In the ladies', LaGuerta is trying to shift a contact lens back into place, when Deb steps out of a stall, evidently having just dropped a fat, stinky dook. LaGuerta keeps making annoyed groaning noises, and in a rare moment of civility, Deb moves to help her. "If you..." Deb begins, but Maria shrugs her off. "You want help or not?" queries Deb. "I have a hair or something stuck on my lens." "Luckily, you're in good hands. I traded my glasses in for contacts in high school," says Deb. "Boys?" Deb rambles on about "tits" and having Winnie the Pooh on her bras, which...random. Thankfully, Maria shuts her up and makes her focus on the task at hand. When it takes too long, LaGuerta goes back to the mirror. "You're brother was adopted, right?" "Yeah, my dad found him at a crime scene." Maria probes a bit about how the department took it that Harry got so involved in a case, and Deb reveals that it never seemed like that big a deal, and that Dexter always got in far less trouble than she did. Finally, LaGuerta spots the offending eyelash, and Deb helps her snag it. Maria thanks Deb begrudgingly, and Deb says, "Let me ask you a question. Why do you have it in for me?" "You're loud, you're impulsive, and you constantly question authority." Fair enough. "Fair enough." Jinx! You can't talk until you buy me a Coke! LaGuerta begins, "I hear you have an interesting theory on who..." but she's cut short by the sound of the door shutting behind Deb. Oh, no! Now Deb will never know that LaGuerta was going to reach out to her, inasmuch as she's capable of doing something like that.
Rita's watching the news when Astor comes out of her bedroom silently. "Honey, what is it?" Rita asks, but Astor quietly turns around and walks back. Oh, sad! She wet the bed. Rita tells her it's okay, "these things happen. Now go get changed and I'll fix the bed." As Rita begins doing so, Astor asks, "Mommy? Is it okay if I didn't have my party?" Oh, dude, no way! Rita looks crestfallen at this.
Abruptly, we're with Dexter, who is packing up all of his murdering devices and wrapping them in plastic and duct tape. "It's only a matter of time before that boy finishes telling the police who he saw that night at the salvage yard. Me." Dexter, now on the Slice of Life, starts chucking bag after bag of instruments into the ocean. "Once the sketch is finished there'll be no place left to hide. If I want any chance of survival, I have to get rid of it all. I have to let go." He reluctantly throws the power drill over the edge, leaving only his Box O' Kills, the collection of blood slides from all of his years of work, which he holds and ponders for a while. He opens it up, and runs his fingers over the glass, cherishing it. He picks one at random. "Alex Timmons -- sniper." He flashes back to Mr. Timmons, wrapped up in plastic. "Yes, I did it," he says. "Is that what you wanna hear?" Back to the present, and another slide. "Gene Marshall -- arsonist." Flash to Gene, also wrapped up. "Have you ever watched someone burn alive?" Another slide. "Cindy Landon -- Black Widow." "I'll fuck you if you let me go." "Such fond memories of them all," Dex VOs. "They all accepted their fate in their own way. Now it's time for me to do the same." He holds up one more slide, saying "Valerie Castillo, my last victim." He notices something wrong and pulls out his flashlight to see that the blood circles has a smiley face carved into it, just like the palm tree in the landfill picture and the one on the back of the photo of Dex and Harry at Angel of Mercy. This Ice Truck Killer fellow is a slick fish, I'll tell you that much right now. "He's not angry. That's not what this is about. He's testing me."