Chapter 4:
Author's note: I am increasing the rating on this chapter, not because of sexual content, but because of mature themes. If you choose not to keep reading, I understand. Neiman is sicker and more twisted in my version than the network would ever make her. The idea for this hit me back when we met Neiman the first time, and I haven't been able to shake it, so I decided now or never and wrote it. Not everyone's cup of tea. This will be a couple more chapters at most.
Castle knows exactly what "a kit" means - collecting evidence of sexual assault. He finds himself back exactly where he had been only a day before with the Kate look-alike, so beaten and abused, his own chest physically aching for what he fears has happened to his wife.
That monster leaves her looking immaculate, so all the scars stay on the inside. Just like a plastic surgeon.
"Dr. Gregg came right in and started, but almost immediately she said it wasn't what I thought. She went through most of the steps, said there was no evidence of-"
A tap on the door interrupts her mid-sentence, and Dr. Gregg returns with a handful of printed pages.
"Kate, is it all right if I come in? It might be best if we speak in private."
Kate's coffee joins his on the table, and she smiles weakly at the white-coat-clad woman.
"Please, come in, and this is my husband, Richard Castle. I want him here for this."
Castle vacates the single chair, reaching out to shake hands as he gestures for the doctor to take his spot at the bedside. Dr. Gregg give his hand a firm grip, her hand warm against his, then sits and turns to Kate.
"OK, so during the exam I told you I saw no evidence of sexual assault, no obvious sources of DNA evidence. I did a preliminary look at the samples I gathered, and there were no suspicious bodily fluids. Of course, the actual forensic evaluation will be much more thorough, and I can't say anything for certain based on just my review."
Kate plants her hands on the mattress and scoots up, jaw tightening slightly as she settles herself higher in the bed. Castle has kept silent, despite his growing list of questions, but now one slips out unintentionally as he rounds the end of the bed to take a seat on the mattress near Kate's hip.
"What about her symptoms, the reason she asked to have the kit done in the first place?"
The woman's eyes narrow slightly as she nods.
"That's what I was getting to. Right away, when I started the exam, I found the source of her discomfort. Detective, you said that you were held by two people, one of whom was a surgeon. By any chance, was that person a cosmetic surgeon?"
Now Kate's eyes narrow, but her voice remains steadier than his own jittering heart as she answers.
"Yes. Dr. Kelly Nieman. She's a fairly well-known plastic surgeon, or she was until our earlier investigation linked her with a serial killer. But what does that have to do with anything?"
Dr. Gregg nods, keeping full focus on her patient. Castle lays his hand beside his wife's on the bed, and she links her fingers with his, squeezing tight.
"As an OB/GYN, I've seen this a few times, but never so soon afterward, that was why I stopped short of the full exam. You've had surgery, Kate. It's the incisions and stitches that you're feeling."
Kate's eyebrows shoot up, he imagines in a mirror image of his own. Nieman is sicker than even he has given her credit for.
His wife's voice is so soft it is almost unrecognizable.
"What kind of surgery?"
"I brought you some literature with details of the procedure, but it's often referred to as hymenoplasty, or the slang term, which I chose not to use, re-virgination."
Castle grimaces, swipes his hand across his mouth to conceal it.
He has heard of this: wealthy socialites having "work done" as a strange sort of gift to their husbands for a big anniversary, women of certain religious or cultural backgrounds going under the knife before marriage.
Their silence drags on a beat too long, and the doctor takes that as a sign to continue.
"Some cosmetic surgeons specialize in this area. They take nearby tissue and rearrange and reattach it, so that it simulates what the hymen may look like in a woman who has never had penetrative intercourse. The difficult part to justify, in my personal opinion, is that this mythical 'hymen' doesn't look the same in any two individuals, can never be seen at all in many, and certainly has nothing to do with the social construct of 'virginity.'"
The physician's voice rises as she speaks, one hand fisting tightly around her pen, her thumb clicking the button on its end twice when she pauses for breath. Heat is blooming across Castle's cheeks, and the space between his palm and Kate's is slick with perspiration.
"When I stepped out earlier, I called a surgeon who refers patients to me to find out a few details. There are varying levels of complexity of the technique, some create a visual illusion, while others give that tissue a nerve and blood supply."
He breathes in slowly through his nose, lets the air fill his lungs to capacity. Dr. Gregg laces her fingers between her knees, leaning forward on her elbows.
"The most elaborate version provides a 'convincing' display of losing one's virginity with the next episode of intercourse. That can be important in some cultural contexts, so says my colleague. It's obviously not my place to judge - a woman can do whatever she wishes with her body. But against the patient's will? This is assault, no question about it."
The last time Kate had been taken from him, he had asked for details. It had been weeks before he finally them, in the aftermath of a flashback from Kate's PTSD. She had described the icy water, gritty and acrid with algae and silt, filling her mouth and nose with needles of bitter cold, the haze that had eventually shut down her body and brain. After hearing it, his nightmares of her dying in that basement with him watching, frozen in place, unable to help her, had woken them both for weeks. He still has one occasionally, though her PTSD has calmed. Despite all that pain, the instinct to know bubbles over now.
"Can you tell which version of this was done to Kate?"
"As I said, I'm no expert, but this looks extreme. Knowing the circumstances, I'd guess it was done to make future intercourse as unpleasant as possible."
His heart thuds out of rhythm, as Kate's hand clamps down hard on his fingers, her jaw muscles working before she opens her mouth to speak. Her tone is flat, deadly calm.
"Can it be reversed?"
For the first time since she has sat down, Dr. Gregg smiles.
"Yes, with a relatively simple procedure in my office. We can use local anesthetic, and there would be minimal discomfort or bleeding, probably no stitches required."
Kate's back straightens at the word "stitches."
"But the area has to heal first, otherwise there could be long-term complications, scarring. That will mean six weeks of complete pelvic rest. I would be happy to see you after that to reverse it."
His wife's nostrils flare, lips pressed tight just before she asks, "Earlier you said something about alternatives? What else could be done besides another procedure?"
Kate pauses just before that last word. Then she releases his hand to shift in the bed again, wrapping both arms around her knees.
"Your other option is to let everything heal and then attempt intercourse. Maybe I'm over-estimating the degree of discomfort you will feel. Either way, you have the next six weeks to make your decision."
Dr. Gregg reaches for her pile of papers and lays them out on the bed in front of Kate.
"These are instructions on caring for the incisions, and your nurse will go through them with you when you leave. For what it's worth, everything looks very expertly done. I don't anticipate any medical complications at this point."
Kate peers down at the reading material, still curled up with knees tucked against her chest. Dr. Gregg leans in, places her hand over the top paper, draws her patient's eyes up to her own.
"Kate, this is a lot to handle. The physical recovery is only going to be a small part. Do you have a therapist you could speak with, or can I call one to come speak with you here?"
Kate blinks, shaking her head slightly.
"No, I mean, yes, I have a therapist; you don't need to call one. I'll make an appointment."
Castle's shoulders unclench slightly. Burke will know how to help.
"Any questions? I'm leaving my contact information; you can call me any time."
"No… No, I can't think of anything. Thank you."
The doctor leaves, the pile of papers and her card stacked neatly on Kate's table.
Neither of them says a word. Castle starts to speak a handful of times, but stops himself when no words come. She extends her hand to link with his again, her fingers twitching and gripping intermittently between his, that contact helping settle him.
When she breaks the silence, resting her forehead on her knees, he watches a single salty drop trace a path down her nose until it falls.
"This explains how you found me." Her voice wobbles, but the steel wins out as she references her case, puts together the clues. "He had me laid out in that huge bed, dressed me in that white Victorian get-up. Virginal."
She draws out the first syllable as she lifts her head, finding a spot on the opposite wall. He grips her hand a little tighter, reminding her of that point of contact.
"He must have known what we've been-" her carefully neutral expression collapses in on itself, and a single sob escapes. Castle's arms ache from staying still, from not touching, waiting.
"Damn it." She swipes at the tears, and then presses the pads of her thumb and index finger tight into the corners of her eyes. Clearing her throat, she begins again, voice gone to gravel.
"He planned this to get between us; to ruin us."
Castle's blood boils, skin flaming with heat, and he scoots closer to her before he clamps it all down to speak.
"He told me years ago he watched us making love. I've swept the loft a dozen times since then just to make sure. He must have found some other way."
Kate meets his eyes, hers already red-rimmed and puffy, but she doesn't look away.
He takes both her hands, warms her icy fingers between his palms, as he continues.
"We'll search the whole building, across the street, down the block. We'll figure out where he's watching from. We'll find him, them. And I swear we will make them pay."
Her forehead nudges into his, the rest of her face blurring out of focus with the nearness and the tears filling his eyes. His voice trembles, but rings true.
"Kate, nothing can ruin us. Not them, not what they've done. I love you, and you love me, and in the end, that's all that matters."