Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come
Darkness. There was nothing but darkness enveloping her for the past couple of weeks.
His funeral had been two weeks ago and she hadn't left the loft even once since then.
She had closed the blinds and shut every other possibility of light seeping through. Without him there was no light left, she didn't need to see the world outside moving on, because she couldn't.
She had removed the batteries from all the clocks so she wouldn't have to see the time passing without him, and de-attached the telephone, for she couldn't bear talking to anybody else. His voice was what she desired so desperately, but it was also the one sound she would never be able to hear again.
She would never hear him declaring his love for her again, she would never hear him laugh at something ridiculous again, she would never hear him spin weird CIA conspiracy theories again, and the pain that came with that loss was almost unbearable.
Ordinary tasks, such as breathing had become daily struggles she had to face down every single second, and it was exhausting, so exhausting, to keep breathing.
She spent most of her days in bed, the blanket pulled around her tightly, imagining it were his arms holding her. Sometimes she took his cologne from where it was still resting on the bathroom counter and sprayed a little bit of it on his pillow so she could revel in his scent and grasp at the image of him next to her, grasp at the memory of the man she had loved more than anything, the memory of a man that had been taken from her.
It was never enough. It would never be enough.
Because at night, when the nightmares came and she was reliving the moments that led to his death and she woke up in cold sweat, reaching over to his side of the bed, hoping for him to be there and take her into his arms, telling her that he was there and it had all been a bad dream, he never was.
And she felt like the true nightmare never stopped.
But how should she escape from it? What do you do when the nightmare is your reality? When the one man she needed was nothing more than a ghostly image, haunting her every move, every second of every day.
One night, when she had drunk a lot, she could even see him standing in front of her and it scared her off to the stage of screaming upon seeing her own ghostly reflection in the mirror.
It was only then that she realized, she had become a ghost herself, a tormented image of her former self, a scared woman in her mirror, staring back at her, with wide eyes, pale skin and rumpled hair.
She saw a woman she didn't recognize.
She didn't remember much about the funeral, but she remembered asking herself constantly, asking herself, why the sun was shining.
How this day could possibly be so beautiful when it was supposed to be rainy and dark, when the world was supposed to acknowledge his death, that he was taken from her and that a day like this could not be sunny.
She remembered that the grass was almost unbearably green and the sky such a pure blue, free of all clouds, it filled her with the urge to scream.
She wanted to scream at the world, at the nature, at everyone that he was dead, and how dare they be happy, but she kept quiet.
She didn't say a single word. In fact she didn't even hear a single sound.
Not the drums as they started playing the beat when they brought in his coffin, not the speech Alexis was giving on the small stage set right next to where his grave would be, not the hundreds of people telling her how sorry they were. How they could feel her pain.
It was like the whole day was in a haze, like the sounds were muffled and only the colors were shining way too bright, the strong contrast between the black clothing of the mourners and the fresh and happy colors nature was showing off all too visible.
She couldn't remember much about the funeral, but she did remember the colors.
Going back to work was hard. She had decided that she needed to get out. She needed to get out from the loft, she needed to work.
It seemed almost impossible at first. It was like Castle was in every little aspect of the world outside.
She thought of him as she was making her first coffee since his passing and she threw the cup against the wall, upon the first sip at the hot familiar drink, effectively shattering the cup into a million pieces.
She saw her own in those shreds, broken by the loss of him, broken in too many pieces to ever put together again.
But she continued moving anyways, moving around the shreds, leaving them behind, stepping into her heels, head held high, chin up and back straight.
Her jaw was tight when she entered the homicide floor of the 12th precinct.
Everybody knew what had happened. Castle had been well known and loved around here, and even if she figured that Ryan and Espo had told everyone to hold back and leave her alone, she couldn't avoid the pitying looks, the sad smiles she was receiving from every corner, feeling their eyes watching her, waiting for her to break down.
She wouldn't break down.
She locked her eyes on her desk and focused only on getting there, while upholding a strong appearance. It seemed like the longest walk she had ever had to put behind but when she had finally reached her territory she could feel the eyes slowly but steadily turning away from her again and she let out a long breath she didn't notice she had been holding in.
Espo and Ryan gave her a small nod from the desk across and she appreciated them not trying to get her involved into a meaningless chat about how everything would be okay.
Nothing would ever be okay.
She worked harder than ever before, harder than after her mother's death, harder than after her shooting, harder than ever. Because she knew that if she stopped working, the thoughts would come rushing back. That she would start noticing the small things again, his chair that was still seated right next to her desk, only waiting for him to finally come back and occupy it again or the blue cup that was resting in the cabinet, untouched since the last time he had brought her coffee after a long day of work.
But most of all she tried to avoid those moments of rest because she knew she would start thinking about what could've been.
About the moments they yet had to spend with each other, and now never would.
About the free days he could've used to take her out to the Hamptons again, about the lazy Sundays the could've spent doing nothing but lying in bed, legs entangled, talking and kissing each other slowly.
There were many people telling her that her life would be okay again, that she would be okay again, that she would be happy again, but she knew she couldn't be, because he was gone, and she was not.
It was five years after the day of his passing when she found the strength to visit his grave for the first time. It was well cared for by Alexis who made sure to place fresh flowers on it every week.
Richard Alexander Rodgers
Beloved fiancé, father and friend
She felt her throat tightening as she saw the letters engraved into the stone. A stone that was white and simple, so unlike the person that was resting there.
Tears were rising in her eyes and she felt the grief that came with his death threatening to overwhelm her again.
She gently knelt down in front of the grave and put down the flowers she had brought for him, white roses, flowers she was supposed to carry on her wedding day.
"I love you" she whispered, her voice broken, the words barely audible.
She didn't bother with the effort of wiping away her tears, so she just sat there, in front of his grave for a long time, staring at his grave stone, while slow tears were marking their streaks down her face.
It was a lovely day again and it felt like the summer breeze was playing with her hair, and like the sun was caressing her face with gentle touches and as she closed her eyes she could imagine him sitting right by her side, playing around with her hair how he used to do.
And it was only then that she finally understood why his funeral had to be a sunny day.
It was to remind her. To remind her that he was everything. That he was every soft blow of the wind in her hair, every sunray that was keeping her warm and every whisper of the grass.
Because the truth was, he was always right by her side.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
I don't know why I did this… Please don't hate me!