quick work of the corpse. Feeling satisfied I started the clean up process.

Tossing the bloodied dismembered pieces in two trash bags, the head and torso alone, then all the pieced up limbs in the other.

Tying both of them off with a nice, strong knot.

Closing up my preservation jar securely, I began putting the jar, camera, photo and all my tools into different compartments of the duffel bag I stashed here.

I pulled off my gloves and stuffed them into a ziplock bag for them to join the contents of the duffel.

I carelessly grabbed my spare set off clothes and threw them onto the nearby counter before slipping out of my slut suit then, pulling on my spare change of clothes.

Hoisting the duffel over my shoulder and grabbing both trash bags, I left out the sliding glass door and back out to my car.

The duffel went under the trunk board where the spare tire usually sat, then the two trash bags sat on top.

Getting back into the car I began my drive to the drop off site, a motel. One I knew didn’t have any working cameras.

Pulling into a corner spot in the lot, I put my hair up in a ponytail and pull my hood up before hoping back out and grabbing the bags.

Slowly and quietly I made my way over to the drained pool and began setting out the bloodied parts.

Neatly like I was putting together a puzzle.

When I finished this messy puzzle I quickly made my way back to my car, finally being done for the night.

I figured now would be as good of time as any to turn in.

By the time the clock nearly struck two in the morning, I had just made it home and down to my basement.

‘I know, someone having a basement in Miami, who would’ve thunk it.’

My basement was cold and had half the walls lined with shelves.

Most of them holding my preserved hearts. Others held various different tools, torture devices and disposal equipment.

There was a metal table bolted in the center of the room. Ideally, this was a good kill room.

I placed my duffel down on the table and pulled out the jar, setting it down on one of my various different shelves.

Returning for the polaroid photo I grabbed it and went across the room to my box of photos.

Closing up my basement and venturing back upstairs I made my way to my bedroom and flopped down onto my bed, passing out almost instantly.

I wasn’t out for too long when my alarm clock started blaring next to my head, signaling me to wake my ass up.

I sat up in my bed and realized something felt off.

‘My sacred space has been violated.’

Still in my clothes from early this morning, I got up and quietly stalked through my house.

Stepping foot into the living room I noticed something particularly off, lying on my coffee table.

I had received a gift from who I suspect to be the new serial killer that was lurking about.

#brian moser #brian moser x reader #dexter oc #dexter tv #ourlittlegameofcatandmouse #brianmoserxoc

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