A few hours later, after Sergeant Doakes had left, Larry was drinking alone on the balcony of his apartment.
"Looks like everyone's fallen asleep… We're the only ones still up, the ones who drank the least." Dexter sat down next to Larry and gazed at the stars.
"Can you feel it?"
That sudden question from Larry made Dexter furrow his brows. Of course, he didn't rush to answer, because he felt that if he did, he might make a mistake and end up in the crosshairs of Miami's best criminal profiler.
But Larry paused for a long while and said, "I think that with every case I solve, I become more and more of a heartless monster."
"We just grow numb because of our job. I go through something very similar to what you're describing." Dexter wanted to share a bit, to open up sincerely to Larry, because he truly felt they had a lot in common.
"I know that. I think you try really hard to be someone you're not, when you could perfectly well just be a normal person without much effort." Larry had noticed that peculiar behavior in Dexter since he joined the police department, and although he didn't find it strange, he immediately knew that for Dexter, it was a significant effort.
Being someone else, faking a smile, or pretending to feel emotions was what Larry did most of the time when he worked.
But Dexter didn't have to do that—he didn't seem to have any trauma, nor was he required by his job to fake emotions, since he analyzed blood. Larry, on the other hand, got inside the minds of killers and studied them.
The difference between Dexter and him was too great—so much so that it made Larry wonder: Who was Dexter hiding from?
"I guess you caught me…" Dexter, sweating a bit more than before, turned to Larry and said, "The truth is, since I was a kid, I don't think I've had any real feelings…"
Larry didn't answer right away. He just looked at Dexter in silence, as if trying to read beyond his words. Then, with a bitter smile, he said, "And does that worry you?"
Dexter turned his gaze to the night sky. The stars were still there, indifferent. His voice came out as almost a whisper: "I don't know. I guess… sometimes I wish I could better understand what others feel. I try to seem normal, but I'm never sure if I pull it off."
Larry nodded slowly, without surprise on his face. "You don't need to be like everyone else to be okay. In fact, I think a lot of people who seem 'normal' are much more broken than you or me."
Dexter glanced at him. Larry didn't seem like he wanted to catch him or expose him. He just talked. Sincerely, with every word.
"When I was younger…" Larry continued talking with Dexter, who seemed to be somewhat like him in certain ways.
"I thought I had to feel everything—empathy, sadness, joy, even guilt. But the more I got into the minds of killers, the more I realized that we all pretend, to some degree. Some of us are just more aware of it."
Dexter smiled—a small, genuine smile.
"So… what are people like us supposed to be?"
Larry shrugged, and even though he knew the answer, he simply said, "We're just humans with different versions of pain. You hide it well, but if we're friends, I just want to be honest with you and tell you that I don't see you like the others, Dexter. And even so, I like you. That should tell you something."
Dexter felt a strange tug in his chest. It wasn't pleasure, or relief. Maybe… gratitude.
"Thanks, Larry."
Dexter, who never imagined he could be understood, was—and by the very person he'd been hiding from all these past months.
"You don't have to thank me. But if one day you feel like you're on the edge… talk to me. Not to judge you. Just to listen."
Dexter didn't say anything. But at that moment, he knew something had changed. Not completely, not magically. But someone saw him… and didn't walk away.
He saw the same in Larry, and it wasn't unpleasant.
Maybe, they really could become friends, even if Dexter knew that if Larry ever discovered the whole truth, the friendship he thought about so much would fall apart.
Then, that same night, Larry went to sleep—but not before looking at a yellow folder in a safe. He muttered:
"Now I know who you are…"