Castle fell again in a sequence of weird dreams. The only thing he could sometimes see clearly was Kate's face. Sometimes drinking wine an talking in their sofa, others making love sweetly, others working together at the precinct... Only one thing in common: her wide and beautiful smile and her amazing hazel eyes.
His mind went through a spiral, in the end was his consciousness. Castle opened his eyes and, for the first time, he could see the place where he was. It was a kind of... abandoned factory. Some machines with control panels, dirty buttons, conveyors to transport material all along the place, and cold fluorescent lights on top that reflected in the stainless steel.
He remembered... a bathtub... and a shower. He was not longer in the tub, but he was still soaked to the skin and bounded. His elegant completely soaked virgin wool tuxedo was very heavy now. When he bought it he loved it because he looked like James Bond, and now, ironically, his situation was vey much like a 007 film. He was hanging from his tied wrists and a metal chain was pulling him up from the floor.
"Oh, Mr. Castle, have I woken you?" said a familiar voice with false kindness.
The writer could remind he was driving his Mercedes road to his wedding in The Hamptons, then all was black. So he was drugged and now was ok. The hardest thing was that now, without drugs, he was wondering: Where is Beckett? Is she OK? Is she kidnapped too?. He would become crazy thinking about it, so he stopped thinking. He tried to turn his head to watch 'the ringmaster' of the show, but he was so stretched that he couldn't.
The ropes around his wrists were tensing while he was pulling. His precarious situation was getting worse. He did not want to cry out in pain, he grunted furiously instead. He was barely touching the floor with his bare feet toes, so his arms and wrists was supporting painfully almost all his weight. This was true: a man without shoes is a helpless man.
"Well, this is done." said the voice after the mechanism stopped.
He heard the echo of steps approaching him. The writer turned his head to see the bastard who was fucking him and... surprised, he showed the face of a guy he has never seen before. The man stood in front of him, with a silly smile and took a second to observe Castle and... the asshole started to laugh heavily. The writer frowned very confused and waited until laughing fit finished.
"You don't recognize me, do you?" the guy asked wiping tears from his eyes.
Rick was looking his stupid smile with weird teeth. He wanted to punch him on his nose, and he had felt the same when... Oh!
"Tyson"
It was the only word Castle said. He spat it disgusting and suppressed all the bad language that came to his mind.
"Impressive, Mr. Castle!" yelled the now identified Jerry Tyson and applauded the writer. "I think I must demand my plastic surgeon because you have recognized me immediately" he said.
"Oh, no, please, I don't want to cause problems. So, I have recognized you because your good manners" Castle said. He could not repress the jokes when he was in a panic.
"I'm glad you're in the best mood, because you're going to need it, Mr. Castle" Tyson walked slowly towards the old control panel and placed his hand on a button, not pressing it yet. Rick glanced and waited the worst thing possible to happen.
"I guess..." Tyson said "...a man so enlightened as you, have realized we are in a slaughterhouse. Millions head of cattle had been sacrificed over decades. Don't worry. I'm not interested in killing you."
And the bastard pressed the button.
The writer felt a tingle starting in his wrists and running along his arms that finished in his feet. The electrical current tensed his facial muscles causing teeth grinding. During the eternal seconds that the cramp lasted his lungs deflate, transforming the air in a scrill scream, and totally lost his toilet training.
When the electric shock finished, he felt in the Heavens, despite the blood taste in his mouth, urine odor and numb arms. Tyson walked pensative.
"When I was a child I used to hear cow mooing from my bedroom" -he said melancholic - "People said that the cows didn't suffer being sacrificed this way. You have tried it in a minimum level, what do you think, Castle? Is that true?"
The writer was recovering, trying to breath slowly, but was really complicated been hanging.
"Oh, I almost forget it..." - Tyson said walking back and disappearing out of Castle's sight.
He came back with a newspaper in his hand, and opened it to the middle. Tyson scanned it until he found what was looking for, then fold it and put it in from of Castle´s face. Rick frowned trying to read but he couldn't.
"Read it, writer. It's worth..." Castle did not move a muscle of his face.
"... Well, I see you are stunned. Read it later then." He put it on an old conveyor near Rick.
"Now I must offer my condolences"
Before left, Tyson pressed a button and Castle went down a few inches, enough for putting the soles of his feet on the ground.
"Be smart. Don't try anything bad while I'm gone, OK?"
Castle could hear a slam door behind him. Immediately Rick pulled the rope and observed it. It was very strong climbing rope. There was a harness joining the rope with a metallic chain suspended from the ceiling. He could try to climb up, then swing and... He never could scape like that, it was a mission for someone from Cirque Du Soleil.
He waited a second. He was not hungry. He was not sleepy. He supposed it was because the adrenaline.
What day was today? He closed to the newspaper and before he could see the date, a big headline caught his eye: "Richard Castle dead in tragic accident".