A/N: I'm going on vacation (I know how freaking awful am I to start something new right before I disappear for a couple of weeks – I'm so sorry) I'm taking my muse with me though but no computer – just an old fashioned spiral notebook and a pen – rocking it old-school! So I will continue while I'm away – I'll enjoy it, and I'll just have to type it all up when I get back.
Chapter Two: Dark days when my will was stolen.
Beckett trudges through the door to the cramped lobby of the Twelfth New York Precinct, no other word for it; she finds it hard to find enthusiasm for much of anything these days. She nods at the desk sergeant, bestows a token smile without warmth and forces herself onwards and into the elevator. For some unknown reason - this morning she's acutely aware that she's really struggling to be here – up until five months ago she'd never planned on being a cop again.
But then her partner 'disappeared.'
Disappeared.
Kate's going with that verb as a description today – because she finds in her mind she has to constantly change it up – and she still doesn't know what to accurately call it.
And the not-knowing . . . it's driving her crazy.
Knowing – and knowing 'why' matters.
Was he kidnapped? There have never been any ransom demands made for him.
'Missing' works – works as well as' vanished' or 'disappeared' . . . all them perfectly adequate words to explain something still currently unexplainable.
'Abducted' is just the same as kidnapped – except for the images of green men it conjures and the fact that monetary demands don't usually figure into it in quite the same way.
'Murdered'? This is the one that hovers perpetually on the fringes of her consciousness – and it's the one that tortures and maims and kills her – the unthinkable thought that hurts the most. But there is no body – and even on her darkest days Kate isn't remotely ready to assign this word into a sentence that includes his name.
She can no longer even bear the description of him as a 'murder-mystery' novelist. She sticks with 'crime-writer' . . . its just emotionally safer.
The elevator reaches the 4th floor – homicide – once Kate's home from home and the place in her life where she always felt the most in control – a sick smile stretches across her face at the thought. Somewhere between twisted and a grimace actually – control – what a joke. If she's finally learned a lesson about anything in life – it's every person's complete lack of control over the macabre twists of fate.
Kate reaches her desk and slumps behind her seat – she supposes that's why she's back here though – still seeking that reassuring illusion of control. The badge and the gun to hide her crumbling psyche behind – and access – the right to question and to investigate – to make sure someone is still out there – and looking for him.
The night it happened is as bad and as vivid in her memory as the night fourteen years prior when her mother was killed.
The cops. The questions. Fighting with officers she knew personally – that Castle knew – just to have him declared 'missing' immediately – to bypass the twenty-four hour mandatory waiting period.
The endless statements – the invasive questions . . . the offensive breaches by officers she'd once trusted as she saw how far across the line and into the deepest reaches of her life they wandered – and she couldn't have cared. In the end she had to call on both Alexis and Martha to cross file missing persons reports . . . she even went so far as to en-list Mayor Wheldon, and then finally six hours into the nightmare of that night - finally the right people began to listen.
Ten hours in and suddenly the FBI took over . . . and for the first few weeks Kate was actually quite grateful. Somehow reassured by the action of removing the search for him from the purview of the NYPD – and handing it over to something she still thought of as uncorrupted.
But her gratitude didn't last very long.
She might have been living with him, might have been a former colleague. . But regardless of who told the Feds how much Kate loved him – how obvious it was to all who knew them both that she was absolutely not involved. She'd been placed at the head of the FBI's 'suspect' list and they didn't seem to be looking much further.
Which meant somehow, and someway – Kate had too.
Some way that gave her a right too . . . and there was only one option left then, just like fourteen years before – so Kate returned to the NYPD.
And the one thing that still amazes her even now, is the relative lack of groveling she had to do to in order to convince Captain Gates to take her back. Beckett isn't supposed to use her 'on-the-clock' time to look for him – but off – she didn't know Victoria Gates had it in her – that level of compassion.
Do what you need to do – say what you need to say Detective – just be as discreet as you can with the department's resources.
And the best of the department's resources is once again having Ryan and Esposito as her wing-men.
A large mug of coffee suddenly appears on the desk in front of her and Kate startles, and there is a second – just a brief, brief moment, when her heart leaps in her chest.
Castle?
But when Kate raises her tired eyes from the worn surface of her desk , she sees Esposito flinching slightly, and trying hard to cover it beside her.
The Latino detective seats himself slowly on the edge of her desk – concern and hesitation warring with themselves in the dark brown depths of his eyes.
"Sorry Beckett." He says gently. There is a pause but then he obviously thinks 'to hell with it'. "You're getting more jumpy by the day Kate . . . still not sleeping?" He asks.
A watery attempt at smile flickers at the corners of her mouth before she gives in and shakes her head slowly.
"It comes and goes. Last night not so much . . . but sometimes Javi – sometimes I have these dreams . . ."
She trails off.
"And he's there." Espo murmurs, smiles at her.
She nods.
"Yeah."
"That's good." He says firmly. "You need that. It fuels you boss . . . keeps him real."
Nodding, Beckett reaches for her coffee and snakes her hands around the warm ceramic. It's June and the weather in New York is finally becoming warmer – but Kate still always seems to feel cold – and the warm beverage is a small comfort. Coffee serves to keep Castle present – a part of her every day even as it also reminds her of how very much is missing.
"Anything?" She asks, not looking up from studying the ripples in her drinks surface. It's a routine they go through quickly every morning, before they begin their real work for the day. Espo or Ryan check in with the missing person's team at the FBI – keeping the pressure on them – the scrutiny constant – and Kate asks them if there are any leads or sightings or anything new that has been learned.
The answers have never yet been the ones she's looking for. The sightings – all around the world – never actually Castle – but it's the routine and it must be followed nevertheless. Not that she needs to ask – if there was news they would tell her – but she feels the need to say it anyway.
The brunette takes another sip while she's waiting on the word 'nothing' but it doesn't come.
Esposito is silent.
Focusing her eyes back on him her eyebrow inclines. Again a war of indecision is being waged on her friend's face.
"What?" She asks impatiently.
The last time Ryan or Espo looked at her like that when she asked for an update – there were three new reported sightings claiming to have seen 'Richard Castle' – and they'd held back from her the news for the better part of a day before Ryan caved and told her.
That look means there is something new but they think it's a waste of time and they can't bear the thought of putting her through the wringer again – but they must also know by now there is no other choice.
"Javi?" Her voice is soft but the threat of an imminent explosion is clearly present – and Espo gets up off of her desk and stands staring at the floor of the precinct before her.
"Javi please."
"Something turned up – but it's creepy . . . I mean there is no way to know for sure if it's real."
Kate gets to her feet. "Creepy?" She asks.
Esposito nods.
"We don't know where it came from – Gina has no idea where it came from – it just turned up on her desk."
Gina? Gina Cowell? As in Castle's ex-wife!
"Gina as in . . . Castle's ex?"
Javi looks uncomfortable. "Yeah – kinda, but not . . . right now think of her as his publisher." He tells her.
"His publisher?"
"Gina is in interrogation one." Espo confesses to her. "She was here waiting for me when I got in. It seems something was waiting for her in her office this morning."
Kate's knees buckle.
Not a body . . . not a body.
She must have visibly paled; Espo reaches out to steady her with a strong hand on her elbow.
'Breathe Beckett." He says sternly. "Ain't a body."
Beckett's mouth opens.
"Or a body part." He responds swiftly.
"So?"
"A book . . . well a manuscript to be more precise."
Kate's brows knit in confusion.
"And that's connected to Castle's disappearance how?" She demands. "Gina's a publisher – she must get inundated with manuscripts."
Espo nods. "She does –she said so too. But she's insisting on talking to you Beckett –she says this one is from Castle – she says she's sure of it."
Kate's face blanches and she's on her way past him and heading for Gina at once. Barging into interrogation room one she finds Castle's beautiful and coldly elegant blonde ex-wife seated on the suspect's side of the rooms' large table. A box of tissues, a black cooling coffee and a typewritten manuscript on the surface of that said table before her.
The publisher looks up as Beckett rushes into the room.
"Detective Beckett." She says, and while her voice is removed she sounds definitely relieved.
Kate nods. "Ms. Cowell."
"Gina." The blonde replies. "It's just Gina." She says, with a tentative smile.
Kate sits down opposite her partner's ex, she senses Esposito take the seat beside her.
"What is it that brings you by here Gina?" Beckett asks her.
The gorgeous blonde's eyes well with tears that don't actually fall – but then she wipes at her eyes with a tissue, taking a steadying breath before she responds.
"This was sitting on my office desk at 6am this morning." She explains. "It's from Richard."
Kate's eyes flick greedily to the typed pages – and then back to the other woman.
"What makes you think that?" She asks.
Gina frowns. "It's his style. His words. . His pacing . . . typical phrasing and syntax. Black Pawn has received hundreds of these since Richard went missing Detective – and I've dismissed all of them as frauds – but this one. This one - just a single chapter and I knew instantly it was his."
Beckett nods thoughtfully.
"You read the others too."
Gina scoffs.
"He's missing! We had too . . . I had to be careful – be sure. I didn't want to miss anything." She explains.
"But you don't have any proof – other than your gut instinct? Am I correct?" Kate asks.
Gina impatiently pushes the large pile of papers towards the detective across the desk.
"I brought it to show you – I figured if you looked at it too. If you thought – if you believed as I did that it was him, genuinely him – maybe it would . . . help."
Kate pulls the manuscript towards her, and runs her fingers hesitantly over the cover page.
'Heat Lost' a novel by Richard Castle.
The title mocks her – but there is something . . . she shrugs the feeling off.
Beckett flips over to the next page; she can feel Javi bristling with frustration and indecision beside her.
The next page is a dedication.
To my family: Martha, Kate & Alexis.
Just remember that I love you.
R.C.
Kate's eyes are misting, and Javi's hand comes to rest on her arm.
"Beckett . . . "
"It's OK. I got this." She murmurs.
She turns another page, finds the opening prologue of the book . . . Kate reads the first sentence and instantly freezes. And she knows.
Oh. My. God.
Castle.
Suddenly there is a memory running through her mind, an over-eager handsome playboy on one of his first cases - too much glee and annoying as hell.
My first 'cold-case' . . . get it?
Give me two hundred and fifty pages and I bet I could make you?
No-one vanishes into thin air. There's always a story . . . a series of events that makes everything makes sense.
Kate reads the first sentence over again, gets stuck once more on the opening character's name.
Melanie Cavanaugh.
Kate looks up, first at Gina, and then she turns to Esposito, silent tears escaping her green eyes.
He looks at her skeptically.
"Beckett?"
Kate finds her voice.
"Gina's right Espo . . . it's from him."