Monster: Chapter 17
DISCLAIMER: None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe.
Day 15: Richard Castle's Loft, New York City, 12:21 p.m.
"Alexis! Martha! They found him!" Kate exclaims as she opens the door to the loft.
"What? Where?" Alexis screams excitedly.
"He was floating in the Chesapeake Bay, in a small boat," Kate tells her, her heart racing. In the past two minutes, she has gone from ultimate heartache to the opposite end of the spectrum. After over a decade, she had caught the man responsible for her mother's murder. And this morning she has watched him walk free. She had left the courtroom, numbly sliding into the taxi, and doesn't even remember giving the cabbie an address. Going to the precinct was out of the question. Home – even without Castle – seemed the best place for her right now. She vaguely remembers getting out of the cab, and making her way into the building. Stepping onto the elevator, she had gotten the call from the Naval Medical Center down near Norfolk.
"He's at the navy hospital now, recuperating," Kate tells the young woman. "I'm calling to get us a jet down there right now."
"I'll tell Grams," Alexis comments, smiling from ear to ear as she runs upstairs.
Senator William Bracken is hovering somewhere in the back of her mind, for certain, but for right now – Kate's focus is entirely on Richard Castle.
Day 15: The Naval Medical Center in Portsmouth, VA, 6:35 p.m.
Kate Becket sits across from the sleeping form of an extremely sunburned, very dehydrated Richard Castle, who has mercifully been out for the past couple of hours. His eyes are bandaged from sun exposure, and his shoulder is stitched up nicely, and bandaged heavily. Were he not wearing the standard white hospital gown, she would see that his entire body is sunburned badly, from over a day's exposure – naked - in the summer sun. With her first glance at her fiancée, Kate had uncharacteristically burst into tears – a symptom of both intense relief at his safe return and the shock of seeing him like . . . like this.
He is thinner – noticeably thinner. The rough, uneven edges of the beard and mustache are unfamiliar to her. His face isn't quite haggard, but certainly lacks the depth and definitely the spark, the shine she is used to. She runs her hands along his good arm, and is struck by the increased tone and definition in his muscles.
"He's been working out," she thinks to herself, now considering what his days and nights must have been like. Now that he is here, now that she can see him, it is apparent that despite the best efforts of the videos to show otherwise, he's been through the ringer. His arms are badly sunburned and filled with insect bite marks. She takes a closer look at his face and – sure enough – beneath the excess hair she sees the swelling of bite marks. She stands now, and pulls back his covers. He wears a hospital gown and his lower legs are exposed.
Filled with bite marks. And completely sunburned.
The tears that have welled up now flow freely, as she touches various parts of her husband-to-be, realizing quickly that no virtually no part of him escaped unscathed. She runs her hands along his legs, and is startled when she feels a hand on her shoulder.
"You must be Kate," the man in a long white coat surmises.
"Yes, I am," she offers. "Detective Kate Beckett."
"Major. Allan Windworth," he smiles affably. "I'm taking care of your . . . well, your almost husband, as I understand it."
"Almost," she agrees, wistfully, then gathering herself, she continues. "How is he, Doctor?"
"Dehydrated, suffering from mild infection, definite allergies at play here, gunshot wound to his shoulder, blistering on his face, and his feet, sunburned everywhere else. We kept him under and out of it most of yesterday and last night – he just needed a lot of antibiotics, some cream for the burns and a lot of sleep. All things considered, after being missing for two weeks and found floating in the Chesapeake, I'd say he's a pretty lucky man."
Hearing the doctor lay out everything that is wrong with him is almost too much, and Kate steps - or rather, she staggers backward, reaching behind her for the chair and flopping down again, next to the bedridden Castle.
"Yeah, I know, it's a lot to take in," the major agrees, nodding his head slightly. "But trust me, he's alive and is going to make a full recovery. Physically at least."
"What do you mean by that?" she asks, suddenly alarms going off in her head. That isn't the type of statement to be idly thrown about, especially by a doctor. What is he not telling her?
"Well, when they brought him in, he was hallucinating slightly. Talking about lions. Talking about beasts. He was naked in the small craft when they found him. And there were traces of blood under his fingertips. He probably tried to wash it away, but it was there. And I can tell you, it wasn't his. Now I'm not NCIS or anything, but I can probably hazard a guess that he wasn't shot while lying in the boat they found him in. All to say, physically he will be fine. Emotionally? Well, Detective, who knows what he has experienced these last couple of weeks . . ."
She nods, knowing full well what traumatic events can do to a person. For her, it resulted in an almost year-long, circle-the-wagons and don't-let-anyone-inside period of her life. One that she would just as soon forget.
"You mentioned NCIS," she says, finally gathering her thoughts again. "How is it that they brought him to this Navy hospital. Don't misunderstand, I am beyond grateful. But Castle is a civilian. How did –"
"I asked the same question, Detective," Major Windworth replies with a knowing smile. "Let's just say that your Mr. Castle has some very powerful friends somewhere. Somewhere high up. A call was made, and we have been ordered to give him the best care possible – no questions asked."
"Interesting," Kate muses aloud.
"I thought so, too," the major comments, now moving past the detective to inspect his patient.
"How are you doing, Mr. Castle?" he asks.
It isn't until now that Kate notices that Castle's hands have moved, now hovering over his bandaged eyes. He's finally awake. He utters a soft moan, clearly wondering where he is, what is happening. It breaks her heart, but she puts on the best face possible. He needs encouragement right now, she realizes.
"Let me get these for you," the Major tells Castle, as he takes out medical scissors from his coat pocket and begins to cut away the bandages from his eyes. Half a second later, Castle blinks his eyes, adjusting to the light – and welcomes in a sight he thought he might never see again.
"Castle," she says softly. "Rick . . ."
"Hey, beautiful," he whispers, and the floodgates open all over again. The major, seeing the reunion unfolding in front of him, quickly takes his leave. There is enough time to do a thorough check-over later. For now, he leaves the couple to something they haven't had for two weeks.
Each other.
"My God, Castle, I . . . you were . . . what in the world happened?" she finally gets out.
"You know – I really don't know," he replies, quickly licking his chapped and scarred lips. She stands and dashes around to the other side of the bed, and grabs the small cup of ice chips that sit on the stand next to his bed. He glances down at the IV sticking out of his left hand right below the wrist. She places a spoonful of the ice chips into his mouth, and he greedily laps up the cold liquid and chunks of ice.
"Thank you," he manages between coughs, as he has swallowed too much too quickly. Settling back into his bed and pillows, he glances over at her.
"When did they find me?"
"Yesterday, right before noon. That's what they told us."
"Us?" he asks.
"Alexis. Martha. They are both downstairs. I told them to get a sandwich and come back afterward," she tells him. "Alexis hasn't eaten all day, except for chips on the charter."
"Charter?" he chuckles. "Traveling in style, detective?" he asks, finally giving her a glimpse of the old Richard Castle.
"Didn't think you would mind," she smiles in return. He gives her hand a very light squeeze, and begins to say something, but is interrupted.
"What do you remember, Rick?" she asks.
"I was . . . it was . . . I was a captive. In jail. On a compound. Very little food, but plenty of water."
"Who took you?"
"I have no idea," he replies, and sees her confusion. "I'm serious, the only time I got a real good look at anyone was the last day, when they came looking for me. But whoever it was, they took good care of me . . . for the most part."
He licks his lips, and reaches for the ice chips.
"I've got it," she tells him, scooping up another spoonful of ice and placing it on his lips. He smiles, as he chews and swallows, and continues.
"I caught a fever. Insects. And those damn flies," he mutters, glancing down at his arms. Her gaze follows his to the bumps along his arms. They came a few days later. By helicopter. Dropped medicine. Flew away. Never landed. That's when I realized they were watching me. I realized there was a camera somewhere."
"They sent us two videos," she adds, filling in the story for him, as he nods in understanding.
"I finally found the camera," he tells her, closing his eyes, trying to relax. "I disabled it, figuring they would come in to fix it. When they came . . ."
He grows quiet, his eyes still closed but he is wincing. She can tell it has nothing to do with the pain in his shoulder. He is so drugged he wouldn't feet a fifty pound weight fall on his foot. No, it is something else.
"When they came?" she asks, wanting him to continue his story.
"I disabled it, figuring they would come back to fix it," he repeats, and her heart drops a shudder once again.
"And then they came, Rick?" she prompts again.
"When they came . . . they came, and I was ready for them," he replies softly, and another – this time – much stronger shudder floods through Kate.
"What does he mean 'I was ready for them'," she wonders. This is Richard Castle, wonderful writer, great with his mind. But he's no ninja warrior, no ultimate fighter. She, again, wonders just what in the world happened on that island. Then she remembers the Major. What he said. Underneath Castle's fingertips.
The blood.
"Rick," she says softly, touching his hand. "What happened? What did -"
"I killed them!" he blurts out with venom. "I killed them," he repeats, as his hands start to shake, and a frustrated sob breaks free. Kate leans down to hug, to cradle her man, knowing that he is far more broken than he appears. At the last second, she eases up, knowing that if she just grabs on to him as she wishes, she will cause more pain and harm than good. She settles for a soft hug, pulling him close, allowing his head, his face to rest against her chest. She will change the subject for now. She can't imagine Richard Castle taking a life – and she has to wonder again, what exactly happened on that island to cause that reaction from Castle.
They settle in, quiet for a minute or so, when Kate pulls away.
"Castle, I think I missed you by – literally – just a few minutes."
"What do you mean?" he asks, confused.
"On the island," she begins. "We found you. I found you. I had a pilot flying me over the islands, when we saw the compound. It matched what we expected to see, from the videos we had received. But we knew we couldn't land there – not in the small plane we were in. So we went back to the main airport -"
"On Tangier Island?" he asks. "How did you find me?"
"Long story – for a later time. But yes, on Tangier Island. We picked up a chopper there. But by the time we got back – and it couldn't have been more than an hour – you were gone. I think we missed you by just minutes, Rick. It looked like all hell had broken loose there," she continues. "We landed, and searched the area for you –"
"Did you get my letters?" he asks suddenly, watching her reaction closely.
"Yes, I got them," she says softly, her eyes misting once more. "Every one of them."
"I meant every word," he says quietly, then leaning back, closing his eyes and smiling. For another minute, neither says a word. She simply holds his hand, relishing simply being with him once again when the door swings open and Alexis runs in, dashing toward her father. Kate cannot stop her in time as the young woman buries herself in her father, too late hearing the grunt of pain, too late feeling him stiffen underneath her. She pulls back quickly, her hand over her mouth, eyes wide with regret.
"Daddy?"
"I'm okay, pumpkin," he manages between wincing breaths. "Just a little burned . . ."
"And a gunshot wound," Kate adds, her eyes sympathetic to the young daughter who is now taking steps backward until she stumbles into Martha Rodgers, who was close behind.
"Alexis . . . come back," Castle says with great effort. "I need to see my girls. Mother?
Both women slowly make their way to Castle as he extends his arms – as much as his injured shoulder and IV-embedded hand will allow. It's a tearful reunion that Kate happily joins. In the doorway to his room stands a janitor pulling his mop and pail, filled with soap water, making his rounds. His silver hair is slicked back, and he has been whistling his favorite song along the floor, from room to room. He watches the family re-gathering, smiling to himself. Satisfied that his son is now in good hands, he begins to step away when Castle begins to speak.
"Richard," Martha begins, "we were so worried. What in the world happened to you?"
"I was taken, Mother. Kidnapped. But I'm okay now."
"Do you know who did this?" Alexis adds, now repeating the questions Kate has already asked.
"No, pumpkin, I don't," he replies. "I was lucky – they wanted to keep me alive. I had a little food, a lot of water, and even some medicines." He considers his words, reliving the past two weeks before adding, "Some others weren't so lucky."
"What do you mean, Rick?" Kate asks. This is new territory, new information that he hasn't shared with her.
"The lions," he says softly.
"What about them?" Kate asks, suppressing a chill that runs through her.
"They were . . . they fed them."
"And?" she comments, the horrific truth not yet sinking in.
"People," he tells her. "They fed them live people."
All three women visibly draw back, stunned into silence by Castle's words, and by the simple description of what he has witnessed. Jackson Hunt walks into the restroom, pretending to perform janitorial duties, but listening intently.
"I am free," Castle smiles wistfully. "I am the lucky one. I was taken, yes, but I get to go home. I get to be greeted by those I love, by those who love me," he smiles sadly, pulling the three women back into him. He gathers his breath, caught once again by the pain of happy embraces.
"But there are missing persons tonight – their families will never know what happened to them. Their families will never know that they are dead, that they died in the most horrible manner . . . eaten alive. I don't even know their names, so they will remain missing forever. No closure for those families. Forever wondering."
Kate bites her lower lip, literally, fighting to keep her emotions in check. There are no coincidences, and she is fairly certain she knows who is responsible for Castle's abduction. She has no proof, but she doesn't need proof. Not for what she is thinking. But she holds such thoughts away, for now. Tonight is not the night for that discussion. There will be time for that later. There will be time for revenge. And despite her official position, despite her beliefs, despite everything she has done and become . . . she will have her revenge.
They both will.
Epilogue 1 – Four nights later at Richard Castle's Loft in New York City, 11:47 p.m.
"No!" Richard Castle screams. He wakes up from his dream, sweat coating his back, and grimacing, holding on to his wounded shoulder. Kate jumps upward as well, startled by the outbreak, and touching his good arm lightly, but firmly.
"I'm here, babe," she tells him softly. "I'm here. It's just a dream."
His nightmares – this is the second consecutive night since his return from the Norfolk area – are not of his capture, or his bondage for two weeks. No, his dreams are of his deliverance, of his escape. He stares down at his hands, and she knows the thoughts settling upon him right now. These hands have blood on them now. These hands used to write, they used to create adventure. These hands used to bring joy and excitement and bright smiles to millions of faces. Now they have brought death in the most violent manner. He stares at them, weeping openly.
The surprised face of the man he never met before, his wide eyes stare back at him as his blood sprays wildly from the slashes Castle delivers. The man at the cabin grunts and cries out as Castle batters him again . . . and again . . . and again, mercilessly pummeling the man until he hears no more screams, no more cries.
No, these are no longer a writer's hands.
"I am a monster," he struggles, as Kate tries desperately to soothe the man she will shortly marry.
"No, Rick," she corrects him, then again more forcefully. "No – you are not. You are wonderful, loving man who fought to return to his family. Nothing more, babe. Nothing more."
She watches him as he gazes at his hands, his eyes sporting a wild look, and far, far away. She knows he is going to need counseling – and soon. This is beyond her. All she can do is support him, and love him. And hold him. She rocks back and forth with him, pulling him down to her, pulling him down to the pillows.
"I love you, Rick," she says softly. "You are home."
Epilogue 2: About that same time, just over 4 miles from the mainland, over the Atlantic Ocean
"Tell me, Daniels, why did you do it?"
The helicopter is doing a slow circle over the waters, banking gently. Jackson Hunt stares at the District Attorney, whose eyes show the fear of one who knows his time is short. He knew there were dangers in aligning with the Brackens, but it never, ever occurred to him that those the Brackens were at war with could ever resort to violence . . . to murder. He realizes only now the fatality of that miscalculation.
"I was there, in the courtroom, Daniels," Jackson Hunt continues. "I know you were in Bracken's pocket. I know there is no way, Mr. District Attorney, that you are as inept as you appeared. How did they get to you? You have no children. Your parents are both dead. Your wife? Did they get to her?"
"No," the District Attorney laments softly. "It was just . . . we needed the money."
"How much?" Hunt asks him.
"$500,000," Daniels tells him.
'Blood money," Hunt says calmly.
"Blood money? No," Daniels counters, knowing full well he is arguing the case of a lifetime – his lifetime. "Sure, a man was kidnapped, but he is free now, and –"
"When did you become aware that they took Richard Castle?" Hunt asks.
"About a week ago," Daniels replies quickly, not holding anything back. "When she told me. She told me that he wouldn't be harmed. She was going to let him go as soon as Bracken was free."
"And what if he wasn't freed?" Hunt counters.
"There was no chance of that happening," Daniels responds, laughing without humor. "No chance of that at all. That was my job – to make sure of that."
"That's right," Hunt agrees. "You didn't have to admit the video. You could have withheld that – allowed it to come out in trial. At least it would have gone to trial then."
"But he is free now," Daniels argues.
He is free only because he escaped, Mr. Daniels," Hunt argues calmly. "Not because of anything you did – or didn't do, I should say."
"Please don't do this," Daniels pleads. "No one was killed. No one died. No one –"
"Actually, there were quite a few deaths, Mr. Daniels," Hunt tells him. "And a part of my son died on that island."
"Your son?" Daniels asks, his eyes widening, fear gripping his heart as he only now begins to understand the magnitude of his miscalculation.
"Yes, my son. Richard Castle."
"Oh no, please," Daniels cries softly, now knowing that all is indeed, lost.
Hunt glances back at Retired Major Terrance Cooper, who is piloting the chopper for tonight's . . . little talk.
"Are we here?" Hunt asks him, only now noticing the circling pattern they have been flying for the past few minutes.
"Affirmative," Cooper replies quickly and professionally. "4.3 miles away from the mainland."
"4.3 miles from the mainland," Jackson Hunt repeats, now returning his gaze to the District Attorney. "Exactly the same number of miles my son was found from land out in the middle of the bay," he continues, now opening the door, the cool wind blasting inside without warning.
"You have the same chance my son had," Hunt continues. "Hopefully nothing down there is very hungry. And don't you worry, Mr. District Attorney. I will be visiting the Bracken's soon enough."
"Please," Daniels tries one last time. "My wife . . ."
"Your wife is a half million dollars richer after tonight," Hunt tells him, as he tosses a life preserver out the door, then pulls out a pistol with a silencer and shoots District Attorney Walter Daniels in the right shoulder. The man screams as Hunt then gives him a quick shove out the door, watching him fall into the Atlantic some twenty five feet below.
"Let's get out of here, Terrence," Hunt tells him as he closes the door.
"Affirmative," Major Cooper replies, banking and lifting the chopper once again, as they head back to the mainland off in the distance.
A/N: Once again, thanks for all who read and reviewed this story. As many of you know, I just enjoy coming up with alternate takes on different parts of canon. Such a rich group of characters they have given us, and I'm looking forward to where they take our favorites next fall. Good summer to everyone.