In his half dream like state, Dale didn't notice anyone's comings, goings or as a matter of fact, his own state; hands covered in crusty red blood, clothes splotched over with it, face streaked with tears.
He had broken down then, seeing Dexter's body there, lying in a pool of blood. He had clutched the limp body to his own living, breathing one, crying like child all the while, silently screaming wake up, wake up.
Everything now somehow seemed to have slowed down. He felt lost and scared and hurt deep down inside yet he found his mind detached in a peculiar sort of way, unable to connect or respond to anything happening around him.
Everything seemed far away, unreal.
When he finally found the courage and will to come back to the surface of reality, he found himself in a room that seemed vaguely familiar.
His brain took a minute or two to process everything, to finally realize that he was back in Cristina's apartment.
He looked about him, his eyes lazily drifting, taking in the place: a framed black and white photograph of the girl and Zac, a coffee table strewed with color pencils, a couple of scented candles here and there, a bottle green couch set on which a bunch of randomly colored cushions were thrown.
He found himself nodding to no one in particular - the room was quite empty- as if to say, pretty place you've got there, Cristina.
Someone plonked down beside him with a groan.
Dale took no notice.
"Dale..Dale listen to me.." The guy next to him pleaded.
Dale belatedly realized that the man next to him had been talking to him all along.
Also that the guy in question was Freddie.
"I lost people today too, Dale.." Freddie's voice cracked with emotion.
It was the first time he'd said it out loud.
Dale's shoulders slumped further around him.
He didn't need to be reminded of the unmoving body lying in blood.
It would always haunt him.
Immortality.
Fred: "I'm sorry,"
As he said that, Fred sounded both immensely sad and utterly hopeless.
Dale nodded a bit.
They'd both lost people today.
Fred saw Dale's nod and sighed with relief.
He'd gotten through.
"Don't blame yourself," Dale advised, a little hesitantly.
Surprised, Freddie said: "I'm not."
"You are," Dale announced, nodding to himself all the while.
Freddie groaned and then muttered, "And the girl blames herself."
"Why?" Dake asked, curious.
Fred looked over at Dale with a quizzical look, then seemed to realize something and, leaning back on the couch, said, "Because she saw them there, at the house."
Dale's blood ran cold in his veins but he carefully maintained the blank look on his face, only responding with a "Hmmm," and then relapsing into silence.
Then, quite suddenly, Dale goes: "You like her, don't you?"
Resulting in another groan.
"That plain?" Freddie grumbles, burying his face in his hands. Then: "There's no getting passed you, is there?"
"Nope, I'll see you around." He said sounding quite aloof as he got up and left.
Dale's thoughts were elsewhere; he needed to find the girl.