I WAS BONE WEARY, CONFUSED, AND, WORST OF ALL, STILL frightened. Every lighthearted blast of the horn had me leaping against the seat belt and searching for a weapon to defend myself, and every time an innocent car pulled up to within inches of my bumper I found myself glaring into the mirror, waiting for an unusually hostile movement or a burst of the hateful dream music flung at my head.

Something was after me. I still didn't know why or what, beyond a vague connection to an ancient god, but I knew it was after me, and even if it could not catch me right away, it was wearing me down to the point where surrender would seem like a relief.

What a frail thing a human being is-and without the Passenger, that is all I was, a poor imitation of a human being. Weak, soft, slow and stupid, unseeing, unhearing and unaware, helpless, hopeless, and harried. Yes, I was almost ready to lie down and let it run over me, whatever it was. Give in, let the music wash over me and take me away into the joyful fire and the blank bliss of death. There would be no struggle, no negotiation, nothing but an end to all that is Dexter. And after a few more nights like the one just past, that would be fine with me.

Even at work there was no relief. Deborah was lurking in wait, and pounced after I had barely stepped out of the elevator.

"Starzak is missing," she said. "Couple of days of mail in the box, newspapers in the drive-He's gone." "But that's good news, Debs," I said. "If he ran, doesn't that prove he's guilty?"

"It doesn't prove shit," she said. "The same thing happened to Kurt Wagner, and he showed up dead. How do I know that won't happen to Starzak?" "We can put out a BOLO," I said. "We might get to him first." Deborah kicked the wall. "Goddamn it, we haven't gotten to anything first, or even on time. Help me out here, Dex," she said. "This thing is driving me nuts." I could have said that it was doing far more than that to me, but it didn't seem charitable. "I'll try," I said instead, and Deborah slouched away down the hall. I was not even into my cubicle when Vince Masuoka met me with a massive fake frown "Where are the doughnuts?" he said accusingly.

"What doughnuts?" I said.
"It was your turn," he said. "You were supposed to bring doughnuts today."
"I had a rough night," I said.
"So now we're all going to have a rough morning?" he demanded. "Where's the justice in that?" "I don't do justice, Vince," I said. "Just blood spatter."