Reborn In a Murderer’s Embrace ( Dexter )

Stepping out of the basement, my back felt like it had aged a decade overnight.

I shot Colin a glare over my shoulder, and he couldnously looked away, muttering, "Phoebe, that mattress was a disaster. Told Eric to dump it." "I ought to dump you," I grumbled through clenched teeth.

But Colin was quick to grab my hand, a playful seriousness in his tone. "No can do, darling. We're signed, sealed, and delivered. No returns, no exchanges."

I glanced down at Colin's hand enveloping mine but didn't pull away as we stepped out into the open.

And into the rain, which had started without our notice, cocooned as we were in our underground hideaway.

I've always had a thing for spaces that cut you off from the world, granting a kind of security I rarely felt elsewhere. No concept of day or night, rain or shine - just a timeless bubble.

"Phoebe!" Dexter's voice cut through the patter of rain as he rushed over, soaked to the skin. "You alright?"

"What, hoping for a spectacle?" I stood there, letting the rain drench me, while Colin held an umbrella over my head.

Dexter, looking every bit the tragic figure in the rain, said with regret, "I'm here to apologize... on behalf of Melody."

I scoffed, "And what gives you the right to speak for Melody?"

"Phoebe, why do you always twist my words? I... I just couldn't keep an eye on her, and she almost hurt you. I'm sorry." Dexter's eyes were filled with

remorse.

I didn't respond, my gaze fixed on the umbrella Colin was holding. He always angled it more towards me, protecting me from the rain. Dexter, on the other hand, never once offered me such shelter. He even went as far as to tear my umbrellas during storms, knowing full well my fear of thunderstorms. A warped way to punish me for some childhood slight.

Late affection is worthless, a truth I had come to accept.

Melody, her face wet from the rain, glared at me from the car, her pale complexion a canvas of resentment.

I looked back at her with pity. She was bound to a life tethered to Dexter's conscience.

"Melody, you'll catch a cold," she rasped, urging Dexter to get in the car.

But even so, she didn't step out herself. Melody was selfish, her love, even more so. Afraid that getting soaked would worsen her health, she dared not leave the shelter of the car. Concerned for Dexter, but more so for herself.

"Phoebe, something's happened to Damian, and my leads have dried up," Dexter said, gazing at his car where a young girl sat in the passenger seat. Her pale, colorless complexion and damp hair marked heras Damian's daughter from his second marriage.

"Every time I'm close to uncovering something, someone throws a wrench in the works," Dexter clenched his fists. "Damian was about to spill everything, but..."

But someone had 'silenced' him. Though Damian wasn't dead, the odds of him waking up were slim, virtually a death sentence.

"What does his daughter know?" I asked, looking at the girl in the passenger seat.

If she knew nothing and was dragged into this, she was in grave danger. If those behind the scenes wanted to silence her, they wouldn't hesitate. "Hannah," Dexter said, opening the car door and holding an umbrella for the girl.

She stepped out, her black dress soaking immediately, her small shoes barely touching the puddles as if afraid. Only when Dexter stayed by her side did she dare to place her feet firmly on the ground.

"She's a senior in high school, about Bran's age, gearing up for college entrance exams," Dexter explained softly, then added, "She's on the autism spectrum."

I surmised as much from her behavior. Such conditions usually manifest in early childhood.

"Damian's first daughter had

congenital cerebral palsy and

passed away not long after birth. His

second daughter is on the

spectrum... Could there be

something wrong with his gics?" I voiced my thoughts, a hint of concern in my tone.