Chapter 2:
"We had Beckett's prints from the basement, but Gates wanted us to run hers," Esposito tips his head in the direction of Not-Kate's room, "just to be sure."
Relief is the first shaky wave that washes over him, the flat of his palm catching the brunt of his weight as he half collapses into the Formica counter at his hip. But in its wake is a bloom of shame that turns his stomach sour.
How can he stand here and feel happy about another woman's suffering, just because that woman is not Kate Beckett?
And then it hits him.
Kate is still with Tyson.
When his eyes flash up to Esposito, the detective has rocked forward, weight on the balls of his feet, brows raised, waiting silently as Castle's brain makes the connections.
"Where are they? What have you found since yesterday?"
Esposito is off like a shot down the hall, Castle hot on his heels, as he answers.
"Not much, but the mother disappeared."
Despite his lack of sleep, the wheels are starting to turn.
"She was in on it."
"Or Nieman and Tyson took her, too. Either way, it means we can't trust that DNA. Tooth could have been planted."
They reach the nearest exit, and the detective pushes through into the night, the darkness taking Castle by surprise after so much time inside the hospital.
"Where are we going?"
Castle's coat disappeared sometime before they had arrived at the hospital; he wishes for it now as the wind whips in bursts down the valley of buildings lining the avenue.
She might be shivering in an alley right now.
"Upstate. Got a hit on our BOLO for the mom's car. Hurry up. Ryan's already on his way with Gates."
He wakes with his face smashed against the window, condensation flaring out in a frosted arc.
"'Bout time, Sleeping Beauty."
They are pulling into a truck stop alongside an SUV with a steady plume of exhaust exiting its tailpipe.
State police cruisers have joined the party, wherever this is, and Esposito chimes in on his headset.
"Yo. What do you mean, slow? We got here with 3 minutes to spare. I'm gonna suit up."
Turning to Castle, the detective's jaw clenches.
"You don't have to do this. After last time-"
"You got an extra vest?"
There is absolutely zero chance that Richard Castle will stay in this car.
Fifteen minutes later, his heart pounds so loudly he almost misses Esposito's count as he and Ryan lead the team through the whitewashed front door of the the two-story red brick farmhouse.
He brings up the rear, falling in line behind Gates at her insistence. He hears each pair of officers, "Clear," echo through the first floor rooms. Ryan and Esposito have disappeared, but Castle spots the basement stairs and makes a beeline, shoving down the image of what he found the last time he descended dark stairs.
The boys have had the same idea, but they have seconds on him and are already calling their own signal up to Gates.
As the space comes into view, with its red velvet 1970's couch and mismatched washer and dryer, the sick churning in his gut calms slightly. No sign of foul play. But also, no sign of Kate.
Ryan meets him on the stairs, mouth tight and eyes wide with the same glassy look he has given Castle since Tyson reappeared. The other man's shoulders stoop as he climbs the stairs with heavy, flat footfalls past Castle.
Esposito motions for Castle to follow his partner, and just as he turns to do so, a shout rings out from somewhere upstairs.
By the time he reaches the doorway on the second floor, officers are spilling out into the hall. Panting from his sprint up the stairs, he yells her name and shoves through the bodies in his way.
"Kate!"
He gets no answer, but pushes on, losing his balance as he bursts through and catching himself on the arm of one of the state police just inside the door.
His eyes immediately snap up to the head of the large four-poster bed.
And there she is.
Kate.
Whole.
Perfect.
Face unmarred, skin pristine against the deep blue nest of pillows.
"Kate?"
Her eyes are closed, features serene, unmoving.
Gates has already reached her, and Castle's voice breaks as he asks, begs to hear-
"Is she-?"
"Alive. She has a pulse."
He is at her side, fingers lacing with hers, taking in every detail that shows above the thick down comforter tucked under her arms. Even though he can find no scratch, the impostor's images looms, and he pulls down the blanket, searching for other injuries. Someone has dressed her in an old-fashioned white cotton nightgown, high necked and long sleeved. Her hair haloed in bronze waves across the pillowcase, Kate is a porcelain doll perched in this antique bed, an angelic Sleeping Beauty.
Paramedics appear, assess, still he holds on to that warm, little hand.
He ignores their buzzing requests to let go, move back, let them work, until Gates' ice pick voice pops the bubble that has surrounded him and Kate.
"Mr. Castle, if you do not step away we cannot help your wife."
The muscles of his hand clench harder, then release. Somehow he stands, keeps his feet under him, and backs away, but his eyes remain fixed on her face. Something flutters in his chest, too early to name, but it nearly makes him smile.
More voices muffled by the buzzing in his ears announce their findings.
"Heart rate 94, respirations 16, BP 110 over 68. Tape and puncture marks right antecubital. Pupils-"
One EMT has just placed the pads of his thumb and forefinger over her eyelids, tiny flashlight in his other hand poised at her temple, when Kate's eyes scrunch tight. Her head presses back into the pillow, turning side to side, shaking off the EMT.
Castle steps closer on trembling legs, tries to speak only to find that first he must breathe. On his shaky exhale, he breathes her name.
"Kate?"
Beckett's eyes fly open, roving and wild, then she opens her mouth, and she screams.