The headlights cut through the pre-dawn gloom as she swung the car onto the long dirt road that led to the cabin. She was exhausted, far more than the 330 mile trip typically wrung out of her.
Thankfully, she'd left the bike at home. It didn't suit her purposes, and now she wasn't sure she could have kept it on the road for the six plus hours she'd taken. Though, perhaps that would have saved her from the next needed actions.
As she bumped down the winding trail toward the lake, the sky to the east was just beginning to lighten to a softer gray. Cutting the engine, she sat in the inky dark that still surrounded the cabin. Her whole body hurt, a sharp pain from her lower abdomen coupled with the overall ache of muscles tensed over a steering wheel for far too many hours.
Still, pain was a temporary thing—something that would soon be banished forever. She'd endure, until she no longer needed to. She glanced up at the night sky above, stars still staring down from the firmament far above. They didn't care what path she chose. No judgement, no exhortation to reconsider. She didn't matter in the eyes of the universe. No use pretending otherwise.
Retrieving her cell phone and activating its flashlight app, she creaked and groaned her way out of the car. Now would be a good time to take one of the pain pills that waited patiently in her purse.
She resisted the urge. They would be needed later.
She limped to the front porch, unlocking the door with her key. It was chilly in the night air—the temperature up here was always lower than downstate, and winter held its grip much later, even when the calendar indicated spring. She shivered, wishing she'd worn a heavier coat, but she'd been cold for weeks now. Nothing seemed to warm her anymore.
No lights were needed once she gained entry—the cabin's floorplan as familiar to her as her own apartment. The bed was calling to her after the long drive up. She'd driven the Thruway, staying on as it changed to the Northway until her exit at Pottersville. The final two hours of the drive was nearly all two lane road through the mountains to Cranberry Lake. It was usually a fun drive on the motorcycle.
It'd been torture with a body already wracked by grief, guilt, and gloom.
But, she was here. She'd coaxed and cajoled an early discharge from the hospital: her attending surgeon had planned to keep her one more night, but she'd become suspicious that there might be more than simple monitoring in the works.
She'd waited until the night intern was working, and fortuitously quite busy before she requested discharge. Distracted, the intern had initially denied her request. She'd upped the ante by telling her nurse she'd leave AMA and that had done the trick. They'd discharged her around 10pm. Granted, she'd had to acquiesce to all kinds of advice, all of which she'd promptly ignored the moment she walked out the front door and climbed into a taxi to escape back to her apartment.
No one, not even her father, knew she'd been released. They all assumed she was being discharged in the morning—this morning. It was a key to her plans, as if any of them had been present at the time she left the hospital, she had a feeling that she'd have been hosting babysitters for days on end. None of them trusted her. Not even Dr. Burke.
He'd prescribed some anti-depressants after his visit. Pills that she'd pretended to swallow then spit out after the nurse had left. None of it was necessary: not the babysitters, not the pills. She had her own plans, and interference wouldn't be tolerated.
After she'd packed a bag at her apartment, she'd sunk gingerly into the car and set out. She'd stopped near Albany to buy the items she'd need. Many hours of planning had gone into this step. She'd had little to do but scheme while held hostage in the hospital. Her final act would not be some poorly considered, sloppily executed plan. She'd considered and rejected several methods: nothing too traumatic or…difficult…to clean up when she was found would be used.
Therefore, her gun was out of the question. It was a cliché, anyway. Plus, she personally knew of a cop who'd botched it up. He now he existed in a nursing home. Her last act would be irrevocable.
Pills alone were much too uncertain, though the temptation of just falling asleep couldn't be denied. She didn't think she could face drowning in the lake. The feeling of suffocation was not appealing, and the prospect of some poor fisherman finding her bloated, water-logged body days later was unthinkable. She'd seen enough corpses fished out of water to know it wasn't a sight that left you in peace. Plus, she still had nightmares about being trapped in her seat as she and Castle had sunk in the river during the linchpin case. Not an experience that she wanted to repeat.
She'd rejected hanging for the same reason as drowning. Fighting for her last breath seemed like a horrible way to exit the world. In the end, she'd decided that her car would be an opportune setting. She could take her pills and run a hose from the tailpipe. Just to add the extra insurance that she accomplished the task. It seemed like the perfect method.
Yet, with the moment at hand, she was hesitant. She was so tired and in so much pain. It didn't make sense, since her goal was to leave all of that behind, but she didn't want to consciously decide to kill herself while in such discomfort. No one knew where she was, or what she was planning. There was no rush.
With a sigh, she shuffled to her old bedroom. Her bed welcomed her like the old friend it was, and she curled up on its cool sheets with a sob of relief. Covered by the quilt her grandmother had made her when she was a little girl, she closed her eyes and dreamt of her baby and the life they'd missed having together.
Dying would have to wait a few hours.
The drone of the rental car's tires whirring on the asphalt was distracting. It was a song that sang that he'd not yet arrived. That he was still not with her, and was running out of time. Though running towards her was all he'd been doing, since Lanie's visit early that morning.
It'd taken several seconds to understand what the medical examiner was telling him. That he, Richard Castle, was the father of the baby that had nearly killed Kate. When her meaning had finally sunk in, he'd started laughing. Even he had heard the hysteria creeping in.
"I don't see what's so funny about any of this, Castle," Lanie had spit at him. The joke was on her, though he didn't really find it amusing, either.
"You're barking up the wrong tree here, Lanie," he'd replied. "I'm not the father of any baby. Certainly not Kate Beckett's. I don't know what you're trying to do here, but you're sadly mistaken if you think I'd fall for that pile of bullshit."
Lanie's face had burned red, while her eyes turned ice cold. It was a fascinating contrast, though not one he wanted directed at him.
Ever.
"Castle, do you honestly think I'd be wasting my time feeding you a line at this time of the morning? About something as serious as this? I'm telling you that my best friend is depressed, probably suicidal, and you think I'd be traipsing over Manhattan at dawn pounding on your door just to sit and make up wild stories? Are you out of your goddamned mind?" She'd smacked the side of the chair as she'd finished talking, and he wasn't ashamed to admit that he'd jumped. Just a little. Angry Lanie was not a trivial matter.
Even when she was chasing the wrong man.
He'd returned her glare with one of his own. Though he might still love—care—about Beckett, he wasn't the man Lanie was looking for. She'd been wasting her time and his. "I'm not the father. I can't be, since I've never had a relationship with her beyond our partnership at the precinct. We're only friends; that's all she's ever wanted from me."
"Is that right?" she'd whipped back, and the snap in her voice had made him flinch. "So, that's why Kate's been in therapy all these months, trying to get better so the two of you could be just friends? Why she broke up with Josh and hasn't seen anyone at all since? Why she was so upset when you pulled up to that motel with a blonde bimbo in tow? Cause it sure seemed like she wanted to be more than friends to me."
Her words had been like a sand blaster, battering away at his brick wall. Surely…it couldn't be true, could it? She'd wanted more from him? There had been the swings, those months ago. But, she'd been lying. It didn't make any sense. He'd shaken his head, and then had played his trump card. He'd been tired of the charade.
"Be that as it may, I'm not responsible for her pregnancy. She must have been seeing someone else, 'cause we've never even had sex." The thought of her carrying someone else's baby had made him sick to his stomach, but facts were facts.
"Well, that's interesting 'cause Kate told me you did."
He'd made a snorting sound at this declaration, but glares from both women had persuaded him to keep his mouth shut until Lanie finished.
"You remember finishing up the Fauxdette case? Kate said you were talking about dreams before you went home."
He'd nodded. He'd never forget her trusting him with her dream of being the first female Chief Justice, even as he'd wistfully hoped she'd mention a future that might involve the two of them. His dream.
"She said you called her later that night, talking about dreams. You were at the Old Haunt, and you'd been drinking."
His stomach had rolled as he remembered the night in question. He had been drunk, and he'd known about the call. But the rest…it'd been a fantasy. Not real. Surely not real. He'd hunched his shoulders as Lanie's voice had crashed down all around him. There'd been no hiding, not from this.
"She told me she was worried about you. Wanted to make sure you were ok. So, she threw on some clothes and went to the bar. It was already closed, but you showed us all how to get in when you first bought it."
He'd been breathing hard at this point, sweat beading on his forehead. It wasn't true, he'd have remembered. Something this monumental, he'd have remembered.
"The light was on in your office, so she walked down the stairs. You were sitting at the desk, and she said something in her—the band that had kept her from confessing how she felt about you—just snapped. She went to you and the two of you made love."
"No, no, no! It was just a fantasy, it wasn't real. She wasn't real."
"She was real, Castle. How could I know this? How could she have told me? She said she put on jeans and a tee shirt, but that," Lanie had then glanced at Martha, an apologetic look on her face. Martha had just waved one hand in the air.
"Honey, please. I'm an actress. Nothing you say will surprise me, believe me."
"Well, she said that she didn't wear any underwear. Nothing."
Rick had rocked forward, head in his hands. He'd believed her. Too many details were right to not believe, but the knowledge had devastated him. He'd had no idea.
"She wasn't there," he'd rasped. "When I woke up."
"No, she told me she got called away by dispatch. Not a body, something else. You were asleep."
He'd felt like he was suffocating, as all the events after that night played through his head. "I thought she didn't want me. I didn't know."
"Well, she did. But you two have never learned to talk to each other. And while I appreciate it's a lot to take in—and a lot to regret—there's no time, Castle. You've got to go to her. Convince her that she's got way too much to live for to even think about throwing it away."
He'd had no chance to process most of it. His mother and Lanie had propelled him into a taxi as soon as he'd brushed his teeth and put more than just sweat pants on. He'd been at the front door of her hospital by 8 a.m., so nervous that he'd paced in front of the lobby practicing his speech, before heading to the elevator to find the room number Lanie had given him.
The room had been empty, and the bare, plastic mattress seemed to mock his attempt to get to her in time. His heart had sunk to his toes when a passing nurse had explained that she'd been discharged the night before. He'd made a frantic call to Lanie, who'd sent the boys to Kate's apartment and made her own panicked calls while he'd made his way back to the loft.
No one had found her by the time he'd returned. Her father hadn't even known she'd been discharged, and her place was empty, her car missing. While she could've been anywhere, they'd all had the same idea: the cabin.
It'd not been a comforting thought. She'd had hours on them, and her phone was off, making GPS tracking impossible.
Jim had provided directions, but it was a long drive. Especially considering her state of mind. Rick had wanted to throw up every time he thought of her alone and hurting so badly. They'd made such a mess of things, both of them.
Lake Placid had an airport, though there weren't any commercial flights from New York. Luckily, Rick had the resources to bypass that limitation, and a private air company had been more than willing to fly him up.
With promises to call as soon as he'd found her, he'd sped to the airport, heart beating wildly and stomach churning as he kept imagining what he'd encounter if he were too late.
The flight had been terrible. Not due to any weather or pilot issue—it had been a smooth and professional job. So smooth, that he'd spent the hour lost in an endless parade of rebukes and recrimination. How had they arrived at this point? There'd been so many opportunities to straighten it all out, but they'd both been so afraid of rejection that they'd never met even half way to just…talk to each other.
Lanie'd told him that Kate loved him. It was a concept he'd had trouble believing, even after all he'd learned. But the rational, mature side of his brain had admonished his negative thinking. This had been how they'd ended up so far apart. He had to stop assuming he knew what she was thinking and actually ask her. They had to learn to talk, or else this thing they had would never get off the ground. And there was nothing he wouldn't do to get another chance to make it right.
However, he knew that first, there would have to be a lot of work on Kate's part. If she were truly suicidal—and he'd shivered at the thought—she had to get help. She'd nearly died. Had lost a baby—his baby. She must have felt so alone, without anywhere to turn. He was sure she'd go to the cabin, but the tiny amount of uncertainty that lay in his guess was still enough to keep a lump in his throat and his intestines twisted into pretzels.
Now he was close to the end. Speeding as fast as he dared west on NY 3. The song of the tires made his foot heavier, as he kept hearing that he was too late. That he'd find her still, lifeless body. Worried he'd be pulled over—and thus waste valuable time—he opened his Spotify app and filled the car with Ludovico Einaudi's Divenire. Normally, he found it very relaxing, but today even his favorites Primavera and Andare whispered of tragedy and tardiness. There was no outrunning his imagination.
Fifteen minutes and a few hair-raising turns later, he saw the turn for Columbian Road. The cabin lay just over two miles from the turnoff, according to Jim. His heart was pounding and his breath came in short pants as he negotiated the sharp curves the road made as it roughly mirrored the shore.
He almost missed the dirt path that signaled the driveway, but he'd slowed down once he hit the two mile mark. Though it was still early spring, he couldn't see the cabin from the road. Couldn't see her car. He took a deep breath and resisted the urge to gun the engine. Losing control and hitting a tree would be just his luck.
Two minutes seemed like two weeks, but as he made a final turn, the cabin loomed up at him from a clearing. He exhaled sharply when he saw her car sitting in front. She was here. Or, she'd been here.
He didn't remember putting his own car into park, but sprang out as soon as he'd drawn even with her vehicle. He looked around wildly, but saw nothing moving beyond the budding trees and the swaying grass. Heard nothing but the sound of the waves lapping at the shoreline. He took a deep breath and leapt up the few stairs to the front porch. He rapped on the glass door three times, but nothing and no one stirred inside. Grasping the knob with one sweaty hand, he discovered it was unlocked.
He wasn't sure if that was a good sign…or bad.