Dearly Devoted Dexter

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Nothing is remotely possible without Hilary.

I would also like to thank Julio, the Broccolis, Deacon and Einstein and, as always, Bear, Pook, and Tinky.

Additionally, I am indebted to Jason Kaufman for his steady and wise guiding hand, and to Nick Ellison, who has made all the difference.

IT’S THAT MOON AGAIN, SLUNG SO FAT AND LOW IN THE tropical night, calling out across a curdled sky and into the quivering ears of that dear old voice in the shadows, the Dark Passenger, nestled snug in the backseat of the Dodge K-car of Dexter’s hypothetical soul.

That rascal moon, that loudmouthed leering Lucifer, calling down across the empty sky to the dark hearts of the night monsters below, calling them away to their joyful playgrounds. Calling, in fact, to that monster right there, behind the oleander, tiger-striped with moonlight through the leaves, his senses all on high as he waits for just the right moment to leap from the shadows. It is Dexter in the dark, listening to the terrible whispered suggestions that come pouring down breathlessly into my shadowed hiding place.

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