TL;DR: Angel Batista dies, Dexter breaks, and Leon Prater’s carnival of death is about to begin. This episode is a masterclass in inevitability, setting up a finale that promises nothing short of carnage.

I’ve been waiting for this moment since Showtime first whispered the words Dexter: Resurrection. Not the return of Michael C. Hall’s infamous serial killer—that part was a given—but the collapse. The implosion. The precise second when all the stitching he’s spent years pulling tight suddenly snaps and the whole bloody quilt falls apart. Episode 9, aptly titled “Touched by an Ángel,” is that moment.

And it’s not subtle.

If you’ve been riding this season week to week, you’ve probably felt the same gnawing inevitability I have. The show has been a time bomb disguised as prestige crime drama, with every scene tightening the screws, every reunion with old faces like Angel Batista sharpening the blade. It wasn’t a question of if Dexter Morgan would crack—it was who would have to die to make it happen. And in this penultimate hour, we finally get our answer.

But here’s the thing: the way Episode 9 plays it isn’t just about a shocking death. It’s about inevitability. About the kind of narrative gravity that drags characters—and the audience—into a pit we knew was waiting but hoped maybe, somehow, could be dodged. That’s the twisted magic of this episode: it makes you scream “don’t go in there!” even while knowing Dexter Morgan has never once walked away from a bad decision.

A Meeting of Monsters

The hour opens by picking up last week’s cliffhanger—Leon Prater, the smirking superfan of serial killers (played with unnerving glee by Peter Dinklage), shaking hands with Harrison like he’s just met the guest of honor at Comic-Con. If the entire concept of a “serial killer fan club” already gave you the creeps, this scene turns it into nightmare fuel. The look on Dexter’s face isn’t the rehearsed calm of the Bay Harbor Butcher—it’s naked, animal rage, the kind of paternal fury that boils through the cracks in his new façade.

I’ve been watching Dexter for years, and here’s the thing: the original series often framed his killings like ritual or performance, almost sterile in execution. But here, with Harrison in the mix, Dexter’s mask is slipping in a way that feels rawer than anything in Miami Metro days. Harrison doesn’t know the depth of the danger, but we do, and watching him chat with Prater is like seeing someone play catch with a live grenade.

And of course, Angel Batista is lurking just a few steps behind. Always one photo, one overheard name, one coincidence away from putting the whole puzzle together. This is where Resurrection has been cruel in the best way possible: it weaponizes nostalgia. Every time Batista appears, it’s not just a plot point—it’s a reminder of Miami, of Doakes, of LaGuerta. A reminder of every thread Dexter thought he’d cut clean but that still trails behind him like bloody breadcrumbs.

Charley and the Ghost of Humanity

If Leon Prater is the fandom gone rotten, Uma Thurman’s Charley is the enforcer who makes sure his games stay deadly. She’s terrifying, yes, but the reveal of her bedridden mother adds a wrinkle I didn’t expect. Dexter’s visit to Charley’s home, finding not a hospital ward but a quiet little prison where filial duty and desperation blur into criminal servitude, hit me harder than I thought it would.

Dexter’s conversation with Harry—his ghostly moral compass/cheerleader—flips the script here. Usually, Harry’s the one telling Dexter to keep it cool, keep the code, keep the mask. But in this episode, it’s Dexter who’s oddly calm while Harry is ready to call blood. And that, right there, is the sign that Dexter’s teetering. Because when Harry is rattled and Dexter is composed, it means the rage has already taken root somewhere deeper. It’s past the point of logic.

The strangest part? I found myself sympathizing with Charley. She’s a decorated veteran pulled into hell because Prater bought her loyalty with her mother’s healthcare. It’s grotesque and depressingly realistic. How many times have we seen soldiers chewed up by the system, only to be repurposed by men with power and money? Charley isn’t evil—she’s trapped. Which makes her threat to Harrison all the more heartbreaking.

Angel Batista’s Tragic Return

And then there’s Angel. God, Angel.

David Zayas slips back into this role like he never left, and Episode 9 gives him his most gut-punching material since Dexter Season 7. Watching him chase ghosts, muttering about Doakes and LaGuerta, you can almost feel the exhaustion in his bones. This isn’t just a cop hunting a fugitive. This is a widower, a survivor, a man who’s spent years gnawing on the splinters Dexter left behind. His obsession is as much about grief as justice.

So when he finally walks into Prater’s mansion and sees Dexter face-to-face, the payoff is brutal. We’ve waited years for Batista to get his closure. Instead, what he gets is a knife to the back—metaphorically and literally.

The scene of Angel bleeding out, gasping out his final “fuck you” to Dexter Morgan, gutted me. It’s not the gory violence—this show has plenty of that—it’s the intimacy. Angel isn’t afraid. He isn’t confused. He isn’t giving Dexter the satisfaction of absolution. He dies knowing exactly who Dexter is, and he makes sure Dexter knows it too.

And for once, Dexter can’t compartmentalize. He doesn’t nod, smirk, or move on to his next kill. He screams. He breaks. He becomes the man Harrison always feared he might be: someone who leaves nothing but corpses in his wake, even when he tries to protect the people he loves.

The Dominoes Fall

By the time the credits roll, everything is set for the finale. Leon Prater wants a live performance of the Bay Harbor Butcher for his twisted carnival of killers. Charley has tasted both fear and defiance. Harrison is circling closer to the truth than ever. And Dexter himself is no longer the careful surgeon—he’s a man driven purely by rage, mourning, and the need to burn Prater to the ground.

This is the Dexter Morgan I’ve been both dreading and longing to see again: the one without control. The one who isn’t managing his Dark Passenger but has become fully consumed by it.

And that’s why Episode 9 might be the best chapter of Dexter: Resurrection yet. It’s not just thrilling television—it’s an autopsy of inevitability.

Verdict: 

Dexter: Resurrection Episode 9, “Touched by an Ángel,” is a devastating, electrifying penultimate hour that finally rips away the illusion of control Dexter has been clinging to. By killing off Angel Batista, the show doesn’t just twist the knife in the fandom—it proves that resurrection always comes with blood.