CHOICES

Prologue

It was hot, but it didn't matter, they had a chance to play, it was the best part of the day. They lined up ready for the choosing and a quick game of soccer. The teams were picked quickly, the good players were called out, and then the rest. Everyone ended up on a team, but for the late picks, it was always the same. The old lesson, taught again and again, never forgotten. It was about who they were, and what they were worth. It was something they'd have to learn to live with.

The scene is played out daily in school yards, gyms and vacant fields. Everyone wants to be picked, it affirms what others think about them. It tells them about their skills and how they measure up. Later in life the choosing is done by promotions, friendships, marriages, clubs and even elections.

But the reclusive heart of Katherine Beckett-Castle did not long to be chosen. She didn't need the assurances of what others thought about her. There were other, more powerful drivers in her heart, some she understood and some remained a mystery, hidden even from her. Yet she found herself affirmed and chosen as one of the members of the most elite club in the world, the United States Senate.

Her husband, Richard Castle, had delighted in her latest promotion. His literally danced with glee over Kate's new position. He roamed the house, mumbling and practicing over and over, "Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present, the Honorable Senator Katherine Beckett." Yes she was now a member of that exclusive club with only 100 members. If she had doubts, he had none. For he considered her in a league all of her own.

As he thought about this new adventure, he recalled his first meeting with the young and beautiful Detective Beckett. He had just told his daughter he wanted something different, something new and unpredictable. Little did he know he was only seconds away from an encounter that would forever change his life. And then it came, the tap on his shoulder and the words, "Mr. Castle, I'm Detective Beckett, I have a few questions."

His life as he knew it ended with those words. Not instantaneously, but everything shifted. Not only had Derrick Storm been killed off, the old Richard Castle had just been mortally wounded, smitten by the young detective. His heart was only days from realizing that it had been stolen, and that he would be her "willing victim," as the old song went.

But now, after all they had been through. After watching her make so many difficult and at time impossible choices, he still expected bigger things for her. Even bigger than the Senate.

Richard Castle was not philosophical, poetic maybe. He was not religious, but things had changed for him and he believed his wife was more than extraordinary. Yes he was a writer of some fame, but his partnership with her connected him to a force and purpose that flowed like a wake before this incredible woman. He loved being with her and was still in awe at her depth of character and purpose.

He has decided on a shift in the focus of his writing, not abandoning fiction, but expanding into some new waters. He researched in areas he had ignored before, went down some new avenues of thinking, considered different voices.

In their work with the NYPD he and Beckett had faced the worst of humanity. People who dispensed death for petty reasons. They followed both the evidence and the story. They were often led to dark hearts and weak motives, none justifying the taking of a life. He, like all parents, wanted a good world for his child , but even he, the great optimist was having doubts.

In reading more popular novels he had stumbled across an idea of a group of people who brought equilibrium to the world. These were not superheros, but serious minded people in the everyday course of living, but making a radical difference. Despite chaos and calamity, the destructive forces were held at bay by the integrity of this small band. These keepers held the world back from the brink of disaster, from extinction.

The story's origin was in the Kabbalah, the book of Jewish mystical writings. It taught there are always thirty-six righteous people who keep the world from final destruction and judgment. The "thirty-sixers" do not know each other, they do not even know they are part of this special group. But their influence and power, by their unique conduct is transforming and regenerative.

Richard Castle believed, though not openly and for fear of what people would think, that his wife was part of this group. While there was no doubt the Senate was a significant position, she would always have an even greater role. He believed his wife was on of the lamidvavnick and that she moved, and breathed in atmosphere, maybe even dimension, different than the rest of the world. He marveled that he had come to such a conclusion, it sounded crazy when verbalized, but in his gut, it seemed right.

Without question, the most significant event and force for Katherine Beckett had been her Mothers death. It had shaped her and molded her like nothing else. Johanna Beckett's death was not only horrible, it was anachronistic and without justification. The years of investigation of the case and even its resolution had pushed Kate Beckett into a place few had ever ventured. She wanted answers, but she also wanted justice for her Mom. She wanted more than revenge, she needed to figure out the reasoning and the why. Her deep need to know, to solve the case had taken years, and over the course of time forged an alliance with the rule of law, with justice. She would not take the answers and dispense her own version of retribution on the perpetrators. They would be prosecuted in a system of laws, face a jury of peers and would pay for their actions. Any other way would make her just like them, and she would not become one of them.

Richard Castle had walked part of this journey with her, but his motivation was different. His goal was to solve the case and find the answers, but there was more. He was there to share her frustrations, the burden of investigating but also to help her bear the loss from which she never seemed free. Also to keep her safe and bring her back to the land of the living but in the end it was always, for his love of Kate.

While the world skipped to the beat of their own drums, Kate Beckett was forever changed by this decade of pursuit, that constant unrelenting need for resolution. The burden of this came at a great personal cost, it flowed into and over and everything she did. It influenced the way she cared for the victims of the crimes. The way she identified and shared their loss. Her empathy and drive for justice created an unspoken a alliance. Her attitude and work ethic, coupled with a reverence for the dead, called all around her to a higher order. She created equilibrium in the chaotic world of crime.

There were two certainties on this subject: Richard Castle was certain his wife was lamidvavnick. She was certain he was still crazy in love with her.

Washington, DC, Winter 2025

Chapter 1

From the outside, The Tabard Inn looked like just another dressed up old hotel in Washington D.C. But that was not the case. The Tabard was built in 1922, but in truth it was a time machine constructed of brick and mortar. Over it's long history in the District it had been connected to numerous women's social groups and clubs. During the great war it had housed Waves.

Stepping into the lobby one was transported 200 years into the past. The Tabard, built in the style of an English Manor was filled with the ambiance of the 19th Century. A guest might expect Dickens or Melville to stroll out of the antique bar.

The rooms were spacious, high ceilinged, with old style beds and furnishings to match. The bathroom decor was of beveled mirrors and cast iron bathtubs sporting clawed feet. The doors were painted and adorned with crystal knobs framed in polished silver trim with strikers to match. The curtains were delicate lace to hide the more modern privacy drapes.

As a child Christopher Lopez had visited the Tabard with his parents. He never forgot the bright red English breakfast room or the library's large wingback chairs and an assortment of books. It was the substance of his childhood memories. It was still magical for him.

After a stint in the Marine Corp he received his undergraduate degree and was off to George Town for a law degree. His goal was never to practice law, but to work in DC, the center the of power. His first job had been as an analysis for Senator Thomas Clay. He had been mentored by the best and proved to be a brilliant student. He has a knack for parsing through the minutia and cutting to the heart of an issue, the political hot spot. He was young by DC standards but was on track for great things.

After nearly 10 years at his job he moved, at the recommendation of his boss Senator Clay. He was to assist the party's newest Senator, Kate Beckett. He was awe struck by her beauty, confidence and meteoric rise. He saw the opportunity to be on her staff as a career tipping point.

The law of the Washington jungle was simple: the best defense was a good offense. This was a city of vipers, only the strong survived. Chris Lopez was determined to be a survivor. He had seen the strong disappear overnight for simple blunders. He had known little about the new Senator. She had been a Captain in the NYPD, heading up a homicide unit with a very high success rate. The twist was that for years her husband had worked with her side in numerous homicide investigations. She referred to him as her "partner," who was technically a consultant for the PD. Ironically he was not a former cop, former military, or even an investigator, but a fiction writer.

Chris Lopez decided his offense would have two paths: assist the Senator in every way possible in her new position and pursue her romantically. He reasoned it could not hurt, and could garner additional insurance for his political longevity. Even at forty-five, she was one of the most desirable women he had ever met. He discovered early on that his romantic schemes were pointless. She was grateful for help and advice, but remained business like in all inter actions.

It seemed to him that after a year she began to soften, seemed possibly vulnerable. He was unsure on why the shift occurred, but he didn't care. He had flattered her for the entire year and felt it was mostly wasted. But now he thought, maybe not.

And then something changed and she responded , it surprised him. He always considered his age his great advantage. He was eight or so years younger than her and nearly 20 years younger than her husband. He reasoned the age thing could only help and doubted little interference from the writer husband. He was dead wrong.

Chris had selected the Tabard for its magic and to impress her. This was their third visit. It should have been going great, it wasn't. This tryst thing was his insurance, but he had miscalculated and certainly misjudged her. She was not what he expected. He assumed she would be blown away by his youth, his stamina, but she wasn't. He thought she would open up to him, maybe complain about her life at home, let him be her confidant. Maybe even let him into her head. She did not. The only thing he got, was a sick sense of being used. It was a physical relationship, barely. At times he felt like he was not even in the room with her. She remained distant, always far away. He was beginning to worry how this might play out.

When they were done, they each dozed off. It had been a long hard and exhausting day.

Her first sensation was pain. Not from a wound or a cut, but one of deep sadness, as if she had just learned of a loved one's death. The sense of loss was overwhelming. She was being emotionally pulled apart, away form everything she loved. Kate looked down at her feet as she was dragged along a dusty road. She was manacled and as she pulled they cut into her ankles, hard. They slowed her forward progress. Her hands were cuffed in the front and they were so tight they made her fingers numb. There was a long connecting bar between the cuffs where a rope was secured and used to drag her forward. The pace was relentless. She struggled to focus on her surroundings. She had no idea where she was or who was pulling her. She has no idea where she was being taken which added to her fears.

Along the side of the road people stood and stared with harsh cold faces. She didn't know who they were or why they grimaced and frowned at her. Some yelled obscenities, other spit. She was so confused. From time to time she would see a face she recognized. She saw Lanie and Martha, but their faces were painted in grief and sadness, cheeks flooded with tears. They did not speak or call out her name.

Finally she saw him and her heart leaped. She knew he would help, he was always there for her. He could tell her what it all meant. She tried to call to him, her lips moved but she didn't have the breath to speak. After three tries she finally whispered a weak,"Castle." He did not make eye contact and he seemed to not even notice her.

In the next moment everything stopped, the rope went slack and he was stand before her. She looked up into his eyes, the piercing blue was now sad,in fact she had never seen such sadness. She forced herself to breathe deep, expanding her chest, drawing in all the air she could, and then in desperation cried, "Castle, Castle..."

Kate felt a hand on her shoulder. She bolted up and looked into the eyes of Chris Lopez, "Kate, are you OK? You were screaming."

"What,...what was I saying?" She asked gasping for breath.

He paused, diverted his eyes away from her, and said quietly, "You were crying out his name."

"Who's name?", she plead.

"You were crying out, "Castle, Castle", over and over."

Chris looked at her but said nothing. Wordlessly she arose and moved to a chair by the window. For several minutes she just sat in the dark room. The she parted the curtains and looked out onto "N" Street. It as nearly deserted so she pulled the heavy drape back more giving her an unobstructed view of the the world below. She pondered the darkness and wondered how her life had come to this. She turned back an looked at the figure stretched across the bed, and just shook her head.

Down on the dark street, he was ready the moment the curtain moved. In fact he was even surprised, but pleased when he saw her. He focused his camera on the window, click, click, click, and as she turned her head away from the street, click, click click. He muttered to himself, " A good shot, might get a bonus for tonight's work."

In her heart, she considered herself always faithful. She was not. The collision between her heart and her actions left her vexed and angry. Even when the search for her mother's killers had slowed or just stalled, her frustration were manageable. Not this. It was slow burning anger during the long years. but this was rage. She knew the difference. This rage sprung from a self-inflicted wound and she wondered if it was fatal

What had led her to this place? Why such terrible choices and this hell of betrayal against all she held dear. Even in sleep she knew she knew who she needed, who could help. She needed him, she needed Castle, her partner, her husband, he alone could help her sort out this soiled mess. But how could she turn to him, the betrayal would break his heart.

It needed to end and it needed to end now. It needed to be buried, forgotten and never allowed to see the light of day. She would find the time and place to tell him, she promised herself. He could not find out, except from her. She shuttered at the thought of having to explain, but she would. She feared she would loose him and everything that mattered to her. Over and over she rehearsed the story, but it never fit, it never made sense. How did she ever allowed this to happen?

"Chris", she called out softly.

He rolled toward her and sat up, "Kate, what time is it?

"11:35, I need to go!"

"Wait, wait, let me get dressed, we'll go out the back, I'll take you to your apartment."

They finished dressing in silence. Kate had nothing to say, Chris could feel the ice of her mood permeate the room. Listening to someone cry out in their sleep, for their husband, was something he never expected. He needed to cut his losses.

He tried to sound causal and asked, " Hey are you OK?"

"No", was all she said.

While Kate was checking her hair in the bathroom, he sent the text, short and to the point: back door 5 minutes.

As they walked out the rear door toward the car, he pulled her into his shoulder and kissed the side of her head. Click, click, click. He knew his great scheme was unraveling and his good political senses told him this blunder could cost him everything. He finally knew, there was no magic at the Tabard, and if there ever was, he had killed it.

Richard Castle liked the phrase, "Scotch neat." It had a nice ring to it. But he preferred his over ice, like the glass of Macallan he now held. He found it ironic that only scotch, or bourbon, could be neat, the rest of life was much more complicated, much messier. His life had drifted far from neat. Early that evening he had received a short text from Beckett; Working late, call you in the AM, KB.

Such brevity and business tone was not like her.

For years he and his wife had thought in sync, spoken in sync and seemed to parallel one another in their thinking. They communicated well even on the non-verbal, sub-text level. They shared an intuitiveness about where the other was going with an idea and often spoke for each another. It was seen as uncanny by those around them.

His intuition was pinging loudly. All was not well. He could feel her drifting and it scared him. But more than anything, he just missed her. Any room was better and brighter with her in it. He was embarrassed over his dependency and need for this woman. He told himself to stop worrying. She'd be home in just 48 hours. He could not wait. The ringing of his cell phone, pulled him from these dark thoughts.

"Hello", his voice was flat and he wondered who was calling him this late, "Who is this?" He snapped.

"Mr. Castle, my name is Bryan Lewis, I'm a reporter with the Washington Gazette."

"Who gave you my private number", he demanded.

"Mr. Castle, it was Paula, your agent. You may not remember but we've met once or twice at your book opening in DC. My papers run some article and reviews on both the Storm and Heat series."

"I don't mean to sound rude Mr. Lewis, but why are you call so late in the evening?"

"Sir, I wouldn't normally do so, but, I need to meet with you, as soon as possible."

"Meet about what?" Growing more indignant with each passing second. He thought to himself, Paula is gonna catch hell for this.

"Mr. Castle, I can't discuss anything over the phone. As I told Paula, if you'll trust me and meet, if afterwards you feel I've wasted your time, you'll never hear from me again." His voice was urgent and plaintive in it's appeal.

The ping in his had gone from a soft buzz to a loud clanging. His stomach burned, but not from the scotch. After a long pause, he said, "When and where" and added, "Bryan I do remember you now. I have to tell, if I didn't, I'd never agree to such a meeting."

"Can you be in DC tomorrow before noon?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Mr. Castle, this is urgent, very urgent, or I would not ask."

With the details worked out, they agreed on the time and place. Castle said he'd text the exact landing time after the arrangements were made in the morning.

"Sir, I have one additional request."

"And what pray tell is that?" His voice now a blend of anger and fear.

"Under no circumstances can you tell anyone about this meeting, no one." His tone was now ominous, but not threatening.

"Do you understand and agree?" Bryan pressed.

"Yes Bryan, I will speak to no one about this."

"Thank you, I'll see you tomorrow," and the phone went dead.

After the call, and taking a minute to calm down, he laughed to himself, "Well, at least he didn't suggest a parking garage."