I'm dexter, and I'm not sure what I am. I just know there's something dark in
me, and I hide it. I certainly don't talk about it, but it's there... always.
This dark passenger. And when he's driving, I feel... alive. Half sick with the
thrill of complete wrongness. I don't fight him. I don't want to. He's all I've
got. Nothing else could love me, Not even... especially not me. Or is that just
a lie, the dark passenger tells me?
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