Dexter: That's Not How It Ends

Chapter 7. Context or No Context

Physiotherapy, drops, TV shows, innocent flirting with Lucy... I was sleeping a lot; even monsters have to rest. My counselors were always by me: Fitz insistently coaching me into different possible scenarios, and Hoop being Hoop.

Days passed by. The time has come.

My guess is, Mr. Taylor has finally realized his sure-fire scenario is not so sure-fire, and, for want of a better word, has fallen back from pure intimidation to strength-in-numbers tactics. Next time we met, he had four more assistants around him. The small army were swarming in the court hall, grimly determined facial expressions, briefcases in sweaty little hands... everything you'd expect from freshmeat lawyers dead-set on acing their first case.

"Primus inter pares," Hoopman drawled, proudly demonstrating rudimentary Latin, "Taylor's real empty, it seems, eh, Jim?"

The question is, I thought, is Angela empty. And where the hell is she?..

And she was right there, in the courtroom. I saw her and I shuddered. Not out of fear: the moment I saw her my lizard brain told me there is nothing to be afraid of. She had nothing new on me, it was clear from the hateful look she gave me. The hate was bare and vain, you wouldn't hate like this the one you're about to destroy – only the one who's probably beyond your reach... yet you're really going to try.

"Make sure to listen closely, mister Lindsay, would you kindly," Fitz said, "What happens now, it is pivotal."

I nodded and shivered in my wheelchair, glancing over Angela. Obviously she was determined to look very plain: out of her state-issued uniform, hair tied in a bun, no makeup, so her slightly feral charm was even more obvious. Taylor was by her side, whispering something closely into her ear, his lips moving squeamishly and incessantly...

Was I still in love with her? Was I ever? Or was she just another acquisition of new-mine, an anchor to a normal life?..

It didn't matter anymore. What did matter was the fact my son was out there somewhere, all alone – and with a killer experience now.

And whose fault is it?

Sorry, Angela. You won't make me forget what's really important anymore.

[***]

So the hearing has begun.

Judge Patterson was grumpy, Angela was baleful and talkative, Taylor's toy army was sweaty and paper-rustling... some of them even didn't seem as young as you might expect, and I thought that Taylor's really out of his element here.

Should I bore you with all the fuss? Nah. Just the juicy parts.

Patterson let the Prosecutor put Angela into the light – and that he did. It's not like she wasn't into telling her side of the story anyway, and the story happened to be pretty close to the actual truth.

Good thing "truth" and "plausibility" are very different phenomena.

Angela's story, while mostly true-ish, was very hard to believe in. When Mr. Fitzgerald's time came, he did his best practically techno-porno style, just like a hydraulic hammer would.

"Miss Bishop," he said, approaching the witness stand in visibly measured steps, "What a wonderful, wonderful tale you've told us... I'm impressed, really. Oh, by the way," he continued, not giving anyone time to resent the tale word, "how should I address you? Is it Chief Bishop?"

"Miss Bishop's fine," miss Bishop said grimly.

"But why?" Fitz looked genuinely surprised, "You are the Chief of Iron Lake Police department, are you not?"