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Darkly dreaming Dexter :: Lindsay Jeffry P.
Страница: 157 из 160” Her voice was a little calmer now, but those other voices were so much louder that I could barely hear her. I tried to put the knife down, really I did, but I only managed to lower it a few inches.
“I'm sorry, Deb, I just can't,” I said, fighting to speak at all with the rising howl around me of the storm that had built for twenty-five years-and now with my brother and me brought together like thunderheads on a dark and moony night-
“Dexter!” said wicked Mommy, who wanted to leave us here alone in the awful cold blood, and the voice of my brother inside hissed out with mine, “Bitch!” and the knife went all the way back up-
A noise came from the floor. LaGuerta? I couldn't tell, and it didn't matter. I had to finish, had to do this, had to let this happen now.
“Dexter,” Debbie said. “I'm your sister. You don't want to do this to me. What would Daddy say?” And that hurt, I'll admit it, but- “Put down the knife, Dexter.”
Another sound behind me, and a small gurgle. The knife in my hand went up.
“Dexter, look out!” Deborah said and I turned.
Detective LaGuerta was on one knee, gasping, straining to raise her suddenly very heavy weapon. Up came the barrel, slowly, slowly-pointed at my foot, my knee-
But did it matter? Because this was going to happen now no matter what and even though I could see LaGuerta's finger tighten on the trigger the knife in my hand did not even slow down.
“She's going to shoot you, Dex!” Deb called, sounding somewhat frantic now. And the gun was pointed at my navel, LaGuerta's face was screwing itself into a frown of tremendous concentration and effort and she really was going to shoot me. I half turned toward LaGuerta but my knife was still fighting its way down toward-
“Dexter!” said Mommy/Deborah on the table, but the Dark Passenger called louder and moved forward, grabbing my hand and guiding the knife down-
“Dex-!”
“ You're a good kid, Dex ,” whispered Harry from behind in his feather-hard ghost voice, just enough to twitch the knife so very little up again.
“I can't help it,” I whispered back, so very much growing into the handle of the quivering blade.
“ Choose what… or WHO… you kill ,” he said with the hard and endless blue of his eyes now watching me from Deborah's same eyes, watching now loud enough to push the knife a full half inch away. “ There are plenty of people who deserve it ,” said Harry so softly above the rising angry yammer of the stampede inside.
The tip of the knife winked and froze in place.
“I'm sorry, Deb, I just can't,” I said, fighting to speak at all with the rising howl around me of the storm that had built for twenty-five years-and now with my brother and me brought together like thunderheads on a dark and moony night-
“Dexter!” said wicked Mommy, who wanted to leave us here alone in the awful cold blood, and the voice of my brother inside hissed out with mine, “Bitch!” and the knife went all the way back up-
A noise came from the floor. LaGuerta? I couldn't tell, and it didn't matter. I had to finish, had to do this, had to let this happen now.
“Dexter,” Debbie said. “I'm your sister. You don't want to do this to me. What would Daddy say?” And that hurt, I'll admit it, but- “Put down the knife, Dexter.”
Another sound behind me, and a small gurgle. The knife in my hand went up.
“Dexter, look out!” Deborah said and I turned.
Detective LaGuerta was on one knee, gasping, straining to raise her suddenly very heavy weapon. Up came the barrel, slowly, slowly-pointed at my foot, my knee-
But did it matter? Because this was going to happen now no matter what and even though I could see LaGuerta's finger tighten on the trigger the knife in my hand did not even slow down.
“She's going to shoot you, Dex!” Deb called, sounding somewhat frantic now. And the gun was pointed at my navel, LaGuerta's face was screwing itself into a frown of tremendous concentration and effort and she really was going to shoot me. I half turned toward LaGuerta but my knife was still fighting its way down toward-
“Dexter!” said Mommy/Deborah on the table, but the Dark Passenger called louder and moved forward, grabbing my hand and guiding the knife down-
“Dex-!”
“ You're a good kid, Dex ,” whispered Harry from behind in his feather-hard ghost voice, just enough to twitch the knife so very little up again.
“I can't help it,” I whispered back, so very much growing into the handle of the quivering blade.
“ Choose what… or WHO… you kill ,” he said with the hard and endless blue of his eyes now watching me from Deborah's same eyes, watching now loud enough to push the knife a full half inch away. “ There are plenty of people who deserve it ,” said Harry so softly above the rising angry yammer of the stampede inside.
The tip of the knife winked and froze in place.