Dark. If he could just see across the room he would be able to judge his distance, but in the basement, there was nothing for it.
He started the mental countdown at 10.
Every muscle tensed at 5.
When he reached 2, he grabbed for the ledge above his head.
At 1, he took a noiseless breath, and he vaulted over the wall.
When his toes hit wet, muddy earth he mentally cringed, but at least it absorbed the sound of his feet hitting the ground.
He felt the first bullet whiz past his left ear.
Fuck.
He crouched, hoping it had been a lucky shot.
Three heartbeats later, he knew it wasn't.
God damn it, bullet wounds hurt like a -
He clenched his jaw and made a run for the sliver of light he could see framing the only door.
His feet had no purchase on the slippery muck that doubled as a floor.
Meters from escape, he heard the heaving breath of his pursuer, tried to dodge, only to feel the steel bands of those arms close around his waist.
The mammoth weight of the other man propelled him forward, to the ground, sliding through the mud head-first until his head met his original goal - the solid oak of the door.
The searing pain in his side had nothing on the sick, heavy throb of his head and neck.
He felt the nausea overtake him, as the blackness of the room began to spin, then fall away. He was weightless, air rushing up, gravity sucking down, until he hit bottom.
Everything went still. Quiet. Warm. Soft.
Nothing hurt.
Why didn't everything hurt?
When had -?
How long -?
He shoved at the sheets cocooning his torso, escaped to kneel beside his bed, head cradled in his hands, tears scalding his sunburnt skin, leaking through his fingers to soak the fabric of his pajamas.
Breathe. He had to breathe.
Kate.
He could smell Kate on his hands.
The thought of her uncurled him, made him stand, hands shaky on the mattress, feet wobbly on the unslippery floor.
Kate.
She was asleep in their bed.
Fuck.
He needed to write down the dream.
Heaving himself off the bed, he stumbled toward the office, gripping his chair to keep his hands from shaking. His laptop was open. His password still worked.
Ten minutes later, he was staring through the window, brain buzzing with the echoes of this memory. Had he made it up? Was this some repressed plan for a Derrick Storm novel he had never written?
No. The feel of the earth sliding under his feet, the heat of the bullet grazing his chest - his fingers found the jagged line along his ribcage - too real even for his imagination.
There would be no sleeping now. At least not any time soon.
Licking his cracked lips, he stood and made for the couch, tugged the throw over himself, closed his eyes, and saw darkness.
# * # * # * # * #
Fire. The car had been on fire, and her fingers burned as they reached for the handle, nearer and nearer. Scalding. Flames licked her skin, singeing the fine hairs on her arms. Finally she grasped the handle, the metal searing her flesh. Pain radiated up her arm. But it was worth it, worth it to get to him. She needed to get into that car. The pain made her scream as she yanked the handle, over and over, the lever not catching. She could smell it, how the flames charred her skin, the red-hot metal branding her palm, but still she hung on, yanking, pulling with all her might. Why wouldn't it open? Castle was inside.
The sound rang out as she grunted and groaned, pleading words mingling with sobs of horror, desperation and agony. Suddenly she stilled, a new, tinkling sound familiar to her ears, and she turned, disengaging her black, charred flesh from the door handle as water started to rain down. The skirt of her dress was leaden as she moved, yards of tulle and lace weighed down by gallons of water.
"Castle?"
The lighthearted chuckle turned into a full belly laugh.
"Castle? What's so funny?"
She watched in horror, her hand - red, black, blistered - cradled against her body, as her fiancé folded forward, his body now consumed with cackling laughter.
She stepped toward him, the hem of her mother's dress dragging through the mud, hair plastered to her face, the residual heat from the fire still burning the frayed nerves of her ruined skin.
"Why are you laughing? How did you get out of the car?"
"Kate, Kate, Kate."
"Castle? What's going on? Why aren't you hurt? Why aren't you wet?"
Everything was soaked. The car, the ground, her hair, her dress, the trees, but not him. He was perfect. Tux, hair, shoes - like he was ready to walk down the aisle any minute.
"How much do you really know about me, Kate?"
Her heart pounded in her chest. Bile threatened her throat.
"Everything. I know everything."
"Then why wasn't I in the car, Kate? Why was I dropping the money?" He took a step toward her, and she stumbled back involuntarily.
"No. No!" She reasoned. "It wasn't you. Something happened. Someone else is behind this." But he kept coming, as her heels slipped and slid on the slick, muddy ground.
"What started it, Kate? Where was I for two months?"
"I don't know. You don't know. But we'll figure it out."
He stepped forward again, a smirk forming across his face. "Right. I don't know. You were haunted for months, and I'm gifted with amnesia. Why are you the one getting burned by the flames, Kate?"
She looked down to see the orange tendrils licking the bottom of her dress, climbing faster and faster, until the heat consumed her skin. She opened her mouth to scream….
Kate woke in a cold sweat, shooting up in bed as her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. Her arm felt numb, burning, throbbing with phantom pain as she instinctively cradled it to her abdomen.
Dream. It was a dream.
Her good arm reached out for the warm body asleep next to her only to find the space empty, the sheets cold, the pillow flat. "Cas… Castle!"
Gone. He was gone.
"No. No no no." He had been there. They had found him. They had found him, and he was okay, and there was something else going on, something bigger. Something to do with Henry and a scar from a bullet wound and Dengue fever and the tropics.
Her hands and feet clawed at the sheet as she pushed it away, stumbling out of bed, legs wobbling as they propelled her across the floor toward the door. He was here, he had to be here.
She froze, panting, as her shoulder slammed into the door jamb leading to the office, and her hand came up to brush the sweat-soaked hair from her eyes.
The light was dim, but she could see him, curled up under a blanket on the small couch.
Hauling herself away from the support of the wall, she crossed the short distance, crawling under him, insinuating herself between his body and the edge of the cushions.
"Castle?"
"Hey."
The greeting was quiet, muffled as he opened his eyes, clearly from the depths of sleep.
But he was here, he was alive.
"I woke up, and you were gone."
"Yeah, sorry." He scrubbed his hands through this hair. "Nightmare."
"Me too."
He reached down, pulled the blanket around her, drew her in close.
If he were lying, faking somehow, he wouldn't pull her in on instinct, keep her so close, would he?
Second guessing would get her nowhere. She tucked her nose against his chest, breathed in his familiar, nearly-forgotten scent.
"You okay?"
His voice was gravel, had been since he woke up. It rumbled through his ribs with his question.
"I will be."
He was so solid, so real. How could everything she knew, everything his mother and daughter knew, be a facade? The late hour, the darkness, the emotions of the day made her brave. Or stupid. She couldn't be sure.
"Castle, do I know you? I mean, the real you?"
Tugging back on the collar of her sleep shirt, he looked down to meet her eyes.
"Better than anyone."
"Then how could you leave?"
"I didn't mean to leave, Kate. I tried - I tried to get back." His eyes closed tight against that last declaration.
"Wait, did you remember something?"
Her fingers fisted in his shirt, found purchase.
"The dream. In my dream I was trying to escape. To get back to you."
"You remembered." Tears clouded her vision as she furiously attempted to blink them back.
"A few minutes at most - out of two months - that's nothing."
She closed the distance between them, found his lips, breathed the words against them as she drank in what she had dreamt of so many times before.
"It's everything."