This is a story and behind the story there is a manifest.
I'm lucky enough to live in a country where the death penalty was abolished long time ago, but it still remains a problem of our world. There is a long list of people, sentenced to death and executed while they were proven to be innocent years later. This list is way too long even though we know it's not even close to the real number of such only proves that we can never know for sure, because we are only humans and it's simply beyond our reach, to decide whether someone deserves to die or not. Yet, we still claim to be able to do that. We call it justice while in fact, it's revenge. Don't get me wrong, some things that people can do to each other are unthinkable and horryfing and there seems to be nothing that would right that wrong. There isn't. Death penalty is not justice, justice would be if we'd get back what was taken away from us. And killing another person doesn't bring back the people we lost, it doesn't fill the emptiness and it doesn't right the wrong. It only brings more pain to the world. Fighting violence with violence has never worked. I respect that some of you may have other opinion, and I don't want to convince anyone to anything. I just hope that someday I will be lucky enough to live in a world which doesn't solve problems this way.
So, in the meantime, this is my story. I don't own anything, characters and everything else belongs to the show runners. It's AU, my interpretation. Few necessary changes were made,first one, needed for this chapter is that it takes place couple of years before the show's timeline and in Florida/NY. I will post the rest of them along the way, before each chapter.
It's my first Castle story.
All mistakes are mine, I am not native english speaker, so bare with me ;)
Enjoy :)
There were many moments in Kate's life when she wished to turn back the time.
She would do so many things differently, if only she knew.
She would tell the boy she had crush the truth sooner, before he had moved to Texas, she'd force her grandmother to do the check-up more regularly so they'd detect the cancer much earlier than in the terminal phase when it has been already disseminated in her lungs and liver.
And finally, she'd keep her mom at home that day.
It would be a blessing to be able to alter the future, to avoid all the pain, undo all the mistakes, turn the odds in your favor.
But what if the knowledge is a curse and even knowing what follows, we wouldn't be able to change a thing? After all, it's our fate and it is inexorable.
Or even worse, if we would know what the future holds and how it all ends, would we even care to begin?
She wonders if he'd still be alive if she wouldn't barge into his life.
Salty and humid breeze swirls around her, mixing with the tears as she watches sand ridges formed by the wind, the waves crushing against the shore. Calm and violent, beautiful and frightening. His favorite.
"Kate! Are you coming?" The wind carries the voice and she turns towards them. Her family.
"Just a moment." She calls back, feeling familiar warmth washing over her. She never expected this. She never expected them to be so happy. Even if just for a while.
So when her bare feet sink deep into the warm sand as she walks back to them, in that moment, she is certain that even after all the bad decisions and pain and heartbreak that followed, she'd still make the same choice.
The metal door buzzes as they are sliding shut, the silence that follows awakes instant feeling of entrapment. It's not a surprise though. Prison must feel this way.
She has been standing outside for quite a long time until she finally gathered the courage to step in. Still not sure if the decision was right, she scribbles her name in the ledger and shakes her head when they ask for any metal objects or electronical appliances. She knew where she was going. And Kate Beckett never comes unprepared.
The guard leads her through the combination of corridors, sense of isolation swells with each step resounding in empty space. If she'd have to go back alone, she'd never find the right way. She wonders if this is not the whole point.
They finally stop, another metal door click and she's in.
He is already waiting.
He rises up from the chair when she enters, an old habit from the times and places where chivalry mattered.
She takes a moment to take a good glance at him. His hair is shorter than the last time she saw him, with occasional strands of grey, way too soon for his age. His face is a mask of a man who made a habit of hiding his thoughts. Navy blue prison uniform somehow brings out his eyes. She catches the quick glimpse of curiosity in them and she can tell, from the very first moment, that this man doesn't belong here.
His handshake is surprisingly firm. " It's a pleasure, Mr. Castle."
"And you are..?" He asks, holding her gaze for a moment. She looks oddly familiar.
"Sorry, I'm Kate."
As they sit down he gives in to his secret, old game of guessing who she is and what she came here for. It was usually one of two, a journalist or one of those crazy ladies who come here, trying to convert a hardshell criminal to the right path, convinced that they are the light of the Jesus in this God forsaken place.
Long time ago he threw away his pride and stopped declining those meetings. The perspective of a talk with another human being from outside world was too tempting.
She doesn't seem to be either. So he leans back in his chair, intrigued, waiting for her move.
"I'm here to hear your story."
They all are.
"Then that's a shame you troubled yourself all the way here." His lips pull up in a bitter smile. "You could just read the papers. It's all there. All juicy details included."
"I've already read the papers Mr. Castle. What I came here for is the real story. And we both know those are hard to find in the papers. "
Her answer surprises him, intrigues even. "Are you a lawyer?" He Is taking a blind shot.
She smiles like it would be something funny. "No, Mr. Castle, I work for the Daily Press. We want to print your version of the events from five years ago in our Monday edition."
"You don't look like a journalist."
" That's what makes me a good journalist." She takes out a notebook and a pen from her bag, putting them between them. "Let's start from the beginning. What do you remember of Saturday, January 9th 1999?"
"Do you believe I'm innocent?"
It's irritating, really, like he wouldn't hear her at all. "My opinion doesn't matter, sir."
He leans back in his chair, his face deadly serious as his eyes are studying her face. "It matters to me."
His eyes seem to be drilling through her soul and she forces herself not to look away.
It took her long enough to reach the place where she could genuinely ask herself that question. And she might be the only person in the world right now, who has something more than just the faith. But she can't tell him that, not right now at least.
"As a journalist I believe in facts, Mr. Castle and the fact is that you have been charged with first degree murder with special circumstances. The verdict was obtained by the Jury and you've been found guilty on all counts and sentenced to death by lethal injection."
He didn't expect such an honest and straight forward answer. What did she try to accomplish here?
"Now, can we now get back to your story? The trial was fast, evidence was solid, you were convicted in a heartbeat. The jury has accomplished the verdict only after one and a half hour of deliberation. And yet, for the whole time you claimed to be innocent. Who, in your opinion, framed you?"
"How do you know how long jury has deliberated, Kate?" He asks, all of his senses at high alert. There is something in her, something that just doesn't feel right.
"Mr Castle, this is not how it works." She sighs irritated, angry even. "You can't throw a question at me, every time I ask you one."
"You are right." He leans closer, irritated by this strange game they're playing. "So why won't we cut to the chase and you tell me why are you really here."
She doesn't answer at first, weighing up her next move. She can tell that he'd recognize any other lie so the only thing she can do to save the situation is to give him a piece of truth.
"You were right. I'm not a journalist." She watches as he is digesting the information, not really sure how to react. "I'm a cop. And I do believe you are innocent. I'm here to help you."