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Darkly dreaming Dexter :: Lindsay Jeffry P.
Страница: 149 из 160The soft light of the lanterns lit him up and our eyes met; for a moment the room spun back and forth and I did not quite know where I was. My sight shifted between me at the door and him at the small makeshift worktable, and I saw me seeing him, then I saw him seeing me. In a blinding flash I saw me on the floor, sitting still and unmoving, and I did not know what that vision meant. Very unsettling-and then I was myself again, although I was somewhat uncertain what that meant.
“Almost sure,” he said again, a soft and happy voice like Mr. Rogers's troubled child. “But now here you are, so this must be the right place. Don't you think?”
There is no pretty way for me to say this, but the truth is, I stared at him with my mouth hanging open. I am quite sure I was almost drooling. I just stared. It was him. There was no question about it. Here was the man in the pictures we had found on the webcam, the man both Deb and I had thought might very well be me.
This close I could see that he was not, in fact, me; not quite, and I felt a small wave of gratitude at that realization. Hurray-I was someone else. I was not completely crazy yet. Seriously antisocial, of course, and somewhat sporadically homicidal, nothing wrong with that. But not crazy. There was somebody else, and he was not me. Three cheers for Dexter's brain.
But he was very much like me. Perhaps an inch or two taller, thicker through the shoulders and chest as though he had been doing a great deal of heavy weight lifting. That, combined with the paleness of his face, made me think that he might have been in prison recently. Behind the pallor, though, his face was very similar to mine; the same nose and cheekbones, the same look in the eyes that said the lights were on but nobody was home. Even his hair had the same awkward half wave to it. He did not really look like me, but very similar.
“Yes,” he said. “It is a little bit of a shock the first time, isn't it?”
“Just a little,” I said. “Who are you? And why is all this so-” I left it unfinished, because I did not know what all this was.
He made a face, a very Dexter-disappointed face. “Oh, dear. And I was so sure you had figured it out.”
I shook my head. “I don't even know how I got here,” I said.
He smiled softly. “Somebody else driving tonight?” As the hair stood up on the back of my neck he chuckled just a little, a mechanical sound that was not worth mentioning-except that the lizard voice from the underside of my brain matched it note for note.
“Almost sure,” he said again, a soft and happy voice like Mr. Rogers's troubled child. “But now here you are, so this must be the right place. Don't you think?”
There is no pretty way for me to say this, but the truth is, I stared at him with my mouth hanging open. I am quite sure I was almost drooling. I just stared. It was him. There was no question about it. Here was the man in the pictures we had found on the webcam, the man both Deb and I had thought might very well be me.
This close I could see that he was not, in fact, me; not quite, and I felt a small wave of gratitude at that realization. Hurray-I was someone else. I was not completely crazy yet. Seriously antisocial, of course, and somewhat sporadically homicidal, nothing wrong with that. But not crazy. There was somebody else, and he was not me. Three cheers for Dexter's brain.
But he was very much like me. Perhaps an inch or two taller, thicker through the shoulders and chest as though he had been doing a great deal of heavy weight lifting. That, combined with the paleness of his face, made me think that he might have been in prison recently. Behind the pallor, though, his face was very similar to mine; the same nose and cheekbones, the same look in the eyes that said the lights were on but nobody was home. Even his hair had the same awkward half wave to it. He did not really look like me, but very similar.
“Yes,” he said. “It is a little bit of a shock the first time, isn't it?”
“Just a little,” I said. “Who are you? And why is all this so-” I left it unfinished, because I did not know what all this was.
He made a face, a very Dexter-disappointed face. “Oh, dear. And I was so sure you had figured it out.”
I shook my head. “I don't even know how I got here,” I said.
He smiled softly. “Somebody else driving tonight?” As the hair stood up on the back of my neck he chuckled just a little, a mechanical sound that was not worth mentioning-except that the lizard voice from the underside of my brain matched it note for note.