Dexter's Dark Tales

F I V E

For me, there are very few things left in the world that can actually come as a surprise. Given my current occupation, the kinds of things I see ponies do each other and the kind of things I do to other ponies, there is little left that give me much excitement or any kind of idea of feeling, aside from the Dark Passenger and his business. And once I moved my business into such a sleepy town as Ponyville, I had thought for sure that the next four weeks here would be nothing except mundane killing and hunting.

Back in the day, within the never ending supply of messy murderers and slippery suspects, there was always that one psychotic serial killer that stepped out of line and wanted to be noticed. They had to be cryptic and mysterious. A body with no blood, a severed head atop a doll’s body or perhaps a corpse refashioned into a lovely decorative piece. The kind that went, 'Hey, wanna play?'. And we did. That’s when the Dark Passenger would come alive, stretch its wings, and aid Determined Dexter in completing, and winning, this devilish game. Then I would fall back into the routine of eat-work-kill-sleep until the next demented doctor decided to chop of ponies' limbs.

Well, Dexter old chum, looks like Ponyville isn’t so different after all. Now I had someone else to play with. Another pony that was just as twisted as I am, and saw the world the way I do. A fresh game to play.

And I hated it.

Don't get me wrong. I enjoy the challenge of having to wrap my mind around chilling puzzles and working my lizard brain to solve murders. Often the show left after my playmate was done was a spectacle to behold. A breath-taking change of pace and an excellent way to feel like there was more to life than just eat-work-kill-sleep.

But this was wrong.

I stared for centuries at the wings. There were only two thoughts in my brain at the moment: the first one was, this can't be her. Just because this was her house and wings were the same colour as hers, did not necessarily mean this was Sky Burster. But, Dexter is not a silly person, and it would have been silly to even consider it. Of all ponies, I should know this this was indeed her. The second thought, the most prominent one which filled the majority of my brain, was, how dare they.

This was mine. She was to be my reward for being a good little killer and waiting patiently. I had hid for so long in the light. This was supposed to be my release. My descent back into the darkness. Now someone else wanted a piece of my delicious dark delicacy. But why, of all ponies, had they chosen Sky Burster? Was it merely coincidence? It wouldn't the first time somebody knew about me and wanted to send a message. Or could it have been something else... Did they know what she had done? Could there be another Dark Defender in Ponyville?

By now, Tom had caught up to be and had got silent. He let out a low whistle. "Wow..." he said quietly, "That's not something you see every day."

I was silent for a moment longer. Then I shook my head. "Nope." I dropped my gaze down. When I returned it up, I was expecting the wings to magically turn into whoever had done this, bound and gagged, and a knife to appear in my hooves, just so I could make the world fair. Unfortunately, life is not fair and magic does not work that way, and so sadly I came back to a pair of crusty green and red wings.

"Well, no time like the present, I suppose." Tom snapped a few photos, pulled on some rubber gloves, and went about doing my job.

I numbly watched as Tom performed my job with less enthusiasm than before. My mask was fading, and the inky blackness began to come bubbling up from inside. My eyes strained to feign interest while my brain worked in every direction, trying to determine the correct course of action to go from here. My goal until now had been to prove Sky Burster’s guilt. Now, I had no idea what to do.

“Hey, do you want a look?” Tom offered me.

I shook my head instinctively, still not quite back to reality and Tom took that as a no. Which was still my answer. I didn’t need to see the wings. The fact that they were here and not on Sky Burster’s back, waiting to be sliced off and put into a garbage bag that would then be tossed into the Everfree swamps, told me everything.

Tom began to untie the strings holding up the wings. "Here, I'll toss 'em to you."

To be able to continue such a dangerous yet delicate hobby of mine, one needs reflexes sharp enough to escape the police. Growing up, I spent years training my reflexes to be able to move silently and pounce quickly. This was the only reason that I was able to catch the wing hurdling towards my head. My mind was totally elsewhere. I was just lucky I used my hooves to catch and not my mouth.

I shifted my eyes up to look at him. “Do not handle evidence that way,” I sternly spoke.

“Sorry.” he said rather quietly and serenely.

I performed my job with a solemn face, one that I suppose could be mistaken for sadness or grief. It fit with the situation I had to deal with. But the reason for my stone-like face was not that I had spontaneously and wondrously grown emotions. No, I simply was on autopilot while I was lost in thought. I couldn't stop thinking about how much I wanted Sky Burster to still be alive, so I could kill her and whoever took her.

The wings were sealed in two large evidence bags and put away into the police van. We had barely shut the doors when I became blinded by a billion flashing lights. I instinctively turned away. However, poor naive Tom was caught. He stared, transfixed by these lights, watching them pop and flash and whiz. A cacophony of noise grew from the distance and spread out into a cluster of many indistinguishable voices. Tom, being new to homicide investigation, must have had no idea what was going on, and just froze, transfixed by the shouts of news hounds and the crashes of cameras knocking together as they tried to snap a pic of the grotesque scene.

I had seen this many a time before in Manehatten, when some of my fellow murderers decided to get too flashy or wanted to make a point. However, it wasn't often that so many reporters and journalists saw interest in actually appearing at the scene, mostly due to their weak stomachs and the fact they could not publish pictures so ‘controversial’. Usually, they opted out for a press conference, where they could pick apart and destroy the reputation of whichever unfortunate figurehead of the police in charge of the investigation.

A second smaller wave of incoherent babble brewed up, this time from the confused police force, though some of the more experienced tried to lock a professional frown on their faces.

But just before we became hopelessly buried in an endless sea of bright lights and interrogative questions, the unfortunate figurehead of the police in charge of the investigation arrived on the scene. All attention diverted to the still stoned faced Tracy Spectra. Mechanically, she stepped out of her wagon and immediately marched up to the house that used to belong to Sky Burster. The sea swarmed around her, splitting down the center and swallowing her completely. But she did not drown. Ignoring the flashes and yelling, she strode though, all the way to the front door. She did not stop, but immediately turned on her heels. Again, very difficult to do.

“Ms. Spectra, what exactly is going on here?”

“Do you believe we should be worried?”

“Why do you think somepony would do this?”

In my years, I have seen many detectives, sergeants, lieutenants and captains fall to the questions of the news. Any answer was a wrong answer. Any lie that assured safety, to the reporters meant immediate danger. Any mention of a lack of results meant we were useless as police. And of course, any involvement of the truth was unthinkable to even mention.

Tracy Spectra stood firm. She alleviated her fierce expression for a moment and calmly spoke, “There is absolutely no cause for concern. Nopony need worry themselves with this business,” She paused for a moment, her icy stare returning and casting a chill down all of the ponies’ spines. My eyebrows rose as I watched everyone take a step back. “Now. Please. LEAVE.”

A shockwave of hush shot through the crowd. Everyone went silent. Then, like a giant multicoloured slug being sprinkled with salt, the crowd moved as one organism, slowly shifting and sliding away from the salty terror that was Spectra. Even I have to admit, it was scary.

Once all undesired ponies had fled quite literally with their tails between their legs, Spectra calmly turned back around and immediately began barking orders. A yellow pony with a now familiar yellow fedora arrived with Spectra, and go to witness her full force. He kept his head in her direction as he sauntered over to me and Tom.

“Geez. She knows how to get shit done.” he said.

"Yes. Very efficient. Everypony obeys." Tom gave his trademark goofy smile. "I like her."

The yellow pony gave him a quizzical look. He looked at me and I just shrugged. At least we agreed on something. He shook his head and made the mistake of asking for the details. Tom took it upon myself to relay everything that he witnessed. I didn't object, as my inner turmoil to this irksome revelation had kept me from really seeing the 'important' details of the case. His only response to my gruesome tale was to look down, exhale a long held breath and whispering a quiet, "shit..."

He looked left to the house. He gulped then looked back down. Apparently this kind of thing was not common in Ponyville and he didn't know what to do.

"So what do we think?" He turned to me.

I shrugged. "It's hard to say really. The red line is obviously blood. Probably belongs to the same pony as the wings. No hoof prints or markings other than the owner of the house."

"Whoozat?"

"A mare named Sky Burster. I'm thinking these might belong to her, but we won't know for sure till we do the tests." I lied.

The yellow pony furrowed his brow in thought. "And... what about her?"

Everyone went quiet. It was unsurprising to hear that nobody wanted to admit that the chances of Sky Burster still being alive were incredibly slim. They all wanted to cling to that uncertainty, in hopes she was now permanently grounded, but alive. How morally noble them.

Honestly, I hoped she was alive as well, but experience told me not to get my hopes up. If she was dead, which was most likely, then the next best thing for me to do was pretty obvious. But where to start?

A loud shriek of air whooshed above us. Tom jumped in fright, while the rest of the ponies, including myself, ignored it. A white pegasus landed on the ground with a loud thud. His bright blue uniform and hat informed us he was police. I casually glanced over to see the Pegasus stallion gallop over to Spectra, salute, and begin to excitedly ramble about something.

Spectra nodded and the Pegasus flew away just as quickly as he arrived. She turned to our trio. "Detective Bristle!"

He was already trotting up. She bent close and told him what I assumed to be what she was just told. The yellow pony nodded. Spectra then marched over to her wagon and stepped in. Not a second later, the diver reared his hooves and speed away, leaving a large cloud of dust for the officers to choke on.

The yellow detective, apparently named Bristle, walked back to me and the eagerly curious Tom, who was bouncing with excitement. I admit I was interested myself to hear what it was, but I had a pretty good hunch what it was, and that it was not good.

"I don't think we'll be needing those tests, Dex," he said, "Guess who they just found."