You were five years old when your dad, Dexter left. He let you and Hannah go to Argentina, faked his death, and went to Oregon.

The reason? He had just gotten his sister Debra killed. The guilt ate Dexter alive. All he wanted, in the world, was to be with you and Hannah. Mostly you. But he couldn't mess you up. He couldn't let his dark passenger, mess you up.

It was ten years later. Dexter was living in a very small town, Iron Lake, in the country side of New York. Everyone knew him as Jim Lindsay now. Dexter hadn't been called ‘Dexter’ since the day he left.

For days, Dexter had the sickening feeling that he was being watched. Looking over his shoulder, feeling eyes burning the back of his head. Yet everytime he turned around… nothing. He saw nothing.

That was until he got home. It was dark. He was walking up to his house, when he saw a light on. He quickly moved to the side door, grabbing an axe- just incase. He snuck in, seeing you, back turned at the front of the house. He slowly crept up. He didn't recognize you, yet you looked young. He wouldn't attack. Not yet.