December 19, 2009
"You found her?" Ryan repeats, motioning Esposito over. The Latino detective gives him a puzzled look, so Ryan puts the phone on speaker.
"Kate Beckett. That's her name," Castle says. The two detectives glance at each other, their eyes bugging out in disbelief. "Hello?"
"Yeah, I'm here. That's great man," Ryan says, recovering.
"Do you think you can look up her address for me? The number I have is out of service," Castle says.
Esposito shakes his head, so Ryan covers the mouthpiece and mouths, "C'mon."
The Latino detective quickly scribbles on a notepad, writing She's engaged!
Ryan's shoulders slump.
"I don't know. I'm not supposed to use police resources for civilians," he hedges.
"I promise I'd owe you a big one. Please," Castle begs.
Ryan writes For love on the notepad. Esposito flashes him an unamused glare and mutes the call.
"This guy is insane," he whispers.
"You just don't like him because we wouldn't have caught the right guy without his help," Ryan scoffs.
"How do we know he's not some stalker? He writes about crime for a living. What's to say he's not a secret serial killer?"
"You really think that?"
"No, but do you really want to give your female friend's address to some guy we just met?" Esposito counters.
"She can handle herself, and she lives with a federal agent," Ryan replies. "Worst case scenario, he gets his ass handed to him. And if it's meant to be, it's meant to be."
"Why don't we ask Beckett first, see if she remembers him?"
Ryan pushes the flash drive Castle gave him the day before toward his partner. "Because he collected thirty-four cases to find her. It'll be better coming from him. He deserves a chance, don't you think?"
"Your funeral," Esposito says, holding his hands up in defeat.
"Ryan, you there?" Castle prompts.
"Hey, Castle, sorry 'bout that," the detective says, unmuting the phone. "You promise not to do anything funny?"
"Yes, absolutely. I promise."
"You still getting married?"
"I...I don't know."
"Well, I'm seeing that her current address is in Boston," Ryan says, inspecting his fingernail. "Got a pen?"
"Didn't Lanie say she was in town?" Esposito whispers.
Ryan covers the phone again. "He still might be getting married, so if he actually goes to Boston, then we know he's willing to risk it all for her."
"I don't know whether to be proud of or disgusted by you right now," Esposito says, shaking his head with a smirk.
Castle takes the elevator to the penthouse floor at the Waldorf, where they'd rented out several suites for the wedding.
"Richard, is that you?" his mother calls out when he enters the palatial room. She's lounging on a settee, flipping through a magazine with her face covered in a garishly green scrub and her hair done-up in rollers.
"Where's Alexis?" He asks softly. The older redhead looks up at him.
"Watching a movie in her room," she answers, curiosity blooming in her gaze as she absorbs his jittery energy. "What's gotten into you? Finally looking forward to your upcoming nuptials?"
"I—uh…" he manages, and then extends the book towards her instead, suddenly unable to speak.
Martha reads the title and shock spills over her features as she flips to the name and number on the dedication page.
"You found her."
He nods, barely hiding the grin threatening to break across his face.
"Did you talk to her?"
"Number's out of service, but my police buddy says she lives in Boston."
"What are you going to do?"
He rubs a hand on the back of his neck. "Uh, actually, I was hoping you could keep an eye on Alexis for me."
"You're not going there now, are you?"
"When else can I do it?"
"Richard!"
"This is my last chance before the wedding tomorrow."
"You can't be serious."
"Mother, please. I've never felt like this before. This girl...she's a mystery I never got to solve. But it's also more than that. She—"
"No, I get it," his mother says, interrupting.
"You do?"
She gives him a long look. "If I ever had the chance to see your father again, I would take it."
"So you're not going to stop me?"
"Kiddo, a love like this doesn't come around often."
He kisses his mother on the head, one of her rollers hitting his nose.
"Thanks."
"Break a leg."
He thinks about catching a train but when he checks his phone for tickets, he finds that the last train for Boston left at 5:30pm, so he picks up one of the rental cars Black Pawn keeps on lease as a perk for staff and clientele.
When he slides into the driver's seat, the clock on the dashboard glows with the time—6:47pm.
If he takes the toll road, he can get there in three and a half hours, less, if he speeds a little. He presses down on the gas pedal and barrels north on FDR drive.
Halfway through Connecticut, he realizes he has no idea what he's going to say to her and starts plotting out possible scenes in his head. His mind drifts towards the sweeping romantic gestures made famous by John Hughes—John Cusack holding out a boombox in Say Anything and the character of Jake Ryan leaning against his red Porsche in Sixteen Candles, just waiting for Molly Ringwald to open the door. All a guy had to do was show up and smile and he got the girl. He foolishly hopes he won't have to explain himself to her, that they won't even need words, but that would be too easy. He needs an actual plan.
Does he tell her that he hasn't stopped thinking about her? Even when he got married to Meredith and had to quit his dreams of becoming published when Alexis came along and started teaching English for a steady paycheck? How looking for her mother inspired him to write Derrick? Or how he wrote the story of them but it's still unfinished? His thoughts race as the minutes tick by, bringing him closer to her.
By the time he passes the Boston Commons on the way towards her place in the north end, he has a speech prepared; a monologue worthy of a Nancy Meyers or Nora Ephron film. Adrenaline courses through him and his whole frame vibrates with energy as he parks on the street outside of her apartment building.
This was it.
He fixes his appearance in the side mirror, combing a couple fingers through his hair and straightening his crooked collar. Satisfied, he double-checks the address on his phone and notes the first floor apartment number. He assesses the large bay windows adorning the brickwork. Maybe he can take a peek before barging in—get a lay of the landscape first.
Calming the erratic beat of his heart, he rests a shoulder against a tree on the sidewalk, pretending to read from his phone. After a moment, he casually glances up at one of the windows of the first floor apartment. It's blazing with light, illuminating the space inside.
He spots the outline of a woman in the dining room area, on the far side of the room. Kate. From where he's standing, he can't get a good look of her face, so he inches closer to the window, but she turns away just then, her back facing him. He can make out her hair, dark brown, just like he remembered, but a little longer than before.
His hands feel clammy. He can't believe he's staring at her like some Peeping Tom. He needs to get a grip. Ditching the window, he walks up the steps and searches for her nameplate, itching to ring the bell, but he freezes at the sight of another name next to hers. Sorenson. It's like a punch to his gut. She has a roommate...it doesn't have to mean anything.
He hurries back to the street and peeks through the window again, only to have his worst suspicions confirmed when a man with a square jaw and cropped haircut enters the room and reaches for Kate, his hands cupping her waist. Castle watches as she reaches up on her toes to kiss him. Disappointment pierces his heart and spreads into his chest like poison.
He had considered the fact she might be in a relationship during his drive, but he had pushed it to the back of his mind, not wanting to think of even the possibility. He couldn't. Not when he was risking so much.
But now, faced with the truth of it, it's like being hit with a ton of bricks and a cement truck. It's a harsh reminder that he isn't in some 80s or 90s rom-com.
Dejected, Castle slowly gets back into his car. His hands clench the edge of the steering wheel hard, his knuckles turning white. He slams a hand down on the dashboard, jolting when he accidentally hits the car horn with his elbow and it blares loudly. Shit. He needs to leave.
Turning the key in the ignition, he starts the engine and peels away from the curb, leaving Kate and ideas of fate behind.
He stops at a gas station a mile away, refills his tank, and buys a four-hour energy drink. He's in for a long night and he can't risk falling asleep at the wheel.
He's getting married tomorrow.