Monster: Chapter 7
DISCLAIMER: None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.
Still Day 6: On an isolated island in the Tangier Islands, Early Evening, May 18, 2014
The antibiotics must be taking some kind of effect, because, all things considered, Castle is feeling much better this evening – better even than this morning. Physically, that is. He knows he is still slightly feverish, but it has broken today – initially after he climbed back into his bed in the early afternoon – swearing to himself that he just needed a nap.
Upon awakening, he immediately realized that he – and his sheets – were soaking wet. He had taken the sheets out to the well, drenched them and placed them on the barbed wire fence, where they now hang, drifting in the slow breeze. That was an roughly an hour ago when he had awakened. Now, he can feel the fever returning. He finds one of the packages of antibiotics dropped yesterday, and pops the entire contents into his mouth, swallowing them down without water.
Realizing that he may regret the move later, he quickly walks to the well, fills the bucket just to a couple of ounces, and swallows it down. Then, filling it roughly half way, he splashes his face with the liquid.
He glances across to the southern side of the compound and – sure enough – there they are. They are sitting again. Perhaps they are getting comfortable with him? No matter, he is hungry, and the only thing worse than him being hungry right now is recognizing that his two friends are likely hungry again as well. It's been two days since they fed.
He grabs a can – this time it's canned ravioli and meat that he has just opened. It dawned on him this morning that opening these canned goods and then allowing a half portion to sit all day in the heat of the indoors cabin might not be the healthiest decision he has ever made. So now he eats two cans a day, and simply has to hope that the guys who brought medicine will know when to bring more food. That, of course, assumes that by then, they still want him alive.
"Treating myself tonight, guys," he tells the two large beasts as he walks toward the southern fence. Seconds later, he sits on the ground, legs crossed. He is no more than eighteen inches from the fence. He is so close that his mind tells him he can feel their breath. It's his mind playing tricks again – it's been doing that for the past day or so.
"You two like Italian?" he asks, snickering to himself. He takes a long, slow, small bite, savoring the lukewarm ravioli when he stops in mid-swallow.
"The medicine," he says aloud, then drops his gaze away from his companions and stares over at the ground where they had dropped medicine packets – as if they are still there. They aren't of course. He took them into the cabin after the drop. But that's the point.
"The medicine!" he says again, this time putting his food down and slapping his forehead.
"You idiot," he thinks, and now smiles – for the first time in six days it is a genuine smile of contentment, of success.
"How did they know to drop me medicine?" he asks aloud. "How did they know I was feverish?"
The answer is simple – and there can only be one answer. They knew he was feverish because somehow, they have been watching him. Somewhere – either here in the compound or past the fence in the trees is a camera. A video camera, most likely. They – whoever 'they' are – have been watching him this entire time. They must have seen his sluggishness the other day, and put two and two together regarding these damn flies and mosquitos.
"No quick movements," he says half aloud. He picks his can back up, and starts eating again – this time with a bit more gusto. It's a little victory, he tells himself, but he needs these small victories. He smiles, taking another bite, glancing across at his two friends, a soft rolling rumble coming from the male.
"I know, Simba," he tells him under his breath. "I'm hungry, too." The food is actually good tonight, or perhaps it's just his now-uplifted spirits that make even the food seem to taste better. He smiles to himself, thinking about the video camera, and where it could possibly be located. He has a few ideas, but he doesn't want them to realize he is on to their secret. He will have to do this with a bit of stealth. He laughs – literally. Stealth? Oh yeah, he can do stealth. Years of stalking Alexis through the loft, their lazer tag elements attached to their chests will finally come in handy this evening.
Then a second thought hits him, and he smiles again. Now he is finally thinking like a writer again – moreover, like a writer who has spent the past seven years working with the cops.
They have a video camera. But why? There are a number of reasons they would want to have a camera. Because he has been kidnapped, however, there are two more-likely-than-not scenarios. Scenario one – they just want to keep an eye on him. He's their prisoner, in solitary confinement. They have to have a way of keeping tabs on him. Yeah, that would make sense.
Scenario two, however, is just as plausible for a kidnapping. And yes, he's been kidnapped. So the question is, have they asked for ransom? Because if they have asked for ransom, they have to give some kind of proof that he is still alive. And for that, they would need . . .
A video camera.
He smiles happily, a rush of contentment hitting him. Finally, an answer. Not a big one – and maybe not even one that is relevant. But Richard Castle has spent enough time with Detective Kate Beckett and her team to realize that, for every case, the beginning of the answer begins with one domino falling. And usually, that domino doesn't seem relevant, and often turns out to be a red herring. But it doesn't matter. That's the thing about dominos. When one falls, it is never alone. It starts an avalanche of activity. That's what this revelation is. Simply the first domino that he knows is going to show him something new.
His joy is short-lived, however, as he hears the tell-tale sounds of the helicopter blades approaching. Simba and Nala, smart beasts that they are, hear it, too. And they know what this means. Both animals jump up, and now start pacing, horrific rumblings gliding along the brush.
Half a mile away, approaching fast by helicopter, May 18, 2014
His heart is pounding and his palms – tied together with nylon straps – are sweating. Former chopper pilot Phil Blackman knows that he has only minutes left in this world. Many a person has warned him during the past twenty years that his mean streak would – someday – cost him the ultimate price. And he has no illusions, 'someday' has come to collect in full.
In retrospect, it was a stupid thing to risk Richard Castle getting hurt – or worse – with his little stunt. He knew he was already on thin ice with the bitch anyway. But it is too late to cry now. The twins showed no mercy with the beating they gave him, and he knows the lions will show even less. It's a hell of a way to go, but Phil isn't going to go down without a fight. A tremendous athlete in high school and college, Blackman still has a killer vertical jump. He's counting on it saving him from a fate worse than death. Oh, he knows he's going to die – there is no doubt about that. But dammit – he's going to choose his way out of this world.
The compound comes into view, and he considers what he will give to Castle. It's not like he hates the man, and he can't even blame the man for what is getting ready to happen. This is all on him, and he's long prepared for this. But he wants to hurt his soon-to-be former employer, and he considers the best way to do that. He's only going to have seconds, he knows. He's done enough drops to know how quickly the beasts below take action. Five seconds, ten tops, before they are on top of him.
His heart pounds harder now, as all of the sudden the chopper slows to a hover and begins the slow descent of death. The door flies open, and one of the twins – hell, he could never tell them apart – has grabbed him.
"Nothing personal, Phil," the twin tells him. "You know this is just business."
They are no more than eight feet off the ground now. Soft brush below – he can survive the fall from this height, and still do what he has to do. The lions are thirty, forty feet away, giving the chopper distance. Smart beasts. They know this drill. They will wait until the chopper has lifted away before they start the dance.
"Yeah, just business," Blackman repeats with a smile, and then leaps from the hovering craft, to the surprise of his captor. He hits the ground, rolling with the landing, and is on his feet immediately, sprinting for the fence.
Back on the ground in the compound on one of the Tangier Islands, May 18, 2014
The chopper is hovering, and Castle – although he knows what is coming – cannot tear his eyes away. At least not yet. He feels like a rubbernecking driver. He knows he shouldn't watch, but he's glued to the scene in front of him. It will be the best decision he has ever made.
He watches Blackman fall – or hell, did he actually jump out?!
He doesn't recognize the man. Yeah, he had seen him earlier from a bit of a distance, but then the man wore sunglasses, a pilot helmet and a vicious grin. This evening, he wears none of these.
Now on the ground, the man runs directly toward Castle – directly toward the barbed wire fence.
"What the hell does he think he is going to do?" Castle thinks to himself.
Blackman is less than ten feet from the fence, running at a full sprint. The lions are now giving chase and will be upon him in seconds.
"Richard Castle," the man screams at the top of his lungs. "You're in the Tangier Islands. Chesapeake Bay"
With that last breath, Phil Blackman, former athlete and – for the most part – rotten human being, launches himself upward onto the fence. His tied hands grab a hold of the barbed wire, his legs dangling roughly three feet off the ground. In one final movement, screaming in agony from the angry barbs in his hands, he cries out.
"Good luck, dude," Blackman says, and pulls himself upward, placing his neck atop one of the barbed strands, and sticks his head through. With a release of his hands, he falls straight down a foot or so, hanging now by his shredded neck. Castle watches fearfully, less than four feet away from the dying man, watching the life flicker out of his eyes as his blood spurts out toward the writer.
The female – Nala – is already upon him, standing on her hind legs, her powerful claws tugging him downward. A second later, her mate joins the fray, and for a few horrific seconds, Richard Castle wonders if these two beasts are going to tear the entire fence down.
Seconds later, a very dead Phil Blackman is dragged off the fence and away into the trees, leaving a stunned and now completely shell-shocked Richard Castle. He stares at the dripping blood and hanging flesh that now adorn this small piece of his cage. It takes another half minute for the shock to wear off and the magnitude of the moment to register.
"You're in the Tangier Islands. Chesapeake Bay."
Day six has given the novelist two gifts. A video camera and a location. And a dead man he knows that he owes a huge debt to.