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Darkly dreaming Dexter :: Lindsay Jeffry P.
Страница: 154 из 160The feather touch on my shoulder again, almost matching the push from Harry that he could never understand and yet seemed every bit as powerful as my brother's hand, as it lifted me to my feet and pushed me forward; one step, two-Deborah's unblinking eyes were locked onto mine, but with that other presence behind me I couldn't tell her that I was certainly not going to-
“Together,” he said. “One more time. Out with the old. In with the new. Onward, upward, inward-!” Another half step-Deborah's eyes were yelling at me, but-
He was beside me now, standing with me, and something gleamed in his hand, two somethings. “One for all, both for one- Did you ever read The Three Musketeers ?” He flipped one knife into the air; it arced up and into his left hand and he held it out toward me. The weak dim light grew on the flat of the blades he held up and burned into me, matched only by the gleam in Brian's eyes. “Come on, Dexter. Little brother. Take the knife.” His teeth shone like the knives. “Showtime.”
Deborah in her tightly wrapped tape made a thrashing sound. I looked up at her. There was frantic impatience in her eyes, and a growing madness, too. Come on, Dexter! Was I really thinking of doing this to her? Cut her loose and let's go home. Okay, Dexter? Dexter? Hello, Dexter? It is you, isn't it?
And I didn't know.
“Dexter,” Brian said. “Of course I don't mean to influence your decision. But ever since I learned I had a brother just like me, this is all I could think about. And you feel the same, I can see it in your face.”
“Yes,” I said, still not taking my eyes off Deb's very anxious face, “but does it have to be her?”
“Why not her? What is she to you?”
What indeed. My eyes were locked onto Deborah's. She was not actually my sister, not really, not a real relation of any kind, not at all. Of course I was very fond of her, but-
But what? Why did I hesitate? Of course the thing was impossible. I knew it was unthinkable, even as I thought it. Not just because it was Deb, although it was, of course. But such a strange thought came into my poor dismal battered head and I could not bat it away: What would Harry say?
And so I stood uncertain, because no matter how much I wanted to begin I knew what Harry would say. He had already said it. It was unchangeable Harry truth: Chop up the bad guys, Dexter. Don't chop up your sister . But Harry had never foreseen anything like this-how could he? He had never imagined when he wrote the Code of Harry that I would be faced with a choice like this; to side with Deborah-not my real sister-or to join my authentic 100 percent real live brother in a game that I so very much wanted to play.
“Together,” he said. “One more time. Out with the old. In with the new. Onward, upward, inward-!” Another half step-Deborah's eyes were yelling at me, but-
He was beside me now, standing with me, and something gleamed in his hand, two somethings. “One for all, both for one- Did you ever read The Three Musketeers ?” He flipped one knife into the air; it arced up and into his left hand and he held it out toward me. The weak dim light grew on the flat of the blades he held up and burned into me, matched only by the gleam in Brian's eyes. “Come on, Dexter. Little brother. Take the knife.” His teeth shone like the knives. “Showtime.”
Deborah in her tightly wrapped tape made a thrashing sound. I looked up at her. There was frantic impatience in her eyes, and a growing madness, too. Come on, Dexter! Was I really thinking of doing this to her? Cut her loose and let's go home. Okay, Dexter? Dexter? Hello, Dexter? It is you, isn't it?
And I didn't know.
“Dexter,” Brian said. “Of course I don't mean to influence your decision. But ever since I learned I had a brother just like me, this is all I could think about. And you feel the same, I can see it in your face.”
“Yes,” I said, still not taking my eyes off Deb's very anxious face, “but does it have to be her?”
“Why not her? What is she to you?”
What indeed. My eyes were locked onto Deborah's. She was not actually my sister, not really, not a real relation of any kind, not at all. Of course I was very fond of her, but-
But what? Why did I hesitate? Of course the thing was impossible. I knew it was unthinkable, even as I thought it. Not just because it was Deb, although it was, of course. But such a strange thought came into my poor dismal battered head and I could not bat it away: What would Harry say?
And so I stood uncertain, because no matter how much I wanted to begin I knew what Harry would say. He had already said it. It was unchangeable Harry truth: Chop up the bad guys, Dexter. Don't chop up your sister . But Harry had never foreseen anything like this-how could he? He had never imagined when he wrote the Code of Harry that I would be faced with a choice like this; to side with Deborah-not my real sister-or to join my authentic 100 percent real live brother in a game that I so very much wanted to play.