The Haunting – Chapter 6
Summer 1891
One year.
It had been one year since Richard Castle had moved into the brownstone, and during that time, he had managed to make the place his own. Sure, he had kept the majority of the Becketts' furniture. It would have been a waste of good material to just toss it. Though, he had packed up some of their other possessions, storing them in the attic. Except for Katherine's room. He left that untouched.
When he had found her reply on that spring night, Castle had almost gone into a panic, the rational side of his brain overruling his heart. He could admit all he wanted that he had some strange desire to communicate with this specter, but actually seeing that happen was something else altogether. He had looked around every nook and cranny of the room, searching almost the entire house, to discover that he was, in fact, alone. Only then was he able to sleep with a restful mind.
Part of him wanted to believe in the supernatural, that Katherine Beckett was reaching out from the ethereal plane to communicate with him. But another part of him was starting to believe that he was actually going crazy. Perhaps it had been a mistake to end his relationship with Miss Gina Cowell. Without her, Castle rarely had much social contact with his fellow living human beings. He was going a little stir crazy all alone in the brownstone.
Over the course of the summer, Castle tried to spend more time outside, amongst the living. His morbid fascination with death and ethereal spirits was doing nothing for his social life. Constable Kevin Ryan and the editors at the New York Times were the few people he talked with on more than one occasion during the week. He would meet Ryan once a week to discuss and review the case against Joseph Pulgatti.
The last time he had visited Ryan, the young constable had pulled out the coroner's report on Katherine Beckett. It had been difficult for Castle to read the coroner's findings. However, a full postmortem examination had never been performed, since the Beckett family physician had declared her death the result of a severe fever. There had been no reason to dispute such findings. It was not an uncommon occurrence. Ryan had asked him if he wanted to get a court order to exhume the body to check if there were any residual signs that Katherine had been poisoned. Castle was reluctant to go that far. He had told Ryan that he would think about it.
On a brighter note, the newspaper editors, as well as the higher management, were very pleased with his serial, Jameson Rook's Fantastical Guide to the World of the Unexplained, a tale of an intrepid journalist who fell in love with Nicole, a beautiful ethereal spirit with a tragic past, and together they solved mysteries. It was a bit of wish fulfillment on his part. He had been worried, but they found the supernatural elements very enticing. The newspaper's readership even increased once his serial began publication. Anything dealing with the occult or the supernatural was in vogue.
The inspiration for his story had been oddly silent during the summer. He wondered if his brief panic over being watched, and subsequent time spent away from the brownstone during the day, had scared her off. Despite how insane it sounded, Castle actually wanted to see little messages from her again. He missed her, if that was even possible.
The idea came to him one evening while he was relaxing in the lounge, thumbing through a volume of mythology. It was some story about the shade of the departed having been wronged in life and needing to be appeased. He could not say what it was about the ancient tale that had inspired him, but nonetheless he was inspired. He grabbed a piece of paper and his favorite fountain pen, and went upstairs, heading for Katherine's bedroom.
It was chilly inside, and he shivered, his arms and legs coming alive with gooseflesh. The cold must be an indicator, he thought, since the temperature almost always seemed to drop during her visitations. Castle slowly breathed in and out, before making his way over to the vanity. He sat down on the cushioned chair and gently rearranged the stylish combs and hairpins off to the side, giving himself some room to spread out the paper on the flat surface of the vanity. Taking his fountain pen, he scribbled out a not in his tiny neat script.
Are you still there?
Castle placed the pen down, relaxing back into the chair, as he stared at his reflection in the mirror, awaiting a reply.
