Chapter II

New York City, NY

Later

It was 10pm when the ringing of her cell phone woke her out of the deepest slumber she'd had for some time.

She'd been so out of it that even now, when she stared at the vibrating cell phone on her bedside table, it took a moment for her to orient herself. Figure out the date and time and where she was.

She grabbed the phone, bleary-eyed, and swiped it to answer when she saw her partner's number on the screen.

"What the hell, Beckett? Ryan and I were close to breaking down your door. We've been calling all day. All we got from Gates was that you're not comin' in and that you won't be anytime soon 'cause of some new assignment away from the 12th."

She sank back onto her pillow with a yawn. "Glad you didn't. Break down the door that is."

"You okay?"

"I'm okay."

"What the hell's going on? First you call in sick, which is unheard of, and then what's this about a new assignment? Without us?"

"Yeah…"

"Wanna tell us what's going on?"

God, no.

"I can't. Not right now, Jav." He was her partner and they were supposed to be straight with each other.

There was a moment of silence on the other end and she could envision the irritation on his face. "You good though? You really sick?"

She hesitated. "Yeah…food poisoning, I think. Trust me, it's good I didn't come in."

"No details please. Haven't I told you to stop getting Lo Mein from that dive on 33rd?"

A smile curled the corner of her lips. "You did. You know me. Have to learn the hard way."

Esposito snickered. "Serves you right then. Keep in touch when you get a sec off your top-secret assignment and then get your ass back to the 12th."

"I will."

She ended the call and stared up at the ceiling. Still disoriented but rested for the first time in weeks. Stunned that it had taken less than 24 hours to turn her life upside down.

She hadn't gone home after signing the release papers at the 7th Precinct. She'd called Dr. Burke instead and begged him to squeeze her in, even for ten minutes if need be. Maybe he'd conclude that she was ready to be committed to an institution and a straight-jacket.

If nothing else, at least that would get her out of that bodyguard assignment in the Hamptons.

Instead, he'd calmed her down. As usual.

"You've had a setback, Kate. It doesn't mean you've failed or you're going crazy. I told you to sit out the sniper case, but you pushed yourself to see it through and the guy was caught because you did. But it came with a high price."

"I can't sleep. It's been weeks."

"I'll prescribe you something to help you. Just enough for one week. Then we'll deal with it. Because lack of sleep will chip away at your resilience. It has a snowball effect. So let's focus on that first…you getting some sleep."

"I've started to drink…more than I thought I was…"

And that confession had unleashed a flood of tears from her and yet it had barely fazed Burke.

"I suspected you might have, during your last visit. I'm glad that you're already able to admit it now. That you're aware of it. Means we can tackle that too."

"Okay…"

Then he'd pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to her. "In case you get the urge to have a drink before I see you next week, here's a list of AA meeting spots and times for this week."

She'd bristled. Refused to take it from him. "I said I've been drinking too much lately. I didn't say I'm an alcoholic."

"I didn't say you were either, Kate."

"Last time I checked AA stood for Alcoholics Anonymous. Has that changed?"

He'd smiled. That calm, gentle, knowing smile she both loved and hated. "It hasn't, no. But perhaps disregard the name and see it as an option if you need to avoid temptation. You're not alone is all I'm trying to say. You also have my number. Don't hesitate to call me."

"What if I need another option?"

"Another option?"

"Yeah. Besides AA."

She'd stumped him. But only for a nanosecond.

"Go for a run."

"A run?"

"Exercise is a powerful tool. A chemical boost of a different kind, one that releases endorphins, adrenaline, dopamine, and serotonin. And decreases cortisol."

"Do I really need more adrenaline?"

He'd smiled again. Unflappable. "This kind. Yes. The good kind."

"Okay."

"But only as far as your PT allows. No marathons, Kate. You're still recovering physically too."

In twenty minutes, he'd calmly made her realize that maybe she hadn't fallen as far into the abyss as she'd feared. That maybe her setback wasn't insurmountable.

Gates had ordered her to go home for the rest of the day. Told her that she'd send her the case file on Richard Castle and that she could meet with Cyber Crimes on Monday. It would give her the entire weekend to catch up on the life of the man who used to be one of her favourite authors. Something she hadn't mentioned to Gates last night.

So, she'd gone home after seeing Burke. She'd showered, downed three glasses of water, two aspirin and one of his sleeping pills, and then collapsed into bed.

Combined with her exhaustion, it had knocked her out for almost twelve hours. Without a single nightmare to jolt her into wakefulness and she was grateful for that.

Now if only she could have woken up to the knowledge that last night was a nightmare, too. Not the harsh reality she remembered.

Her stomach grumbled painfully now, reminding her that it had been 24 hours since she'd eaten. So she rolled out of bed and ordered pizza from her favourite neighbourhood pizzeria. Large, the works, with plenty of vegetables, cheese and meat, to cover all food groups. And big enough to last her for tomorrow as well.

Because she wasn't ready to face the world.

She tied her sleep-messed hair into a pony tail and brewed a pot of coffee. Then she slipped into a hoodie and a pair of yoga pants and sat down at the table and chair that doubled as a work space, in front of her lap top. After turning it on, she was pleased to see that the case file was already in her inbox.

Playing bodyguard to a playboy writer was both insult and punishment, but considering the alternatives, Beckett figured she could swallow her pride.

As soon as she got this stalker, she'd be back at the 12th, where she was meant to be, solving murders with her two partners.

The smell of freshly brewing coffee beans energized her. When it was ready, Beckett poured herself a generous cup of coffee and started to read.

Time stood still once she started diving into the file, and Beckett was oblivious to the world around her, as she always was when she truly pored over a case.

It was 4am the next time she thought to check the clock on her laptop. The coffee pot was empty and one third of the pizza that she barely remembered grabbing from the delivery guy was gone as well.

She got up because her bladder demanded it and stretched her arms up towards the ceiling in an effort to iron out a newly formed kink in her shoulder. In exchange, the scar on her side reminded her that it still wasn't ready for feline stretches.

Beckett closed the pizza box and put it into her fridge before padding into the bathroom.

When she came back out, she brewed another cup of coffee, opened a bag of Oreos and sat back down at her desk.

A notepad next to her lap top had eight pages of notes in her neat handwriting.

The threats had been going on for more than six months and Richard Castle hadn't reported them to the police until they were three months in, when they became more threatening.

Beckett could see why. The notes began harmlessly enough. Professions of love and admiration. The kind of heartfelt swooning that might come from starstruck teenagers.

-I saw you helping that blind man at the fundraiser. They didn't write about it but I saw it. You're a good man, Rick. Do you know how rare that is?

-I can see your soul in your eyes. It's so pure, your soul. So beautiful.

-My heart burst when I saw that photo at the premiere. The way you're looking at Alexis. You're such a proud father. She has no idea how lucky she is to have a father like you.

But three months in they became increasingly threatening and hate-filled.

-You're too good for that whore

-How can you sleep with that prostitute when sweet Alexis is under the same roof? Do you want her to become like them? Believe me, I know these women.

-I don't want to hurt her but you're giving me no choice. That filthy bitch will destroy you. You're too good for her. I won't let her defile you.

-Seeing those pictures destroyed me, Rick. But I will always forgive you. Because I know you're only doing it because she's deceived you. I would never deceive you.

-You have to let her go. Before she poisons everything. Before I have to stop it."

-I'll do it. I don't want to but I will. I am capable of it. It's in my blood. I will do EVERYTHING for you, Rick. So you don't end up like them

Defile.

Destroy.

Filthy bitch.

Similar words kept cropping up, whether it was on e-mails or on his social media channels and Beckett no longer believed that it was a starstruck teenager. But she'd leave that kind of dissection up to Cyber Crimes. According to their reports, the stalker wasn't using complex technology. There was no mention of a hacked VPN to mask ISP addresses – at least not one they've been able to flush out yet. The e-mails and messages had largely come from various, newly created e-mail addresses and were sent from public computers in spaces with little or no surveillance cameras. One of the smaller public libraries on Long Island. The lobby of an old Hampton Inn and Suites in New Jersey. A UPS store at a strip mall in Brooklyn.

Maybe she wasn't a computer whiz, but she was smart. That meant they might need an actual detective to find her, not just some IT guys following a web trail.

Her. Beckett chided herself for the assumption.

Statistics leaned towards a female suspect. Both the obsession and the poison as an MO for getting rid of a rival generally indicated a female perp. But Beckett couldn't rule out the possibility of a male or a transgender suspect. Not yet.

She remembered reading about Richard Castle auctioning off a date with himself at a charity fundraiser a while ago, and not batting an eye when the winner had been a male. Richard Castle, although clearly and happily straight, given the endless string of women he'd been linked to, was also clearly comfortable in his skin. Enough so that going on a date with a male admirer didn't perturb him at all.

She jotted a reminder in her notebook to check out the winner of that contest too, in case Cyber Crimes had missed it.

In case they hadn't been following Richard Castle's career as long as she had.

Beckett blushed at the thought. She used to be quite the fan. Her mother had bought his early mystery novels and gushed about them, so naturally Kate had devoured them as well. And later on, after her mother's death, Derrick Storm was exactly the kind of fearless, globetrotting hero that she could escape under the covers with, after a grueling day at the police academy.

It didn't hurt that Richard Castle was easy on the eyes.

She'd even lined up to get one of his books autographed when she was still a rookie. He'd taken his time back then. Had asked her some thoughtful questions and for the 60 seconds or so that they'd stood in the same space, his entire attention had been focused on her and he seemed genuinely interested in her answers, no matter how awkward and tongue-tied she'd been.

It was easy to imagine that someone might misinterpret that kind of easy, natural charm as having a deeper meaning.

But it didn't.

She wasn't that naïve to think it did, even back in her academy days. It was just a well-practised skill on his part. And since then, everything she'd heard and read about Richard Castle suggested that he was just another rich playboy who'd fallen in to all the trappings of wealth and fame. It's one of the reasons her adoration had faded.

He hadn't even written much lately. Not since he killed off her beloved Derrick Storm nearly three years ago. That had been the final straw.

Beckett pored over the files until she came upon a misdemeanor charge that happened more than a decade ago. Beckett did a double take when she read the details.

You stole a police horse and rode it naked?

"Are you kidding me? Pure soul, my ass."

Only a rich, white man could keep that out of the media, sweep it under a rug, and still have a thriving career.

Maybe her suspect was smart, but they definitely suffered from more than one delusion.

Then there were the countless parties and the endless list of women that Richard Castle was linked to. Seemed like there was a new one every week. Up-and-coming actresses. Social media influencers. Eastern European models.

Beckett rubbed one of her temples. It made her cringe. The lavish excesses of the rich. The toys, the affairs, the drugs, probably. All of it. And she dreaded the idea of having to immerse herself in that world.

She was getting hungry, too, and remembered that she still had half a pizza in the fridge, so she got up, grabbed it, and popped it into her oven.

And while waiting, Beckett jotted down the names of the most recent women he'd been linked to in her notebook. Cyber Crimes probably would have checked them out already but she was increasingly convinced that their suspect was someone already close to him. It wasn't necessarily someone he was dating, or even a jilted ex, but it could be a friend of his mother's or even someone in his daughter's social circle.

Castle's mother, Martha Rodgers, was an actress who had been, and still was, linked to a fair number of dalliances herself, and who hadn't worked much in recent times. But his father was a mystery. No matter what records she accessed, there was no name she could dig up. Beckett suspected it was because Mrs. Rodgers herself probably wasn't sure who his father was.

Sad, she thought. And so very different from her own happy childhood with two stable, loving parents.

Until…

She brushed the thought from her mind.

Then there was Alexis Castle.

Beckett studied a recent photo of Richard Castle's only child.

She was a red-headed teenager whose entire face lit up when she smiled. There was something genuine that radiated from all the photos she'd seen of her, one that was different from the self-conscious awareness she'd seen in so many teenagers. It looked as though Alexis Castle was a happy, well-adjusted kid, in spite of her surroundings.

Then again, she reminded herself. Photos can be deceiving.

By now she was itching to speak to all of them in person. You could glean so much more information from an in-person interaction than from a photo or a police report.

The day was slowly drifting into afternoon and information wasn't the only thing she was itching for.

She was craving a drink.

Beckett's gaze drifted towards the cabinet that usually stored her liquor, and it reinforced her craving. An inexplicable anxiety bubbled underneath her skin when she remembered that there was nothing there. The cabinet was empty.

Blinking hard, she turned her gaze away in disgust. At the end of the day, was this really what it came down to? Was everyone predestined by the paths and genes of those who came before them?

Was she going to turn to alcohol whenever she hit a rough patch because her father was an alcoholic?

Was Richard Castle a serial-dater because that's what his mother did?

"Fuck that," Beckett pushed herself off the desk chair. It didn't matter that she was craving it. So what? Craving and doing were two different things. It's not as though she had any liquor left in the apartment anyway, and she wasn't about to go out and buy some.

She took the re-heated pizza out of the oven and poured a glass of water from the faucet in the kitchen sink to wash it down.

When she finished them both, her craving hadn't eased off. If anything, it was amplified. Cheese and carbs only seemed to fuel it.

So she stepped into her shower and made sure the water was as hot as possible, just short of scalding her scarred body. Staying in it until she couldn't bear it anymore.

And when she stepped out, red as a lobster, she debated taking another sleeping pill and hoping for oblivion. But it was barely 6 o'clock. If she took one now, she'd be wide awake again by 2am. Or even earlier.

Dr. Burke's words bounced through her head. She'd thrown out the list of AA meetings he'd given her, but she could easily look them up online.

That is, if she were seriously considering it.

Which she wasn't.

"Go for a run."

"Okay," she exhaled. A run she could do. Nearly five months after getting shot, physically she was near the tail end of her recovery. There were some things she still wasn't supposed to be doing. Activities like sparring and lifting weights were off the table for another few months. But according to her doctors she could manage a two-mile run.

And Beckett was certain that doubling that distance wouldn't kill her either.

She towel-dried her hair and then put it up into a pony tail. There was no point in drying it, given how hot and humid it was outside.

She changed clothes and grabbed her MetroCard, keys, and three one-dollar bills. Enough for a bottle of water from a Central Park vendor, but not enough for a drink. Not in Manhattan anyway.

She was tense and restless on the crowded rush-hour subway ride up to Central Park, and barely got in a few basic stretches after entering the park. The need to get rid of that toxic, anxious restlessness was too urgent.

She took off at a sprint and kept going.

Past the Pond and the Zoo and the throngs of tourists taking pictures at the southern tip of the park.

Past the Dairy and the volleyball courts, down the steps underneath the Bethesda Terrace and its gorgeous tiled ceiling.

She ran north. Until her muscles began to strain from the unexpected exertion.

She used to be able to run ten miles with relative ease, but she hadn't done so in months.

A car honked its horn on the East Drive after she passed the boat house, and it nearly made her jump out of her skin.

But it also gave her a second wind, even as her lungs started to protest, no longer able to get a sufficient amount of hot, humid air into her body.

Beckett pushed herself to keep up her pace. She crossed the 79th and saw the walls of the Met pass her by on the right.

The entire length of the Jackie Kennedy reservoir was a blue blurb to her left and the north meadow was a beacon up ahead. The tourists had thinned out now, and there were more dogs and locals here than selfie sticks and cameras.

She finally passed the butterfly garden and looped around the Blockhouse near the northernmost tip of the park.

Her legs were pleading for her to stop and the lengthy incision scar on her side was pulling hard, but she had no intention of slowing down. She wasn't hurting nearly enough to have exorcised her unwelcome cravings.

She turned around and headed back south. Ran alongside the West Drive and saw a giant blue blur to her right. The reservoir came and went and she crossed 86th for a second time.

Each step was agony by the time she reached the Sheep Meadow near the southern end of the park. She was gasping for air and nearly doubled over when she spotted the Carousel to her right.

The last time she was there was on a case. Because a serial killer had dumped a body there.

Maybe I'll just climb under a horse and die there. It'll become the only carousel in the world that's twirled around two dead bodies.

And after that morbid thought she had to stop. All the willpower in the world couldn't keep her upright anymore.

Kate sank to her knees in the grass. Her legs were shaking so hard they'd taken on a life of their own.

So dizzy.

She lowered her head to the ground, until blades of grass touched her forehead. Willing the world to stop spinning.

And suddenly something wet brushed against her hair.

She raised her head in shock and gasped for air.

A dachshund was licking the side of her head and the older, well-dressed lady who was holding its leash gave her a look of concern. A couple of tourists were staring at her as well.

"Are you okay?"

Beckett pressed her hands into the grass and nodded. Sweat ran down her arms and cheeks. She bunched some grass into her fists, tearing it out of the ground.

"Do you want me to call an ambulance? Is there anything I can do to help?"

Kate shook her head. The world had stopped spinning but she still couldn't get out a word. Still struggled to breathe.

"I'm gonna get you some water," the old lady decided.

Beckett watched as the woman slowly walked to the nearest vendor and came back with a cold bottle of water and handed it to her.

"Thank you," she rasped. Finally able to choke out two measly words.

She opened it with shaking hands and let the icy cold liquid cool her throat.

"Better?"

"Yeah."

"Are you gonna be okay?"

"Yes."

"You really shouldn't be running in this heat. Even though it's evening now, it's still so humid."

"Yeah…" A slight breeze came out of nowhere and it cooled the perspiration on her skin. Made her shiver for a second.

"Well, I'm glad you're all right, sweetie," the lady mused. "Do you need help getting anywhere?"

"No. Thank you."

"In that case Chimichanga and I will get going. It's too hot for him for long walks."

The older woman was about to walk away.

"Wait!" Beckett reached into the pocket of her shorts and pulled out the three dollars she'd stuffed in there earlier. "Please…for the water."

"Oh dear, no. You don't have to pay me."

"I insist," she clumsily stood back up and her scar tugged so hard, it almost forced her back down. "Please," she managed through clenched teeth. She didn't want to risk the temptation of buying anything else with it.

"If you insist." The lady took the money and Beckett watched her walk away. Saw the tourists who'd stopped to gawk at her disperse as well. She wasn't gonna die. Nothing worth posting on social media to see here.

Beckett moved gingerly, one arm draped across her waist. Everything hurt, especially the scar on her side. It throbbed like it hadn't done in weeks.

She slowly made her way out of the park, splashing some of the water on her face before drinking the rest. Throwing the plastic bottle into a waste bin just before she got on the subway at 5th Avenue. When she finally, slowly, made it back home she jumped back into the shower.

Ice cold this time.

Then she rifled through her cabinets and searched for some of the prescription painkillers she'd stopped taking a while ago.

When she found a half-full bottle, she poured out one tablet and took it, along with a sleeping pill.

She was hurting so bad that for a second she debated going to an ER.

But only for a second.

She knew it would taper off, as long as she hadn't torn anything. The pills would knock her out at least for a good six hours, and that would help. Best of all, Burke was right. The run had all but killed her craving for a drink.

But, damn. It was painful.

Maybe AA wasn't such a bad idea, after all.

That thought also floated through her brain for only an instant, before she shook it off with a shudder.

No way.

She'd rather go for another run tomorrow.

Beckett threw on a clean t-shirt and turned on the ceiling fan in her bedroom, welcoming the soft breeze that ghosted her bare skin.

She pulled her knees towards her aching chest. The world quickly went quiet and she drifted off, wondering how long it would take until she was no longer a broken shell of her former self.