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would I remain aware of what was happening to me? Me, precious me, strapped to
a table and offering a critique of the dismemberment technique? The answer
would certainly tell me a great deal about what I was, but I decided that I
didn t really want to know the answer that badly. The very thought was almost
enough to make me feel real emotion, and not the kind that one is grateful
for.
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The night had closed in around me, and not in a good way. Dexter is a city
boy, used to the bright lights that leave dark shadows. The farther along this
road I went, the darker it seemed to get, and the darker it got the more this
whole thing began to seem like a hopeless, suicidal trip. This situation
clearly called for a platoon of Marines, not an occasionally homicidal
forensic lab geek. Who did I really think I was? Sir Dexter the Valiant,
galloping to the rescue? What could I possibly hope to do? For that matter,
what could anyone do except pray?
I don t pray, of course. What would something like me pray to, and why
shouldIt listen to me? And if I foundSomething , whatever It was, how could It
keep from laughing at me, or flinging a lightning bolt down my throat? It
would have been very comforting to be able to look to some kind of higher
power, but of course, I only knew one higher power. And even though it was
strong and swift and clever, and very good at stalking silently through the
nightscape, would even the Dark Passenger be enough?
According to the GPS unit I was within a quarter of a mile of SergeantDoakes
, or at least his cell phone, when I came to a gate. It was one of those wide
gates made of aluminum that they use on dairy farms to keep the cows in. But
this was no dairy farm. A sign that hung on the gate said,
BLALOCK GATOR FARM
Trespassers Will Be Eaten
This seemed like a very good place for a gator farm, which did not
necessarily make it the kind of place I wanted to be. I am ashamed to admit
that even though I have lived my entire life inMiami , I know very little
about gator farms. Did the animals roam freely through watery pastures, or
were they penned in somehow? It seemed like a very important question at the
moment. Could alligators see in the dark? And how hungry were they,
generally?All good questions, and very relevant.
I switched off my headlights, stopped the car, and got out. In the sudden
silence I could hear the engine ticking, the keening of mosquitoes, and, in
the distance, music was playing on a tinny speaker. It sounded like Cuban
music.Possibly Tito Puente.
The Doctor was in.
I approached the gate. The road on the far side still ran straight, up to an
old wooden bridge and then into a grove of trees. Through the branches I could
see a light. I did not see any alligators basking in the moonlight.
Well, Dexter, here we are. And what would you like to do tonight? At the
moment, Rita s couch didn t seem like such a bad place to be.Especially
compared to standing here in the nighttime wild. On the far side of this gate
were a maniacal vivisectionist, hordes of ravenous reptiles, and a man I was
supposed to rescue even though he wanted to kill me.And in this corner,
wearing dark trunks, the Mighty Dexter.
I certainly seemed to be asking this an awful lot lately, but why was it
always me? I mean, really.Me, braving all this to rescue SergeantDoakes of all
people? Hello? Isn t there something wrong with this picture? Like the fact
that I am in it?
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Nevertheless, I was here, and might as well go through with it. I climbed
over the gate and headed toward the light.
The normal night sounds started to return a few at a time. At least I assumed
they were normal for out here in the savage primeval forest. There were clicks
and hums and buzzes from our insect friends, and a mournful sort of shriek
that I very much hoped was only some kind of owl; a small one, please.
Something rattled the shrubbery off to my right and then went completely
silent. And happily for me, instead of getting nervous or scared like a human
being, I found myself slipping intonightstalker mode. Sounds shifted down,
movement around me slowed, and all my senses seemed to come slightly more
alive. The darkness bleached out a little lighter; details sprang into focus
from the night around me, and a slow cold careful silent chuckle began to grow
just under the surface of my awareness. Was poor misunderstood Dexter feeling
out of his element and over his head? Then let the Passenger take the wheel.
He would know what to do, and he would do it.
And why, after all, not?At the end of this driveway and over the bridge,
Dr.Danco was waiting for us. I hadbeen wanting to meet him, and now I would.
Harry would approve of anything I did to this one. EvenDoakes would have to
admit thatDanco was fair game he would probably thank me for it. It was
dizzying; this time I had permission. And even better, it had poetry to it.
For so very longDoakes had kept my genie trapped in its bottle. There would be
a certain justice if his rescue were to let it out again. And I would rescue
him, certainly, of course I would.Afterward . . .
But first.
I crossed the wooden bridge. Halfway over a board creaked and I froze for a
moment. The night sounds did not change, and from up ahead I heard Tito Puente
say,  Aaaaaahh-YUH! before returning to his melody. I moved on.
On the far side of the bridge the road widened into a parking area.To the
left was a chain-link fence and straight ahead was a small, one-story building
with a light shining in the window. It was old and battered and needed paint,
but perhaps Dr.Danco wasn t as thoughtful of appearances as he should have
been. Off to the right achickee hut moldered quietly beside a canal, chunks of [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]