I happily annouce the arrival of the 4th chapter. I'm sorry it has taken me a bit longer to update but receiving only three reviews kinda crushed my motivation :( so, yeah: feel free to review. PLEASE ;)

Also, I'm sorry that this is a bit weird- I don't like it that much but somehow... I didn't really get it. Anyway, I had to publish this because I have half of the next chapter in my head, waiting to be written down...

Thank you all for reading, adding my story to your alert list and to your favourit list and, of course thank you to my faithful reviewers. Once you'll all be mentioned but this time I'll only thank Jayce Gish who wrote 2 totally fantastic reviews! Thank you! You increased my mood considerably!

Well, okay. now that I'm on it: also thank you to I'm widget who reviewd quite frequently and to anyone else who reviewed so far. As I said, you'll be mentioned as well!

Before I wish you a good time with this chapter a hint: On my profile I posted 5 spoilers to Castle's season 3... you might want to check them out and give me your opinion ;)

Okay, I'm done with my blubbering :) enjoy reading and don't forget to review!

PS: If you don't feel like reviewing you can pay me back by writing a Ryan/Esposito bromance fic ;)

PPS: sorry to everyone who got me on their alert list- I posted this chapter without going through it again^^

Rick stared at the large square of papers he had put on the wall in his bedroom in the Hamptons. He was sure that he'd never done something like this if it wasn't for his total inability to sleep - let alone rest – or if he'd managed to forget for a blissful moment what happened back in New York.

He had written his mental murder board for three or four ties in his head till he couldn't focus on all the details anymore. That was at exactly 4:37 am. He remembered because that was the time he finally tiptoed into the kitchen and got himself a glass of milk and a handful of cookies.

After happily eating his not-so-nearly-midnight snack he tiptoed into his office, grabbed a pile of papers and two pens and started setting up his murder board in his bedroom.

After one and a half hour of writing, thinking, ripping various sheets of paper off the wall and rewriting them, he looked at his finished work contently.

Yes, it certainly was a beginning and maybe it would even help him to sort this mess.

The victim was he, obviously. And the suspects were Demming (Rick had already marked him as prime suspect) and Kate. He had also considered adding Ryan and Esposito to the list of suspects but had quickly abandoned the idea and decided he'd consider them as source for information. He decided to treat Lanie the same way.

So. Again. He was the victim because he had absolutely no clue what was going wrong. Demming was the prime suspect because a) he just couldn't stand him and b) he had taken Beckett from right under his nose when he had been soooooooo close.

Kate was listed as suspect only because she kind of triggered the whole mess and because she was the one who, and it had cost him quite some time and another handful of cookies to admit it, broke his heart.

So, yeah. It was out. Kate Beckett had managed to hurt Richard Castle. And it felt so … new. And every time he thought about her and well, her unpleasant boyfriend, it stung. It felt like something really sharp was forced into his heart and turned around just to hurt him a little more. It was an unfamiliar feeling and somehow, he was glad he hadn't felt it only once before and this was a long time ago when Kyra Blaine left.

And he hand no intention of letting Kate leave as well. He'd rather commit a murder than let her go, despite knowing this might not exactly be the best idea to get in touch with her.

He sighted deeply. Of course she wanted her to be happy, it was just, he wanted her to be happy with him. Not some some stupid random robbery detective!

After adding the few things he knew, like the facts that Kate and Demming were on a vacation now and that she had been trying to tell him something personal and important before he left, he allowed him to wallow in his misery. At least a tiny bit.

When he finally couldn't bear starring at the murder board and the really deforming cartoon-face he had drawn of Demming any longer, he took his mobile from his desk. He should start interrogating his suspects and since he didn't know (and didn't want to know) the number of Demming he dialled Kate's number.

He hoped she answers her phone. Somehow, he longs to hear her voice and suddenly he is overwhelmed by the emotion of missing something. Someone. He ends the calls and takes a deep breath. What if she didn't answer the call?

He thought about it for a moment and came to the conclusion that there was no reason not to answer his call. It was not like he did something to make her angry.

So he picked up his phone again, dialled her number and listened to the beeping coming from the line. Nothing. He glanced at his watch. Okay, it was 6 am, maybe he should call again later.

Ten minutes later was later enough and he tried it again. And again. And again.

But she didn't pick up her phone.

Of course the possibility of her… being preoccupied with Demming was forcing itself into his brain and he couldn't fight the sickness that was slowly developing in the pit of his stomach. He slammed down his mobile went to his window, breathed in the fresh air and tried desperately to forget the images that his brain came up with seconds before.

He never knew losing her would hurt so much.