He sits on his couch, wearing a suit, and tie. He hangs his head, and tosses back a swallow of scotch. He ignores the room full of people around him. Her words still ring in his ears. He feels a hand against his shoulder, and he looks up to find Alexis standing in front of him.
"Everyone is heading out," she tells him.
He vacates his seat on the couch, and accompanies his guests to the door. He finds Alexis in the kitchen. She sits on the bar stool in complete silence.
"It's okay," he insists.
"It doesn't feel okay. It feels like a bad dream. All of this just seems so surreal."
"I know," he responds in a somber tone.
"You've barely said anything all day."
He shrugs, "What is there to say?"
"Something, anything. You just stand there like today is any other day. You act as if nothing is wrong. Dad, everything is wrong," her face grows redder with every passing second.
He takes a seat next to his daughter. The entire day has been different. Everything about the previous days have been completely, and totally wrong. The sadness hovers over them like a thick cloud. The bitterness, and thoughts of things left unsaid cling to their skin like pox. He can see the look of devastation on his daughter's face. Her eyes are bloodshot from crying, and her nostrils flare in anger. He can nearly see her thoughts. The guilt twists around his innards like a helix. He hears the clock on the wall ticking, and it reminds him that for him time should have stopped. He contemplates how he can console his daughter.
She stares at her father, and just looking at him makes her angry. He should be broken into a million tiny pieces. His face should be tearstained, and he should be completely enveloped in a sense of devastation. Instead he stands before her, wearing a suit, and tie, as if it is any other day of the year. She wants to scream, and cry, and curse, but she maintains her composure. The tempest brews beneath the surface, and it begs to come to the surface. Her heart races, as she tries to tamp down the anger she feels deep inside her bones. She breaks the silence in an effort to quiet her soul.
"Now what?"
"Can you house sit for me?"
She can't keep the anger at bay anymore. The vein in her forehead pulsates, her face grows red, her nostrils flare, and she can nearly feel her blood boiling. She flies off the handle. "Can I house sit? Where the hell do you think that you're going? We just held a memorial service for your wife this afternoon, and this evening you're planning on going on vacation? How can you be so cold, and callous?"
"I am not going on vacation, Alexis. I just need some time to process all of this. I am going to go somewhere remote, and simply reflect. I need to figure out how to move forward."
"You need to leave to do that?"
"Alexis I know you don't understand, but I need to be alone right now."
"How can you be so calm? Why aren't you upset? I haven't even seen you shed a single tear."
"I feel numb," she admits.
"Unbelievable," she clenches her teeth, as the words fall from her mouth.
"Please," he begs, "try to understand."
"Try to understand? I feel like I don't even know you anymore."
"I'm sorry."
She shakes her head, "Maybe you should stay gone."
That night he climbs into his bed, alone. The cold sheets rub against his skin like crisp night air. He presses his head against the pillow, and waits for sleep. His anxiety rises with each passing moment. He wonders if he has made the right choice. He questions his own loyalties, as he ponders whether his family will ever forgive him. He turns the alarm on his phone on.
He rises a few hours later, and he collects his luggage. He takes a car to a private airstrip, and boards an aircraft. He sits on the plane alone. He is left with only his thoughts, as his phone is lying on his bedside stand, at home. He secures the buckle around his waist, and waits for the aircraft to take off. He finds himself wrapped up in thought. He can see her as plain as day, almost as if she is sitting next to him. She seems so real it is as if when he inhales he breathes in her scent. He flashes back to two days prior.
His phone begins violently buzzing in the middle of his slumber. He rolls over, and taps the green button. He presses his phone to his hear, and listens intently as a familiar voice offers him condolences in a broken voice.
"Lanie, I'll be right there," he tells her, as he hangs up the phone. He pulls on yesterday's clothes that lie on the floor near the bed. He doesn't even bother to comb his hair before he leaves. He arrives on the scene as the fire department is pulling away. Lanie stands in front of the club, behind the crime scene tape. Ryan, and Esposito stop him at the yellow tape. Esposito hangs his head, and Ryan barely holds it together as a body bag is loaded onto the medical examiner's van.
"You don't need to go in there," Espo warns.
"She was in there," he argues.
Without a word Ryan steps forward, and envelopes Castle in a hug. He pats him on the back.
"Castle, I'm so sorry."
"No," his cheeks burn as he pushes Ryan away. He falls to his knees in the gravel lot. "No," he begins to sob.