The woman rolled to her side, extending her forearm so it would rest, playfully stroking, on the chest of the man she loved. This movement was so mechanically incrusted into her brain; she woke up with a jolt when her arm fell lump to the side of the bed. Her arm dangling beside the bed, she carefully opened her eyes. She tried to adjust her sight to the unfamiliar surroundings of the dimly lit room she was in. She rolled back on her back observing the ceiling, her head was pounding with the millions of questions scattered about in her head.

When her eyes had adjusted and her head had finally stopped pounding, she finally sat up in the single bed she was in. Boy was she thirsty. Pulling off the covers and pivoting, she pressed her feet on the cold linoleum floor. Her outfit caught her attention. It wasn't exactly her idea of a convenient wardrobe choice; it wasn't even her idea of nightwear. The light blue sweatpants and white long-sleeved sweater were comfortable and warm, but they weren't hers or her fiancé's. Her breathing started to fasten; she really wasn't liking what she was seeing, she didn't recognise any of it.

What's the last thing I remember?

She searched for a clue, a memory, anything at all, but all she managed to do was let the pounding sensation and intense migraine come crashing back.

She lifted herself up, pushing herself with her arms off of the bed and quickly looked around the small room. Her legs felt extremely weak, her thighs slightly trembling under the weight of her own body. The bare walls of beige concrete blocks weren't her idea of an inviting decor and the small bed, nightstand and set of drawers weren't conveying anything good either, but what appalled her most was the resounding silence. She had long ago learned: silence was never of good omen.

Her eyes glided towards the closed door, she wasn't sure if her mind was making it up but she could swear she could detect some movement on the other side of the wall. Carefully moving closer to the small window, she distinguished something that looked like shadows. It definitely wasn't her mind playing tricks. If she concentrated long enough, light footsteps could be heard through the crack below the door. She directed herself towards the door as fast as her dulled out legs would take her and yanked on the knob.

The door was locked.

Of course, I'm locked in this gloomy, gloomy looking room.

Once more, her hands firmly pressed against her temples, she tried remembering.

Come on Kate, just think. What were you guys working on? Were we following a lead? Chasing a suspect? Maybe I was kidnapped, held against my will. But by whom?

She suddenly felt dizzy, the walls trying reposition themselves around her, the floor wobbly under her feet. Queasy, she closed her eyes and leaned on the wall, her hand carefully placed over her stomach.

You have to go for it, Beckett. You don't know how long it's been. There's no time like the present.

Taking a chance and hoping for the best, she vehemently knocked on the door. Patting on the glass she tried to shout out "Help!" The words wouldn't come out; she could now unquestionably feel the dryness of her mouth and its roof. The thick saliva in her mouth was making it painful to swallow. As she gently massaged her throat, trying to cough, she caught a glimpse of someone, down the hallway. She tapped the window, mouthing "Help". The woman looked right at her, a small smirk on her face, but continued her way down the corridor, fastening her pace.

Great. Excellent thinking, Kate. Amazing police work. They're probably discussing how to get rid of you right this instant.

She turned around, defeated, and sat back on the hard mattress, her head in her hands, shaking. She inhaled; she exhaled, trying to control her breathing.

What the hell is wrong with me?

She heard the doorknob turn and she jumped to her feet as she saw the door open cautiously. She backed up against the wall furthest from the person who had just entered, and watched as the man closed the door behind him. She wanted to run, scream, and let him know he wouldn't get away with killing a member of the police force, but she froze.

"Good morning Katherine," he said as he sent a smile in her direction.

Katherine? Who the hell calls me Katherine?

Suspiciously eyeing the man, she desperately tried to piece things together, but everything was blank.

"I'm glad you're awake, but let's try to be more discrete, no more pounding on the door. It's still very early and I wouldn't want you to wake up the others." He was still smiling.

The others? There are more of us here. They must also have Castle, maybe Espo or Ryan; I need to find a way out. God, can he please stop smiling like a psycho; he's seriously freaking me out.

The man could feel Kate's uneasiness caused by his presence. She was playing with her fingers, rocking her body back and forth, but at least she was up. Her eyes were locked on him. He wasn't even certain he'd seen her blink since he had entered her room, but at least she was acknowledging his presence, which was definitely welcomed progress.

"This is good, really good, Katherine. Today is a good day. It's the most receptive I've seen you in in months."

We've been here for months? How? Where…

Her eyes widened. Was it fear, anger or intrigue, he couldn't tell, but he was happy to see any change in her demeanor. He tried to encourage her to say what she was thinking.

She cleared her throat; hoping sounds would make their way out of her mouth this time. Her voice hoarse, she said, "Where are you keeping Castle?"

"I'm sorry, Katherine. I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. A castle?"

Coughing dryly, the man was surely playing with her, but her thoughts were unclear, everything a blur, so she continued, "Yeah. My… hummm. Rick… hummm. Richard Castle?"

"Oh, right," he tried to shorten the distance between them, taking a few steps in her direction, but when she tried to back up further against the wall, he backed away. There was no way he would be doing anything that might send the young woman back into her stupor. From a safe distance, he added, "Your dad told me you'd want to have them. He packed some for you. He was persuaded you'd want them with you when you came back to us. Check the night stand," his fingers motioning towards it.

My dad? What does he have to with any of this? He's involved?

How was it possible to be even more confused now, then when she had woken up? She frantically opened the drawer and sat back down on the bed, spreading out her latest findings. Incredulous, she stared at the books scattered before her: Death of a Prom Queen, Kissed and Killed, A Calm Before the Storm.

What in the hell is going on?

I know this is kind of… weird? Popped in my head after my roommate told me she was happy my addiction limited itself to caffeine.

Please, please let me know what you think!