Chapter Two: Home is Where the Heart Stops

Author's Note: Well, I see the hit/review ratio continues to stink…but I'm guilty of that myself. Anyway, rather than jumping around between casts, I intend to write this just like a Castle episode in tone and format…but in a New York City with Slayers in. However, you may notice that I will be blatantly stealing chapter titles from both shows on alternate weeks. And yes, it is true that this crossover requires Nathan Fillion to be in two places at once. I Have a Plan to explain that. …In a later chapter.

Unconnected: My brother points out that 'home is where the heart stops' also counts as a reference to Joss Whedon's 'other musical', Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog, wherein Nathan Fillion as Captain Hammer sings a cringe-worthy musical number featuring the line, "home is where the heart is…so your real home's in your chest". …Look, if you haven't seen it, I can't explain.

ON WITH THE SHOW!

Captain Montgomery hailed Castle and Beckett the moment they walked out of the elevator, and he did not sound happy.

"Beckett! Tell me there's nothing to the reports from your crime scene this morning!"

"Which reports, sir," she asked reasonably, "the ones that say she was drained of, then soaked in blood; or that she was a Slayer and I knew and liked her?"

Castle ducked behind his partner as she stopped to talk to her boss, meaning to begin getting the murderboard set up. There wasn't much to put on there so far, which meant he could continue to listen in without standing around just staring.

Montgomery scowled. "Damn it. I never know how to deal with those girls; they can't honestly expect me to believe half the crap they bring up!"

"Well, you may not have to," Beckett reassured him. "I'll do it. I know the other two already, and they're much more likely to talk to someone they've met before. Besides, I'm used to filtering out useful ideas from nonsense."

Pausing in the middle of writing Stephanie under "Victim", Castle was pretty sure he'd just been insulted in some way.

"In fact, I was just about to call them—our normal sources of information probably won't tell us very much about what our victim was into and why she was killed."

Castle couldn't resist interrupting at this point. This was a page of the police playbook he had never seen before, and wanted to find out all he could. "What do you do if you talk to her friends and they do say she was killed by some creature from the black lagoon? Do you have to go out and arrest it? because if you do, I call not it."

"Officially, the NYPD does not acknowledge the existence of 'creatures from the black lagoon', Castle," Montgomery replied. "But we do get a certain amount of cases that don't seem to lead anywhere realistic. Probably some of them are hoaxes, but we're not going to investigate crimes blamed on ghosts and goblins."

Beckett took over the explanation. "We'll treat it as a normal case—follow up whatever leads we can find. If they pan out, so much the better. If they don't, it goes cold and is filed away as unsolved."

"Like an X-File," Castle said happily, considering whistling the theme tune at her again.

Beckett opened her mouth to say something, and then reconsidered. "…Something like, I suppose, and don't you dare whistle that music at me again, Castle. Those sorts of files tend never to be closed—at least, not by us."

Castle began to see where this was going. "But by the Slayers?"

"If they do resolve anything, they don't tell us about it, even if there is a human victim involved. They don't talk to cops a whole lot, probably because they're largely viewed as fakes at best, and insane at worst." Montgomery nodded significantly at Castle and went back into his office. "One of them might come looking for information from the police, but she'd have to be desperate. The ones I know have teams of other people who actually believe in what they do working for them. Is this all we've got on the board so far?"

Castle surveyed his work. It was discouragingly empty, but he knew better than to think that this was all they knew. Ryan and Esposito would add information when they got in. At the moment, though, they had no time of death, no last known location, no lists of known associates or friends and family. He had written the dead woman's name, Stephanie Amador, top and center, and added the time the body was found (6:45 AM Wednesday) to the timeline template. He'd also assumed death from blood loss, although he'd added a (?) just in case Lanie came up with something different.

"According to Esposito, the demolition team left the building at 6:15 yesterday evening," Beckett added to the board, consulting her notes.

"The whole building was just left sitting open and empty for over twelve hours? That sounds like an accident waiting to happen—or a really awesome rave, depending on who was involved."

"Definitely no rave there last night, Castle," she contradicted him, but she was smiling, if only slightly. "There were fences up, but that wouldn't stop anyone really determined. If there was a night watchman or someone on patrol, Ryan and Esposito will find them."

Beckett created a heading for Known Associates on the murderboard, and immediately added Alicia Williams and, after a minute's thought, Perrin Rodanthe. She re-capped then fiddled with the dry-erase marker, twirling it back and forth in her hand. "I'm stalling," she admitted. "I hate this part. Leesha and Perrin aren't exactly next-of-kin, not being related, but it's always hard, having to call someone up on the phone and tell them someone they cared about was killed." Finally, she put the marker down. "Worse still, they're probably still asleep. What a horrible way to begin a morning."

"How do you know?" Castle couldn't help asking. "That you'll wake them up, I mean."

Beckett almost laughed. "Slayers spend their nights running around town hunting monsters, Castle. When you're getting into fights until the sun comes up, seven-thirty in the morning is not your friend. I imagine it's like working the night shift on patrol—your first meal of the day is at lunch time."

Detectives Ryan and Esposito traipsed in while Beckett was on the phone with the aforementioned Leesha, whom Castle felt safe in assuming was the A-licia listed under known associates. They wheeled their chairs over from their desks and waited for her to hang up so they could pool their information. While they waited, Castle couldn't resist the opportunities to quiz his buddies on this whole new realm of policing in New York City.

"So, did you two know about this? Monsters, demons, warrior women called Slayers?"

"Started hearing rumors a couple years back," Esposito shrugged, "didn't believe in them. Sounded like a hoax to me—just another level to the stories about alligators in the sewers and haunted houses, cavemen in New Jersey, you know the type. One time, I caught a case where this woman tried to persuade me that a poltergeist had pushed her husband down three flights of stairs at their apartment; broke his neck, among other things."

"Seriously?" Castle asked automatically. He liked a good story as much as—more than—anyone, but some things even he wasn't willing to believe in.

"Not a chance. Guy had been hit with a hammer and shoved. We found bruises all over the body, and I do mean all—she must've followed him down those stairs and kicked him every time he stopped."

Everyone winced.

"Dude, I can't believe Beckett believes in them," Ryan pointed out.

Castle agreed wholeheartedly. "I know! Usually that's me…hey, does this mean I have to be the rational one now?"

Beckett, still on the phone, couldn't respond. She settled for aiming a healthy kick at his foot and, while Castle grimaced pathetically at her, ended her conversation with, "Okay, thanks Leesha. I'll see you then," and hung up.

"Leesha is going to call Perrin, Stephanie's circle of friends, and anyone else she thinks might know anything about what Steph was doing recently. Word will get around, but unfortunately anyone involved in Steph's business will talk to the people who work in her world, not in ours. We know this is our case, but her friends and associates probably won't agree with us," she explained to the guys on her team. "They're also coming in around noon to formally identify the body, so we need to get as much information as possible while they're here. What do we know already?"

Ryan flipped open his notepad. "Construction worker who found the body said there was a guy assigned to check the building around midnight—I called him, he said he chased out a bunch of kids packing enough beer to fill a cab. His story checks—CSU found one of the empties."

"Am I missing something, or is Tuesday night an odd time to go out with your friends for some illegal boozing?" Castle wondered aloud.

"Not every student cares as much about their grades as Alexis, Castle. Send it down to the lab," Beckett said, "see if they can get some prints off of it—it was cold last night, but maybe someone took off their gloves to pop a cap off. The more witnesses, the better."

"Already did. The watchman didn't notice anything else, at least not that he remembers; walked around the building, opened doors, looked in rooms, lot of nothing. He left the lot around 1 AM, never came back."

Beckett added watchman arrives at 12 AM on their timeline, and watchman leaves at 1. "Any security cameras, traffic cams?"

"Patrols turned up nothing so far," Ryan shrugged.

"Did anyone find a phone or a wallet on her at the scene?"

"Neither," said Esposito. "But if I was going to rob someone, I would not pour blood all over her. Way too creepy for a robbery."

"And you wouldn't mug a Slayer, either," Beckett agreed. "Besides, no one carries valuables with them when they're out looking for a fight."

"Except Castle," Ryan interrupted. "That phone must have cost more than my laptop."

"I don't go looking for fights!"

"And that's because you have a sucky laptop, bro."

"In the meantime, Leesha gave me the address of Steph's apartment," —Beckett tore off a sticky note and waved it at them in illustration— "and permission to enter and search it, so until Lanie has some medical evidence or Leesha and Perrin get here, that is where I am going to be. While we're gone, why don't you two run the usual phone and financial checks, see what she was up to in the real world. What about keys—did anyone find her keys?"

"Those we did find," Esposito confirmed, "—they were in the pocket of her jeans. Probably ended up in the morgue with her body."

"Good, that saves me having to convince a super that his tenant's actually dead and we have permission from next-of-kin to search. Come on, Castle."

One call down to the morgue later, they quickly learned it wasn't going to be quite that easy.

"Don't you two come down here yet, I am not ready for you," Lanie scolded Beckett the minute she answered the morgue phone.

"I'm just looking for her keys, Lanie," Beckett assured her friend. "Esposito said they were found in her pocket?"

"Can't have 'em, girl, sorry."

"Why not?"

"'Cause CSU wants to fingerprint them—even though they are coated in blood, and that ruins fingerprints. I can tell you already I'm not going to get many good prints off her."

Annoyed, Beckett tightened her grip on her desk phone. "Well, how long are they going to be? I need that key, Lanie; don't make me have to bust down another door."

Castle leaned into her field of view and actually waved. "Why not take an imprint and get it copied? Your average hardware store can do it in three minutes or less."

"Hold on a minute, Lanie." She put her hand over the receiver. "Actually, that's not a bad idea, Castle, but I don't know if we have the right tools here."

"I'll ask." He paused, and then broke into a manic grin. "Hold the phone." Castle bounced out of his usual chair, missing her eye-rolling grin in his hurry to recruit Ryan and Esposito's help.

"All right, Lanie, now we only need to borrow the key for a few seconds. Think CSU can spare it for that long?"

"Well, only if you hurry. Practice must be good for them; they're getting faster at processing the actual crime scene. They'll be down here pretty soon."

Castle emerged from an adjoining room and flashed a thumbs-up at her with the hand that wasn't holding a small box of key-copying wax. She nodded at him, said "See you in a minute" to Lanie, and snatched the address-bearing dead-body Post-it note—a Christmas gift from Castle—from her desk. She also made sure to grab some keys of her own, without which they wouldn't get very far from the Precinct at all.

The college kid behind the key-cutting counter at an en-route hardware store didn't even ask why they didn't have the original key, making them up three copies which Beckett insisted on paying for even though Castle thought they should be free to police detectives investigating a murder. Despite this, he somehow contrived to be the one actually paying for the copies. He'd once thrown away a hundred thousand dollars on the off chance it would help solve her mother's murder—seven dollars and change for a couple of keys was nothing.

So in no time at all they were stepping into the apartment of a newly dead woman.

"Anyone here?" Beckett called out as they entered, pulling on gloves again. "NYPD!"

There was no answer, and Castle couldn't help but wonder if she'd expected one. "Did she have a boyfriend, a girlfriend?"

"Not that I know of," she explained, "but then I hadn't seen her recently. My world and hers don't overlap too often. It's more likely that one of her friends might be here."

Looking around the room, Castle couldn't see any blood or broken furniture that would be evidence of a struggle, and the only disarray appeared to be that of a chronically disorganized person. A stack of clean clothes rested on one end of a worn couch and a dirt-stained T-shirt rested on the kitchenette countertop; a damp patch that had probably been stain remover was drying slowly. Dishes waited in the sink. He noticed the TV remote to a small set weighing down a stack of take-out menus.

"Here's her phone," Beckett called out from the bedroom. When he looked around the corner she was putting it into an evidence bag. "And her wallet." That was bagged too. "She's got a laptop in here."

Castle was going to go look over her shoulder at the laptop, but was distracted by a closet he'd just opened. "Wow!" he said involuntarily, picking up the first thing that came to hand. "Is this even legal?"

Knowing her partner's habit of touching things, that got Beckett's attention really quickly. When she joined him in the living room, he was holding a crossbow; she was relieved to see that it wasn't loaded.

"Unbelievably so," she replied.

Several sets of matching arrows were in the closet as well, along with a veritable arsenal of handheld weaponry. "Look at this!" Castle said excitedly. "Crossbows, knives—is that a sword?" It was—a Japanese wakizashi, about half the length of a traditional samurai katana. "Look, wooden stakes and crosses. When the zombie apocalypse happens, I am hanging out with these people." He picked up a glass bottle labeled 'Holy Water'. "I wonder if this actually works on anything."

"Sorry, Castle, your guess is as good as mine."

"But looking at all this, you know what I see?"

"Enlighten me." Beckett wanted to get back to the laptop.

"I see lots of medieval-style weaponry, but no guns. Seems inefficient somehow."

"Crossbows are legal. Guns generally aren't, at least without attracting more attention than a Slayer wants to. Put it back," Beckett added over her shoulder.

"Oh." Castle replaced the wakizashi. "Still seems inefficient."

"Well," she called back from the other room, "you can ask Leesha and Perrin about it later. Right now, I'm more interested in this."

"What have you found?"

Beckett directed his attention to a board with Post-it notes thumb-tacked all over it. "These look like reminders Steph wrote to herself. Look here—'electric', 'Central Park carousel', '5 PM class'."

"'Electric' is probably not relevant," Castle guessed, "but maybe her friends can explain what some of the others mean. I wonder why she didn't keep this stuff on her phone."

Beckett was still reading, but she pulled the evidence bag containing the phone in question out of her pocket and waved it at him. "Not fancy enough, see?" It was a cheap burner phone that might be able to send text messages, but probably not pictures. "'Archery range', 'call Buffy'—who's that?" She paused for a moment. "And why do I feel like I've heard that name before? 'Jeffries' Bar'—we might be able to find that…Let's hang on to these, show them to anyone willing to talk to us."

Castle began pulling slips of paper off the bulletin board and dropping them into the evidence bag Beckett handed to him. "What about the laptop?"

"Password-protected. I'll have the tech guys look at it back at the Precinct." Just then, her phone buzzed a text-message alert. "Lanie's finished her autopsy," she read off the screen. "She's waiting for us."

"Tell me she was bitten by a vampire," Castle greeted the M.E. as they entered the morgue.

Lanie glanced around for unwelcome listeners, leaned over the covered body on the autopsy table, and beckoned furtively to him. He bowed to her petite level eagerly.

"She wasn't bitten," Lanie snapped at full volume, making the NYPD's one and only volunteer homicide detective jump backwards. She exchanged a wryly amused look with Beckett. "Not by a vampire, not by anyone. She's got old scratches, scrapes, and bruises, and a few scars that would have been noticeable in bikini season, but they're not what killed her. I'm officially putting time of death, by the way, at between 1:30 AM and 3:30 AM." Drawing back the sheet that covered the young woman's body, she directed their combined attention to the two wounds in her throat that Castle had noticed earlier. "These are not bite marks. In fact, only one of them was made before she died and is actually the fatal wound. The other was made post-mortem, probably to give it the look of a bite."

"But it's so small," Castle objected. "How can you bleed to death from that—and how can it end up all over you?" In fact, he noticed, all the blood had been washed off, revealing just another expanse of death-pale skin.

"I found traces of a type of medical plastic in the original wound. Based on what I saw at the crime scene and what I found here, I think she was drained of blood through a length of surgical tubing into a container of some sort."

"Just like donating at the blood bank—except our killer didn't stop," Beckett mused.

"Exactly. And since it was tapping directly into her carotid artery, her own heartbeat would have been strong enough to bleed her to death, especially if she was awake and frightened—faster heart rate. I tested blood type of the blood found on her—it's a match to hers. Based on the unusual splatter pattern, and the large amounts of blood found on her, I think whoever did this to her probably dumped the extracted blood over her after she was dead."

Castle pulled a disgusted face, but Beckett had more unanswered questions. "Lanie, what I don't understand is how anyone could overpower her enough to do this—or anything—to her. You have no idea how strong these women are. I mean, if I knew someone was going to do this to me, I'd fight, anyone would…Steph was fully capable of putting a man twice her size through a wall—and then taking out three more like him. And what about fingerprints? You can't do something like this to someone without touching them."

Lanie picked up a bloodless hand, pointing at abrasions in the wrist. "She was restrained, tied with common rope. There were some fibers left in the wounds, which I have sent to the lab, but I don't think you two are gonna get this guy on the rope he used. Or on fingerprints, because blood blots out prints as well as bleach, and you don't need me to remind you about how much of that there was on her. What's more interesting is that I found some very unusual chemicals in her blood when I analyzed it."

"Chemicals?" Beckett and Castle chorused, making Lanie grin.

"So cute…" she muttered. "If you're thinking street drugs, you couldn't be more wrong. It's called tizanadine, and is a muscle relaxant. Not only that, but it gets involved in adrenaline production. It's not supposed to interfere, but that's in normal humans. I don't know what it would do to someone like her, so a high enough dose could have reduced Supergirl here to human levels."

"Was she injected with it?" Beckett asked.

"I couldn't find a puncture wound, so I don't think so. When it's prescribed, it comes in capsules, so she could have been drugged without even knowing it if someone put it in her food."

Beckett stopped to look at the dead young woman's face. "This was planned," she said softly. "Someone hated her, and thought about how to hurt her most. She was crippled—humiliated. Brought down to our level and then killed there."

Luckily, at this point her phone rang. "Sorry," she muttered, and stepped away to take the call. A moment later, she was back. "That was Ryan," Beckett reported. "Leesha and Perrin are upstairs waiting to talk to us. …They're pretty upset, so we'd better get up there before they break something."

Author's Note: To misquote: I do medical research now. …Medical research is actually not cool. And you know what my medical research gave me? "Helpless" from Season Three of "Buffy". Apparently searching the exact keywords used to describe the anti-Slayer drug used in that episode will give me…surprise! The episode. But the drug I came up with when I expanded my search and changed up my keywords is 100% real. Let's just say that pharmacology is not my field and search engines are my friend.

Next Chapter: Castle finally gets to meet a live Slayer. Cop talk meets Slayer slang and much clarification is requested.