Chapter 22: Dexter: The Check

Dexter's POV

I was in the hospital parking garage at ten to six in the morning with a cashier's check in my jacket pocket.

It was the same check, four hundred and twelve thousand dollars, folded in thirds and gone soft at the creases.

I had carried it for six weeks.

She had told me what to do with it on Marla's porch.

I had been too much of a coward to finish.

Burn it, or give it to a hospital, or put it somewhere I never have to look at it.

The elevator opened on level two, and Abel Barrett walked out of it with a duffel bag over his shoulder.

He saw me and stopped.

Neither of us said anything.

He was a big man in a flannel shirt, with a short beard and a bald head.

He had slept beside her that night, and I knew it.

I had spent a month wanting to hate him.

It would have been a great deal easier.

"She's inside signing the admission forms," Abel said. "Marla's with her."

"I'm not here to go in."

"I figured."

"I wanted to tell you something. Then I'll go."

He set the duffel down on the concrete.

He didn't cross his arms, which I noticed.

"I never learned how to sit in the infusion chair," I said. "I thought I could do the big things."

"I sold the car. I sold the cabin. I thought if I paid hard enough, I wouldn't have to hear her."

"That's not a thing I know about."

"It's the only thing I know about." My voice was dry.

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