Prison of Darkness
Note: I hope you guys are enjoying this. It was so much fun to write. The editing is going a little slowly, but I'm hoping to have a new chapter out every couple of days. Also, I might have messed up "who/whom" in this; I always have trouble with that one. I can never remember the rule.
This one's a short one.
Disclaimer: Castle and all its characters belong to ABC.
Chapter 3
When Kate arrived at the hospital, Alexis and Martha were having a hushed but serious conversation. They stopped talking as she entered the room.
The detective stopped and asked, "Am I interrupting something?"
"Gram wants me to go home," Alexis said, her chin set stubbornly. "I think Dad needs me here."
"You could probably both use some rest."
Alexis shook her head. "He shouldn't be alone."
"He won't be," Kate assured her. "I told your grandmother I'd stay with him tonight."
"You will?" Alexis studied her face.
"Yes."
Indecision went over the young woman's face. Then, she looked at her grandmother, and she seemed to be taking in what a sleepless day and night had done to Martha.
"You'll call if he wakes up?"
"Yes."
"You'll call if he gets worse?"
"Yes."
"You'll call if anything happens at all?"
"I promise."
"Okay," she capitulated. "You don't mind?"
"I don't mind," she said sincerely.
Alexis glanced at her grandmother again. "You're right, Gram. I am tired."
She went over and put her arm around Martha's waist, and they walked out together. Kate watched them go, not quite sure who was supporting whom.
She waited until they were out of sight before entering Castle's room. She was pleasantly surprised to see that there weren't quite as many wires, and some of the color had come back to his face.
Kate made her way to the chair beside his bed, hoping it would be more comfortable than she remembered. Shedding her jacket, she prepared to settle in for the night.
"I see that you're still lying around," she said, forcing cheer into her voice.
She studied his face carefully, looking for any signs of consciousness. There were none.
"Since you are such lousy company, I brought something to read." She reached down to the bag she had dropped at her feet. It contained her cell phone (turned off), her money, wallet, and badge, a mirror, her toothbrush and toothpaste, and... "I thought this would amuse you."
She hauled out a Derrick Storm novel and waved it at Castle.
"You know," she said after a moment, "This is the very first Derrick Storm novel I ever read."
It was true. Kate remembered it clearly. Not long after her mother's death, she had been browsing the bookstore looking for something, anything, to distract her from the horror of her own life. The bold cover, full of splashy color but with an underlying darkness, had leaped out at her. It caught her attention enough for her to pull out the book and read the information on the jacket. The story synopsis was intriguing. Painful and terrifying for the characters, but intriguing. There was something else too. It was something she didn't even recognize until she got almost to the end of the novel. It was a faint glimmer of light amid the darkness. Kate had really needed to believe it could exist, and that simple detective novel had succeeded in making her feel just a little lighter.
She thought about sharing this with the unconscious Castle. The thought turned around in her mind as she looked at it from all angles. Kate even opened her mouth to speak, but she closed it again. Some day she would be brave enough to tell him, but not today.
XXX
There was sunshine. Sunshine and birds singing. Kate looked around, seeing nothing but blue skies and wilderness stretching out in all directions.
It was warm, and not just warm for November. Kate was glad she wasn't wearing her jacket as the sun warmed her skin and a soft breeze caressed her face. That same breeze played with her hair, blowing it gently into her eyes and tickling her cheek.
She was standing in a meadow. The grass was very green and long. It was so high that the tips of it touched her knees. There were flowers in the grass. Blues and pinks and purples and whites ran riot throughout the green. It felt almost like paradise.
Everything was sharply in focus. The sights. The sounds. The smells. She knew she was dreaming; she had to be. They didn't make sights and sounds and smells like that in New York.
Kate took a step forward, her legs parting the long grass.
She tangled her fingers in the thin strands, and let them run through her hands. Sudden pain made her gasp in surprise. It had been so long since she'd played in the grass that she had forgotten how sharp the edges could be. Frowning, she brought her finger up and eyed the small cut that was already seeping a small bit of blood.
She put the side of her finger in her mouth and said a very intelligent, "Ow."
XXX
Kate opened her eyes to find her forehead resting gently against Castle's upper arm. Machines were sill beeping a steady rhythm, and she could feel the warmth of him from where skin met skin. Her Derrick Storm book was on the floor, open, with some of the pages slightly bent.
She must have fallen asleep.
Kate sat up slowly, feeling a little groggy. A slight sting in her finger made her look at it closely. There was a long shallow cut along the outside, just like the one in her dream. She must have cut her finger on the chair and then dreamed about it. She wondered if that is what woke her.
Shrugging the minuscule injury off, she studied Castle's face. She wondered when he'd wake up. She also wondered if he'd wake up and find her there. Kate's face colored at the thought.
The door opened, and Kate turned to see Martha in the doorway. A quick check of her wrist told Kate that it was just barely 6 am.
"How is he?" Martha whispered. She looked slightly better for the small amount of sleep she had allowed herself.
"It's been quiet here all night," Kate told her softly.
"Has he been awake?"
Kate shook her head. "No. I would have called you."
She fished under the chair and retrieved her book before putting it back in the bag. She had a couple of hours before work and decided to best use of that time would probably be another nap.
XXX
Kate was sill a little groggy when she walked into the station somewhere between ten and eleven that morning. She felt eyes on her as she walked by the other detectives, and a few conversations trailed off.
"Beckett?"
Finally, someone spoke. Kate turned to see Karpowski regarding her solemnly.
"As long as there are no complications, he's going to recover fully."
Conversations started up again, and Kate saw several smiles appear. Castle was a station favorite, and even those not in homicide knew of him.
She stopped by Ryan's and Esposito's desks on the way to her own.
"So, what are we working on?" she asked.
The two of them had been quietly bickering, but they stopped and looked up at her question. Esposito motioned to Ryan, who held up a folder.
"The vic is Ian Woon, a thirty-five year old administrative assistant. He worked for Howard and Emma Tutweiller," Esposito told her.
Kate frowned and took the folder from the younger man. "As in the Tutweillers of Tutweiller's Real Estate?"
"That would be them."
"He was killed with a shovel," Ryan supplied.
"A shovel?"
"Yeah. Someone whacked him in the head."
"Ouch."
"That's what he said," Esposito replied.
Kate rolled her eyes at him and flipped open the folder. Just as she had been told, a young man stared sightlessly out of them, a pool of blood and stuff she didn't want to want to think about haloing his blond hair.
"Do you have the murder weapon?"
"No." Esposito shook his head.
"Then how...?"
"The shape of the wound and the metal fragments."
"Where was he found?" She studied the pictures.
"In his apartment."
She looked up from the pictures to see if Esposito were joking. He looked completely serious.
"Someone carried a shovel into the vic's apartment and no one noticed?"
"We have uniforms canvassing the building, but so far nothing."
"He lived on the twelfth floor," Ryan added helpfully.
Kate drew her brow together in puzzlement and continued to browse the file. There wasn't much on the vic. He was single and lived alone. There were no pets. His parents were from New Jersey.
There was a lot more information on his employers. The Tutweillers were practically famous. You couldn't go anywhere without seeing one of them smiling from the side of a bus or watching you from some giant billboard.
"Keep me posted on any new info," she told them as she carried the file to her desk.
As Kate went to sit down, her mind flashed back to the strange dreams she had been having. First, there was the one of chasing a shadowy Castle, and then there were the two she had since. (One of them while she was sitting with Castle, and the other when she went home for her nap.) Both of them had been brief, peaceful sojourns in a field of knee deep grass and colorful flowers. She had never dreamed of grassy fields before. There hadn't been many fields in Manhattan while she was growing up. It had to be the stress.
Her desk welcomed her back, but it was strange to be sitting there without Castle in his chair beside her. It reminded her of the long, lonely summer that had just passed, making her sad.
The best thing she could do was to immerse herself in her work. Life always seemed so far away when she was working. The victims lives—and deaths—seemed so much more important than hers when she was searching for the truth.
She opened the file again and scanned the pictures and details of Mr. Ian Woon's life. They were as brief as before. Lanie's report was tucked in after that, and Kate found herself wondering again how someone managed to bring a gardening implement inside an apartment building in New York City without being noticed.
The reading material on the Tutweillers was very interesting. It gave good background details, including the fact that Emma Tutweiller had been arrested for prostitution in her teens. That was something you didn't see on the buses or billboards.
At the moment, the Tutweillers were the only suspects. Howard Tutweiller had been observed having a fight with the victim the day before he died, and it was rumoured around the real estate office that Emma Tutweiller was having an affair with the younger Ian. Kate wished she had been able to interview Howard and Emma Tutweiller herself.
Once she had read everything there was to know so far about the case, she went over to have a good look at the murder board. The time line was written out neatly—it looked like Ryan's printing. Esposito's was usually an indecipherable scrawl—with all the details meticulously filled in. Beside the time line, pictures of the victim—blond, smiling Ian Woon—and both of the Tutweillers watched her. Mr. Tutweiller looked serious. He was the only one not smiling.
Kate realized suddenly that she hadn't read anything about Ian's family in the file. It said he was born in New Jersey but nothing else. Who were his parents? Did he have any brothers or sisters? Was there anyone at home who could have wanted him dead?
She beckoned to Ryan, who was standing nearby.
"Who talked to the parents?" she asked.
"That was Esposito. He called them. They should be in this afternoon. They've got to identify the body, and he wanted to ask them some questions.
Kate nodded. "I'd like to be in on that."
"Sure, boss."
She looked at her watch. It was only noon. "I'm going to take a look at the crime scene. When the Woon's get here, give me a call."
"Okay."
XXX
Ian Woon lived in a nice apartment building. It wasn't opulent, but there was some security. There were cameras too, one in the main lobby and one for the elevators, but they hadn't shown anything.
Kate took the elevator to the twelfth floor. It was a large elevator, with dark wood inlay. So far, she really liked the building and wondered if they had any vacancies. It would be nice to get out of her hotel room and into a place she could call home.
As the doors opened, Kate smiled at the uniformed officer who was waiting to get in. She knew him, so she asked, "Anything?"
"No one saw anything."
"Have you talked to everyone?"
"We've got a couple of floors left."
She nodded and continued down the hallway to 1209. There was police tape blocking the entrance. The yellow X showed up starkly against the muted beige and walnut of the hallway.
Kate fished a key out of her pocket and carefully reached through the tape to unlock the door.
Her first impression of the apartment was one of neatness. Despite the obvious signs of a recent struggle and the blood stains, the rest of the place was tidy. Beige walls that matched the halls held a few pictures, most of them large, black and white still lifes. The main door opened into the living area, which had a huge flat screen TV against one wall and a floor to ceiling bookcase against another. The carpet matched the walls, but it was marred with deep red stains and the remains of something that could have been white wine. Both a couch and a coffee table were overturned, and magazines fanned out over the floor.
Kate knelt beside the biggest stain to study it. A faint chalk outline surrounded it and made its way off to the left. She brought up the memory of the crime scene photos in her mind to compare.
One question kept rattling around in her head. Why would the killer have used a shovel? It was the most impractical murder weapon that could have been used. It must have been symbolic, but symbolic of what?
Kate studied the carpet around the outline, disregarding the blood spatter, not really hoping to find anything.
She stood and walked the few steps to the upended couch. She looked it over and was going to move on to the coffee table when a sparkle caught her eye. Moving the fabric of the couch over with a gloved hand, she found a piece of glass. A piece of thin glass. Wine glass thin? she wondered. Curiously, she lifted the couch and found more pieces. Most were as tiny as the first, but there was a bigger, curved piece. Definitely part of a wine glass.
Held by the victim...or by the killer?
It was a long shot, but Kate put the glass in a bag and labeled it. She'd send it to forensics and see if there was any DNA on it that didn't belong to the victim. Maybe Ian Woon had a glass of wine with the crazed, shovel wielding person who killed him.
There were a couple of framed pictures on the floor, Kate noted as she was crouched picking up the glass. They might have fallen off the coffee table. They showed a younger, more alive version of Woon. One of them was similar to the one hanging on the murder board, except in this one, he was with another young man. The two men had similar features, but the second was dark where Woon was light. He was chubby with shoulder length curly hair and braces. Kate guessed he was Woon's cousin or brother. Another picture was obviously of the victim's parents. The two young boys with them supported Kate's supposition about the curly haired man.
Kate looked around a little longer before deciding there was nothing left to find. She took her glass and hurried out, hoping she'd be in time to catch Mr. and Mrs. Woon.