The Haunting - Chapter 10


Winter 1892


It was the anniversary of the tragic death of the young and beautiful Katherine Houghton Beckett.

Richard Castle sat alone in his parlor that night, the flickering light from the fire in the hearth the only light to fight off the darkness. The winter cold had seeped into the brownstone without any opposition. Outside the snow fell steadily, painting the streets in a lovely layer of white.

Castle leaned back in armchair, sighing. It had been several days since Katherine's spirit had come to visit him. After that first night in December, it had seemed like she pushed more and more to break across the veil between their worlds. They had shared another kiss on New Year's Eve when the clock struck twelve and it officially became January 1st, 1892. Her touches had become more real. Her kisses had become more intense and passionate. He still shivered at the memory of her fingers carding through his hair. And the ghostly whisper of her voice had become stronger.

Then suddenly it stopped.

She... disappeared, for lack of a better word.

It took him but a night to realize why.

He wished that there were something he could do for her, to make her happy and less sad. But he could not. Katherine's chance at true happiness had been taken away from her the day she had been poisoned. With her vanishing act, Castle had spent more time investigating her murder, a task her energetic visitations had distracted him from. It had become more difficult, the leads were drying up, and he kept running into dead ends. And it did not help that Constable Kevin Ryan was less focused now that he had proposed to Jennifer O'Malley. The two were set to marry soon. The expensive embossed invitation still sat unopened on the credenza in the foyer.

Castle rubbed his hands together and hunched closer to the fire, fighting off the chill in the air. Usually he would be thrilled with a drop in room temperature, as it would usually forecast the imminent arrival of his beloved. Yet this chill was not supernatural in nature. Tugging the knitted blanket—a Christmas gift from his kindly neighbor, Mrs. O'Malley—more snuggly around his shoulders, Castle shifted around in the armchair to find a more comfortable spot.

But just as the warmth was beginning to return to his bones, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and gooseflesh materialize along his arms. A tingling shiver ran down his spine, his eyes widen and his heartbeat quickened, but he tempered it, not wanting to give rise to false hope. He did not expected her tonight of all nights.

Then he felt it.

He closed his eyes and exhaled a soft moan of a sigh. The ripple of contentment flowed throughout his body at the sensation of her phantom touch, fingers combing through his thick hair, brushing the strands that had flopped over his forehead back. She loved his hair. He would always end up with tousled hair whenever they had shared kisses. Her soft ghostly giggles would linger in the air was he would inevitably attempt to smooth out his mussed head of hair. After all, though he would deny it vigorously, he was a dandy, and cared deeply about his appearance, however he did not mind the disheveled look when it had been a result of Katherine's adoring attentions.

"I thought you would not come tonight," Castle spoke to the empty room. An outsider would question his sanity. He knew better. And would use his profession as an excuse, saying that it 'helped to talk out loud when formulating ideas for the next chapter'. Jameson Rook's Fantastical Guide to the World of the Unexplained was doing quite well. He struck him suddenly that his life was imitating art… or was it the other way around?

Her cool breath danced across his cheek, and he could have sworn he felt her lips brush against the shell of his ear. "I am so sorry, Richard," came Katherine's faint voice. He almost had to strain to hear it. "So, so sorry."

"No, no," he shook his head, frowning in frustration, wishing that he could do more than speak words of comfort to his ghostly love. He longed to hold her in his arms, cradle her head in his palms, and smother her in kisses. "You do not need to apologize, Katherine. I understand completely."

"No, you do not," came the whisper of her angelic voice against his ear. Her intonations were indicative of someone suffering from grief, sorrow, and regret. However there was something else there, something that was quite the opposite.

"I know what today is, Katherine," he asserted calmly, proud of the steadiness of his voice despite the terrible weight of sadness over what had happened to her this very night, all those years ago. "Today is the day you died."

"Yes," was her response.

"I am sorry."

"Do not be. It was not your doing."

His throat clenched and he shook his head, waving off her soothing touch. He should be the one doing the comforting, not her! "It has been two years, Katherine. Two years. And I am still nowhere closer to finding out who did this to you." Tears threatened to fall. "You deserve justice, Katherine."

She was silent. Castle knew how she felt about him investigating her death. But he could not help himself. Such injustice could not stand. She had been such a vibrant young woman. Her murder had been a crime against the world. He sniffled and wiped at his nose, almost embarrassed at his near sobbing. But he could never really feel shame when showing his emotions in front of Katherine.

The room chilled and the flames in the fireplace flickered low, nearly snuffing out. He heaved in a deep breath, and waited. It started slowly, but a faint blue wisp of light flickered into existence mere inches from his face. It sparked again, brighter this time. It was like a haze of fog light, soft and glowing. He stared in awe as the glow expanded, gradually growing stronger and stronger. And then, with a concussion of air, she was there. At least… an image of her.

Katherine Beckett stood before him, a shimmering glowing form of light, like looking at a reflection in glass. She was breathtakingly beautiful, as stunning as the portrait that rested on the table beside his bed. And so young. So very young. She had been nineteen when she died. Too young. He swallowed, suddenly feeling inexplicitly guilty, but the feeling soon passed. Many men married women far younger than them. And besides, he was only in his early thirties, and if Katherine had not died, there would only have been a nine or ten year age difference between them. That was not as bad as some of the other relationships he had seen, where the bride was young enough to be the groom's daughter, or—in some extreme cases—granddaughter.

He stared up at her in awe, almost not believing the vision of ethereal beauty before him. "How?"

She smiled at him, a demure, shy smile, ducking her head bashfully, before she looked into his eyes. "It was… very difficult," she answered, her poise and grace very telling of her upbringing. She had been taught to be a lady; her intimate kisses notwithstanding. She smirked, proud of herself. "But I like a challenge."

"You are beautiful," he blurted out, unable to keep his mouth shut. He gazed up in awe at her glowing form. It was odd. He could see through her, and there was this blue aura about her, distorting her natural colors. But it was her... really her! Tears spilled out of his eyes, happy tears. He stood up quickly, and Katherine skirted back, startled. Her form faded momentarily, before stabilizing once again. She smiled shyly, tugging her lower lip under her teeth. It was adorable.

"It's like a dream," Castle murmured in wonder, still struggling to believe he was really seeing this vision of utter beauty before him. "How?" he repeated absently, not really able to control himself.

She blinked, and ducked her head, her smile faltering for a second or two before a mask formed over her perfect features. "Tonight is the night I died."

It took him but a moment to realize what she had said, and why. "Oh," he swallowed, turning away, shamefaced. He was being an insensitive cad, only thinking of himself. "I am sorry."

"Do not be, Richard. I told you, it was not your doing."

Castle nodded tentatively, fingers twitching to reach out and touch her, though he knew it was impossible. He sighed, and looked into her eyes, seeing the love he had for her reflected back at him. He smiled, feeling his heart lift with joy at finally being able to look upon the face of the woman he loved, even if he could see the mantelpiece through her skull.

"I love you," he blurted out, unable to stop himself.

She beamed at him, her smile brighter than a thousand suns. "I love you, too, Richard." She stepped closer to him, reaching up with a hand to lightly brush her fingertips along his jaw. The chilly tingle made him shiver in anticipation. Castle kept his eyes open; he wanted to memorize every second of this glorious encounter. Katherine inched closer, pushing up to capture his mouth with his.

He gasped, startled at the feel of it. It was different than any of their other kisses… more real. He moaned into her mouth, surprised at her aggressiveness. Hesitantly, Castle brought a hand up and ghosted (an ironic use of the word to be sure) his fingers down the back of her head. He was surprised when he could feel the fine strands of her luscious hair. How was that possible? Her palms moved to rest on his chest as she keened into him. It was like she was real. But that… that was impossible? His mind wanted to find a logical explanation. But the way her lips moved against his drew his focus. He would ponder about it later.

For now, he would just marvel at the wonder of it.

Too soon she began to fade. She pulled back, her ghostly face beaming with joy and love. "I cannot stay much longer," she spoke urgently, the desperation and regret ringing in her voice. "I am sorry. Oh… I… oh, I wish for so much."

Castle swept his hand down the side of her face to soothe away her apologies. They were unnecessary. He did not know what it was costing her to materialize before him. And part of him did not want to know. For the most part, though, he was just so overjoyed that he could finally feel the elegant curve of her cheek against his palm. She closed her eyes and eased into his touch.

"I am yours," he asserted, perhaps foolishly, considering the circumstances. "Always."

Her eyes widened in surprise at his firm declaration. She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could speak, the blue aura around her ghostly frame began to fade away, and soon after, so did she. Within moments she was gone. Castle was left with an image of her large eyes staring up at him with an odd mixture of relief, love, worry, and despair.

He sighed, and slumped back into his chair. Perhaps he was a fool for falling in love with a ghost and not a living, flesh and blood woman. But he did not care. No woman could possibly compare to Katherine Beckett, especially now that he had been granted the privilege to look upon her breathtaking splendor.

He was a man in love, and nothing would stop him.