World on Fire
A/N: Thank you again to all of you who have been helping me with my "research questions" I am trying to keep this as accurate as possible. :)
None of Castle's books before the Storm series are in order but assuming that he wrote one a year starting when he was 20 and he is 8 years older than Kate, then he wouldn't be onto his Derrick Storm series yet when Kate was 19. That is my logic. I hope it is not too flawed. :)
Chapter 3
Kate stared at the display of books in front of her, the glossy covers, a hand reaching out of the ground scattered with flowers staring back at her. It was morbid and slightly over the top but she couldn't tear her eyes away. The days had been getting better, a little easier, inch-by-inch, moment-by-moment as they passed. Sometimes it felt like she was going through the motions: reading a textbook or writing a paper. She would study for tests and her mind would wander before she was able to reign it back in. But some days it was okay. Some days she could breathe easier and the weight on her shoulders seemed a little bit lighter. Her therapist seemed happy with her progress.
It had been three months and she was doing okay. She had stopped going out most night. Occasionally she would be at a club or a party but mostly she had started to keep to herself. Laura watched her, guarded, most days. Their friendship had become strained but it was no one's fault. Now Kate was just damaged and Laura wasn't. She had seen Paul a couple weeks before at a frat party, as she stood in the corner nursing her drink. He had seen perfectly happy with the brunette on his arm: the normal, smiling, undamaged brunette. The one that wasn't seeing a shrink twice a week and telling herself that it didn't mean anything that she suspected that her father had been drunk more times than not when she had spoken to him on the phone.
Then the phone call had come: another ten minutes of her life that she explained away, rationalized, categorized in her mind. Her father wasn't drunk, he wasn't slurring his words; he was just tired. He hadn't slept well since her mother had died. That was all. But the words still hung in the air between them. The case was closed: random gang violence. Her mother had been caught in the middle. They had no suspects, no leads, but three months after she had died it was done. Finished. A story with the last chapter left unwritten. No rhyme, no reason, just random.
Her fist clenched at her side as she thought about it, about the detective who had said that they would find the guy. Raglan. Random Raglan. That's how she would remember him. Random gang violence and her father sobbing into the phone as she sat on the edge of her bed staring at the wall— Laura's wall of cheerful posters. No justice.
Her hand unclenched and reached out slowly as an announcement blared over the intercom. Flight number #325 to New York JFK is no boarding. The words reverberated through her head. That was her flight. She should go. Her hand gripped the spine of the book, lifting it off of the flimsy plastic stand.
Flowers for your Grave. The Newest best seller by Richard Castle!
Kate flipped the front cover of the book open slowly as she cradled it in her hand, smoothing out the hard cardboard cover as it cracked slightly. Opened for the first time. Still smelling fresh and new.
Four murders in and the NYPD are still desperate for a lead on the serial killer that the tabloids are calling 'The Florist.' Struggling journalist Leroy Fine knows if he cracked this story he could get back everything he's lost – his job, his wife, his self-respect. So when Leroy uncovers a piece of evidence the cops have overlooked, he begins his own private investigation into the twisted and deadly world of The Florist. But as Leroy gets closer to discovering the killer's identity, he soon realizes he's put himself and everyone he loves in mortal danger. Now Leroy must decipher the Florist's riddles and unmask his identity… or end up the latest flower-covered corpse on the Ledger's front page.
The Police overlooked evidence and Leroy started his own investigation. He kept going; he didn't shove it aside as random gang violence. He didn't give up. She shut the book, gripping it to her chest as she made her way to the check out counter.
"Okay, Mr. Castle," Kate murmured herself as she wound her way through the airport, making her way towards the plane that was taking her home for spring break. "Let's see what you've got."
She didn't sleep that night, her eyes glued to the pages, flying over the words as she devoured each and every sentence. She had to know how it ended; she needed the closure, the justice. She needed Leroy to catch The Florist and to make everything right for the victims, the families and he did. He succeeded. She flipped over the final page of the story and her eyes landed on the sleeve of the back cover of the book.
Best selling mystery novelist Richard Castle lives in New York City and is being raised by his daughter.
Kate's fingers traced over the picture softly, with a sense of awe she felt deep down in her soul. He was young, maybe a few years older than her but he still had a playful glint in his eye, and a sly grin on his face. How could someone who wrote such dark material still be so alive, so playful, so undamaged? She curled her fingers in as she forced her eyes away and closed the back cover, placing the novel gently on her side table and reaching for the light.
For the first time in days, since she had the conversation with her father, she could sleep because The Florist had be caught and the families finally had the closure that she craved for herself.
It was Thursday before Kate finally allowed herself to face the truth, it wasn't just a series of bad days; it wasn't an isolated incident. It was constant and it was pain and she needed to be here for him. She had left him alone, abandoned while she had partied with her friends in California.
"I just miss her so much, Katie," her father whimpered as she slung his arm across her shoulder and hauled him up off of the couch and caught him around the waist as they both stumbled towards his bedroom.
"I know, Dad," Kate sighed as he sat down on the edge and she knelt down to pull off his shoes. She had tried talking to him, rationalizing that he didn't need to do this, but the words fell flat and she couldn't muster up the energy to keep fighting. She was tired too. She wanted to pull the bottle of vodka down from the cabinet and chug it until the pain was washed away and she was numb again. Numb was easier to deal with, to handle, then the constant gnawing sensation at her heart. Part of her didn't blame her father. He would make his way out of it and she would help him but she had to be strong for him. For them. For her. She couldn't allow herself to fall also.
It was only a temporary thing. He would heal and he wouldn't need his crutch anymore then they would both be fine. They would be able to talk about her and joke and laugh and cry. It would be like it was before. It would be okay. He just needed a little bit of help right now. He needed justice, just like she did. Closure. She could give him that. She could do it, for him. Leroy had done it. He had taken the matter into his own hands and had solved the case that everyone else had given up on. Raglan and the NYPD had given up on her mother, that didn't mean that she had to as well.
What are you going to do, catch the guy yourself?
Kate had stopped her rant, freezing in the middle of the dorm room where she had been pacing back and forth as Laura's scoff echoed through her head.
What are you going to do, catch the guy yourself?
Why not? Someone had to.
"You are not serious, Kate? You can't become a cop! People like us don't become cops we become lawyers and doctors and financial managers. We don't carry guns or wear uniforms."
Laura's arguments replayed in her head as she sat waiting in the admissions office at NYU Friday morning. Her friend had spent an hour trying to talk her out of her decision to change her major. Her determination had wavered as she had listened to the arguments. She jogged for exercise. She didn't lift weights. She didn't know martial arts or even self-defense. She had never held a gun or a knife. Her nails were always perfectly manicured and her collection of shoes and handbags was probably worth more than a street cop's annual salary.
She had almost stopped; she had almost given up. Leroy did it. He solved it when everyone else said he couldn't. He didn't give up, why would you?
Kate stood as her name was called and she made her way down the hall to the admission counselor's office.
"So, Ms. Beckett, you are looking to transfer from Stanford, is that correct?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you are pre-law? 4.00 GPA, impressive. You're a smart girl."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir, but I am going to be changing my major."
The counselor glanced up at her over the top of his wire-framed glasses and let out a sigh. "Ms. Beckett, pre-law is a great choice. NYU has an excellent law program. I think you would be very happy there."
"I'm sure I would, sir," Kate agreed, her jaw set; her eyes unwavering as they held his. "But I don't want to be a lawyer. I'm going to become a cop."
