The usual disclaimers apply: I'm not making any money off of this, Castle belongs to ABC and Andrew Marlowe, and any similarities to real people or places are strictly a coincidence.
Author's notes are at the bottom. Please enjoy!
The Spellbound Affair
Chapter Thirty-Six
By the time Beckett finished her race across the third floor of the patient care tower of the hospital to her boyfriend's room, Castle was sitting up in bed and demanding that he be released. His mother was perched on the edge of the seat next to his bed, tightly squeezing his arm just above the elbow. Martha looked immensely relieved when Beckett strode into the room. The doctor and nurse hovering at the foot of the writer's bed also relaxed slightly when Castle switched his attention to the detective.
"Kate," he said in a hoarse voice. "I'm so sorry."
"For what?" She pushed past the medical team to stand on the opposite side of the bed from Martha. She clasped Castle's hand where it was clenched at his hip.
"The kids…"
"It's not your fault," Beckett insisted. She honestly didn't feel the slightest bit upset at Castle for failing to protect her partners. The man had been knocked unconscious trying to defend them. He wasn't even a police officer. Her affection also helped eliminate any sort of blame she might have tried to assign to the man for his shortcomings.
"And you are?" asked the doctor. He was a trim, middle-aged man with flecks of gray at his temples. Even without his standard hospital garb, Beckett would have pegged him as a medical professional.
"Kate Beckett, NYPD," said the detective shortly. "What is Mr. Castle's prognosis?"
"First of all, my name is Dr. Reynolds." The man frowned at Beckett's dismissal of standard introduction protocol. "Mr. Castle suffered from trauma to the head which resulted in a severe concussion," said the doctor. "Fortunately, he will probably make a full recovery. His speech is clearer now and his pupils are dilating appropriately."
"Damn right, I'm fine," stated Castle. He tried to slide off the bed again. Beckett helped Martha and the nurse push him back. "Kate, we need to find the kids."
"We will," she said. Beckett swallowed with difficulty around the lump in her throat. They'd already lost two hours. Bellefonte could be anywhere by now.
"Mr. Castle, you need to remain here for a bit longer," said Dr. Reynolds. "There is still a possibility that you could experience negative side effects from your concussion. It is highly inadvisable that you do anything but get plenty of bed rest right now."
"There's no time for that." Castle scowled at the older man. "That bastard took my kids."
"I know. I was informed that the Southampton police were already at your home when the ambulance arrived. They're much better equipped to locate missing persons than you are in your condition." The doctor's posture radiated stubbornness. He wasn't going to be talked down easily. Unfortunately for Castle, Beckett agreed with the doctor.
"Like hell they are," snapped Castle. Beckett could see that there was tension in her lover's jaw that didn't come from his surely pounding head.
"It's okay, Rick," said Beckett in a low voice. "I'm here now. I'll find them."
"You need me," said Castle beseechingly.
"I do," agreed Beckett. "I need you to be okay." She sniffled. "Please, be okay."
"I am." The author switched quickly from confrontational to comforting. "Kate…"
Beckett wiped her hand across her face before looking seriously at Castle. She breathed deeply. "Do you remember what happened?"
"Yes." His face was turning paler by the second and a thin sheen of sweat broke out over his brow. The nurse shot the doctor an expectant look.
"You must not over-exert yourself, Mr. Castle," said Dr. Reynolds. "Beth, grab the bowl." The nurse grabbed the hard plastic container and pushed it under Castle's chin. The writer swallowed rapidly a few times and managed to avoid becoming ill. Beckett handed him the cup of water from the bedside table after he'd pushed away the bowl.
"Just relax, Rick," encouraged Beckett. "I know it's not easy, but try."
Castle took a couple shallow breaths and leaned back against his pillows. He uttered a string of colorful words under his breath as he glared at the ceiling. Beckett squeezed his hand.
"I'll give you another dose of painkillers," said the doctor. "If your headache and nausea recede soon, we'll discuss your discharge again." Castle nodded slowly in defeat. Beckett gently brushed her fingers over the gauze taped to his forehead where he'd been struck by whatever had knocked him unconscious. Dr. Reynolds gestured for the nurse to follow through on his promise, then took his leave. The nurse inserted the boost of pain medication into the IV. Once she had also departed, Castle looked earnestly at Beckett.
"Kate, it was Bellefonte."
"I know," replied the detective. "Martha mentioned that you kept repeating his name at the house. What happened?"
Castle rubbed idly at his forehead while he waited for the painkillers to start working. "Somehow, Bellefonte hood-winked Chief Brady with some story about you having kidnapped the boys. Brady came over to insist that I turn the kids over to him and I guess Bellefonte followed him. The wards came down, which let the bastard witch onto the property. I tried to keep them out, but Bellefonte blew open the door. That's the last thing I remember. I tried to get the boys to run, but they wouldn't."
"I'm not surprised." Beckett gave Castle a watery smile and carded her fingers through his disheveled hair. She looked over at the man's worried mother. "Are you all right, Martha?"
"Oh, don't mind me," said the actress dismissively. "The banging on the front door woke me up. I was in the process of dialing 9-1-1 when the explosion happened. In a moment of weakness, I succumbed to my fear and couldn't move. By the time I made my way downstairs, there were only Richard and Chief Brady in the house."
"Brady was still there?" asked Beckett. Her fear for Castle and her partners' well-beings was quickly morphing into anger.
"Yes, he was trying to revive Richard. At the time, I didn't realize he was working with Bellefonte. I called 9-1-1, then."
"Do you know where he is now?"
"I presume he's still at the house." Martha frowned as she added Castle's version of the events to her own. "Do you think he's tampering with evidence?"
"I don't know, but I'm planning to go over there and find out." Beckett unconsciously shifted her weight to feel the press of her firearm against her hip. "Will you be all right for a couple hours, Castle?"
"If I must. I think that shifty nurse put more than just painkillers in the IV." He yawned and then cringed when the action caused his headache to pulse.
"I don't think sleep will hurt you right now," said Beckett. "I'll keep you updated. Do you need anything, Martha?"
"No, dear, don't worry about me." Martha reached over to squeeze Beckett's hand briefly. Beckett gave her a grateful smile. The detective leaned over to kiss Castle fondly. Shortly thereafter, she found herself once more racing through the hospital as she made her way back to the Charger.
At Castle's second home, the front drive was still filled with the sum of Southampton PD's police cruisers. Beckett parked in the grass, unmindful of any tire tracks she'd leave on the perfectly manicured lawn. One of the police officers moved to intercept her as she purposefully strode towards the yellow tape that delineated the crime scene.
"Excuse me, ma'am…"
"Get out of my way," snapped Beckett. She yanked her badge from her belt and practically smacked the officer in the face with it. "NYPD." She didn't technically have any jurisdiction in Southampton, but the somewhat heavyset officer backed down anyway.
Chief Brady was standing on the front stoop, directing the CSI unit to different parts of the devastated first floor of the mansion. Beckett marched up to him without hesitation. "Brady," she snapped venomously.
He paled at the sight of her. "Detective Beckett."
"What the hell happened here and how were you involved?"
Brady glanced about himself to see which of his officers were watching the exchange curiously. His answer was all of them. Beckett wasn't being discrete at all. "I don't know what you mean…"
"Don't mess with me." Beckett glowered at him. She felt marginally better when he shrank away from her nervously. "Castle remembers everything that happened up until getting smacked by the door. So, you better come clean right now and so help me, if you jerk me around, no one will ever find your body. Remember, I work homicide."
"You… you can't talk to me like t-that," stuttered Brady. "I'm the c-chief of police here."
"You royally screwed up, Brady. We both know that. So start talking." Beckett rested her palm on her hip, just above where her holster clipped to her belt.
"Okay, okay, but not here." Beckett wanted to strangle the skinny man. She barely restrained herself as they moved to a more concealed location. In hindsight, Beckett was glad for the privacy, but that didn't make her feel any less impatient. Precious seconds were passing as Brady searched for a way to downplay his role in this fiasco.
"Start talking, asshole." Beckett crossed her arms over her chest and glared for all her worth at Brady. He frowned at her language but wisely refrained from commenting.
"This man came to the station this morning claiming to be an FBI agent investigating the kidnapping of two small boys," said Brady quickly. "He had all of the proper paperwork and even photographs. I recognized them immediately as the two that you claim to have adopted."
"Did you check his ID number? Verify his claim? Call his superior?"
"N-no. I'm usually good about following protocol. I just… I don't really remember what happened after that. It's like a fog in my mind. I know that we came here and I went up to the door. Mr. Castle had the boys with him when he answered the door. We argued about the kidnapping and then Mr. Castle slammed the door shut. I was trying to break it down when suddenly it gave away. The next thing I know, I'm trying to wake up Mr. Castle and the FBI agent is gone."
"He's not a fucking agent," snapped Beckett. "Stop calling him that." She recalled the bogus story that Castle had used to confiscate the photographs of their July Fourth outing from the newspaper headquarters. "I have the boys because some very dangerous people have been trying to abduct them. They're material witnesses to a series of crimes back in New York. Now, thanks to you, the bad guys have them." The fabrication tasted funny on her tongue. Clearly, she was not gifted in story-telling like Castle.
"I didn't know," insisted Brady. "I wanted to check his credentials. I just… didn't."
"Give me the fake name that the kidnapper used," ordered Beckett. "I'll have my people run his alias."
"This is still a Southampton crime scene," stated Brady. He stood up a little straighter.
"Only because you aided and abetted a dangerous felon." Beckett turned her back on him dismissively when her phone started to buzz in her pocket. She pulled it out. Her heart sank when she read the name on the caller ID.
"Kate Beckett," she answered in a strangled voice.
"Kate, it's Will. I just got the buzz on your kidnapping. When my director recognized your name, he passed the case along to me."
"Did Captain Gates contact your department?"
"Yes. She explained that Richard Castle has younger relations in town that were previously targeted in an abduction attempt and now the perpetrators succeeded in taking the boys. You can probably fill me in with more detail, since you and the writer work together."
"Um, yeah. That about sums it up." Beckett clenched her teeth momentarily as she cursed her meddling captain. She also spared a few choice words for the multiple cover stories that she and Castle had invented to explain the presence of the little boys in their lives and the disappearance of her partners. They really needed to come up with one explanation and stick to it. She couldn't even keep straight who had heard which lie.
"Captain Gates mentioned you were on your way to Southampton. Are you there now?"
"Yes, I'm at Castle's house. I'll text you the address."
"Great. I'll get there as quickly as I can," he promised. "We'll solve this kidnapping, just like the rest of them." Beckett wasn't in the mood for his attempts to console her. She briefly (and insincerely) thanked him and ended the call.
"Who was that?" asked Brady.
"Special Agent Will Sorensen, of the real FBI." Beckett shot the police chief one last dirty look before stomping into the house to see what she could find before the feds arrived to mess up her investigation. She should have known Gates would just cause her unnecessary headaches.
There was little she could do or see. The crime scene unit had cordoned off most of the area. She gingerly picked her way through the glass shards littering the floor. She was thankful for her thick soled shoes. Beckett had to bite her tongue when she spotted the little white markers next to the empty shoe box and its spilled contents. There was no way she would be able to retrieve the wallets, nor the abandoned Glock. How was she going to explain Castle being in possession of her partner's personal effects when they were supposedly back in New York on sick leave? Better yet, where were the badges that had also been in the box?
She took a deep breath. She'd cross that bridge when she came to it. Beckett continued to carefully make her way beyond the foyer and into the living room where the trail of broken glass continued. She wanted to cry at the sight of the destruction. She momentarily flashed back to the state of Castle's loft after Rayford Bellefonte's break-in there.
Beckett was drawn to the gaping hole in the back door where a clear glass lite had once existed. Castle had mentioned that he'd tried to get the boys to run for safety but that they wouldn't listen to him. It was possible that they might have gone for help after Castle was knocked unconscious. If it were her, Beckett would have tried to make it to the garage where the Mercedes was stowed during the night.
She carefully followed the invisible path around the back of the mansion towards the garage. She paused when a flash of color caught her attention. The skin-tone hue of the Band-Aid stuck out from the dark green of the grass. It matched the type of bandage used to cover little Kevin's skinned knee. Beckett surmised that this was likely the place where Bellefonte had confronted her partners. There were a few blades of broken grass that she could see, but Beckett was no expert at reading signs of struggle in plant life. She was about to call for one of the CSI techs to come look at the area when her toe caught on something heavy hidden in the grass.
Beckett pulled out one of her plastic crime scene gloves and surreptitiously picked up the second Glock by the handle. Her fingerprints were probably already on the weapon - she'd handled it previously - but it didn't hurt to avoid adding any more. She checked that no one was watching as she slipped the gun into the back of her belt and made sure her jacket covered it completely. The detective scanned the area for anything else that would be next to impossible to explain to those not aware of the witchcraft aspect of her case. Seeing nothing, she finally called over one of the techs.
Whatever path Rayford Bellefonte might have taken after snatching up her partners was invisible to Beckett. For all she knew, he had sprouted wings and flown away. The inexperienced cops of Southampton had probably obliterated any vehicle tracks in the gravel drive when they'd pulled up afterwards. There were no snags of cloth or hair along the perimeter of the house to mark Bellefonte's passage.
Beckett's frustration welled in her chest. It was all she could do to not drop to her knees and scream up at the sky.
xXx
Javier's ears strained to make out any sound in the seemingly abandoned shack where he'd awoken nearly thirty minutes ago. The only sound he could hear besides the occasional creaking of the structure when the wind gusted outside was Kevin's shallow breathing as his partner likewise scanned the room for any clue to their location or that of Bellefonte.
Upon waking, Javier's whole body had tingled slightly as the last of the magical attack that had rendered him unconscious faded from his system. He'd blinked a few times before realizing that there really was a kind of hazy quality to the static air, like it was often filled with smoke. Javier had only witnessed that phenomenon in the homes of heavy smokers, but the air and the ancient plaid furniture carried no scent of tobacco.
Between the two detectives and the rest of the severely outdated and dusty living room was a mesh of closely spaced steel bars. Only six inches separated each of the thin, plastic-coated rods in either direction, reducing their view to a checkerboard of black square frames. Javier could fit his arm all of the way through the bars, but there was nothing worthwhile within his limited reach. The front of the cage - because that sounded slightly less insulting than large dog kennel - was modified to allow for the use of a padlock instead of the typical pin and spring latch. It was a combination lock. Javier thought he might be able to figure out the combination once his traitorous little body stopped protesting each time he moved too much.
Beyond the roughly four foot by six foot by four foot tall steel mesh box was the rest of the living area. Each of the narrow windows was shrouded by a heavy curtain whose faded pattern clashed offensively with the fabric on the furniture. A thick layer of brown dust coated nearly every surface except for their prison and a single seat on the worn couch facing the cage. Javier very much hoped that the butt print had been made before that morning because the idea of someone watching him and Kevin before they awoke made chills travel down his spine.
"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore," whispered Kevin. The little blond was leaning heavily against Javier's side, despite the uncomfortably warm temperature of the room. Javier was more than willing to endure the flecks of sweat forming at his hairline for the small comfort of having his partner with him. "It's too quiet."
"Yeah," replied Javier in an equally low voice. The corner of his mouth quirked up slightly at his partner's attempted joke. The absence of the crashing waves against the sandy shore ruled out Southampton and the lack of traffic sounds and people shouting to each other negated the possibility of New York City. "How are you feeling?"
"My feet hurt," said Kevin honestly. The statement made Javier think of his own abused soles. A flare of pain was his punishment for forgetting about the cuts caused by the broken glass. Javier tried to maneuver into a position where he could see the bottom of his bare foot, but his body was still too stiff to cooperate. Instead, he shifted around until he faced his partner and reached for Kevin's left foot.
They were lucky in that there didn't seem to be any actual shards of glass embedded in the skin. Javier took his time inspecting both feet as well as he could in the dim light. Once he was satisfied that Kevin suffered only from minor scratches, he leaned back to let his partner return the favor. Apparently Javier did have one small sliver in his right foot. The older boy easily recalled the trouble it had given him while trying to escape the mad witch.
"I wonder if there's a phone in this place," said Kevin. Javier scanned the room again, too. No phone. Just a few old frames that were so dusty it was impossible to make out the photographs, some abandoned hardcover books, and a series of creepy porcelain figurines that reminded Javier of those Gemini dolls that Captain Gates was so fond of.
"Even if there's not, we'll find one once we break out of here." Javier finally felt like he could summon the coordination to try the combination lock at the far end of the large kennel. "You don't happen to have a stethoscope with you, do you?"
"I'm sorry, I left it in my other set of pajamas," replied Kevin with a straight face. Javier cracked a slight grin. This would be easier if they could keep their spirits up.
"Too bad you're not in your lucky pajamas. Maybe we wouldn't be in this mess in the first place."
Kevin looked down at his rumpled gray t-shirt with a smiling cartoon dinosaur standing under some stars and the moon. The navy blue shorts were covered with matching stars. "I don't know - I like the dinosaur more than the shamrocks."
"You would, nerd." Kevin stuck his tongue out at his partner. Javier shook his head and was silently glad that his sleepwear was splashed with images of the more manly X-Men. "Okay, be quiet for a minute. I'm going to try the lock."
Together they moved to the opposite end of the cage, unwilling to be even a few feet apart. Javier reached through the bars and pushed the round lock up until he could see the dial. It would take a minute to get used to looking at the numbers upside down, but he thought he could still do it. He spun the dial counter-clockwise a few times to clear the tumbler before leaning up to place his ear as close to the mechanism as possible. He slowly turned the dial, listening intently for the sound of the first bit of the puzzle falling into place.
Javier had turned it nearly three hundred and sixty degrees before he was rewarded with a faint pop within the lock. He pulled back to see what number he'd stopped on. "Kev, remember twenty-eight."
"Got it."
The tip of Javier's tongue poked out of his dry mouth as he very slowly turned the dial in the opposite direction, straining to hear the next click. What he heard instead was the whine of a car's engine. He dropped the lock when he jerked in surprise. Both he and Kevin quickly turned towards the doorway at the far end of the room that possibly led to the exterior.
Javier cursed. He had little faith that he'd be able to finish breaking the combination before the unknown driver entered the house, but he was going to try. He pushed the lock back into position and cleared the set again before quickly spinning the dial to twenty-eight. He leaned in close again, looking for the second number. It was to no avail. He couldn't hear the delicate pop of the lock over the sound of his own heart pounding nervously.
More than one set of footsteps traversed what was probably a wooden front porch. A key jingled in the distance and then a door creaked open. Javier released the lock and scooted backwards, pressing his smaller partner into the furthest corner of the cage. Kevin gripped his shirt tightly.
The first person through the doorway into the living room was Bellefonte. Javier couldn't stop the low sound of hate from escaping him at the sight of the sickly pale man with his greasy black hair. "This way," said the witch. His voice still sounded gravelly and misused but there was an odd hint of affection in it. "Saul will arrive shortly and then we'll have dinner."
Rayford ignored his two prisoners as he deposited a set of keys on the dirty surface of the secretary pushed under one of the covered windows. Two steps behind him was his companion. Kevin let out a small whimper and pressed his face against the back of Javier's shoulder when he recognized the second person. Javier swallowed thickly, unable to look away from the train wreck visage of his least favorite person in the whole world.
"Mama, make yourself comfortable," said Rayford. He motioned towards the couch.
Nora Bellefonte slowly and stiffly crossed the worn area rug until she was able to take a seat on the cushion sporting the butt print. Javier wished he had something to cover himself with. Her penetrating, dead stare was making him feel more exposed than if he'd been naked.
Her stained dress was slightly big and the cut was too young for her. The plunging neckline might have looked good on a well-endowed young woman. On Nora, it only revealed her wrinkled dark skin and the upper right corner of the puckered stitches left over from Lanie's autopsy. The old woman's face was expressionless as she returned Javier's horrified stare. The last time the detective had seen her, her eyes had been a warm brown color, a few shades darker than his own. Now the pupils had enveloped the irises, leaving nothing but black.
"Can I get you anything, Mama?" Rayford moved to her side. "Oh, let me help you." He tenderly adjusted the neck of the dress so that it covered the autopsy stitches. "Once we finish our business with Saul, I can tend to your injuries. It will be like those blood-thirsty detectives and their butcher friends never harmed you." Rayford glanced towards the cage and sneered when he registered that his captives were awake. "Does their presence bother you, Mama?"
Well, Javier would certainly agree to leaving this place if it would make the witch happy. He dared to look away from Nora long enough to send Rayford a hateful glare. Nora didn't respond directly to the question. Her thick, gray tongue did slide out of her puckered mouth to wet her pale lips. The same action that made Javier feel like a thousand tiny insects were crawling over his flesh caused Rayford to chuckle. "Yes, I know you're hungry, Mama. Saul will be here soon and then we'll eat."
Rayford turned towards the detectives. He moved to the side of the cage and crouched down to be closer to eye level with the two boys. "Let us go," demanded Javier. His voice, thankfully, didn't shake or belay too much of his terror. "Beckett will never let you get away with this."
Rayford's face morphed into one of rage and the rotted skull of his spirit flashed before the detective's eyes. Javier willed his heart to stop beating so damned loudly. Kevin's grip on him was starting to hurt a bit. "Kate Beckett will pay for her sins, starting with the two of you."
"You're the bad guy," argued Javier. It felt necessary to point this out. Rayford seemed to be working under the misconception that he was the victim.
"Oh, you have no idea," hissed the witch. His breath smelled a little like urine. Javier focused on breathing through his mouth instead of his nose.
Rayford grasped one of the thin bars of the kennel. The smell of urine was replaced by the acrid scent of burnt ozone as the entire cage was enveloped in a blinding blue flash of light. Behind him, Kevin cried out in pain as the magical current coursed through his little body where he was pushed back against the bars. Javier got his own jolt just from being in contact with the Irishman. He immediately jumped forward to give Kevin space to move away from the charge. While the assault had lasted only a second, Kevin struggled to catch his breath for a few minutes.
In the meantime, Rayford smiled sickly. "You will not move or speak unless ordered to do so. You will obey every command given to you. You will not whine or cry or make a mess. Do I make myself clear?"
"Listen, jerk-" Rayford charged the cage again. Unfortunately, the bottom of the kennel was made of the same thinly coated steel as the bars and the plastic did nothing to lower the magical conductivity of the prison. There was no way to escape the flood of pain. Javier could barely see past the tears from his watering eyes when the witch stopped his magic. He grit his teeth together and tried to work through the hurt.
"Do I make myself clear?" repeated Rayford.
"Fuck you," whimpered Javier when he could get his mouth to cooperate enough to speak. He braced himself for the next charge but it didn't come. Instead, Rayford reached through the bars to fist in the front of Javier's shirt and pull him forward. The witch slammed him a little harder than necessary against the thin rods. With his other hand, the witch gripped his jaw.
"I'd cut out your tongue if my benefactors didn't enjoy the sound of begging so much," he snarled. "Though I've heard it's still possible to scream without one." Rayford released Javier abruptly. He rose to his full height so he could glare down at the boys from a greater distance. "All I care about is that Kate Beckett suffers. If I accidently kill you, I'll still achieve my goal."
He marched from the room, using the second exit. All Javier could tell was that it let out into a dark hallway. Nora remained in her seat on the couch, leering at them unblinkingly. Javier forced himself to crowd Kevin into the corner again, now that the threat of being electrocuted was gone. He curled around his smaller partner and wished with everything that he had that this would turn out to be nothing but a horrible nightmare. He did his best to ignore the awful weight of the dead woman's stare on his back.
to be continued…
Author's Notes:
Thank you, TXMedic, for doing such a great job beta-reading.
Thank you Lezzles for the wonderful cover art: lsmwalls[ d o t ] tumbl r [ d o t ] com[/]image[/]58939397473
Please let me know what you think, especially if you have ideas of ways I can improve. I cherish all my reviews. I write for fun but I always want to improve, so constructive criticism is always welcome. All mistakes are my own.