A/N- Yes, so, this is going to be my second long-story piece. I have this all arrenged Idea in mind, in hopes that on paper it'll be as good as it appeared to be in my head.

~~~"Now, gentlemen, in this country, our courts are the great levelers. In our courts, all men are created equal. I'm no idealist to believe firmly in the integrity of our courts and of our jury system - that's no ideal to me. That is a living, working reality! Now I am confident that you gentlemen will review, without passion, the evidence that you have heard, come to a decision and restore this man to his family. In the name of GOD, do your duty."~~~

-Atticus Finch, "To kill a mockingbird"

A Mockingbird's reoccurrence

Chapter 1:

Silence greets her as she leaves the classroom; her steps are calculated and careful. Her long, velvet dark hair falls on her back, her almond-eyes searching, traveling, looking for any signs of danger.

She finds none.

Making her way towards the ladies room, she doesn't notice a pair of green eyes somewhere, taking in her every move. She opens the toilet's door slightly, her gaze fixed on the sinks ahead.

And then it happens.

She has no time to protest, as her attacker hits her from behind, a crushing fist on her delicate skull, her nape. She falls forward, her eyes meeting her assailant, her lips about to release a high scream of distress, to call her teacher, or an adult, to save her from the wild beast in front.

But the beast is relentless. A hand on her mouth, blocking her scream. She rises up, trying to gain an upper hand on the attacker, but it is apparently useless. A sharp object appears out of nowhere, its aim- her neck. One, then two, three cuts, and it's pointless to try and fight back.

She can taste the drops of red in her throat, on her lips, as darkness envelops her. She's struggling, but to no avail. In her last moments, she can feel herself being dragged into one of the toilet's booths, in despair she grabs an accumulation of soft dark locks, her attacker's hair, and pulls fiercely.

She feels another wave of pain in her neck, and her eyes lose all ability to focus.

A door is being locked behind her.

She lands softly on the seat; her head falls limp on the cistern.

And then, it all turns black.

The cell-phone rings few hours later. To say Beckett and Castle are surprised to get the call at 10:30 PM, is an understatement. They just finished their nightly cuddling session with a glass of red wine, when the phone chimed.

There has been a murder. The crime-scene is packed up, and they should get there RIGHT NOW. When asking for the address, Beckett's face turns achingly serious when they tell her it's a public school.

It is one of those cases, she realizes.

The engaged writer and detective are in no condition of making any practical flirty jokes this night in cold January. Entering the school's lobby, they understand just how much the place is really packed.

They brought the whole precinct over? She's confused.

They make their way towards the ladies room, the one on the left corner of the first floor.

When entering, Castle can feel the nauseating scent of something he grew familiar with long ago. The tight, uncompromising scent of blood.

A group of cops and workers stand there, closing on the second booth from the right.

Castle gulps.

"NYPD," Beckett pulls out her badge, approaching.

The group nods in acknowledgment, their faces a curtain of melancholy, as Beckett spots Lanie rising up from what apparently was a kneeling position. "Hey, sweetie," she whispers, voice shaken up, "brace yourself, girl, because this is bad."

Nodding, Beckett and Castle make their way towards the booth itself, to try and take a better look on their victim.

Spotting said victim, Castle feels he's about to be sick.

In all his years working with the NYPD, he doesn't remember ever witnessing such a crime scene. A young girl, settled peacefully on the seat, her head leaned back on the toilet cistern. Her soft black hair covers her face, her arms limp, her eyes closed in a peaceful-like manner.

If it wasn't for the fact that she, as well as the wall and floor, were all covered in blood, Castle would have thought she was probably sleeping.

"Tamara Richmond," says Lanie quietly, leaning back to examine the body, "a 13 year old. Her cell-phone, as well as library card, were both found in her pocket," she notes, Beckett and Castle nodding in understatement, Castle's face twisting in sadness and compassion, "She was found by a volunteer about 40 minutes ago, this booth was locked from the inside." She gestures towards booth's door to make her point.

"A…volunteer?" asks Castle, his voice a bit hoarse.

Lanie releases a painful sigh, "Yeah," she says, "This child was reported missing about approximately 9 hours ago. When she didn't come home from school, dad called the police after his wife insisted he reports their daughter missing. They wouldn't go on a massive search before the 24 hours clock line, so the family decided to ask friends and relative to help look for her themselves. They started with the school. She was found here, like this."

"Which one of them found her?" Beckett asked, her glance wondering over the group of volunteers, all apparently disturbed and shocked.

"That was David, over there," Esposito appears from behind them, head gesturing toward a tall, blonde man; pulling out his pad, Esposito bites his tongue, considering, "Said that he saw the girl's legs through the thin space between the door and the floor, door was locked from the inside."

"How do we learn that?" asks Castle, interested.

"Mhmmm," Esposito pulls the other detective outside of the booth, closing the door softly. He clicks with his pen on the outside lock.

"Broken," acknowledges Beckett, thinking, "Ok, so," she points out aloud, "The killer drags her from here," she follows the blood tracks from the sink towards the booth itself, "over here…lays her on the seat," she opens the booth's door again, "locks the door behind him, obviously, so no one will surprise him…" she blinks, thinking deeply, Castle nods behind her, "And, how does he get out? Obviously by climbing. I don't see any other option."

"That would be correct," confirms Lanie, "See this?" she asks, pointing at a certain spot on the blood-covered floor.

It takes a few seconds, but Castle then understands what triggered Lanie's interest, "Shoe-prints," he calls, and Beckett's eyes narrow in concentration.

"And not the only one," Lanie continues, "Here," she softly pulls their victim's right thigh aside, exposing another print that holds the shape of a shoe on the lavatory seat, "Here," she then points at the left wall, "and here," she lays a hand on the beam wall, "shoe prints. Now, this is not my field, you guys should tell Gates to bring an expert to check this out."

"On it already," Ryan comments, pulls out his cell-phone, mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like 'This would give this high-school a bad name', leaving the ladies-room at once.

"But, what I can tell you, is cause of death, I'm sure that it might interest you," Lanie says.

"Please."

With a gulp, the ME responds, "What I see from looking at her, is three deep bruises to the back of the skull, as well as her nape. But the cuts to the throat, two in number, were her death sentence. Artery was slashed, I'd say it was quick, she never had a chance to survive that amount of blood-loss."

"Estimated time of death?"

Shaking her head considerably, Lanie shrugs, "Based on temperature? I'd say, between 1 and 3 PM today."

Licking her lips, Beckett rubs her face slightly, "What are you thinking about?" Castle asks.

Beckett shakes her head, frustrated, "This is a public high-school, you know how many people pass these bathrooms in two hours? Without cameras watching the hallways…"

"School doesn't have those.."

"-…We have a lot of work to do, here…" finishes Beckett, exhaling. Lastly, she turns to leave the tiny narrow booth, ears catch the muffled and not such much so, noise from the massive crowd outside. "Alright, listen up," she claps her hands twice, all presents in the room cease from talking, and turn to listen to the detective apparently in lead, "I want CSU to go over those toilets from top to bottom. If there are DNA traces, I want to know about them. Flesh, blood traces which don't belong to our vic, I want them found; Hair, nails, soil, dirt, whatever is traceable," the other detectives nod in understatement, "I want to know. Bring a shoe-print expert over, check all the booths again. Karpowsky!" she then calls.

"Yes?"

"While we go talk to the family, I want you and Ryan to check our victim's cellphone. Espo," she turns to the Latino detective, "Talk to the teachers. Did this girl suffer school bullying? She had any enemies or anyone she had trouble getting along with?"

"On it," Esposito answers.

"I want the school-staff brought over to questioning. We will go through the list of students present in the school between 1 and 3 PM, as well as the workers. Now, let's get this case solved, guys!"

While each turned to their business, Castle held onto his fiancée's shoulders, squeezing comfortably; her eyes traveling over the long silence body, she sighed sadly, "She was just a kid, Castle." She commented, appalled.

Her man-child nodded, pulling her into a hug, "I know," and boy, did he ever; This girl was just a few years younger than Alexis. Knowing they'll have to talk with grieving mother and father, this is one of the things he disliked the most in those cases.

"We're gonna get this guy," he promises, delicately breathing into her hair, taking in her soft perfume.

Beckett smiles silently, letting herself feel the comfort of his embrace.

...TBC...

P.S- I do love reviews:)