Monster: Chapter 14
DISCLAIMER: None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe.
Day 13: Goose Island, just south of the Main Tangier Island, 11:26 p.m.
Jason sits back, allowing the sweet coffee to awaken his taste buds, a smile forming on his face. His eyes closed, he is reliving last night's highly pleasing activities. He turns, looking back to the bed, at the cute blonde who still lies sleeping in his bed. He'll have to ask her for her name when she wakes up. There wasn't a lot of talking going on in the bar last night – far too loud. And when they got to his apartment afterward, well, there wasn't a lot of talking going on here either.
He opens his eyes, leaning forward to turn on the laptop computer on his desk. Half a minute later, he pulls up the video feed from the island, and his stomach does a quick flip flop. His screen remains black. He clicks to refresh the image. Nothing. He closes the feed application, then restarts it. Still nothing. Now he's concerned. This isn't good. He picks up the phone and dials quickly. Seconds later, Rodney Simmons answers.
"Yo, Jason, what's up?" Rodney asks in greeting.
"Try pulling up the island feed," Jason tells him, the worry in his voice."
"Why? What's going on?" the younger Simmons asks.
"Not sure, but I can't get the feed. See if you can pull it up," Jason tells him.
"Okay, hold on a sec," Rodney instructs him, but seconds later the bad news is verified by the young black man.
"Damn, me neither," Rodney tells him, and both men shake off a shudder. So far this operation has gone relatively smoothly, save for a stupid pilot error that won't be happening again. This, however, can be a disaster. They need the video feed up, to make sure all is well on the island. No video feed means a trip to the compound. Nothing good can come from that, both men realize this. A trip to the compound to fix the video feed means they have to land. Landing can potentially give away their identities. That's a non-starter.
"I'll call her," Rodney tells him. "Let's see how she wants to play this. I'll get back with you."
The phone goes dead in Jason's ear, giving him plenty of opportunity to wonder. Elizabeth Bracken can be charming and social. She can also be caustic and serial when things don't go as planned. And the loss of the video feed certainly qualifies as things not going as planned. It only takes a minute for Rodney to return his call.
"No answer," Rodney Simmons says, and the dejection is clear in his voice.
"What now?" Jason asks, already dreading the response he knows is coming.
"You're going to have to go out there, man," Simmons tells him. "There is no way we can lose contact with what is going on out there. We'll both turn into fertilizer, you know this."
Jason sighs, dropping into his chair, his head falling backwards. This is great – just great. A trip out to the compound won't take that long. He's been somewhat captive himself, stuck in this bed and breakfast on the main Tangier Island. It's nice, but it's not New York City. He misses home. He's going to have to land tomorrow at the compound. He'll take Perry Sanders with him. And Frank to fly the chopper in.
"Give me an hour," he tells the man back in New York. "I will take Frank and Perry with me. I will let you know what I find."
'Good enough," Rodney Simmons tells him, with a subtle warning as he signs off. "And remember, no funny stuff – get in, get out, get back."
"You don't have to tell me twice," Jason reminds him, clicking off to end the call, and immediately calling Frank Perkins. It's been a while since he has used Frank, but Perkins is always looking for a reason to get away from Virginia Beach. This is good enough as any.
Day 13: The Tangier Islands, 2:27 p.m.
"Kate, take a look at this," Keith Hopkins yells over to his passenger, as he points downward to his left, banking the small Cessna to give Kate a better view. They've been flying over the islands for four hours now, and until this moment, nothing seemed promising. As she lifts out of her seat to obtain a better view, her heart leaps. Passing below them over Hopkin's left shoulder is – clear as day – a single story cabin. But around the cabin is what has caught both of their attentions.
A large, barbed-wire fence.
"That could be it," he tells her as he lifts the plane back in the air, and banks hard left to turn the craft around to pass over with another flyby. This time, he drops his altitude to roughly seventy five feet as they pass by. There is no trace or sighting of Richard Castle, which is slightly concerning. However, the small compound that they see below them is exactly as Kate has imagined it would look, given the videos that she has watched countless times. And she doesn't see any lions. That's good news as well.
"We can't land here," he tells her, and she nods to the obvious declaration. There's no room to land or take off – not with the Cessna. "We have two options. Option one – we come in by land. The only problem is you said there are lions nearby. That leaves option two – we come in by chopper, and land in the middle of this thing.
"My vote is the chopper," she agrees with a chuckle.
"I second that. Chopper it is," he laughs with her, banking the plane now back south, towards the airport.
"Let's go back to the airport," he continues. "Switch to the chopper – we can land that baby in there easy enough, grab your boyfriend and get the hell out of dodge – that is, assuming we can overpower his captors."
"That won't be a problem," Kate says out loud, but in truth, she doesn't think that is going to be an option to deal with. Everything inside her screams that Castle is down there alone, isolated. Still, she merely nods her head, excitement building inside her, despite her best efforts to remain calm. After almost two full weeks, she can finally see the light at the end of this tunnel. She glances at her watch.
2:32 p.m.
Fifteen minutes to get back and land at the airport. Hopefully less than half an hour to get a chopper ready to go. Yeah, inside an hour they should be back here, landing in the opening. She glances back at the compound behind them, hoping against hope to see him exit the cabin. Just some physical proof that he really is there.
"We'll be back within the hour - easy," Hopkins confirms for her. Satisfied, she sits back in the seat, closing her eyes, giving a prayer of thanks.
"Thank you," she also yells over to Hopkins, who is taking the plane up a few hundred feet as they head back to the airport.
Day 13: The Compound on an isolated Tangier Island, 2:29 p.m.
Richard Castle is frustrated beyond belief. He swears that he hears something outside – something new and different. He is dying to rush outside to find the source of his interest. Perhaps it is just the unrealistic hope beyond hope that settles on a human being, once pushed beyond their limits – but he swears it sounds like an airplane. And it sounds like it is flying low.
"C'mon!" he curses at himself, sitting on the single toilet in his cabin, frustrated that of all times for nature to demand relief, it had to be now? Two minutes later, he is rushing outside, looking upward in the sky, trying to find the source of the sound. Looking in all directions, he falls to his knees in frustration as he watches the small plane flying away, and pulling upward back into the sky – further away from him.
Away from freedom.
He sighs, frowning, but refuses to allow the despondent gloom to settle in. This would have been an unexpected surprise, for certain, to be discovered and rescued. But right now, he has to focus. Last night, in the late evening after the storm had passed, he had climbed back into the tree and cut the power cord away from the video camera. Even better, however, he had been following the power cable down through the fake trunk walls attached to the tree branches and trunk. Ripping the cord downward, he had been able to follow the cord, pulling it up from the ground. Fortunately, it had only been buried in a couple of inches deep, and with the proper amount of pressure, he had pulled up roughly thirty feet of cable before his hopes had been crushed.
The cable extends underneath the fence to the other side. The source of power is on the other side of the fence.
With them.
His discouragement, however, had quickly given way to inspiration. Cutting another end of the cable, just before the fence, he now has a weapon – roughly twenty-five feet in length. He's cut this in half, to give himself two cords. He will find some use for them. He knows they will be coming, sometime today or tomorrow. And he will be ready.
He walks to the tree on the southern side of the compound, and takes his place underneath the branches. To wait. He knows they will be coming, and he knows he will only have seconds to act once he hears the sounds of the chopper blades.
Day 13: Less than Half an hour later on the Compound at Tangier Island, 2:58 p.m.
Richard Castle scurries – that's really the best word for it – up the large tree, hiding in the canopy of branches and leaves as he hears the approaching chopper. He's ditched the orange clothing – those will be too easy to see from the air. He wants them assuming he's in the cabin. Not here, perched and ready to attack. He steels himself, breathing deeply now – trying to calm his nerves, but allowing the massive adrenaline rush to give him that edge he knows he will need.
It's going to be a struggle – a fight to the finish, he knows. He can't allow them to leave. He's got to get out of here today. If he is unsuccessful, who knows when they will return? Who knows if they will return? And if he injures anyone – or worse – in the struggle but doesn't escape . . . well, he knows that the kid gloves they've used with him up to this point will be off for certain, no doubt about that.
He hears – and barely sees – the chopper hovering over the compound, getting closer. Closer.
"They are landing. This is it," he tells himself, forcing himself to smile, just to give himself that last jolt of insane confidence he's going to need to pull this off. He checks the power cord wrapped around his shoulder like a water hose, and double checks the two metal can tops, touching their sharp edges. Satisfied that he has done all he can – both at the cabin and here in the tree, he crouches, and waits. The words of his father rush back to him. For a moment, he is back in Paris, in the old building across from where his daughter is being held. He remembers the instructions from his father.
"What if they try to stop us?" Castle had asked the CIA operative when Jackson Hunt explained his plan for freeing Alexis from her prison. The answer from his father had been short, succinct, and a life lesson he will use today.
"Don't let them!" That was all he said. Those words apply today, as Castle hears the first man hit the ground, calling his name.
"Richard Castle! Come out here," Jason yells. Perry Sanders follows toward him, but Jason waves him off.
"I've got the cabin," Jason tells him. "You go check on the camera, see if you can find out what's wrong," he tells the man. Perry is far more the techno-geek than Jason, and Jason knows the man can get things fixed far more quickly than he can.
"Got it," Sanders tells him, jogging toward the tree.
Jason's carefully-planned world quickly begins to crumble as he grabs the door knob on the cabin door to open it. Unbeknownst to Jason, Richard Castle has booby-trapped the door, splicing two can tops to the door knob with a short piece of wire from the power cord of the video camera. Castle had felt very proud of himself with this one, never really believing that he would ever have the opportunity – or the means – to pull off a MacGyver-type escape.
The man's fingers bite hard into the sharpened edges of the can tops, cutting deeply into his hand. He screams in pain, just as Sanders gets to the tree, underneath Castle and just to the side of him by roughly two feet. Sanders turns his head back toward the cabin, anxious to see the source of the screaming by Jason – his first thought, of course, being the lions.
As Sanders turns his head, Castle takes one last second for a quick prayer, and then launches himself down, falling a good twelve feet or so, landing on top of Sanders.
"Don't let them!" echoes in his mind, as he –without mercy or hesitation – swings the twin can tops in his hands, slashing through the neck of Perry Sanders, oblivious to the immediate spray of blood that coats his chest and chin.
"Don't let them!" rings in his ears as he sprints the twenty five to thirty feet to Jason, making it to the man who – too late – senses his presence as Castle pummels him with three, four, five punches in succession. They aren't efficient, they are looping roundhouse punches, but they do their job, rendering his opponent close to unconscious. He then turns his attention to the chopper, and the pilot, who – yeah, as he expected, is gunning the engines back up – opting for a hasty retreat.
He sprints, his lungs burning – still pushing on pure adrenaline alone – allowing the fear to drive him, not overtake him. He dives into the back compartment of the old Army Huey helicopter, just as it lifts off the ground. Castle doesn't have a gun. He's wearing tennis shoes and boxers. That's all he has left, along with the power cord wrapped around his shoulder.
Frank turns toward Castle, pistol in hand – unsure of what to do, as he lifts the chopper upward. He is under strict instructions not to harm the writer. And word of poor Phil Blackman's fate – a friend to many of the men involved in the heist of Richard Castle – served its purpose, putting the fear of Elizabeth Bracken into the crew. His hesitancy costs him, as the chopper tilts just too far as it lifts, catching the top of the barbed wire fence with the rotating blades. The craft jerks hard, spinning 180 degrees before Frank gets control back again. But now it is too late, as a thirty foot section of fence disappears, catching in the blades, pulling the craft downward. The craft lands with a heavy thud, glancing off the ground as Frank attempts to get the chopper airborne again.
Castle's mind is racing, almost paralyzing the writer who is just steps from freedom. The fence on this section is down, and the door to the chopper is open. He can take his chances on the ground – as they are now on the opposite side of the demolished fence. Or he can take his chances in the air. Convinced that this pilot isn't going to fly him anywhere, he makes his move, launching himself out of the helicopter, falling three feet to the ground, when he hears the small blast from the gun in Frank Perkins' hand. Immediately, the totally unexpected pain tears through his shoulder, as he falls to the ground. His father's words continue to bludgeon his senses.
"What if they try to stop us?"
"Don't let them!"
The words drive him up and onward, running, sprinting into the trees and brush of the island, completely unaware of the two large beasts that have run parallel to him, some twenty yards to his left, toward the compound. As it is, he makes good distance, traveling west as planned, breathing hard, sweating profusely, and swallowing the urge to scream. Fifty yards into the brush, he loses that battle.
"Damn, but getting shot hurts like hell!" he finally yells at the top of his lungs, pushing his legs forward, faster. Had he still been close to the compound, he would have heard the horrific screams of Jason, who is meeting Richard Castle's former companions face to face.
Behind him, rising up and away from the compound, Frank Perkins looks down at the carnage below him, and makes the quick decision that he is simply going to disappear. There is no way he is going to face the woman, not with this epic failure, not with him being the lone survivor. Not with him having no idea where Richard Castle is. Opting for flight, he rises into the sky and banks southward, toward the airport. An hour later, he will be in his single-engine plane, flying in a southwesterly direction, never to be seen again.
Step after step, Castle runs. Fate has been kind to him, as the two weeks of running inside the compound, along with the fear of getting eaten – or worse – drive his tired and burning legs onward. Above him, a second helicopter flies in, toward the compound. Unfortunately, Richard Castle only hears the helicopter. He has no reason to even suspect that this chopper carries Keith Hopkins and Kate Beckett, who are making their way to the compound. Hearing the chopper blades, it is only logical for him to believe it to be his captors searching for him. So he takes refuge in the trees, hiding from the very people who could grant him the complete freedom he seeks.
He hides, cowering, almost whimpering for a few seconds. Satisfied that the chopper is gone, he stands again – and this time it is harder. He's losing blood, he knows this, but he has to keep going. Screaming, yelling, drawing strength from the entire episode, he pushes onward and reaches the beach opening up to the Chesapeake Bay.
He stops for a moment, checking his wound. Realizing that he feels pain on both sides of his shoulder, he uses his fingers along with a quick glance down to confirm his suspicion. Yeah, it was a clean shot, through and through. No bullet, just an entry and an exit wound. He thanks the heavens for the small piece of power cord still wrapped around his good shoulder. Modesty no longer even close to being a priority, he takes his boxers off, and wraps the boxers around his shoulder, tying it off with his free hand. It takes a good five minutes to get it right with only one good arm.
Now, naked, but free, the writer walks along the beach, stumbling slightly in the surf. He wants nothing more than to just fall into the cool waters, but knows the searing pain in his shoulder will only escalate with such a move.
"Oh my God!" he bellows in laughter, as he sees the small dinghy in the distance along the shoreline. Willing himself with the last portions of strength that ebb quickly from his tired body, he reaches the small wooden craft – no more than nine feet in length. It doesn't look to be in the best shape, but it will have to do. It's got only one paddle.
"So what," he thinks to himself. "I only have one good arm," he chuckles – wondering if the delirious stage is setting in now that the adrenaline rush is long gone, replaced by tired arms, legs that burn and feel like rubber, and a shoulder that is just absolutely killing him.
He pushes off into the surf with the small, beat-up, wooden craft, hopping in and stroking with the paddle for five minutes – then another five minutes, and then another five minutes – putting as much distance between him and this hellish island as he possibly can. With each stroke, he sees his own bloodstained hands, hands that have now murdered another human being. Hands that bludgeoned another man into submission. He idly wonders what kind of monster he has become, before unconsciousness mercifully claims him, and he begins to drift north in the bay.
Day 13: The Compound on an isolated Tangier Island, 3:15 p.m.
The hell that opens up from below for Keith Hopkins and Kate Beckett pushes a scream from her, from deep in her lungs. The almost peaceful sight that she remembered from less than an hour ago is now a full-fledged battleground. Almost an entire section of the protective fence is shredded and on the ground. There is trail of blood – a heavy trail, bright red – that runs from roughly ten feet in front of the cabin all the way into the wooded trees outside the compound.
Seconds after landing, Kate rushes out, gun in hand, searching for survivors to whatever horror that has happened here. She sees the body laying at the base of the tree, and – her heart in her throat – she runs to the body, turning it over. She is overcome with emotion – horror as she views the shredded neck of Perry Sanders, and joy as she realizes she has no idea who this man is. But it isn't Richard Castle.
"What in the hell happened here?" Keith Hopkins asks, eyes widening.
"I don't know, but it just happened within the past few minutes," she says, pointing to the fresh kill here under the tree, and then the trail of blood leading out into the trees. She quickly jogs to the cabin. He's not here. She knows this, in her gut, she knows that he is gone. If he ever was here. Reaching for the door, she spots the fresh blood stains on the door knob, and smiles.
Could he really be this resourceful? Could all of this that she sees here be the handiwork of the man she loves? This can't be the handiwork of the man she knows as a writer, can it? Sure, he's always been helpful – even more than helpful – with their cases. But the very notion that Richard Castle could be capable of what she is seeing is something Kate Beckett can't get her head around.
She pushes the door open, and steps inside. Looking to the right, she sees the box, and walks toward it. There are empty cans of food, along with a few unopened cans as well. The tears well up in her eyes as she begins to imagine the past two weeks for her fiancée. She turns, and sees the single toilet in the corner, the only appliance, the only thing resembling furniture, other than the twin bed.
"Prison," she says aloud.
"What's that?" Hopkins asks, coming up behind her.
"They kept him as a prisoner. This is a prison," she says softly, still fighting the tears that burn to overflow. "Isolated, solitary confinement."
She glances at one of the walls, and that's when Kate Beckett's world explodes for good. She walks to the wall, immediately recognizing his handwriting. She reads the words of love, the love letters that he wrote each and every day to her. The tears pour freely, the sobs echoing throughout the cabin, as she places her fingers on the writing, the only thing remaining of Richard Castle in this place. She allows her lips to touch the wall, to touch the individual letters written just for her, and allows her tears to mix with the black marker ink.
She reads each note, each letter, before she feels Hopkins' hand on her shoulder.
"Detective Beckett," he tells her softly, but firmly, "C'mon. We have to get out of here. Those beasts are still around – they can't have gone far. There's nowhere else for them to go!"
Kate knows the truth in his words. But she cannot tear herself away from the wall, the words written there. Is this going to be all that she has left from Richard Castle?
"Detective . . . let's go," he pleads again. Quickly, she takes her phone out, and starts taking pictures – one, then a second, then a third, of all of the notes, the letters on the wall. If this is going to be his final gift to her, then she will make sure that it is a permanent one.
Finally, knowing they can't wait any longer, and uncertain of whether or not the growls he hears are actually there or just in his mind, Keith Hopkins drags Kate Beckett away, out of the cabin, and roughly pushes her into the helicopter.
"He was here," she says softly, tears continuing to fall. "He was here."