Chapter 1
It happened on a Thursday during the mid-morning rush the random coffee shop he had found after his usual place had had a pipe burst. She ran into him when he pushed through the front door, their pinkies grazing when her shoulder rammed into his on her way out. Her shout- a mix of a curse and apology- lingered behind when she sped off down the sidewalk, half spilt cup of coffee clutched in her hand, golden brown hair training in a tangled mane after her. The echoed memory of her voice and lingering scent of perfume on his shirt were all of her that remained once she rounded the corner out of sight. It wasn't until the stagnant air in the overcrowded shop forced him to flick open the button on the cuff of his sleeve that he noticed the black numbers on the inside of his right wrist and any remaining breath streamed from his lungs.
Everyone knew the tale. His mother had told him the bedtime stories as a child, just like he had told his daughter- once upon a time, every person had two heads, four arms and four legs, but only one soul. Split apart into two separate bodies, the souls were fated to wander the world alone until reunited, their skin sparking with knowing when they touched for the first time.
The woman behind him in line cleared her throat, blood red nails tapping on the sleeve of her stiff black suit, when he failed to order. He shuffled out of the line with a muttered apology, bumping his way through the breakfast crowd until he found a free space near the wall. A flier for a handshaking party fluttered on the bulletin board behind him, the single remaining information strip grazing the collar of his burgundy shirt, but Rick Castle only stared at the countdown on his wrist. For most the numbers appearing on the skin of a fated pair was a cause for celebration, but where elation should be buzzing, dread sank like a stone.
00.00.02
"Kiddo!"
His mother's voice rang through the space of Rick's Manhattan loft when he pushed open the door but Rick was still frowning, eyes focused down. His left thumb skated over the newly tattooed skin of his right wrist like rubbing the numbers would make them change.
"Richard?"
"Huh?"
"My son, the writer. Always so eloquent with your words." Martha Rogers tittered, her gold bangle bracelets jangling as she waved his inelegance away with a flick of her hand.
Rick shook his head, focusing on his mother even as his thumb continued to rub across the numbers on his wrist.
"While it's always a delight to be the subject of your wit, may I ask what you're doing here, mother?" The automatic quip rolled off his tongue even as he leaned over to give his mother a kiss on the cheek.
"I came to see my favorite son and granddaughter, of course."
"Of course. So, naturally, you came by while I was out and Alexis was at school?" He questioned, one eyebrow quirked.
"Okay, fine. I need to stay here for a couple of days- some plumbing problems in my building, you know how it is. I'll be quiet as a mouse. You won't even know I'm here, I promise," his mother replied with a smile.
"Uh huh."
Martha Rogers was many things, quiet was not one of them. He made a mental note to give strict instructions to the doorman not to let anyone up in the middle of the night, no matter who they were, and to buy Alexis earplugs so she could sleep and study during whatever "social event" his mother was already planning for his spacious living room.
"Why are you holding your arm? Are you hurt?"
"Hmm?" Rick forced his hands to his sides, thumb still twitching. "Oh it's nothing."
"That's not nothing, Richard. Is that-? Did you-?" She grabbed his hand with a move that would make a sensei proud. Dragging him over to the kitchen, she shoved his sleeve up his arm and held it up to the light for further inspection. True soulmates were rare. Many gave up the search for their own true match, citing it as impossible and settled down with a mate they loved to live happy lives. Others described finding a soulmate by accident as nothing short of miraculous. Matchmaking companies made billions using algorithms to sort through the population, selecting a small pool of possible soulmates for a client. Sometimes it worked, other times it didn't, but randomly running into your soulmate in a crowded coffee shop was unheard of. "It is! Richard, this is fantastic! Who is she, where is she? How did you meet? Tell me everything. Actually, wait, let me get the champagne. We need to toast this."
"Mother," Rick interrupted. The pain in his voice caused Martha to stop flitting around the kitchen, champagne flute in hand. "Look at the number."
He rolled his sleeve away from his wrist, and held his arm out so the black letters shown clear through the bright room.
00.00.02
Martha let out a shaky breath.
"Two? Two days?" She whispered, all vibrato lost.
Rick nodded in reply, swallowing down the bile in his throat. "I don't even know who she is and in two days she's going to die."