Half an hour.
They'd spent half an hour trying to call Dexter, with no luck.
Dexter was supposed to be at this meeting.
But when Dale had gone scouring through the house looking for signs of life, he was relieved that Dexter's body wasn't there.
Maybe Dexter had escaped.
Maybe he pursued the murders.
But pick up the damn phone, Dale thought.
At some point Dale heard Zac yell, "In the kitchen." But Dale was too focused on the dial tone to notice the panic that laced Zac's voice.
Freddie was beside him, breaking the news of the attack to his clan in a low, urgent tone.
Dale knew that this was just the beginning.
This attack would only lead to chaos and destruction.
This was onmy the first domino.
The rest were yet to go down.
It would be a whole repeat of The War.
Eighteen years of peace.
Now the hatred was back full swing.
Dale shuddered at the recollection of The War.
Being immortal taught you one thing: war ain't ever gonna bring you no peace.
"C'mon, c'mon," he muttered to the dial tone, "Pick up Dexter."
He was passing by the kitchen when he heard a loud crash and then the sound of shattering glass come from it.
"What are you kids upto?" He said stepping into the kitchen.
He took the scene in with mild horror: Zac, his T-shirt ripped, stepping away from something he had been crouching next to, beside the kitchen island, to run to Cristina who was standing quite close to the broken window through which the last rays of reddish golden sunlight poured in.
What happened here?
He speed walked towards them but stopped dead when he saw the body.
A wave of confusion and panic washed over him as he dropped next to the body.
Everything around him seemed to happening in another world: Zac murmuring for Cristina to move away from the window, the crunching sound of glass as they did so, Freddie running towards him full speed along with a couple of vampires behind him.
Save him, save him, everything in Dale said.
His magic glimmered insistently from the ends of his talons, reaching to the dying boy, in vain trying to revive the boy.
No, no, no, no, was all his mind screamed when the glittering purple hue of his magic died down suddenly, disappearing into thin air.
Again he tried.
And again.
Every spell he knew, he put to use, all in vain.
Somewhere far away he heard Dale comforting him, telling him that the boy was past saving, no, there was nothing to do now.
Some rational part of him said the same.
This was what immortality gave you: to see the death of those you cared for, those you loved while you lived on with no end in sight, no rest from the constant labour of living.
"Dexter...." he whispered.
But Dexter couldn't and wouldn't answer back.
Because Dexter was in someplace else, someplace better, where there was only rest.