Richard Castle
CH1
Castle walked into town knowing that he had completed his assignment and paid no attention to the eyes that followed him. He had seen it all before and couldn't care less. He had done what he had been hired to do and now he expected to be paid.
From the outside it looked like a gauntlet that he had to pass through. As far as he was concerned they were invisible and not worthy of his attention. There was a time in his life when things had been different, but this was his life now.
Reaching the end, he found the mayor of the town that had hired him. He simply stood there, stared at him, and waited. He knew exactly what he would do if the mayor reneged on their deal. He had done it before and was only too willing to do it again.
That little bit of information had also gotten around. Not that he cared. It actually worked in his favor should any town that hired him decide to not pay him for all his hard work. He had expenses and needed the money. What he did didn't come cheap and neither did his expenses.
The mayor looked angry and tried to stare him down. Castle had gone through this before, too. He didn't flinch, didn't smile, didn't even blink; he just glared back. A heavy sigh from the mayor told him he had won. He watched as he reached into his vest, took out a bag, and all but threw it at him.
Caught with ease, he hefted it to determine if he had been short changed or not. He decided it felt right; he pocketed it and turned to leave.
As he walked, the town sheriff who couldn't handle the job, stepped out. "Theft is illegal in this town ...Castle," the lawman growled and all but spat out his name. It was obviously a challenge and since he was the sheriff and had the law on his side, he obviously figured Castle would back down and give the town back its money. Even if he had earned it.
The sheriff wasn't a ninety-eight pound weakling but neither was he. Castle had long since sized up the lawman and knew his kind. The man was sheriff because the townspeople were cowed by him and did what he told them to do. There was no one in the town willing to stand up to the sheriff. That included the town mayor, he was betting.
'Might as well get this over with,' he thought to himself. In a flash he slammed the palm of his hand straight into the sheriff's nose and followed through, pushing with all the muscle in his arm.
In his old life, Richard Castle had been a blacksmith that made specialized weapons on the side for special people. He hadn't concerned himself with just who they were so long as they paid him. And the people that wanted his weapons paid him well.
He in turn had done a lot of blacksmith favors for people in town. Between the two jobs he was able to actually live relatively well and supported his mother and his daughter. As a result he had plenty of muscles himself and had worked at keeping himself in excellent shape.
His hit to the sheriff's nose had broken it straightaway; he'd heard the sound of bone crunching. It had also caused the man's nose to bleed a crimson flood. Castle then kicked him straight in his balls which caused the sheriff to double over in severe pain.
He followed up his kick to the lawman's family jewels that were now going to be useless to him for a number of days – which if he was right, several women in town should be thanking him – with yet another hard blow to his nose that lifted him up off the ground. The sheriff was lifted up off his feet and fell backwards onto his back, unconscious. Being unconscious, however, didn't stop his nose from bleeding.
Hearing the sound of a weapon being cocked, Castle pulled his weapon so fast he was betting no one saw him do it. The only gun shot was his and the only sound that was the sound of metal hitting metal followed by the deputy crying out in pain.
He spun his weapon on his finger, put it back where it belonged, and watched the lawman hold his hand while cussing a blue streak.
He expected no more trouble from this town; he simply turned his back on them and walked away. He wasn't a fool, though, and kept his ears open for anything. Any little sound that would tell him that there was one more person in town willing to take him on.
He walked for the next four hours with no real destination in mind. That was until he started to get hungry. He had eaten last night but had skipped breakfast in favor of getting paid. Which reminded him... Castle pulled out the pouch that had his payment and poured it out into his other hand. A quick scan by sifting through it with his fingers showed that he hadn't been cheated.
At the next town he would pay to use the blacksmith's shop to make himself more ammunition after buying what he needed. He also had a idea for a new weapon that maybe he would try making if the smith had all the tools he would need.
But his growling belly needed to come first. He reached behind his head, delved into his little backpack after moving the cover flap off to one side, and pulled out what he wanted.
It was his own design and he was rather proud of it. It was about the size of an average handgun though far more bulky. Releasing the safety on it, he flipped his hand, the barrel snapped open, and locked into place.
He had learned the real drawback to the weapon was that he only had one good shot out of it. The connection sections were its weak point which required him to clean the barrel after each and every shot.
Still it was the only true long range weapon he had. After placing a round in the chamber, he checked the wind and started walking into it. Never go hunting downwind and give your prey a chance to detect you and run off.
Even doing this it took him almost two hours to spot a deer way off in the distance. He knelt on one knee, lifted his weapon, and stared his target down. 'Thank you,Lord for what you provide on this day.'
Richard needed only a single shot and he watched it drop where it stood. The sound was loud and likely anyone near would have heard it. The instant scent of blood also meant he had to move fast. Predators looking for an easy meal would be drawn to it.
He planned on taking only what he needed and leaving the rest for nature to take care of. He was willing to share so long as he reached it first.
Richard traveled quickly, came up to his kill, and checked it over. It was a perfect head shot. The buck never even knew he had died, which in Richard's mind was far more humane than what an animal predator would do. Some would hold the neck of its prey in its jaws and let it suffocate. It was a slow and agonizing death filled with terror.
It was this terror that he was familiar with and did his best to not inflict it on others unless they deserved it. Which were mainly who or maybe what he hunted for a living. Letting them feel terror didn't affect him at all. They actually deserved it, that and much more. Death was almost too good for them.
He pulled out his knife and got to work. He only needed the best parts of this deer. Enough to last him for a late lunch, late dinner, and maybe early breakfast.
After some work, while he kept an eye open as well as his ears, Richard eventually had the backstraps and tenderloins. He wrapped them up and stored them away and left the area. His senses told him that there was already a predator moving in for an easy meal. It hadn't died for nothing.
He walked for just over an hour until he found a good spot and started building his fire pit. That was followed by collecting some broken old tree limbs to use for his fire. In no time he had the tenderloins on the fire and then pulled out what little fruit and vegetables he had and waited.
Pouring a powder into some hot water, he drank it down after stirring it, all the while making a face. The stuff was vile tasting and it irritated him that he would be taking it for the rest of his life. He should be thankful that there was something easily found that he could collect, dry, and grind into a powder, but he wasn't. Not if it tasted like that.
His tenderloins and the rest of his meal helped to kill the taste, not that it made him happy. What did make him happy was that he didn't have to drink that crap for at least another two weeks. Much longer than that and he started to feel the affects and only had a short time before the worst started.
Next came gathering more firewood so he could at least have some heat in the morning to build the fire back up again. Searching his little backpack, he pulled out a small piece of cloth, unfolded it and shook it out, then placed it on the ground. With just a word he watched it expand out into his tent.
Richard had to admit it was a nice tent even if it had come from one of his victims. Her good fortune in being able to make it had been his when he figured out what it was and how to make it work.
It was fourteen feet by nine feet. It had one entrance and windows on three sides. There was a separate rainproof fly that was attached at the front of the tent and guyed at the sides. All he had to do was drive the stakes into the ground to hold it in place after putting out a ground cloth so that the floor didn't tear.
Next came digging a trench around it so that if it rained – and it felt like it might during the night – the water would drain away from the tent and go downhill.
He set up all of his equipment on one side and his mattress and sleeping bag on the other. Next he spent some time breaking down each of his weapons and cleaning them. One at a time all the while snacking on some deer jerky that he had dried a few days ago.
After the sun went down, he built up the fire a little and sat outside with his book in his lap. He had gotten it from his mother. Unfortunately he knew nothing about it how the bloody thing worked. Even worse, he couldn't read it any of it. It didn't stop him from trying as he flipped from page to page.
None of it made any sense to him. It was his mother's so it had to have a purpose. He just couldn't figure out what.
He was nodding off as he kept looking at his book. Satisfied that his fire could be rekindled in the morning, he put his book away. He stripped down and used a wet cloth to wash himself down before going to bed. Richard slid into his sleeping bag that was another item that had been happily donated from one of his victims.
Donated because she was dead and wouldn't be needing it or any of the other things he had taken. This particular sleeping bag allowed him to sleep in comfort. He found that after a short time he was rejuvenated after spending a long day hunting. The tent itself would keep the inside temperature at a nice seventy-two degrees, no matter what the temperature was outside.
It was middle summer now so the inside was cooler than outside at least until late at night when the temperature dropped. Hiding the rock that gave off light that never seemed to dim plunged the space inside into darkness. Another thing he had found out about the tent was that the same light didn't shine through. The tent effectively stayed hidden during the night. Even he found it hard to find at night.
He had learned about it the hard way when he had gotten up one night to go outside and water a local plant. He turned around and started to panic when he couldn't find his tent. It was a complete accident; he had literally walked into it and found it again. He had learned a lesson that night, one that he had never repeated.
Richard was awake just a few hours later. He was sitting up, panting heavily, and was just a little sweaty. He hated these but had come to expect them. Nightmares that woke him in the middle of the night. He mostly only had the one nightmare that repeated almost night after night.
It varied only a little, but in each case she died. He habitually crawled out of his sleeping bag and over to his things and drew out the most precious thing he owned. It was a simple drawing that lacked any of her coloring. However, it had her face. It was getting a little dirty and he feared that one day it would be so faded and smudged from where he ran a finger over her face that he would lose it.
He had already lost her, did he have to lose everything of her?
He couldn't help it or stop it as his tears turned into heartbroken sobs yet again. The pain was still so raw and it reared itself when he least expected it. He gently caressed her face every time he looked at the drawing which didn't help its condition. He crawled back into his sleeping bag, took the drawing with him, and studied every line. Memorized her every feature once again before he lost it forever.
As he was wont to do, Richard Castle wept and eventually slipped into sleep, holding the drawing tight to his chest, just above what was left of his heart.
Come morning he set the drawing aside and uncovered his forever glowing stone. He made sure the tent flap stayed open using the stone as a weight and went outside to do his business. Once back inside he went about putting things together for his breakfast then went outside and built his fire back up so he could cook.
This area was filled with woods and small streams that eventually emptied into lakes before finally reaching the sea. The area was had a number of small towns with populations ranging anywhere from just a few dozen to just over a few thousand. He only knew of one large city that if the talk was accurate, continued to grow. He had never been there and presently had no reason to go there. Perhaps one day, but not today, and certainly not tomorrow.
Once breakfast was complete he pulled out his list. He always got information from each town about the next possible job. His next one was in a small town called Truro. He had no idea how big it was, not that it mattered. He just needed to find someone to pay him to solve their problem.
Castle's first job would be to wander around town and judge just how desperate the people were. The more trouble they were in, the more he would charge. Truth be told, he would do it for free, but he really needed the money so he could make the ammunition he needed or to purchase certain items.
His life was simple and he didn't see it changing anytime soon. He was starting to pack when he heard it. He sighed heavily and went outside to look around and smell the air. "Damn it!" He really wanted to get to the next town and investigate their situation. But there was a storm coming and he didn't want to get caught out in it.
Forced to change his plans, he went back inside his tent, gathered items he would need, and went back outside. His first stop was the closest stream he could find so he could fill up all his containers with fresh water.
Next came searching for wild fruits and vegetables. He was just setting his last trap for small animals when he felt the first raindrop. He ran for his tent before the skies opened up and drenched him.
Trapped in his tent, he spent his time by opening his book and studying it yet again. It was significant, of that he was certain. He didn't ever remember his mother using it, however. He had found it hidden in her room and assumed it was important. If it was important to her it was important to him.
Since it was raining, he went outside almost naked and hung up some of his clothes so that they got soaking wet. Later he would add some soap and wash them before hanging them back out to dry.
It meant he would be there for a while which was fine. Richard Castle had done this before and would put the lull in his mission to good use. Tomorrow would be a new day.