I walked into the place where then newspapers said my dad worked. I had never met my dad before. I don't even think he knows about me, well he will in a couple of minutes. I had an army duffel bag over my shoulder and a type writer that looked like a wide briefcase.
I took a deep breath and walked through the doors. I immediately saw the receptionist and walked up to her. She had pretty blonde had that had been scrunched and put to one side. She looked up at me, then my duffel bag.
"How may I help you miss?" She asked politely, still eyeing my duffel bag, maybe thinking it was something dangerous.
"Yes, I need to see Castle." I told her.
"Okay, he's up on the third floor," She pointed to my duffel and my typewriter, "But I'll have to keep those down here until you leave." I was a little disappointed, because I didn't really trust other people with my stuff. I put my luggage underneath her little desk.
"Can you make sure nobody touches them?" I requested. I had actually had a paper in the typewriter and if that was ruined, I would loose days of work. "Yes miss."
I nodded to her and went to the elevator and pressing the button. It seems as if everything slowed down for me. I'm telling my Rick Castle that he has a daughter (or another child; I don't know if I have any siblings). The door opened and I stepped in quickly, pressing the button that had '3' on it. The jeopardy music that was playing in the lift didn't really ease my mind. It seemed to me that the music was playing for him, my father, like Alex Trebek l going to be behind the elevator saying, 'What is you have a daughter?' I came up fairly quickly and exited the elevator.
Right as I was walking towards the to ask someone where (or Dad, I guess?) I ran into somebody and the papers they apparently had in their hands fell into the floor. I bent down to pick up the papers, but not without looking at the person I had bumped into. He was definitely a man. He was also Hispanic and seemed maybe mid thirties.
"I'm so sorry," I apologized as I handed him the papers I picked up. We stood up and he organized his papers as he had before.
"It's alright, I wasn't looking either." He took a good look at me, "What's a girl like you doing up in the homicide department?" I bit my lip nervously, anxious because of the reason I was up here.
"I need to find Castle." I told him. He looked at me weird.
"Castle?" I nodded, "He's right over there, with the lady with brown hair." He gestured his head to the back hear an empty room with tables. "Thank you." I went to the back where he had pointed out. I saw a man about six feet in height and brown hair just like mine. I walked towards him. I felt a pit in my stomach get bigger and bigger with every step I took. Most people had butterflies in their stomach, but I had the whole freaking zoo in mine.
I walked up to them and I was about to interrupt their conversation and my mom drilled it into my head that interrupting was rude and to never do it. But never mind that, the lady with the brown hair had noticed me standing there. "How can I help you?" She asked me.
I fiddled with the ends of my hair I had in my hand so I had something to keep myself busy.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, but are you Castle?" I asked, looking at the man that may or may not be my father. He kind of looked like me. He had blue/green/gray eyes that were just like mine. And the brown hair that had matched mine exactly.
"The one and only. How may I come of your service?" He asked mannerly. I bit my lip anxiously.
"Can I speak to you? Alone?" I scratched the back of my neck. Dad looked at the lady with brown hair and she nodded her head to the room behind her, the room with all the tables and now that I look a cappuccino and coffee machine.
"Break room's free." And she walked off, to her desk I presume. I looked at Dad and he opened the door for me and I quickly shuffled in and sat down at the nearest table. Dad came in and sat right next to me.
"So, what's this all about?" He asked curiously. I breathed in a sigh and pulled out an old Polaroid that my Mother had given me. It had her and Dad in a bar, but they looked happy. I laid the picture out in front of him. His eyed grew wide and he picked up the picture.
"Do you know who the woman in the photo is?" I licked my lips, "May Guyer?"
He breathed a deep sigh, as I did before. "Yes I know who she is. What's this about?" He repeated his earlier question.
"I got that photo from my mother when she told me who my father was. My name is Haley Guyer. I'm your daughter." In the silence you could literally hear the cliche cricket chirping in the background. Dad was silent for a while. I looked at the picture, My mom's blonde hair was natural and her green eyes sparkling. The red dress she was wearing looked perfect on her.
"You're really my daughter?" He asked. I nodded.
"Look at us." He looked at my face, like he was searching for something. He would see his exact same eyes on me. Same hair. Same crooked smile.
"I have one question." He told me. Only one? I had millions when my mom told me.
"Shoot."
"Why now? Why come tell me now?" I thought for a couple seconds. "Now? Because right now is the easiest time, I guess. I had to put my education on hiatus for a bit, but now that I'm back on my schooling and I've moved out I thought I'd come." Dad looked at me like he wanted to know why my schooling was on a break but it didn't last more than a split second. He stood up, and I followed after him.
Catching me off guard, he hugged me. He put his arms around his shoulders and hugged me. I hate being touched, but this felt different that repulsing hands trying to touch me. This felt... odd, but I put my arms around his torso, hugging him back. I was hugging my father. The person I had hated because he was never there for my first eighteen years of my life. He let go of me but kept me at arms length.
"Where are you staying?" He asked me.
"Some random 'don't ask, don't tell' motel probably, until I get an apartment." I told him. I hadn't gotten a place to live yet, I was going to do it after I had met Dad.
"Probably? No, you're coming to live with me, my mother, and my other daughter, Alexis." My eyes widened. He lived with his mother and his other daughter! I don't know how they'll feel about me, or even if they'll like me. What if they hate me?
"I really don't want to impose-" I started out.
"It's no imposition at all. You're seventeen, I'm guessing, you can't live on your own."
"Eighteen." I corrected him (I can technically live on my own now), "As I said, I have been living on my own for the past few months." He looked surprised. Which was odd, because I am eighteen.
"Your mother let you live alone? I don't want to let Alexis go to a friends house for the weekend, I wouldn't want her to live alone when she is barely eighteen." He asked, not believing it. I sighed.
"I graduated at fifteen and I went to an educational institute to learn. I major in Anthropology, General Psychology, and Botany." I informed him. I actually transferred here from my educational institute. I haven't completely transferred to NYU just yet, but I will.
"Three degrees?" Dad asked completely bewildered, "You are your mother's daughter." I smiled at that. My Mother was a very smart woman. She majored in Chemical Engineering and minored in business/marketing. She's a professor in Chemical Engineer Professor at UDC. I'm guessing Dad knew that, well her majors and stuff.
"Are you doing anything else today?" He asked me. I was going to get settled in and maybe call Lance, one of my friends from when I used to live in D.C.
"What else could I have planned?" I asked, but I think that might had sounded a little sarcastic. I'll have to get used to new people, and they'll have to get used to me. The thought just scared me.
"Nothing," He walked out of the break room and into the bullpen where the woman he was talking to sat. "Beckett, what are we doing for the rest of the day?" I think it'll be a clear assumption to say her name was Beckett; she's probably a detective here as well.
"I'll be doing paperwork, Castle." She told him, as if there was no we, just I. I guess dad didn't do everything a detective does, just the cool action packed parts.
"Would you mind introducing us?" She motioned to me with her pen. He looked like he forgot about me for a second.
"Beckett; this is my daughter, Haley. Haley; this is Detective Beckett. She's a homicide detective here." So my assumption of her name and profession were correct. I wonder how many more things I could read about her. I learned over and shook her hand, and she looked taken aback at the word daughter.
"Been hiding something from me Castle?" She jeeringly asked. She sat back down in her chair and regained herself.
"My mom wanted it kept secret," I told them. "At least till I turned eighteen. Apparently he is a bit of a skirt chaser." I looked over at him and smirked. I don't smirk much, but I've been told I look like a Slytherin.
"Only a bit?" Detective Beckett asked me smiling. Dad clearly didn't want this happening.
"So, am I free to go officer?" He asked joking. She rolled her eyes, but fought a smile.
"Yes, I'll call you if someone winds up dead." He smiled and started to the elevator, and I of course, followed along. He yelled a quick 'thanks' to her and right at the lift, Dad almost ran into someone.
The man was not the same man that I had ran into; he had brown hair and a three piece suit. "Ryan, you need to watch yourself." Dad teased.
"Oh, Haley, this is Detective Ryan. He works alongside Beckett. Ryan; this is my daughter Haley." I waved at him. He nodded at me in acknowledgment and then shot Dad a confused look.
"It's a long story," Dad told him. Detective Ryan just nodded and walked in between us. We walked into the elevator and he hit the first floor.
"Okay," he started, "What do I need to know about you, other than you major in Anthropology and General Psychology and that you're eighteen." I sighed. You think you can describe yourself pretty easy to someone until you're asked to, and you can't think of the words to say.
"Well," I breathed out a breath I had been holding, "How about you ask me a question and I'll try to answer it?" Sort of like a one-sided twenty questions.
"Favorite colour?" He said immediately, apparently liking the idea.
"Olive," I replied without thinking.
"Favorite book?" Easy.
"Crescendo by: H.G. Sean." Maybe because I wrote it.
"Really?" He asked, interested.
"Yeah, why?" I looked at him questioningly. Maybe he hasn't read The Empty trilogy? Or maybe he thinks they're disgusting, and he hates them? Maybe he really likes them but has to keep it a secret because he's written a lot of murder mysteries? Maybe-
"I see you as more of a Sarah Dessen fan, not really a H.G. Sean fan." I look like a girly book kind of girl? "I mean-" He started.
"Oh no, it's fine," I told him. "I'm a fan of Dessen as well, but she's not in my top 10." I smiled.
"So you like reading?" I nodded. I did love reading, and writing. I mean, to become a great author you have to read a lot.
"Um," he drawled in thought, "Do you believe in bigfoot?"
"Yes," I said definitely. Bigfoot was always a big mystery, and he (or she; they do have both male and female Sasquatches). He didn't hide his surprise.
"Mermaids?"
"Well, they could be real, but I don't particularly think they exist." I told him truthfully.
"Do you have and brothers or sisters?" He asked as we reached the lobby. We walked up front to the desk.
"Well, apparently I have one sister." I smiled. I have a sister, was it Alexis? "How old is Alexis?" I asked.
"She's fifteen." I smiled. I remember being fifteen. That year was pretty fun. I have a younger sister. I reached the receptionist's desk and grabbed my things with a quick 'thank you' and a fiver slipped into her computer keyboard. (I mean I am a pretty generous tipper, even though she just watched my stuff.)
"What does she look like?" I questioned, huffing the duffle bag over my shoulder and putting the typewriter in my left hand and letting it hang down.
"She had red hair and blue eyes." He was pausing in between every word, looking at my typewriter like he was trying to decipher something.
"Is that a 1953 Royal Typewriter?" Dad asked. I nodded, smiling.
"How do you have that?" He asked, sort of with the voice of of shocked awe. "Those cost a lot!" I laughed.
"It was a gift from my publisher," I told him lightly. Might as well get it off my chest now. I mean, I know he's a fan of my books. I keep all the letters I'm sent and I have at least ten from 'Richard Castle; author of the Derrick Storm novels'. I don't know if he'll feel hurt, threatened, embarrassed, insecure, or resentful.
"Your publisher?" Dad asked curious.
"All in due time." I told him. "Do you have a car or are we hitching a taxi?" I asked, eager to get that conversation gone, well at least until I decide to tell him.
He went to go hail a cab, but it didn't work too well. I sighed and walked to the curb. I took the sunglasses off my head and waved them in the air. The next cab that drove by immediately pulled over to the police station curb. I turned to dad and smiled. Opening the cab door and scooting over to the left side dad followed in and told the cabbie the address- our address. We rode on.
"Your publisher?" Dad asked again, not wanting to brush it off. I sighed.
"I wrote a measly trilogy under an alias. I'll tell the entire family later but this secret has to stay in the family. No press. No one except my family and my publisher." I rushed out wanting to rip the band-aid off quickly. He looked at me, like he was trying to size me up. Maybe trying to find out the genre of books I wrote? Maybe he was trying to decide if I was competition.
"Have I heard of it?" Picturing how many times he's asked me to join his poker group, I'd guess yes.
"I'd bet the farm on it." I told him, looking at the passing scenery; skyscrapers, brownstone, just beautiful architecture (which was almost my minor but there was too much math for my liking).
"New York's Best Seller's List?" He inquired.
"When I was fifteen," I told him, proud. "And sixteen and seventeen and a half."
"Impressive." He smiled. I took that as a good sign and smiled back. I thought about things for a moment. I was in a cab. With my dad. I had a half-sister and a grandmother. I have a red-haired, blue eyed sister (to dad's description). I was in NYC. I wonder-
"Dad, what's it like here?" I asked staring out the window at frozen traffic.
"Honestly," he started, "Its a little crazy, unpredictable. You never know of you're a step ahead or a leap behind." That'll be new, I thought.
"Perfect." The words escaped my mouth without my notice.
The building we arrived at was expensive. I could tell when the cab pulled up. I could also tell that Richard Castle had expensive tastes. He stood at the door and said, "Look I told them to have supper ready and that I had a surprise for them so hide behind me."
I quickly did as told and hid behind him. How would they react to me? Would they accept me into their family and let me in on all their little quirks? Would they secretly despise me but keep it away because dad seems to like me? Would they immediately dis me away like trash? Maybe they would just assume things about me without seeing the real me. The real author, crazy teenager, the incredibly smart (and extremely modest) me. Dad opened the door.
"Dad!" I heard a girl exclaim as she jumped on him to give him a hug. As fast as she got on him, she got off. "What's the surprise? Gram and I have had super ready for the last few minutes." I assume that's Alexis. My half-sister. My sister.
"Yes, darling," said an older voice. Its sounds like she is used to projecting her voice. Maybe an actress grandmother? "What is this cliffhanger you have left us hanging on?"
"Well, I have to introduce you to someone." Dad announced, moving his body away to let everyone see me. My tan leather jacket seemed tighter on me for some reason. I hugged myself, maybe if I seem smaller I will take up less attention. I hate being in the center of attention.
"Richard, who is this?" I properly looked at her now. A red evening gown, which astonishingly went well with her copper red hair. Older, as her voice gives away. The teenager next to her had copper red hair as well. She was shorter, and I could only guess this was Alexis and my grandmother.
"Mother, this is May's daughter." He put his hand on my back, walking me towards them.
"Who's May?" Alexis questioned. Grandmother (that sounds way to formal) answered the question for her.
"May was his serious girlfriend before your mother."
"She also came today and told me something shocking." Dad said quickly to stop anymore questions before the entire story is out. Everyone's attention was on him.
"She is also my daughter as well as May's." He ripped that band-aid off. Everyone seemed to be taking it in. Alexis was the first to speak up.
"So... you're my sister?" She asked, perplexed. I nodded.
"I guess so." My voice was quiet and almost hoarse. I was an introvert and meeting new people and being with people wasn't exactly my forte. Alexis jumped on me and hugged me like a bear. I'm guessing this family was a big fan of hugging. My arms went around Alexis's back and pulled her close to me. She let go and looked at me.
"You do look like dad." She noticed. "Come on, supper's ready. I hope you like spaghetti." She lead me to the table and everyone followed. Grandmother hugged me on the way to the table and whispered in my ear, "You can call me Gram."
And we ate a lovely meal.
They asked me a few questions. Like how old I was and why I had decided to come to NYC.
"When did you finish high school? Did you graduate with an early semester or something?" Alexis asked. I took another bit of my spaghetti and answered.
"Three years ago." I looked up at their faces before they were surprised. Most people are at least.
"You finished high school at Alexis's age?" Gram asked. I nodded.
"I had skipped three grades when I was younger."
"Really? Like how young?" The question came from Alexis.
"Try starting middle school at nine."
"Wow." Was all they had to say at that.
"And how far are you into your courses at college?" Dad questioned. I started picking at my food.
"I'm two and a half years into college." I answered dad's question. "I major in anthropology and psychology." I informed Gram and Alexis.
"Oh wow," Alexis muttered under her breath.
"T-that must be quite a feat." Gram commented. I took a bite of a meatball and shook my head.
"Psychology isn't really that hard, and anthropology has a lot of studying involved." I said to her.
"Do you have any other degrees?" Alexis wondered. I smiled at her. For some reason it was nice having the attention on me, but I don't want too attached because I get way too clingy.
"I finished one in botany when I was fifteen. My friend taught me, personally." Man, fifteen was a fun year. Like a roller coaster.
"A personal friend?" Dad asked. I nodded at him.
"Dr. Jack Hodgins, Ph.D."
-Richard Castle P.O.V-
Okay, I may have been mildly impressed. Hell, I was astounded. She, first, had the courage to come find me. Most people who are raised with a single parent don't go looking for their missing parent until they are middle aged, and they still have their other family to rely on (a spouse, children, parent, etc.) But she came on her own, at eighteen. And she has finished one degree and working on two more, and they're not easy subjects either.
Add more on to it she wrote a trilogy. I can barely meet the quota on my books and she wrote three on the bestseller's list. Before she turned of legal age. And she said she'd "bet the farm" on me knowing the series she wrote. But she acted like she knew something I didn't, like she knew that I knew of her books. Maybe she does, I don't know.
I could tell that mom and Alexis are impressed too. Haley's young enough to be Alexis's peer. And she finished high school. And is/has working/worked for multiple degrees.
And we ate. We ate a delicious supper provided by my youngest daughter and my mother (well much less than my mother). We all took turns asking her questions like: where were you born? (Buffalo, NY) Where did you grow up? (Washington D.C and more recently back to her hometown of Buffalo). Favorite music artist? (Fall Out Boy, apparently Alexis vaguely remembered it from one of her friends).
As we finished on supper and Alexis and Haley insisted on cleaning the dishes I asked for her favorite classic book.
"Fahrenheit 451." She told me with a smile. Her eyes where a pretty blue I've only seen in the mirror till now. She had long straight brown hair that didn't look like her mother's, so it must be mine (although my hair is a bit darker).
"Speaking of books." I hinted, looking at her. It was really bugging me. I wanted to know what she wrote.
"Oh," she said, a bit deflated. "Sure. Can you fill everyone in while I get the book. I thought I saw them on the bookshelf near the door when I came in." She wiped her hands off on a dish rag and went closer to the bookshelves in the living room.
"What're you guys talking about?" Asked Alexis, cleaning her hands of as well and sitting down on a bar stool like mom and I.
"She let slip that she had a publisher at the precinct."
"A publisher?" Mom questioned. I nodded.
"She said she had written a trilogy, each book coming out about a year apart. She said it was a family secret. She also said she would tell us after while. I've been wanting to know what it is."
"How has she accomplished all this?" Alexis wondered.
"I have no idea." Replied mom. Haley came back into the kitchen with a black box set. I recognized the box because I had to send it through the author's fan mail to get it signed.
"Oh my God," Alexis breathed. Mom look speechless. My eyes were just darting between Haley and the book. Haley. And the book. Haley. And the book.
"Are you serious?" I asked her. She nodded.
"My name is Haley Sean Guyer. I just switched around the Guyer and the Sean. H.G. Sean."
"That's so..." I started. "That's so simple. Like incredibly simple. Why didn't I think of that?" I muttered the last part to myself.
"Maybe because you didn't know my middle name?" Haley glanced down at the book and traced the signature-her signature. "I remember signing this." She pulled the first book out of the box. She went to the title page and looked at the personal note she wrote to me.
"Dear Mr. Richard Castle," She read. "Thank you for your high praise. I appreciate it greatly. Even though I can't play poker or live in NYC, I hope to one day meet you in person." Haley closed the book and slipped it back into the case, then walking over to the bookshelf where she got it.
"You sound a lot older, when you write like that." Alexis informed her. "I love your books." Haley smiled, then it faltered, but she easily brought it back.
"Thank you. It's, um, a family secret. If paparazzi gets a hold of this, they'll never let go." Mom took Haley's hand and held it.
"Your secret's safe with us, Haley." Haley smiled and kissed Mom's hand. I smiled. Back at the precinct, I could tell Haley was anxious about coming over here and meeting them, hell, I was too. But they looked like any normal family. My normal family.
I sat on the couch, and took another drink of my whiskey. I have been sitting here trying to work, I had hoped the comfortable couch and good liquor would help me out on writing the Nikki Heat novel. However, every time I went to type about the badassery of a woman who's a cop, I would hear Haley shuffle around in her room. It wasn't that late, only 11:45, but I couldn't help but to think what was she doing up there.
We had a guest room that would now be her room. Haley didn't have a lot of things with her: a duffel bag and her typewriter. What could she be doing at this hour. Haley should have passed out as soon as she touched the bed, with the day she had as she told us. Taking a seven and a half hour train ride and immediately coming to meet me, and interacting with two new family members you had no idea about until a half an hour prior.
I heard padding foot steps and I went back to typing instead of staring into space. I heard someone knocking on the railing of the staircase and I looked up. Haley was there wearing her pajamas, blue and orange tie-dye pants and a blue and orange jersey with the word 'WARRIORS' sprawled across the front (her high school colors and mascot maybe?). She held in her hands a black book, like a scrap book.
"Hey," I greeted, saving the file on my computer and then closing the laptop, moving over beside me on the couch. "How you like your room?"
"It's good." Haley came down the rest of the way down the staircase. "When I was unpacking, I saw that I had packed this at the very bottom. I heard you were awake and decided to give it to you now. I thought you might want to look through it."
She sat down on the other side of the laptop and handed me the scrap book. I took it in my hands and opened it up and the first thing I saw was May, with her shirt pulled up to show her protruding belly. The caption under it said, 'Four hours before Haley was born.' The picture under it was a photo of a baby with the caption, 'Haley Sean Guyer. 4:48 p.m. Seven pounds, nine ounces. Completely fine after May's gestational diabetes.' Haley had her eyes closed and had small blonde hair on her head. I smiled at the pictures.
"Thank you." I said not looking up. The pictures of Haley reminded me of when I was trying to procrastinate from writing and I looked through Alexis's baby book.
"The last time it was updated was a few months ago, before I left D.C. I just thought you'd want to look through it." Haley looked at her younger self in the book and twirled her hair that was pulled back into a ponytail.
"Again, thank you." I looked up at her, and then looked at the picture I had come cross from when she was two years old (as said by the caption). In the picture she had been sitting on a table in a bright pink dress, most of her nose and the apple of her cheek scrapped badly with scabs and dried blood, but she was smiling really big. I looked at Haley now, sitting on my couch. She was far from two years old. If you told me to look at Haley and to guess her age, I would have said at most she was twenty-two and at the very least eighteen. Haley looks like a twenty year old, especially when she was almost as tall as me when she was wearing her high heels today.
"Well I'm going to bed now, and you should too. You don't need to be staying up all night." She stood up and went to go to the stairs.
"Aren't I supposed to be parenting you?" I asked her. She smiled and patted my head.
"Night." Haley started up the stairs and I saw the back of her jersey with the name 'SIMPSON'.
"Don't let the bed bugs bite." I told her as she walked out of sight. I sighed, and looked at the book, fascinated with the younger Haley and what her life came to be.