Later, Dex leaves in his new minivan and passes Doakes, who's looking around confusedly. "Looking for my Taurus, Sergeant? Keep looking. You don't need to know where I'm going tonight." Ooh, I hope you're going to kill that Roger guy, slick fish that he is.
Alas, no; he's going to another NA meeting, where some dude is talking about how he screwed himself using smack as Dexter sits down. He meets eyes with the dark-haired hottie from the previous session, and she looks away first. The dude at the podium says he's twenty days sober, "again, hoping to make it twenty-one." Everyone claps, and he shakes hands with his group leader, who begins speaking about the newcomer's chips, and Dexter raises his hand to receive one. Everyone claps again as Dex makes his way to the podium. The group leader tells him he has about three minutes to talk, if he wants, so Dexter stands there and clears his throat, not sure what to say. Hottie McGee asks what his name is, and I'm surprised to find that she's British. After a long pause, Dexter says, "Bob." "Hi, Bob," says everyone. "Hi...and, I'm an...addict. I use heroin. Shoot it. It's affecting my job. My boss found my works, and fired my ass. I showed him by spending every last penny of my final paycheck on junk." This elicits a knowing laugh from the motley audience. "Doctor said I..." he trails off, noticing Hottie's unbelieving glare from where she's sitting. "Uh...I almost died," he finishes earnestly.
A bit later, as everyone's folding chairs and talking, Dexter's pouring himself some coffee, and Hottie walks up and tells him it sucks. "As bad as the donuts. It's better next door. Come on." She leaves without him, leaving him no choice but to follow.
In the diner next door, Dexter says the coffee is much better. "So, tell me, exactly how full of shit are you?" the young woman says. "I'm not full of anything." "It was a nice performance, in there. Where did you download it from? Addict.com?" "I have no reason to lie," covers Dexter. "Sure you do. We all do." "You thought I was lying?" repeats Dexter, digging himself deeper. "I don't know, Bob." Ooh, she's good. "Well, it is anonymous." Heh. "Everyone in that room has heard or lived far worse than anything you've ever done." See, that's where you're totally wrong, beyotch. "I doubt it," says Dex. Hottie calls Dexter "super-junkie" mockingly, and Dexter says he didn't mean to imply her life hasn't been difficult. "There's no way I could know what you've experience, right?" she says. "I couldn't possibly feel that need, like a thousand hiding voices whispering, 'this is who you are.' And you fight the pressure, the growing need rising like a wave, prickling and teasing and prodding to be fed." Whoa, whoa. Are we talking about the same thing here? Because I kind of feel like you're speaking on something much more sinister, now. Dexter looks like his mind is being blown. "But the whispering gets louder, until it's screaming, 'Now!' And it's the only voice you hear, the only voice you want to hear. And you belong to it, to this shadow self, to this --" "Dark passenger?" "Yes, the dark passenger." Dude, you guys should totally hang out more. You have so much in common! Plus, it seems like she's getting really turned on by this conversation, but maybe that's just her vampiric thirst for junk or whatever her drug is. Dexter, feeling exposed, pays his portion of the bill and leaves abruptly. The woman, whose name we still don't know, looks incredulous.