The Dexter phenomenon—in print, on the screen, and in the hearts of millions of fans—continues with a deadly duel....
Dexter is displeased. Like any self-respecting, totally decent, soundly homicidal guy, Dexter Morgan takes great pride in his work and is careful to remain anonymous. So he is, naturally, upset to discover that someone has identified him and—worst of all—is now turning his own methods against him. The situation soon becomes more complicated when a brutal cop-killer begins targeting Miami's police detectives—leaving behind bodies that are battered beyond recognition—and stoking the department's worst fears. As his colleagues grow more paranoid of the psychotic killer in their midst, Dexter's position is increasingly perilous. He is running out of time to track down this copycat and deliver his usual special justice, before his dark hobby is revealed to the world.
DEXTER — The Showtime Original
Series
Season 5 DVD Now Available
Jeff Lindsay's first novel, DARKLY DREAMING DEXTER, is the basis for this chilling Showtime original series starring Michael C. Hall. Visit SHO.com to get to know Dexter better and check out the trailer.
Takes Life. Seriously.
Sundays at 9pm ET/PT—Season 6 Premiere October 2
Dexter and Me: An Essay by Jeff Lindsay
My mother called me one night two years ago. "Well," she said. "Now I know you've really made it."
"Oh, really?" I said. "What do you mean?"
"I'm watching Jeopardy," she said. "The answer to the last question was, 'Who is Dexter?'"
A few nights later, my sister called. "You were just on Nancy Grace," she said.
"I was?" I said, very surprised. It didn't seem like the kind of thing I would forget. "You mean me?"
"No, not you," she snorted, as if I should have known better that someone like me would never be on Nancy Grace. "Dexter. Somebody's foot washed up on a beach, and she called it a real-life Dexter moment."
And then a few weeks later my agent called. "Did you hear what they named the new robot arm for the space shuttle?" he said.
"Let me guess," I said.
"It's iconic," my agent said. "That's a good thing."
And it is. Dexter is iconic. But as my sister was smart enough to pick up on, I am not. I think this is a good thing. I worked in Hollywood for a dozen years, and all I can say about it is that the primitive tribes who think the camera steals your soul were really on to something. So I don't want to be instantly recognizable—not Tom Cruise famous, not even Stephen King famous.
On the other hand, if Dexter wants fame, that's fine with me. He deserves it: he's a fine, upstanding, hardworking guy who is good with kids, thoughtful to co-workers, and helpful around the house. And if he slips away now and then for a little bit of human vivisection—well, nobody's perfect.
I will admit, though, that lately I've begun to suffer what may be the world's first Edgar Rice Burroughs Complex. Like Burroughs' Tarzan, my character is known all over the world, and I am still anonymous. That takes some getting used to, even though there are perks. It has given me some wonderful moments—like riding into Times Square in a taxi and seeing Dexter 60 feet tall on the side of the building. "Have you seen that program?" the driver asked me.
"I don't watch much TV," I said, even though I was staring like a school boy at a peep show.
"There are books, too," he said.
And there are. I hope you will like them. They make wonderful gifts, too. Even better, Nancy Grace and Alex Trebek will never have to see me sweat.
