Blank: Chapter 11
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DISCLAIMER: Most of these characters are not mine at all, but they are memorable. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe. The others? Yeah, they're mine
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2:20 a.m. on April 17, 2012 at the Castles Complex in Sausalito, California
Both women have been quiet for the past six or seven minutes, each in their own thoughts. They know the confused state that Richard Castle will awaken into in the next minute or so. With each passing minute, the clarity of words that Kate planned to share with the man she loves have faded. Now, she is beginning to feel the pangs of panic, as she no longer knows exactly what to say once he comes back to them.
The stirring underneath her fingertips startles her back into the moment.
"He's coming around, Sam," she quickly tells the doctor who still kneels alongside her.
Somehow, the doctor senses the uncertainty in her friend who kneels with her, and so she encourages her as much as she can.
"This isn't the first time this has happened, Kate," Dr. Samantha Peraza reminds her. "You know what to say. You love this man. He loves you. Speak from your heart. Surely you and Richard have planned for this possibility."
Kate nods her head rapidly, and holds Richard Castle's head firmly with one hand, while her right hand quickly reaches out to the good doctor, finding her hand and giving it a grateful squeeze. Just in time, too, as suddenly Castle's eyes open, blinking against the bright light from the ceiling light fixture above. Thankfully, the whole vomiting bit has been eradicated by the antidote.
Sadly, as both women understand, the memory loss has not.
"Wha – What happened? Did I pass out?" a confused Castle asks.
"How did I get on the floor?" he continues as he glances around. Suddenly, a bit of panic sets in on the ex-author, as he realizes he is no longer in Chinatown, and has no idea whatsoever how he got back here to the complex, which he easily recognizes.
"Kate, what is –"
"Hold on babe," Kate interrupts. "I know you're frightened, and there is a good explanation for this. But I think it is best you hear about it from someone else."
"Someone else?" Castle asks, as the frustration begins to overtake the confusion. "Who?"
"You," Kate tells him, as she reaches for his mobile phone, and with the folder open and file selected, she simply hits the PLAY icon. Suddenly, Richard Castle's face takes over the small screen, and the ex-author's crystal-clear voice begins speaking . . . along with the trademark smirk that used to bug her to no end, but now brings a smile to her face.
"Well, Ricky boy, if you are watching this, then it's happened again," Castle's voice and face begin on the video that plays on the phone.
"You must be wondering what 'it' is that has happened again," the voice continues. "Well, it is better if I tell you a story. We both know you always appreciate a good story . . . especially if you're the author."
For her part, Dr. Samantha Peraza feels as if she is having an out-of-body experience, watching the proceedings unfold in front of her. Kate, on the other hand, is simply focused on Castle – the real Castle, not the phone version. She already knows what the phone version is saying. She was there, holding the phone recording the story just over a week ago when they both decided that this would be the best way to bring him back to full understanding if . . . well, when another occurrence happened. They both knew this would happen.
In a way, she is happy it happened now. That means only two weeks have been lost. Far worse if this happened months later, when what would seem to be an entire lifetime together would be lost in the winds. She shakes these thoughts away as she listens to the story being told to the man she loves.
"So, here's the deal," Castle's phone persona continues. "Robbie Johnson, the husband of Karen Marks was murdered. Back around the 2nd or 3rd of April. April 2012. He was murdered in a very brutal fashion. Embalmed, and left propped up with a guitar down at the House of Wax down on the Wharf."
"That's kind of cool," the real Richard Castle remarks, already fulling invested in the story, as both he and Kate knew he would be. The phone persona has paused for a few seconds, as if expecting some type of rhetorical response from the author to this news.
"Dark, but cool," Castle continues.
"I knew you'd think this would be cool," the phone persona continues, drawing a chuckle from Richard Castle, and an eye roll from both women who still kneel on the floor alongside him.
"Wait a second, you said April 2nd or 3rd. That's two weeks ago," Castle suddenly realizes. "He said two weeks ago –" he repeats to Kate, who puts a finger over his lips to quiet the man.
"Time for that later, for now, just watch and listen," Kate tells him. An almost boyish, frowning pout paints his face, bringing another chuckle to both women as the story continues to unfold from the phone.
"Because of the manner in which the murder occurred, Karen Marks was the first suspect," the phone video continues. "Sandra Clooney, our esteemed mayor paid a personal visit to our complex to give us the news. Long story short, we followed the clues that told us the last place Robbie Johnson had been seen was a massage parlor in Chinatown. Now, before you get all excited, that's where this story takes a darker turn . . . darker for you. For me. Damn, this is confusing."
The threesome on the floor chuckle again, all but confirming for Kate that this approach was – indeed – the best way to break the news to Castle.
"We – you and Kate – went to the massage parlor that night," the phone version continues, "and while we were there, you were drugged. I was drugged. This drug simulates death. You dropped dead just outside the parlor at the car. And when I say dead, I mean real dead. As in paramedics pronounced you dead with a Certificate of Death after unsuccessfully trying to revive you. But the problem was, you were only mostly dead, not all the way dead."
"Oooh, Princess Bride, I love this," the real Castle remarks. He receives a smack to the forehead from the woman he loves for his efforts.
"Quiet and listen, Rick!" she almost hisses to him, still smiling though. She knows – they both knew – that humor would be his life-saving device.
"So even though everyone thought you were dead, you awoke – I woke up – in the morgue, on the slab, on the table inside one of the cabinets. And yeah, that was both cool and creepy at the same time. You . . . I . . . we kicked the cabinet door open and pushed out, fell naked on the ground. That's when Kate and Mike and the attending doctor walked in."
"Mike must have liked that," Castle chuckles. This time, Kate doesn't even try to rebuke him.
"Now, the bad news. You have fallen into this almost dead state quite a few times," the phone video informs him. "Kate will fill in the rest of the blanks, and you and I prepared a diary of sorts, that helps you understand everything that has happened since that time. Yeah, that is the bad news. Every time this happens, you and I have no memory of anything that has happened since the night at the massage parlor. Every time this happens and you fall sort of dead, you will wake up, but you wake up with no memories of anything since that night. It won't matter if a day has passed, a month has passed or a year has passed . . . when it happens, everything is lost to you. To me. To us."
The phone version stops there, rubbing his hands through the thick mane of hair on his head. He knows the man watching this recording. He knows himself. He knows this is a good pausing point, to give himself – the man watching – time to process what has just been said. He looks away for a moment, as if counting off the numbers. Finally, after about ten seconds, he continues the story.
"As you are watching this now, I have no idea how much time has passed, but know that Sam Carlos is working on an antidote. Well, a better antidote. The one he gave me – gave you – eliminated some nasty side effects –"
"And by nasty, we mean fatal," Kate interjects.
"– But the memory loss is still there. And no, Sam is not the one behind the drug. But you know Sam, he was able to run down who was behind it fairly quickly – within a day or two as I understand it. And now he is using his charming ways to make sure that a better, more final antidote is being worked on and given to you – to me – as soon as possible. We both know what I mean by 'charming' when it comes to Sam. Let's hope no one is getting killed in the process. In the meantime, open your computer and read the diary, the journal. It will tell you as many of the thoughts I could capture that has happened between now and that night at the parlor. Things that happened, important thoughts that you had – I had. Decisions you and Kate – Kate and I – have made. I tried to capture everything important that happened each day, so that your memory – my memory – can at least have some pseudo memories. Because even though you don't remember them, they are real for Kate. For Alexis. For Mike and Samantha and everyone there."
The video pauses for another few seconds, before his phone persona signs off.
"Talk to Kate, and make sure you talk to Alexis. Both can fill you in on anything else important."
With that, the video stops and Kate hands the phone to Richard Castle. For a brief instant, he does not hold out his hand to take the object, as if there has been some offence committed. It is just for a second however, as he finally reaches out and takes the device.
"Even I couldn't make this up," he now grumbles to himself, the cool factor of the whole proceedings now decidedly in the rearview mirror. Reality has ground such thoughts to a fine mist, and now he is facing that reality square in the face.
"Help me up?" he asks the two women alongside him. Both quickly get to their feet, and slowly pull him to a standing position.
"Easy there, Richard," Samantha Peraza tells him. "You're going to be a bit dizzy for a few more minutes."
For a few seconds, Castle is quiet, just taking in his surroundings. He's at the complex. He risks a glance at his watch.
"2:34 in the morning?" he exclaims in surprise, quickly realizing the ramifications. "If I am here at this time of the night – or morning – and both of you are still here at this time, then something must be going on. This isn't a normal night, is it?"
"Well, what exactly is 'normal' for this place?" his friend Samantha asks, smiling, making quotation marks in the air.
"Astute as always, babe," Kate offers. "You have plenty of time to read your journal. You will get a lot from that. But for now, let me tell you about Cynthia Romaines, our newest guest here to the Castles. Oh, and you owe Sam Carlos twelve thousand five hundred dollars."
"Excuse me?" Castle questions.
"All in good time, babe," she chuckles. "All in good time. You've been out for two weeks. There is a lot to bring you up to speed on."
"Yeah, but twelve thousand dollars? To Sam? What have I gotten myself into this time?"
"Twelve thousand five hundred dollars," she laughs. "And no, you didn't do anything crazy . . . just your normal generous self. I will bring you up to speed. But for now, Let's get you walking, get you something to drink –"
"Non-alcoholic," Dr. Peraza adds.
"Spoilsport," Castle grumbles, bringing a smile to all three.
With that, the door burst open suddenly, and an out-of-breath Alexis Castle bursts into the room, still wearing pajamas and a robe.
"Yeah, that kind of night," Castle muses to himself as he takes his daughter into his chest, holding and hugging tightly.
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A/N: I am praying health and safety over all of you, all of us. And I am hoping that we learn to disagree without dividing. We used to know how to do that in this country.