"Hey Beckett!"
"Yeah?"
"If Mason had an incinerator in the basement, why wouldn't he dispose of Caleb's body th–?" Before he could finish his sentence, the writer's words were cut off by a bullet to the chest from a walking corpse. Caleb went over to Rick, standing above the wounded man with a gun ready to deliver the fatal shot.
"Sorry Rick, but how can I enjoy my retirement with you and the Mrs hunting me?"
"Castle!" The detective ran into her kitchen, now gun to gun with the tale's loose end. The air filled with gunshots. Then smoke. Then the metallic smell of blood. Before Beckett could inhale a breath of relief at Caleb's lifeless body, hers began to fade.
She collapsed onto their floor and crawled over to Castle, taking his hand. They both knew how their story would conclude; lives punctuated by one final mystery. The writer and his muse were now together forever. Always.
Alexander closed his laptop and stared out the window of his Chicago apartment. Lake Michigan's waves were calm in the late afternoon sun.
"You know, I've always said that the Lake is my editor. I think it says I'm done," he called from his leather chair.
"Oh wow. You really think so?" Lola said as she walked into her husband's office. She cradled a cup of coffee in her hands, the contents of the mug threatening to spill on her white blouse. Her once neat courtroom attire was now deconstructed by the safety of her home.
"I do. Eight years…. But I think they're finished."
"How'd it end?"
"I can't tell you!" Alexander joked.
"C'mon! You can't keep a secret from your muse," Lola replied, her voice playfully lingering on the word her husband used so often in both real life and fiction.
"Fine, but you're going to hate me."
"No," she said, mouth agape. "You didn't!"
"I had to!"
"How'd it happen?"
"Shot. Holding hands on the floor of the loft."
"No! Why?!"
"Because… it's fitting. An epic ending for an epic love story."
"What do you call ours then?" Lola teasingly replied as she curled up on her husband's lap.
"A real love story," he said as he painted his wife's face in kisses. "And we – don't need – any serial killers – or government conspiracies."
"Well… my mom's going to be happy she's not the only one who ended up six feet under," Lola giggled as she nuzzled Alexander's temple. "Speaking of which, we should get going."
"Why," Alexander boyishly moaned. "I'm sure grandma and grandpa won't mind if we're a little late. They love the kids' Thursday night visits."
"You, Alexander, are maddening," Lola said as she lovingly shook her head.
"And you're remarkable," he replied, wrapping his arms around his wife.
They paused for a moment, both gazing out the window and taking in their fictional counterparts' final chapter.
"Do you think Rick and Kate are happy with the way they went?" Lola asked, filling the silence.
"I don't think they'd have it any other way."
"Fine… But you and I are not going out that way."
"Yes–"
"We're going to be 102 in a nursing home."
"I know–"
"And our great grandkids are going to be wheeling us around on some hover chairs."
"Of course, Lola."
"You're writing us a happy ending. Promise?"
"Always."