AN: Thanks for all the follows, favorites, and reviews for this story! I really appreciate them!
Disclaimer: I don't own Castle.
Jim Beckett hangs by the phone, waiting pensively for the next call from the kidnapper to arrive. His wife is holed up in her office, getting some documents together to end this case. He, unfortunately, has been locked out and told to stay by the phone. He's isn't a fan of Jo shutting him out like this. It's not how they normally function, which is together. But, these aren't regular circumstances either.
Huffing, the male Beckett rises from the couch, trying to occupy his mind with something else, anything else, even if just for a moment. If his thoughts linger on the situation any longer, it'll start going down a path he'd rather not entertain, one where Katie doesn't come home. He pushes the thought out of his mind, and begins to go into the kitchen.
However, he's saved by the sound of the doorbell ringing. Frowning, he approaches the door, cautious. When he opens it, no one is in sight, until he peers down and spots a package at his feet. Furrowing his eyebrows, he picks up the object and rips open the large envelope to reveal its contents, a video tape falling into his hand with Johanna's name scribbled across the label.
"Jo!" he calls, frantic. "You need to see this."
A moment later, his wife comes rushing out of her office, eyes wide with fear.
"What's going on?"
"This was dropped at our doorstep," he states, waving the tape in the air.
There's a silence as the couple gazes at each other, unsure of what to do.
"Put it in," she murmurs, voice quavering.
He obeys, sliding the tape into the player and flipping on the television. The image that appears makes them gasp.
The camera's a bit shaky, but he can make out their daughter, who is handcuffed to a bed. Panic and fear swirls in her irises as a masked man stands next to her.
"Hello, Johanna," the man greets. "As you can see, I have your daughter right here. Say 'hello' to your mother, Kate." The man gives Kate's hair a hard tug, causing her to whimper.
"Hi, Mom, Dad," she says, trying to keep her voice even.
"Good girl." The mysterious figure chuckles. "Now, Johanna, I've caught wind that you decided to meet with your coworkers today." Jim slides his glance toward his wife, who just shakes her head in dismay. "Since it's clear that my original threat to drop the case wasn't enough, I guess I need to be a little more assertive."
Moving his hand from her hair, the man grips Kate's chin, a knife glistening in his other hand.
"Now, Johanna, listen very carefully." The knife is positioned at Katie's eye now. "Drop this case or your daughter will lose her pretty little face, piece by piece." The sound of their daughter's cries fills the room as the weapon presses under her lid. "I wonder what I should start with first. Her expressive eyes? Her model nose? Her plump lips? There's so much to choose from here, it would be such a shame to mar such a beautiful face."
The man's mocking tone has Jim's skin crawling as Jo bites her lip, tears forming in her eyes.
"Or maybe these cheekbones..." his voice trails off and without warning, his hand moves deftly, the knife slicing across their daughter's left cheek as if it were thin silk. Her screams echo in the living room as her free hand clutches her cheek, blood slowly covering her hand. "Drop the case or there will be more where that came from, I promise. You still have until tomorrow morning. Expect a call by then."
With that, the screen cuts to black, both Becketts standing in silence, the white noise of the television filling the eerie void.
Oh God, Katie...
Once Jim snaps out of his stupor, he stomps toward the phone, already dialing. Jo seems to be catching up, striding toward him.
"What are you doing?" she demands.
"What does it look like?" he snaps. "I'm calling the police."
"But-" his wife starts, but he whirls around, stopping her in her tracks.
"No, I'm not playing this game anymore, Johanna. Our daughter's face just got cut, and so will the rest of her if we don't comply. I don't know how you can object at this point." He doesn't understand what's gotten into Johanna. He knows she loves their daughter more than anything, so why is she doing this?
"I was going to say I didn't want to get the police involved, but I will drop the case."
He relaxes a bit as she talks, relief filling him. "You will?"
"Yes, I will. And," she sighs, shaking her head. "Maybe we should call the police at this point."
He nods and dials 911, his heart racing as the operator answers. He glances at the wife, his chest clenching at the grief and anger swimming in her eyes. It finally looks like they're on the same page again.
"Yes, I need to report a kidnapping."
The moment the camera stops rolling, Rick rushes to Kate's side, trying to remove her hand to assess the damage. Had he seen the attack coming, he would've stopped it beforehand, but it was so sudden, so quick, that it caught him off guard. His body fills with disgust as the masked man calmly cleans off the knife as his boss packs up the camera.
"This will be delivered to your mother today. I suspect I will have the answer I desire by tomorrow morning," his boss states in an offhand tone. Rick wants to throttle him, badly. "Hopefully, she's smart enough to listen this time."
Rick's not sure if Kate's even paying attention at this point as tears stream down her face, her sniffles almost overpowering the man's voice.
"Until then." Both men nod before departing, neither glancing back as they head upstairs.
"I'm so sorry," he murmurs to her. "I should've seen it coming." He's trained to see stuff like this, to prepare for it. But whoever his boss's little partner is, he's at a whole other level than Rick, a more malicious one.
"Not your fault," she sniffs.
Instead of arguing, he examines her cheek, frowning as he notes the cut going from her hairline to the middle of her cheek, and it appears deep enough to need stitches, but not incur a lot of blood loss. However, blood drips from the wound, landing on the sheets, her clothes, her hand, and a small part of her hair.
"You need stitches," he announces.
"But we can't go to a hospital," she states, understanding in her tone.
"No, no hospital. I have supplies upstairs though."
She shoots him a stunned look through her tears and he shrugs, giving her a lopsided smile.
"I can't very well go the hospital when I'm wounded on the job. So, I was taught how to patch myself up. Just small stuff though."
A quiet snort escapes her as she attempts to put on a strong front. "Creepy, much?" She cringe as her mouth moves.
Rolling his eyes, he finds the key to the handcuffs and uncuffs her, glad to be able to make her feel a little better. However, he knows she's probably still in shock.
"Let's get you upstairs and cleaned up, okay?" he coaxes. "Give you a clean pair of clothes, maybe pajamas."
She attempts a smile, but the wound has her wincing the second her muscles move. Sighing, he escorts her upstairs, making a mental note to clean up everything later when she's asleep.
"Sit," he orders once they arrive in the kitchen.
Complying, she plops down on the wooden chair, trying to keep a straight face. He rifles around the drawer near the sink until her finds what he wants and brings the first aid kit and towel over to her.
"First, let's clean this up a bit." He pats the towel against her cheek, watching the blood soak into the cloth. His fingers flick around the box until he finds the needle and vial. "I'm going to give you some local numbing medication. This will sting," he warns as he draws up the proper dose. She only nods, not wanting to talk. He's cleanses the wound with antiseptic before sticking the needle in her cheek.
He notices her hand curl around the edge of table as she silently endures the burn of the medication and he has to admire her strength. Only nineteen and she's behaved much stronger, more mature than some of the adults he's abducted. The thought almost makes him snort.
"It needs to sit for few minutes to let it kick in," he explains, preparing the stitches and needle, sterilizing the sharp tip of the instrument. "You will have a scar," he murmurs, sadness coloring his tone. Bitterness fills him as he realizes she'll have a permanent reminder of this, along with some psychological trauma, most likely.
She shrugs, her eyes expressing only forgiveness. They're quiet as the medication kicks in, and it's comfortable, sort of. Finally, he grows restless.
"Feel numb?"
"Yeah," she mumbles.
So, he starts, closing up the skin as carefully as possible. The wound requires quite a few stitches, and as he finishes, Rick counts about twenty. Once he's done, he eyes his handiwork. Satisfied, he covers the wound with steri strips.
"All done," he announces.
"Thank you," she says, a small smile gracing her features. "You're quite the medic."
"Like I said, I had to learn."
Furrowing her eyebrows, she gazes at him in confusion. "I keep hearing about how good you at your...job, but I don't see it." His own eyebrows raise. "I mean, you seem so, well, nice. It's clear you have the skills, the strength, and the brains, but your personality clashes with it."
A laugh falls from his lips, his shoulders shaking. "Well, I'm not normally assigned teenage girls who are pawns as targets."
"What do you usually get?" she prods.
He doesn't hesitate to answer. "The less...moral of society. Swindlers, frauds, thieves, and other such people."
"I don't follow."
"I kidnap those who have wronged others, convince them to change their ways and repay their debt."
"So, you're more of a vigilante," she states, amazement in her voice. "But, how does that work? I mean, how do you find them?"
"There's always an unhappy client somewhere. Instead of turning the target into the authorities or what not, the client turns to us to teach the target a lesson. I get a bulk of them." The method often works, and it allows him to feel like he's making a difference and not a complete villain.
"Because you ask for them," she supplies.
He nods. "Yeah, my other associates prefer jobs similar to this." He gestures around them. "This is my first." And last.
"I guess your current boss didn't get the memo?" Amusement leaks into her voice as he rolls his eyes.
"Apparently not." He doubts the man cares, as long as the job gets done.
She cocks her head, looking adorable as she does so. "This is going to sound strange, but I'm glad it was you." His jaw drops as she lifts her shoulders. "If it was Backpack Man, I would probably be half dead by now."
Well, she has a point.
"When you met me, did you know?"
"Know what?" But he understands what's she's asking and it kills him to answer.
"That I was a target or did that happen later?"
His head bows in shame. "I always knew. I was supposed to gain your trust, find out what you knew about the case, if your mother told you anything." A sigh escapes him. "Once I got to know you, however, I struggled to bring myself to do it."
"That's why you were so conflicted that day in the shop."
"Yeah. I tried to buy myself time, but boss man grew impatient. Kept asking me when I was going to take you and that you were going back to school soon." And that his mother could easily fall asleep one night and never wake up. "So, I did it, figured I could keep you safer this way than out there." He shakes his head. "Much good that did."
"Hmmm," she hums.
"Anyway," he starts, wanting a change in topic. "Let me get you some pajamas and then I can start dinner."
"I can help you cook," she says.
"Kate..."
"I've been laying around like a lump. I need to something." It almost comes out like a whine. However, he sees what she's doing, and right now, he's not going to stop her.
"Okay," he acquiesces. "Why don't you take out some chicken and vegetables?"
"Got it."
As she rifles through the refrigerator, he watches, momentarily caught up in how strangely domestic the scene in front of him feels. Before he gets lost in the idea, however, he reminds himself of his goal and heads back to the basement, settling on doing the dirty work now.
When he enters the room, his inhales deeply, lips turning downward as his eyes take in the horrific sight. It looks like something out of a horror movie. And in some ways, it is just that, a nightmare that became very real.
As he gathers the red stained sheets, he swallows the lump in his throat, the patter of feet sounding above him, blissfully unaware of his turmoil. He bundles up the sheets and stashes the handcuffs in a decent hiding place. Finally, he leaves the space, closing the door for the last time. He resolves to keep Kate upstairs for the rest of her tenure here. Hopefully, her mother came to her senses and will have her daughter back home by tomorrow evening.
Only time will tell.