The Long Game: 4
DISCLAIMER: None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.
Richard Castle's Home in the Hamptons, 3:10 p.m., March 10, 2012
Richard Castle stands in stunned silence, with his eyes closed. He is in the process of mentally counting to ten, and the count currently stands at six.
"I will open my eyes and all of this – this entire day – the television newscast, the trip to the police station, this imposter who is playing a very unfunny prank – all of this will be gone."
Ten.
He opens his eyes to the smiling – no, the smirking face of the stranger at the door, now in his home. He stands, holding his mother, who is smiling in a way that Richard Castle has never seen her smile. And his baby girl is staring back at her confused dad with the most befuddled look. At any other time, that look by itself would be priceless.
This afternoon? It's just par for the course.
He glances at his mother, who simply nods her head in agreement with a slightly sheepish grin. The stranger is – indeed, at least according to her – his father.
"My name is Jackson Hunt, Richard. And I am your father."
Castle gives the man one final glance, then makes up his mind. He walks past both his smiling mother and his . . . his . . . his father, toward the kitchen, where he stops at the bar area just adjacent. He scoops up a small tumbler glass that was used for breakfast, and empties the remaining contents of orange juice - on the floor - as he walks to the cabinet containing his scotch. He grabs a bottle, and pours himself a full tumbler, downing a third of the drink in one swoop.
"Screw it, its afternoon already and I've had a long day," he thinks to himself, feeling the nice burn in the back of his throat.
He looks back at the couple still standing near the door, trying to put together his thoughts, and words.
"Something tells me that the timing of this visit is not a coincidence with what's happening right now," he finally says.
"Something? You mean someone, don't you?" Hunt tells him with a slightly confused look. "As in me. As in I just told you that events transpired to bring me here."
Hunt looks at Martha questioningly.
"He's very intelligent, I know, but he's not the brightest bulb in the package, is he," Hunt tells her. It's not a question.
Martha tries hard – but unsuccessfully – to stifle a giggle, looking back at her son. Even Alexis finds herself giggling.
"Excuse me?" Castle asks, somewhat incredulously himself.
"Okay, Okay, I know that you have a lot of questions, and answers are warranted," Hunt says.
"You're damn right they are warranted," Castle huffs, trying to regain his footing in this conversation.
"Let me start by telling you why I am here," he says. "That's really the easiest part of this entire story, so let me begin there."
Castle nods in agreement, standing firm, holding his tumbler.
"Why don't we take this over to the sofa, Richard," his mother tells him, but she's actually speaking to everyone now. Something tells her that what's coming next will be better . . . or at least easier received sitting down.
The four of them walk slowly to the sofa, with Castle plopping down in the loveseat. Alexis joins him, while Martha and Jackson Hunt sit on the sofa perpendicular to the loveseat, allowing everyone clear eyesight to one another.
"So, why are you here?" Castle asks. Oh, there are so many questions sprinting through his mind, the first of which revolves around a certain paternity that was so casually claimed just a minute or so ago. But yeah, he will start with why in the hell the man is here in his home, for now.
"Like I said, events transpired," Hunt tells him, still with his odd little smile. Or smirk. Or whatever it is, Castle wants to just slap it right off his face.
"A few weeks ago, a certain gentleman made the mistake of taking my granddaughter prisoner," he begins, looking at Alexis softly. Alexis lowers her head, and receives an immediate, but gentle reprimand from Hunt.
"Raise your eyes, Alexis," he tells her. "Look at me. I can promise you, that man will never harm you again."
He is being completely honest with the young woman. Up until this point, Jackson Hunt was not completely 100 percent certain what he was going to do with Scott Dunn, who currently is safely and securely tied up at the moment. However, upon seeing his granddaughter, and recognizing the blank stare she continually falls back to, after seeing her botched haircut partially obscuring the beauty of the young woman he has kept tabs on from afar – well needless to say, Scott Dunn's death warrant has just –unbeknownst to him – been signed, sealed and delivered.
"What do you mean, he will never harm her again?" Castle asks, almost afraid of the direction this conversation is going. "Were you the one who took Dunn?"
"Yes."
For a few seconds, Richard Castle is in a new place – and that is, completely at a loss for words. All of this – this entire day – is swimming way too quickly past him. He needs to slow this down.
"Wha . . . Why?" he asks.
"Because he took my granddaughter," Hunt replies, matter-of-factly, as if it is the most obvious answer in the world. "And then he took my . . . my . . ."
He gazes at Martha, and she looks down bashfully. His mother is bashful? He downs another third of the tumbler and places it on the coffee table in front of him.
"And then he took your mother," Hunt finally says, deciding on the proper wording he wishes to use for the moment.
"So . . ." Castle hesitates, desperately trying to put the right words to convey his thoughts. "So – you have kept yourself totally invisible to mother, to me, to Alexis – for . . ."
He begins counting on his fingers, for crying out loud . . .
". . . for over four decades. Decades! And after all of the personal triumphs and tragedies we have faced, what happened a few weeks ago was what it took to bring you out of hiding?"
Castle is agitated, and Hunt doesn't blame him. He has kept tabs on his son for long enough to know how he would react. He's hurt. He's angry. He's confused. He has every right to each of those emotions. Hunt does not begrudge him this.
"Richard . . . what I do does not allow me to have the type of normal family, picket fence life that others get," Hunt tells him.
"Okay, then what is it that you do?" Castle asks him.
"Don't ask!" comes the simultaneous reply from both his mother and his father.
"Now hold on, Mother," Castle tells them both, although he addresses it to Martha. "You can't clam up – I need to know –"
"Don't ask," Hunt repeats.
"I need to know," Castle insists.
"He really isn't a very bright bulb at all, is he," Hunts declares, shaking his head in frustration at Martha.
"Now wait a second –" Castle gets out, before he is interrupted again.
"Look, Richard. I work for a certain . . . element of this country that allows me some . . . latitude in making some important . . . decisions. Life and death decisions," he continues. "In this capacity, I am privy to information that is kept from virtually everyone – from the hot dog salesman on the street to the President of the United States."
Castle's eyes widen slightly, which tells Hunt he is finally getting through to the writer. Castle grabs the tumbler off the coffee table and chugs the remaining third of the liquid.
"Dad!" Alexis warns, but Castle just pats her hand.
"When Mr. Dunn made the soon-to-be fatal error of taking Alexis, here, I began making preparations to get her back . . . and to get him back, if you will," he tells them. The fact that he speaks these words with no emotion, no remorse, is clearly a bit frightening to all of them – including Martha, and she already knows what the man does. What he is capable of doing.
"Once she was freed, and Martha was freed, well, that meant I only had to work one side of the equation." His comparison to their kidnapping equaling a death sentence is not lost on Castle.
"So, I waited until the proper time when I could strike, and rescue Mr. Dunn from the public justice system."
"So those men in the van, they work for you?" Castle asks.
"They are acquaintances of mine who will never be found."
"What? You killed-"
"No, no, Richard," he tells him. "Facial masks. Their true features can't be discovered or tracked."
Castle's eyebrows rise, as his eyes light up.
"Okay, that's actually pretty cool," Castle says, smiling.
"Dad!" he receives from his daughter, yet again. And yet again he shushes her with a pat on the hand, this time drawing a glare from the red-head.
"So you capture . . . er . . . so you rescue Dunn from the van, so that you can . . ."
Castle lets the words fall off, knowing Dunn's eventual destination that has been made crystal clear by Hunt. And he is in no frame of mind to argue. Which disturbs him a bit.
"But why would you use the Old Haunt as a part of your getaway?" Castle asks, and Hunt smiles. Finally, he is asking the right question. The question that has brought him out of hiding. Truth is, if this were only about Dunn, then he would have captured Dunn, taken care of him, and no one would have been the wiser. The snatch would have occurred far away from anything that could implicate his son.
Yeah, he's finally asked the right question.
"Because Dunn is not the problem, son," Hunt tells him. Both men notice his use of the word 'son'. "Dunn is part of the solution to the problem, but he is not the problem itself."
"What? Wait a –"
"Hear me out," Hunt explains. "There is so much more to this than you know. If this were only about Dunn, I would have taken him out, and that would have been it. No one would ever find him, and he would become a trivia question on game shows and in board games. And I certainly would not have implicated you."
"Okay, so why did you –"
"Because I'm playing the long game, son. There is man, a very powerful man, who has his sights set on your lady detective friend in the city. And when I say he has his sights set on her, I mean crosshair sights, not goo-goo eye looks."
Now he has Castle's full attention. He doesn't know the identity of the man, but it is clear that the people responsible for her mother's murder, the people responsible for Roy Montgomery's murder, they are at it again."
"Now wait a second," Castle argues. "They are supposed to stay away from her. I cut a deal for –"
"You what!?" Alexis shouts, startling Castle as he jumps a bit.
"Hold on now, pumpkin, let me –"
"You what!" she shouts again.
"Hey! HEY!" Jackson Hunts shouts above both of them, getting their attention. "You two can work out your trust issues later – this is far more important right now," he tells them. Alexis falls back into the loveseat, folding her arms and sulking.
To be honest, Castle is glad to see a little spunk from his girl. That spunk has been missing for the past weeks.
"Again – powerful man – sights on Beckett – are you with me so far?" Hunt asks, and Castle nods his head repeatedly.
"I know the deal you made with Mr. Smith. Don't look at me like that. Listen, Richard. There are a lot of things that I know. I make it my business to know. I stay alive by knowing."
He pauses, waiting for the full effect of his words to hit home.
"I keep those I love alive by knowing."
Castle slowly nods his head, glancing at his mother who simply – again sheepishly – nods her head.
"You knew about this, Mother?"
"What Martha does or does not know is immaterial, Richard. Back on point," he tells his audience. "This powerful man is someone I know. He does not know me. He knows of me, by reputation, by stories he has heard. We have met, but he does not realize we have met."
He pauses again, allowing the understanding to settle in, then continues.
"It has come to my attention that he is making plans to move on the detective once again. I do not know why, nor do I care. Nor do I really care what happens to the detective," he says, which draws another eyebrow raise from Castle.
"What I do care about is the fact that he is strongly considering widening his net to include you, Richard," which draws a gasp from both mother and daughter. The writer is surprisingly calm, causing Hunt to try and fail at suppressing a bit of a proud grin.
"He considers you – and potentially her other detective partners – as too big a risk to leave unmanaged. So he is considering adding you to the list. And trust me, once people of his position start quote- considering things - unquote, well, those things are all but done at that point."
He stops talking as he watches his son stand, and walk back to the bar area, this time grabbing a second glass along with his own. He pours bourbon in both glasses, and returns to the living room, handing one glass to Hunt.
"Mixing drinks, I see," Hunt chuckles.
"Been that kind of day," Castle replies.
Hunt nods his head, and takes a swig from the glass, smiling at the flavor as he leans his head back, allowing the liquid to flow down this throat. He clears his throat, and begins again.
"So – powerful man – sights on Beckett – adding you to the list – we clear so far?"
Castle nods his head, sipping his drink before putting it back on the coffee table. Alexis half reaches for the drink, this time earning a slap, not a pat, on the hand from her father. Hunt chuckles – his laugh is a bit creepy, Castle decides.
"So, you and your family could become . . . collateral damage in his efforts to get to Beckett, or . . . you could be actual targets yourself."
"This sucks," Alexis mumbles to herself.
"That it does, Alexis," Hunt agrees. "Which is why I am here, and why I left bread crumbs leading to your door, son," he continues. "Everything I have done so far is to create a red herring; to make them think twice about including you in their crosshairs."
"What do you mean?" Castle asks, not completely following the train of thought.
"One of two things is going to happen, Richard," Hunts says, sipping down another swallow of his drink. "Option one: A notorious, ruthless and celebrity serial killer disappears after attacking your family, never to be found again. The police are convinced you masterminded the entire operation, out of revenge for your family. The court of public opinion will be on your side. The police will always suspect it was you. But there will never be a body, and therefore, never any proof. More, since you never were a part of it, there will be nothing that traces back to you except for the location of the snatch. And the man after Beckett will begin to look at you with . . . let's say, a new set of eyes. I know this man, and I know what he respects, and what he disregards. A man ruthless enough to take out a serial killer, but ensure that said killer in question is never found? Well, that is a man your enemy respects – and will back away from."
He takes another swallow, before continuing.
"Option two: A notorious, ruthless and celebrity serial killer disappears after attacking your family. Certain parts of him are delivered to your enemy. Evidence turns up that exonerates you of any involvement in the operation. Your enemy never connects you with the operation. But he knows my reputation. And when he gets my package – with my message – he understands that you and your family are off-limits. Now this approach is a bit more risky, because it begs the question why I even give a shit about you and your family. Regardless, even if he or anyone else begins to question what our connection is – the message is still received: stay away from Richard Castle."
Castle nods in understanding. Yeah, this was far more than he expected to hear. And he can see the wisdom – actually the savage brilliance in the plan, in the options laid out. Had he been of a different mind, he would be outlining concepts for a new book with this knowledge. However, right now, self-preservation is the status quo.
And then there's Beckett.
"So, you are going after them?"
"Him," Hunt corrects.
"But you know who he is," Castle confirms one more time.
"Of course I do," is the response.
"How –"
"Again, Richard. There are things I know – things I make it my business to now."
"Things you stay alive by knowing," Castle finishes for him, and Hunt merely nods his head.
"So – you are sending some type of message to him. Then you go after him?"
"No," Hunt responds, and he response surprises both Castle and Martha.
"Why not?" Martha asks, beating Castle to the punch.
"Why should I? It's not my jurisdiction," he tells them, as if that alone is answer enough. Clearly, for the people in this room, it is not. No, Castle doesn't like Kate Beckett much right now.
But he still loves her.
He realizes exactly how screwed up that sounds as the thoughts float through his brain. He doesn't want her dead. He just doesn't want her. There is a difference.
"Because it's the right thing to do," Alexis says, inserting herself into the conversation. Castle allows it. This is as much about her as anyone – perhaps even more so, given her recent activities.
"The right thing to do is not always the correct thing to do," Hunt tells her. Later, Richard Castle will see the validity in those words. But that is later. Right now, those words carry little logic with the writer.
"What about Beckett?" he asks. "And her team?"
"What about her?" asks Jackson Hunt. Seeing the look on his son's face, Hunt hurriedly tries to explain. "Richard, understand – I am a part of a group that stays out of domestic affairs."
He knows by telling his son this much, his son will figure out which three-letter agency employs his father. That's okay – his son deserves to know that much, at least. And the fact that his son withheld information regarding the infamous 'Mr. Smith' from the woman he supposedly loves tells Hunt that his son won't part with this new knowledge anyway.
"I intervened this time," he continues, "At great personal risk – because it was you, it was Alexis. It was Martha. I knew somehow Dunn would be loose again - and soon. I could not take the chance that he would not come after you again. So I acted. And I saw an opportunity to potentially kill two birds with one stone, so I have left you and I with a couple of options. But son – I am not the local police. I do not go after every criminal that comes to light."
"But –"
"No buts, son," Hunt gently chastises him. "Listen – you have no idea – hear me, Richard – you have no idea the sheer volume of criminal nature that is out there. You have no idea the number of people here, that you consider neighbors in this fancy hideaway, that have . . . let's say questionable ethics or just outright legal boundary problems. And don't get me started on our elected officials. I can't clean everything up. I'm not a vigilante that comes swooping in, fixing wrongs, dispensing justice," he adds.
"I am a soldier, if you will, simply following orders. Sometimes, however, when the stakes become more personal, I make and carry out my own orders. But those are the exception, son, and they have to be few and far between," he finishes. "Otherwise, I am no different than the people . . ."
Castle nods his head in understanding. He gets it. He doesn't like it, but he gets it. Hunt need say no more.
"Don't misunderstand – I appreciate this, I really do," Castle tells him. "But I can't just stand back and do nothing if this man is going to make a play for Kate again – for her team along with her. I can't stand back – surely if you know me at all, if you have been keeping tabs as it appears you have – then you know that –"
"I know, Richard," Hunt tells him. "I know."
Hunt is quiet for a moment, and he considers his son's words. They are not unexpected, but they nevertheless still carry weight once they are articulated. His son makes his mind up for him.
"Exactly how long is this long game you are willing to play?" Castle asks.
"Tell you what," Hunt tells him. "First things first."
He stands and waves for Castle to follow him. Martha and Alexis stand, but he waves them away.
"No, both of you stay here. It's for you own good, believe me," and his tone indicates there will be no negotiation or compromise on this point. Jackson Hunt and Castle walk to the front door, and exit the house, walking down the secluded driveway to the detached garage. Hunt pulls out a remote garage door opener, and depresses a button which opens the double-car garage door.
"Where did you get that?" Castle asks, incredulously again.
"Really, Richard?" his father gives him, with a slight chuckle. Castle simply shakes his head, muttering to himself.
"You know, for someone who writes stories about murder and political intrigue and espionage, you certainly are a bit of a killjoy, you know that?" Hunts says, still chuckling, as he enters the garage. "That's far enough for you," Hunt tells him.
Castle sees the black SUV that he can only assume belongs to his father, and his writer's mind starts putting the equations together, piecing together what – or who – is likely in this SUV. He steps forward, inside, and simply stares at Hunt.
"Are you sure, son?" he asks him. "Do you know what this means if –"
"I know what it means," Castle tells him.
Hunt nods his head, and immediately closes the garage door, leaving the two men alone in the garage with the large black SUV that Hunt had secretly parked before Castle had arrived.
"You know, for a minute there, I wondered if you would show up and pull here into the garage – which would have made our initial meeting a little less . . ."
"Yeah," Castle agrees, not forcing him to complete his thought.
Another remote click, this time for the SUV, and the trunk hatch slowly lifts, revealing a bound and gagged – and very frightened and angry Scott Dunn trussed up by his hands and feet with fairly heavy chains.
Jackson Hunt stands back, allowing his son a good look at the serial killer, a good look at the man who has damaged his little girl, and terrorized his mother. He allows his son a good look at the man who has caused his family, his friends and loved ones such pain. Then he steps forward, standing next to Castle.
"So – Mr. Dunn – two things you deserve to know. First, the man you recognize standing next to me is my son."
Dunn's eyes widen in fearful recognition, and then within seconds, dull with certain realization of his fate.
"Two," Jackson Hunt continues, "until about half an hour ago, I really wasn't sure what I was going to do with you. But then I saw my granddaughter."
Dunn's muffled pleas are contained by the tight gag on his mouth. The pleas are short, however, as the silenced pistol barks once, putting a single bullet into the head of the serial killer. Richard Castle watches, unmoved. For a moment, Jackson Hunt begins to second-guess bringing his son down to witness this event, but he realizes in that moment that Richard Castle, the fun-loving novelist who shadowed a police detective died two weeks ago. There was no funeral, no memorial service. But just as sure as he is standing here, Jackson Hunt knows his son lost a part of his humanity when he got his daughter back.
"Now, for the message we want to send . . . I've found a third option," Hunt tells him.
A/N: I went back and forth on this chapter, trying to decide whether or not to place Castle at the scene of Dunn's murder. I decided that in this AU, after what has happened to his daughter, and for what he is going to have to prepare himself to do as he ultimately goes up against his unseen enemy – this Castle needed to take a different fork in the road. I hope you understand, and stay with this to the end.