Curate, connect, and discover
[...] I'd let my mind wander back to the newest murder; the clearness of the flesh the improvisational quality of the cuts, the complete dry spotless immaculate lack of blood.
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'Like meat-packing cold,' she said. 'Why would he do that?'
Because it's beautiful, I thought.
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I took a bite and turned my thoughts to Deborah's problem. I had to try to think of it that way, Deborah's problem. Not 'those fascinating murders.' Not 'that amazingly attractive MO,' or 'the thing so similar to what I would love to do someday.'
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He was out there, feeding his Dark Passenger, and it was talking to mine. And in my sleep I had been riding with him, a phantome remora in his great slow circles.
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I wanted to see this body stacked in the net on the ice more than anything else I could think of, wanted to undo the neat wrapping and see the clean dry flesh. I wanted to see it so much that I felt like a cartoon of a dog on point, wanted to be there with it so much that I felt self-righteous and possessive about the body.
Daily reminder that before Brian, Dexter didn’t really wanna get freak in S1
Until he saw what his brother had left him