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streber thinks he's finally done it.
dexter hasn't been around in weeks at this point, and as many times as he reloads his phone all he can see is their last message from the seventeenth: that they had a job at some place across town and would swing by later. he knows he shouldn't be upset that they stood him up, because of course this would happen eventually. they'd get picked up for suspicious behavior again or worse still they'd just leave him because they realized they didn't need him. but to tell you the truth, even though streber could be annoying, he always thought dexter would at least give him the grace of saying something. maybe he should check with dexter's mother just in case; after all, when they weren't with streber or at work they were usually doting on her. helping her out around the house. with the cats. maybe they were there and they'd just gotten distracted with some of them...
he sets his phone down with a sigh, deciding to not torture himself with the screen any longer. he can already feel his eyes stinging like he's about to start crying, but he's not sad. he doesn't think he is, at least. after pushing himself up off the worn couch, he makes his way to the sink to fill his water bottle from the tap. the faucet drips once, twice into the bottle before he turns it on; it's leaky and he makes a note to fix it later. maybe dexter can help him out - after all, depending on the cause of the leak, it could require two people. and streber really, really doesn't want to ask one of his neighbors. they don't like him (and why would they? why would anyone?).
he screws the lid on the bottle and scans the apartment before heaving a sigh, picking up his phone, and shuffling to the door. he slips on his shoes and grabs his keys off the hook next, the sounds of the leaky faucet following him out. once he checks the apartment is locked, he heads to his car, holding that ambivalent half-smile on his face even though he isn't feeling it right now. he hasn't 'felt it' since the spaghetti sauce grew cold in the pot on the stove. since he made too much for him to eat by himself and ended up throwing it out after a few days. he shakes the thought out of his head and sets up his music to play the perfect playlist for his mood (though he still skips quite a few songs) and heads to dexter's mom's place. michelle. he's always liked that name. michelle, like a god to the many cats she has in her house. he already feels his allergies going in the driveway and he isn't even inside. he should have taken allergy meds.
he knocks on the door, ignoring the kitty claws groping under the front door for him. after a few minutes of silence from inside the house, he starts to leave - until he listens hard and hears some soft music coming from the back of the house. there's a fence cutting him off, but he's been there a few times upon michelle's insistence that she meet dexter's...'friends'. he lifts the latch and pushes his way in, shutting the gate behind him before any cats can run off. it's not that they don't love michelle, they just don't want to be cooped up in her house all the time. what animal does? - streber tries to ignore that thought because it reminds him too much of what's going on with dexter. he also ignores the thought of the cats that had...'escaped', and only he and dexter knew what happened to them. some of their skulls are likely cleaned and polished, settled on streber's bookshelf.
sure enough, he finds the woman back there, dressed in a cardigan to warm her old bones even though it isn't too chilly outside. she's settled in the porch swing, poring over something that doesn't seem to be one of her cats, a catalogue, or a yarn project. a frown mottles her kind, scarred face, causing more wrinkles to etch her skin, and her grey hair is messier than usual as she pushes her little glasses up her nose and stares at...
streber's eyes widen. missing posters? he steps across the slightly-overgrown lawn, nearly missing stepping on a cat's tail and crushing a number of dandelion seeds into the dirt. "hi, ms. erotoph," he says, keeping his voice low so as to not startle; it doesn't seem like she's noticed him yet, after all.
she glances up after a moment more as if she finished reading something, and her face softens when she sees him. "oh, hello dear," she says with a smile that almost reaches her eyes. "i'm sorry, did you come looking for my son?"
"i was hoping i'd catch them," streber murmurs, looking down at the posters in her lap. missing, dexter erotoph. dexter erotoph, missing.
"well, i'm afraid you won't find him here," michelle sighs. she turns the posters over and starts to stand up like she doesn't want streber to see them, but of course it's been too late for the past minute or so. points for effort, though. "here, let me get you someth-"
streber holds his hands out for her to sit back down, shaking his head. he doesn't want to trouble her - he shouldn't trouble her. it seems to streber she has enough on her plate. "no, no, it's okay, ms. erotoph."
she tuts at him, her smile warm, though she does sit back down, the swing rocking gently as one of her cats joins her. "dear, you can call me michelle. you know that."
"all right...michelle." it's weird to use an elderly person's first name. streber sucks in a breath and sits down next to her on the swing. he knows it's covered in cat hair and it will only be a matter of time before he breaks out in a sneezing fit or hives (or both), but he doesn't care. an allergic reaction seems silly now in the face of a missing lover. "so you're telling me dexter hasn't been by?"
michelle shakes her head, tucking a stray strand of grey behind her ear as she turns the posters back over. "he hasn't called." her tone is somber. "he tries to call every day. i managed to find one of his schedules, too, and after calling around, i've found that many of the scheduled clients haven't seen him either."
"...what about the job from the other night? the seventeenth?" streber asks, brows furrowed. dexter doesn't miss a job. they never have - why would they, what with their needs? ugh...their needs.
"the seventeenth?" michelle frowns again and thinks for a minute. "dexter didn't have anything scheduled for the seventeenth. it's his birthday."
"are you sure?" streber looks around the porch to see if dexter's schedule is anywhere in the general vicinity, but he can't see it. "they told me they had a job, then they'd be home for supper." it must be inside - he doesn't ask before he goes through the back door and into one of the worst allergen experiences he's ever had. he covers his nose and mouth with his shirt collar and looks around, picking through the clutter on the kitchen table. nobody's eaten there except for michelle in a while; only one spot is devoid of clutter. he goes to the living room, swerving to avoid knocking down the cat condos and having to take long strides over litter boxes. his eyes water - he sort of wishes he'd asked the cat lady herself to get the schedule for him, but right as he's about to go back out and ask, he finds it in the middle of a bed. probably hers, given the lack of taxidermied animals and other deceased animal paraphernalia. he walks back to the porch, flipping through dates and notes and all sorts of things. some pages are slightly bloodstained. he finally finds the seventeenth - and sure enough, nothing is written there. no client information. no phone number. there was a brief moment of wondering if they had lied to him; he thought they wrote everything down.
he holds the schedule to his chest as he steps back onto the porch. michelle's back to worrying over the posters, one hand clutching the locket around her neck, the other touching dexter's smiling face on those posters. they're smiling a little too wide for a professional-seeming portrait, but it's still a good picture of them. they were a little younger, maybe a little happier, and they didn't have such big bags under their eyes. "sorry, i just wanted to double check."
"i don't know why he would be doing anything other than spending time with his friends on his birthday," michelle sighs, swallowing hard as she runs her fingers over the portrait. she then looks back up at streber, smiling yet again - though yet again, it doesn't reach her eyes. it's a hollow, empty smile, as warm as it may seem. "i've already filed a missing persons report with the police. actually," she pauses to chuckle, "i made sure he wasn't in with them as well. i suppose it's good they haven't seen him."
streber winces, unsure about that. he'd almost prefer for dexter to be in jail than to have disappeared or left him. but even if dexter had wanted to leave, they wouldn't have left their mom - would they? "so," streber says carefully, "nobody's seen dexter?"
michelle shakes her head and her expression is full of sorrow. "nobody's seen these posters, either. i had so many printed at the library the other day..." her voice trails off and streber sees her eyes brimming with tears as much as she tries to keep smiling.
he feels awful for her. he glances at the stack of posters in her lap - there are so many, he's surprised her legs aren't crushing under their weight. it's way too much for her to hang up by herself. "i'll help you hang them up," streber murmurs, giving her an awkward-albeit-genuine pat on the shoulder.
she looks up at him, a tear running down the lines of her cheeks. "you don't need to, sweetie."
but he does. because now he feels bad - he's been worried about trivial relationship issues or dexter going off and doing what they do, but the truth is that they could be in trouble. after all, lots of people go missing in this town, never to turn up again. he's just never thought dexter would be one of them. it weighs on his shoulders, on his heart and he wants - needs - to help michelle now or he will never feel better about it. worse, he'd never be able to find out if maybe he could help dexter with what they were dealing with instead of blindly encouraging it. he's wanted to help, he does want to help. "no, i care about them too." streber takes three-quarters of the posters out of her hands. "i'm off today," he reassures when she gives him a questioning look, "i can post them all over town. maybe even a little outside town, too. get your money's worth from that library printer."
that earns him a little chuckle from michelle, who dabs at her tears with her cardigan. "printing those copies was expensive," she says, "but it's worth it to find my son. i really do miss him. wherever he is, i hope he knows that."
streber offers her that same half-smile he'd practiced earlier in the car because he doubts she'd still love dexter if she knew how they took advantage of her trust. but the truly heartbreaking thing about it is that she sets a wrinkly hand on his arm, rubbing it gently. and while normally he wouldn't be okay with random physical contact, he's okay with it then because he knows her intentions are anything but cruel. "i'm sure they do." he sets a hand on top of hers. it's warm, unlike his. "you know they’d never miss a phone call from you." he tries not to feel jealous and falters, before setting the posters down and standing up from the porch, holding out his hand to help her up as well.
she regards his outstretched hand in confusion. "what's going on?"
"you should get some rest, ms. erotoph." it slips out, but this time she doesn't correct him. "let me help you to your room. i can handle this, you look exhausted."
she does, even now, even with a bit more of a genuine smile on her face. they're both faking their smiles now, aren't they? either way she takes his hand and he pulls her up, her bones - and the swing - creaking as she does. a trail of cats follow them inside and into her room, where he leaves her. but before he can exit the room, michelle pipes up from where she sits on the bed, where she's sliding off her house slippers. "i'm glad my son has someone like you," she muses, and she's looking at him with such a sweet look that he almost believes that maybe he is the answer, that he is what dexter needs, even though that couldn't be further from the truth.
he watches her for a moment, watches her let down her hair and settle back with a book. some of her hair falls to the floor and he can't tell if it's falling out because of stress or age. regardless, he nods. "i'll find dexter for you. i promise."
michelle beams, and there is so much of dexter in her smile, in the scar across her eye, that it only makes the pit in streber's stomach grow. he wishes he hadn't come here, because at least then he wouldn't have to see dexter's mom like this, wouldn't have to know they were missing. he sort of wishes they'd just left him because they both knew he could never make them happy, could never help them heal. and now he's thinking this way. pitying himself. god he's selfish.
he leaves michelle's room after making sure she's okay and goes through the back door, taking the missing posters and dexter's schedule to his car. he smells dexter on the schedule. he misses them, even when they don't smell their greatest after a job. even when they're so frustrated that they need to do the unspeakable to something innocent. streber's aware that he's fucked too, though, because he's learned to turn a blind eye to it. whatever keeps them sated. content. even if it's one of michelle's cats. he hates knowing that after what he just helped the woman through, and wonders if maybe she's ever sat back and thought about where her cats go. but she doesn't need to know. she doesn't.
he spends the rest of the day hanging up posters, cutting his hands up on the tape gun.