Magic: Chapter 7
DISCLAIMER: None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.
February 23, 2012, 7:20am
Kate Beckett flies out of her unmarked car, sprinting to the front door of the now abandoned theatre in the Broadway district. For years, this theatre was home to some of the most popular plays adorning the Great White Way. Today, it's in the midst of a hiatus between events, waiting for the next big story to arrive with music and pageantry.
Today is not such a day.
Richard Castle is barely a step behind her as the large black SUV pulls up alongside Kate's car, emptying Agents Shaw and Avery. Detective's Esposito and Ryan are already out as well, just a step behind Castle.
"It's not locked," Beckett states, opening the unlocked door.
"Good. It just means we are expected," Esposito mumbles under his breath.
All six are through the door within seconds, their eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness, when a light turns on, a familiar voice appears.
"Ah . . . good . . . you made it on time. I would . . . hate for things to have to . . . get unpleasant so soon into . . . our show, Nikki."
They all turn to the sound of the voice, and find themselves staring at a large monitor – probably 50 inches or so – hanging on the wall roughly 15 feet away. On the monitor is Scott Dunn, with his trademark sinister smirk firmly in place.
"It's a video screen," Beckett says, with disappointment.
"Oh . . . don't be disappointed, Nikki . . . you will see me . . . in person, soon enough," Dunn laughs. He's laughing at them. Always one step ahead of them.
Just like last time.
"The name is Beckett, Dunn – and you know it," Kate says between gritted teeth. No, she probably shouldn't be baiting a serial killer, but she's approaching the end of her patience.
Scratch that – she went beyond her patience point hours ago. Now she's just pissed off.
"Kate, don't play his game," Jordan warns her softly, trying to keep from unsettling the psychopath on the other end.
"I'd listen to . . . the FBI agent . . . Nikki," Dunn says, placing unnecessary emphasis on the fictional name created by Castle for his favorite detective.
"We are here, Dunn," Jordan continues. "We made it in time. Now, where is my daughter, and where is Castle's daughter?"
"Oh, patience, Jordan . . . patience. I must say . . . you do look . . . ravishing this morning . . . Agent Shaw," Dunn tells her.
For lack of a better term, he is creeping her out, and she can tell this is intentional on his part. He's trying to keep her off balance – as if kidnapping her daughter wasn't enough. Suddenly, another set of lights turn on, and it is clear now that they are in the entry foyer area of the old theatre. Another set of lights turn on, off to the left, leading them into the theatre proper.
"Follow the yellow brick road . . . or at least the yellow . . . lights I have turned on for you," Dunn tells them, again laughing. "But don't take too long . . . the show is about to start."
Beckett takes the lead, following the lights that continue to turn on, with Castle, Esposito, Ryan and Avery in tow. Jordan Shaw hangs behind for a moment, taking in the surroundings as she walks slowly behind her friends into the theatre proper. The lights continue to come on, and they find themselves walking down one of the aisles, passing rows of seats, toward the darkened stage.
Suddenly, the stage lights up, and Richard Castle falters for a moment at the macabre scene spread out on display on the grand stage in front of them.
Standing some twenty feet tall, a large guillotine – straight from the French Revolution – takes center stage. An empty – thankfully - basket sits below the ancient apparatus. Also, thankfully, no human is in close proximity of the killing machine.
No Alexis.
No Jenna.
For the first time since they arrived at the theatre, Richard Castle is truly thankful that he doesn't see his daughter here at this scene.
The entire theatre is fully lit now, with a spotlight on the guillotine on the stage. The rest of the stage remains dark. And is that . . . yes, it is. It's circus music that is playing softly, at a disarmingly low volume, giving the visual in front of them an even more frightening vibe.
"Don't worry . . . my friends," Dunn voice tells them. Now his voice is coming from somewhere on the stage. "I have no . . . use for that large monstrosity over there. I am not a monster . . ."
They hear laughter, and then Dunn continues, under his breath.
"Or maybe I am . . . a monster at that."
Suddenly, one more light turns on – off to the right side of the stage. There, on a makeshift wall created on the stage, hangs another video monitor, with Scott Dunn's smiling visage all but teasing the shaken detectives, agents and writer. Below the monitor is a large chair. No, not a chair.
A school desk.
A large, over-sized school desk, at that. The desk is built into the left arm of the large chair, mimicking the furniture that each of the adults in the theatre undoubtedly grew up with. And on the small desk attached to the chair is . . . Damn!
Another guillotine.
This one is small – almost three feet tall, certainly no more than that – but it's a miniature guillotine nonetheless.
Most unnerving, however, is the entirely scared-out-of-his-mind figure that sits, strapped and buckled with metal shackles to the school desk, bound by his hands and feet. Specifically, everyone's attention is immediately drawn to the left hand of the man seated at the desk. It's wrapped in a bandage. A quite bloody bandage.
The forefinger, middle finger and a thumb are sticking out of the bandage. The other two digits are gone. That's when Esposito notices the blood on the blade of the small guillotine. Evidently, the machine has already been busy.
To the side of the school desk is a black board, on rollers. Okay, technically it's actually a green board, the kind every school kid for generations grew up with. And across the top of the board are the words, printed neatly:
"TODAY'S LESSON:"
"Okay, children . . . I'd like you to meet . . . Mr . . . no, I am sorry, that is not correct . . . Doctor Carter Burke," Dunn states from the screen.
"I apologize, doctor. I know that . . . you spent many years in . . . disciplined schooling to achieve . . . that title," Dunn continues. "But I digress."
The groan that escapes from Kate Beckett's mouth causes the other five in the theatre with her to pause, staring at her. The man in the desk is a complete stranger to each of them, except, of course, Kate Beckett.
"Dr. Burke," she says softly, shaking her head, holding on to one of the aisle seats to catch herself.
"Ah, Nikki . . . I see you recognize your . . . therapist . . . your shrink . . ."
This revelation does not get much of a reaction from Jordan Shaw or James Avery. Both have seen enough carnage to drive anyone crazy, so the notion that a police detective would be in therapy doesn't seem to surprise them.
Javier Esposito and Kevin Ryan, however, are another case.
As is Richard Castle.
For them, the news blows them over like a soft breeze kissing a strand of wheat.
Dunn, who can clearly see the reactions, laughs all the louder.
"Oh, this is just the . . . beginning, my friends . . . there is so much for you to . . . learn here today," he tells them.
"Dr. Burke," Kate says again, softly, her eyes glistening. They are close enough to see the tear stains dried on his dark and normally peaceful face. Today? That face is anything but peaceful. It has seen terror – and felt terror – first hand this day.
"So . . . here is the game . . . here is the magic trick for today," Dunn continues. "It is a lesson we all . . . well, some of us . . . learned . . . at an early age. It is called . . . honesty."
Kate takes three quick steps and is now at the make-shift stairs in front of the stage. Five steps and a quick sprint and she can have Dr. Burke loose.
"Ah ah ah, detective," Dunn tells her, and with that, the guillotine blade drops suddenly, only to stop after about a foot. Kate stops in her tracks, and the blade slowly rises back into position.
"Now, now . . . I need you to be a . . . good audience this morning," Dunn cautions with menace in his voice. "Follow the rules."
"What are the rules, Dunn?" Jordan asks, with more strength in her voice than she – or any of them for that matter – feel at the moment.
"Simple," he says. "An honest answer from . . . Nikki over there . . . saves fingers and frees the good doctor. A lie . . . well, thankfully he has two hands."
Dunn's laughter, swelling over the circus music, unnerves Castle completely. He falls backward into the aisle seat he stands next to, unable to shake the image in front of him, and unable to clear his mind of what atrocities this madman may have planned for Alexis.
Or may have already taken out on his daughter.
"I must warn you . . . however . . ." Dunn continues. "Honesty from our detective here . . . may be a bit of a . . . magic trick all in itself. Now, if I may ask . . . please take a seat, all of you."
Reluctantly, the remaining detectives and agents join Castle in the front row. Kate is the last to sit, as she has to come back from the stage steps to join her comrades.
"Thank you," Dunn states almost graciously. The man is totally unnerving, indeed.
"I have been watching you, Nikki . . ." he begins, and then with a laugh, his voice, his inflections change.
"Oh forget the pre-tense," he says, speaking with his normal cadence. "I've been watching you for some time now, Detective Beckett. You've been on my mind, to say the least. For a long time. So imagine my surprise when I followed you to the good doctor's office," he says, allowing the words to sink in for each of them.
This is something that he has planned. For a long time.
"Clearly, my curiosity got the better of me," he continues. "Believe me, Detective Beckett, I tried to forget this. I did, I really did. But eventually, my need to know won out," he chuckles.
"So I paid Dr. Burke a visit," he says. "Of course, our doctor here didn't seem very pleased to see me, once I made my intentions known. I asked - please understand, Kate – may I call you 'Kate'? – please understand . . ." he continues, staring at them from the video screen on stage.
"Please understand, I only wanted to really know one thing from Dr. Burke. I wanted to know what deep and dark secret you harbored, Detective. I wanted to know what you were hiding, what was trying so hard to get out of you, that you didn't want out, that would send you back and back and back again to the good doctor, here."
Dunn pauses here, and the front row patrons watch in horror as the serial killer brings a hand up so that it is visible on the screen, and clips two fingernails from his two smallest fingers. Then, pausing again and starting straight into the camera – straight into his audience – he adds menacingly:
"Such a simple thing that our doctor here will no longer be doing."
He chuckles, and then continues again.
"I must say, I believe I showed great patience with Dr. Burke here. I asked nicely, and then I asked not so nicely. I think it is worth you knowing, Kate, that it wasn't until the second finger fell onto the desk in front of him that he . . . shall we say, opened up, so to speak."
"God, no . . . you bastard, no!" Kate says, her head in her hands now, drawing curious glances from the others in the row with her.
"Turns out, Mr. Castle," Dunn states, "that our Detective here has been holding out on you. She remembers everything that happened that day she was shot. She remembers her nice little eulogy. She remembers getting hit in the chest. She remembers you flying out of nowhere to try and save her."
From the corner of her eye, Kate Beckett and see – no, she can feel – Richard Castle's eyes boring into the side of her face. It is her worst nightmare now come to flesh . . . come to feast.
"Kate," Dunn states triumphantly, as he sees the desired reaction from the writer's face. "Kate, we are playing for the remaining fingers on Dr. Burke's left hand. You final answer, please," he laughs. "Do you remember the words that Mr. Castle spoke to you, as you lay watering the grass that day?"
Tears that have been held in check now fall down Kate's cheeks. Still feeling the eyes from Castle – feeling the hurt and the anger building in those eyes, she glances at Dr. Burke. The fear in the doctor's eyes brings more tears, to both her and the good doctor.
"Yes," she says softly.
"I'm sorry, Kate – I am far, far away as you can tell. I didn't hear that."
She pauses for a second, and then turns her head, looking directly at Castle.
"Yes," she answers.
"And what were those words he spoke to you, Kate?"
Another tear makes its way down her face, dripping on to her shirt. She refuses to look away from the darkness that has now hijacked the normally beautiful blue eyes of her partner. She can't look away. She owes him this much, at least.
"He said 'I love you, Kate. I love you."
The single tear that falls from Castle's eye does her in. She drops her face into her hands, trying desperately to stifle a sob that fights for freedom.
For a few seconds, there is silence. Dunn has stopped talking. The circus music has died down. There is only the breathing of seven very ruffled adults in the building.
Finally, Dunn breaks the silence.
"Thank you, Kate. You really, truly are magic. I was convinced another couple of digits would have to find freedom before honesty won out with you," he says, almost derisively.
Suddenly, the metal shackles holding Dr. Carter Burke prisoner fly open. The doctor is taken aback at first, still too stunned to move.
"If you sit much longer, doctor, I'm going to assume you want to see another magic trick," Dunn says, and with that, Dr. Burke launches himself out of the desk, falling to the stage floor.
"One has found freedom," Dunn says. "Will the others be so lucky?"
With those words, a small incendiary device explodes – a small explosion in the video screen – that knocks it off the makeshift wall and into flaming pieces. The scene repeats itself throughout the theatre with each of the monitors that Dunn had put into place and used to interact with his 'audience.'
Suddenly Jordan Shaw's phone is ringing. She sees the unlisted number, but instinctively knows it's him.
"What is it, Dunn?" she asks.
"Oooh, good Jordan. I like this," Dunn states, his terrifying smile almost reaching through the airwaves into her ear.
"I called, Jordan, just to tell you that the tiny explosions you just witnessed are merely . . . foreplay for the building in which you stand. Sixty. Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight. Fifty-seven . . ."
"Everybody out!" Jordan screams, hanging up the call. She sprints to the stage stairs, and takes them two at a time and is at Dr. Burke in seconds. She helps him lift himself off the ground, and finds Agent James Avery's strong arms taking Burke's other side.
"Let's go, doctor, now!" he states emphatically, pulling the doctor along. That's when Jordan sees it. Given everything they have seen – their daughters captured, a doctor tortured – her friends blown to bits in their own home – this scene unnerves her as much as any other.
Inside her mind, she still has the mental countdown going. But on the front row, Kate Beckett still sits. Next to her sits Richard Castle. Neither has moved. Esposito and Ryan are screaming at the two, imploring them to move. Neither moves a muscle. Neither takes their eye off the other.
"Dammit, detectives, move their asses out of here!" Jordan shouts, as she and Avery drag Dr. Burke down the steps.
Esposito forcibly grabs Castle and pulls him to his feet, while Ryan duplicates the move with Kate Beckett. Dragging them out for a few steps, both Castle and Beckett find their feet – and their minds – and begin sprinting out of the building with Detectives Esposito and Ryan, followed by Agents Shaw and Avery and a frazzled Dr. Burke. All reach the front doors, and clear the front doors when they hear the first explosion, deep in the bowels of the building. They continue running, past their cars, across the street, clearing pedestrians as best they can.
The final explosion rocks the street, and Jordan Shaw turns back, watching in unintended awe as the building implodes on itself.
"The bastard imploded it, not exploded," she marvels to herself.
Further down the street, Kate Beckett calls after Richard Castle, who continues walking away, down the street.
"Castle! Rick, please . . ."
The ringing sound of her cell phone startles her, and she knows without looking who this will be. A quick glance at the unlisted number confirms it.
"You bastard," she states by greeting.
"I won't argue with you, Kate. I am a bastard," he agrees. "But know that there are still people to save, lives to free. This magic act is far from over."
"Why?" she asks, barely containing the emotion, the anger, the hurt. "You could have just killed me and been done with it. Why did you-"
"Oh, Kate. I don't want to kill you. Death is too easy. It's too final," he chuckles, then adds with no humor. "I don't want to kill you. Oh trust me, I am going to kill someone. I can't help it, I just have to. Someone close to you. Or to Mr. Castle. Or to Jordan," he continues.
"You bastard-"
"Don't worry, Kate, your dad is off limits. I mean, hell, you've already lived through the death of one parent, so where's the fun, where's the adventure, the originality in that!? No, your dad is safe, Kate," he states, now more softly.
"But I am going to drive a truck-sized wedge between you and your friends, Detective, believe me. I'm going to take those you love away from you. And I'm going to do it by showing them exactly who you really are," he says. "Yesterday was Act One. Today was Act Two."
He hangs up, leaving her listening to the silence, and watching the increasingly smaller figure of Richard Castle walk away . . . away . . . away.