The Haunting - Chapter 12


Summer 1892


New York was having a mild heat wave. It was hot outside, a humid, oppressive kind of heat. Most of the city's populace remained bunkered down inside their homes. The more affluent peoples of New York City could buy large blocks of ice to help cool down their homes. Richard Castle, however, had no need of such things. The brownstone in which he lived was naturally cool, mostly thanks to the phantom of the beautiful young woman who shared the residence with him.

It was early August, and Castle spent as must time as he could writing. With the success of Jameson Rook's Fantastical Guide to the World of the Unexplained, Black Pawned wanted him to produce a new novel about the exploits of the intrepid reporter Jameson Rook and his ghostly love Nicole. Sequels were rare, but both publisher and author were hoping the success of the first novel might perhaps translate into multiple volumes. Book series were even more rare than sequels, but it was an era of new ideas, and Black Pawn was willing to gamble of Castle's ability to tell a terrifically fantastic story.

It was a challenge Richard Castle intended to meet head on.

As a result, he had to back off on his investigations into the murder of his beloved spirit companion. This delighted Katherine, since she had been none too happy over his involvement. He had asked her on occasion if she remembered anything from the time before her death that could point to her poisoner, and she would always assert that she did not. Castle did not like to think that his beloved Katherine would lie to him, but on this matter, he would not put it past her to omit certain truths simply to keep him safe. Because that was why she did not want him investigating. Yes, she wanted answers. Yes, she wanted justice. But not at the expense of the man she loved.

So, Castle relented—at least for a time—and turned his focus to his writing. He would sequester himself away in his study, furiously punching the keys of the typewriter, the latest Remington model. He had indulged himself in the purchase after the success of his debut novel. He had looked at Underwood and Oliver, but it was the Remington's usage of the QWERTY keyboard that sold him. Thought, it was taking him a while to get used to it. He was still learning how to type.

Katherine was teaching herself. On lazy afternoons, he would watch as the keys would move as if by themselves as she practiced. She was quite good at it, too. She would use it to write out little notes for him, which he would then find scattered around the brownstone. Truth be told, he actually missed her elegant cursive handwriting, but Katherine seemed to enjoy learning new things, and especially took to the typewriter, so he held his tongue and basked in the happy aura that flowed through the house.

Presently, Castle was in a writing frenzy. He sat at his desk, back hunched as he punched the keys on the typewriter, letting the words flow. The strain on his neck and back muscles annoyed him; constantly forcing him to pause for brief breaks when all he wanted to do was stab the keys and watch as the words filled the white page. It was an extraordinary feeling, creating a story, and when he was in the zone, all he wanted to do was continue writing and block out the rest of the world.

But alas, existence would often assert itself at inconvenient times, such as now, when a particularly irritating knot started to form between his shoulder blades. It was beginning to really vex him. He had a steady stream of words at the moment, and he did not want to break that flow. The knot became more aggravating as the minutes tick by. He was just about to stop writing, when suddenly gentle cool hands descended upon his shoulders. He sighed, closing his eyes in relief as delicate fingers worked the tender flesh between his shoulders, and kneaded the tense muscles.

The room temperature immediately dropped, becoming pleasantly chilly compared to the bristling heat outside. He felt her icy cold breath against his ear. The hairs along the back of his neck stood on end, and gooseflesh materialized along his skin when she spoke.

"Relax, Richard," she purred, her voice hauntingly beautiful, just as she was. He would oft lie awake in bed staring at her portrait he now kept on the bedside table. He had mesmerized everything about her gorgeous face: Her high cheekbones, the curve of her nose, the seductive tug of her lips, the beauty mark on her left cheek, and the almost hypnotic allure of her eyes. Oh, her eyes. Her eyes were extraordinary. He so desperately wished he could know the color of her eyes.

Her talented fingers pulled him out of his wandering thoughts. She squeezed his shoulders gently, working the stiff muscles with deft ease born from experience. This was not the first time Katherine's cold hands had soothed his tense shoulders, kneading out the knots. His skin buzzed with the sensation, and he closed his eyes, momentarily forgetting everything but her magical touch.

"Oh, yes…," he moaned unabashedly. "Right there."

The quiet giggle of his ghostly companion floated through the air. He pursed his lips and smirked, rolling his neck, and shivered as he felt her hands move down his back, caressing and massaging the tense muscles. Then he felt the cool press of her lips against his neck, and he sighed happily. It was perfect. She knew just what to do to relieve the pressure, and coax him into relaxation.

"Thank you, Katherine," Castle sighed, easing into her tender touch. "I really needed that."

"My pleasure, Richard," she purred in his ear, making him shiver with unseemly and improper thoughts. Oh, how he wished he could act on them. Properly. He wanted to do far more than simply kiss his beloved. But that was all he had, for now, at least. So he would take what he could get.

"How goes the writing?" his ghostly mused asked.

He smiled, letting out a contented breath as he felt her fingers massage his scalp. "Better," he admitted. "I found some inspiration last night."

"Oh, really," she hummed. "And what was that?"

Castle growled, her words causing his insides to inflame with passion. The previous night, Katherine had managed to materialize for an hour longer than ever before. They had spent the night gently caressing one another's faces and sharing languid kisses, making love in an odd sort of way that was uniquely theirs, if not in the traditional sense. Castle wanted so much more than that, to fully show his beloved Katherine just what her presence in his life did, but he would take what little he could get. He always would when it came to her. He loved Katherine Houghton Beckett, and not even the lack of physical intimacy, the kind enjoyed by every living man and woman, could change that.

Castle slowly spun around in his chair, the springs squeaking as he did so. He groped around in the empty air until his hands encountered the cool tingling sensation that indicated Katherine's presence. He gripped her waist and tugged her into his lap. Her soft giggled floated through the air—it was one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard—and he grinned, relishing in the feel of her body easing down against his lap and chest. Castle wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled his nose into her hair, breathing in the phantasmic scent of cherries. The fruity scent would often linger in a room once she had long departed. He nipped at the empty air where her ear was, and she giggled.

For an outsider, it would be an odd sight indeed, since the receiver of his affection was invisible. But Castle reveled in the closeness of his beloved. He kept one hand secure around her midsection while the other traveled up her neck. He palmed her jaw, and smiled. It was so much easier to kiss her when he was able to hold her face in his hand. It was far easier to kiss when she was able to materialize. But for that, he had to wait for the witching hour.

Her soft fingers caressed his face as she kissed him, her lips dancing over his. He closed his eyes and basked in the bubble of joy this simple act gave him. It was not the easiest relationship to have, when one of the participants was dead, but for now they were making it work. Castle could only hope that, as the poets would say, love would eventually conquer all.