Thursday 1:51 pm
The Loft
The cab ride from the hospital took almost no time at all. It seemed that no sooner had she given the cabbie the address of the loft, she was paying him and dragging herself out of the rear seat. The taxi was triple parked just down from her building. As she emerged, the first thing she noticed was a publicity poster of Castle hung on a kiosk being built almost directly in front of their building. Above it was the logo and name of Black Pawn Publishing, and beneath it were a myriad of bright pictures, letters, book covers, and flowers stuck in chicken wire attached to the plywood side. A long line of people, mostly women, stretched off to her right down the sidewalk. Most were clutching items in their hands, and some were openly weeping.
She stared at Castle's poster. She felt a by-now familiar pain, as if her heart had been pricked with a pin. The pain was on every level. Emotional. Physical. Spiritual. With every reminder of Castle's existence her heart felt the pinprick, and reminders were everywhere. She averted her eyes, only to see another picture of him held by a woman in line. Another pinprick to the heart. She sighed, and started towards the door. She barely heard the comments and shouts coming from the back of the line. "Yo! Lady! Line starts back there." "Hey. Isn't that Nikki Heat?" "I think so. Over here, Nikki!" "No, couldn't be. Just look at her." "Back of the line, lady."
She fought her way through the line with the help of the doorman, and entered the lobby. She started for the elevator, every step more reluctant than the last. She knew the reason for her hesitancy. It was, unmistakenly, cowardice. She'd never considered herself particularly brave, but neither did she think herself a coward. She'd managed to do what was needed to be done when it became necessary. Yet, she was now terrified of facing Martha and Alexis, and wasn't sure if she actually could go through with it.
The elevator door opened and she stepped in and pushed the button for their floor (pinprick). When she'd faced obstacles or dangers in the past, she'd been able to overcome them with fortitude. Intelligence. Good defense and training. How do you face something when you don't have a plan? When you're actions are indefensible? When you're in the wrong and guilt-ridden? How do you console a mother and daughter when you yourself are inconsolable?
She walked down the hallway and inserted the key in the lock (pinprick). She opened the door and glanced around. She was inundated with memories of her Castle, and felt her heart being gently filleted. She took a stuttering breath and called out "Martha?" Getting no response, she moved to the foot of the steps and shouted "Martha!" Nothing.
She looked around to make sure there was no luggage in view. Martha's plane should have arrived over two hours ago, so Beckett had no idea where she might be. She took out her phone and turned it on for the first time since the meeting this morning at the 3rd Precinct. After a second, the screen came alive, informing her she had 37 missed calls. She scrolled down the list, but didn't see Martha's name. Nor Alexis' name. A majority of the calls were from Lanie and her Dad, with the remaining few from friends and acquaintances.
Not wanting to deal with anything, now or in the foreseeable future, she turned off the cell and walked through Rick's office (a whole pincushion full of pinpricks) into their bedroom. (Oh my God! She couldn't bear this!) Panic began to seize her. (She needed to escape! Run! Now!) She stripped off all her clothing in record time, leaving it strewn everywhere, and dove into the shower. She turned on all the nozzles on full, turned up the heat, and put her face under the stream of water.
She quickly realized, like every other decision she'd made in the last 24 hours, this shower was a horrible idea. The memories of her shower with Castle yesterday morning, before the interview with Mi-Hi Crane, came flooding back. The laughter. The banter. The slow and passion-filled love making. Bitter tears once more streamed down her face. Beckett slowly collapsed to the tiles, bent her head to her knees, and surrendered to the crushing pain.
She had no idea how long she remained there, wrapped in her desolation. She realized the water was cooling noticeably, and the loft had a big water heater. She stood and scrubbed off her tears. Her overriding emotion, which had swung from panic to fear, swung back again to an overwhelming panic. She couldn't catch her breath, and was inundated with a pure, unadulterated terror. By the time she'd washed her hair and scrubbed her skin feverishly, the water was ice cold. She stepped out, vigorously dried her abused skin, and took the brush and blow dryer to her hair furiously. She strode to her dresser and quickly donned bra, panties, an old pair of jeans, and an old comfortable pullover. She felt as if she was, literally, running for her life. Retrieving her current book from her nightstand, she marched into the office and snagged a bottled water from the small office fridge.
Beckett sat in the big desk chair, smelling Castle's musk (pinprick) in the leather. She turned on the desk lamp, and tucked her feet beneath her. She had no idea if this was going to work. It was a totally different dynamic than sixteen years ago. All she knew is that she was not going to survive if she didn't find a way to coexist with this new reality. She closed her eyes, and begged whatever deities that were tuned in to help her. She was as close to her breaking point as she'd ever been in her entire life, and was scared to death. She took a large drink of water, and then opened her book. She put the Nikki Heat bookmark (pinprick) on the desk and began to read. 'Chapter Seven. For Nikki Heat everything became about calculations. Panic had no place except to get her killed. As odds go, they sucked, but keeping her head . . . .
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven . . . It needed a big update, but the foundation was all right there. Heat turned back to Rook and said, 'Well? Are you interested or not?''
A sound in the doorway, and Beckett looked up. Martha stood there, leaning against the door jamb, displaying a very slight smile. "Richard had said he wanted to be immortal."