Kairos – Chapter 5

DISCLAIMER: Most of these characters are not mine at all, but they are memorable. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe. The others? Yeah, they're mine.

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Friday – April 26, 2013, 5:30 p.m., Seven floors below street level at a warehouse in South Brooklyn

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Dr. Sandra Windholm reaches down to the metal door handle, the only piece of the large door that is not made of glass. The door frame is simply a cut-out glass component. She opens the door outward, her fingers beckoning her guests to enter. Castle notices a short walkway that is eight, perhaps ten feet in length. Looking past the walkway, he notices an opening in the rock structure that is the wall, and walks through, followed by Kate Beckett and Dr. Windholm. As soon as he steps into the structure, the floor lights up. It reminds him of the emergency lights on the floor of an airliner.

"What you saw behind us," the doctor begins as they walk, "was our demonstration area. That is where we take our potential investors and interested parties to give them a glimpse of what we do."

The trio walks into a brightly lit room, much smaller in scale than the one they have just left. The room is no more than fifty feet by fifty feet. It, too, seems to be built on a raised platform. Castle and Kate's eyes are immediately drawn to the large, glass cylinder in the middle of the room. He squeezes her hand excitedly.

"This room, however," Dr. Windholm continues, "is where the actual work is done. That cylinder you see there . . ." she says, pointing to the structure the couple has already noticed, ". . . is the life-sized, working prototype that corresponds to the small glass container you saw in the previous room.

Castle nods his head, as does Kate. The cylinder is exactly what they surmised when they saw it. It is massive, taking up almost half of the room.

"Larger than I would have thought," Castle muses.

"The cylinder is made of the same structural 'glass' material as the previous container," Dr. Windham tells them. "It stands fifteen feet and six inches tall, and the diameter across the cylinder is twenty-two feet. We call this the transport room."

"So, this really exists," Kate remarks, her voice no more than a whisper. She is in awe of what she is seeing, and its implications . . . what it could mean for different people.

What it could mean for her.

"It really exists, Detective," Dr. Windholm replies. "I know this is a lot to take in. I know it defies everything you probably have believed as scientific truth. The reality, however, is that science fiction is simply science fact that is yet to be proven or understood."

"Interesting tag line," Castles wonders aloud.

"Actually, it is," the doctor agrees. "You will see it in a number of areas as you leave. If you want the full tour of our facilities. In the interim . . . would either of you like a test drive?"

"What do you mean 'test drive'?" Castle asks suddenly. "You mean . . . as in . . . me . . . I . . ."

"I mean, would you like to experience, first hand, our version of time travel?" she asks.

"Oh . . . I don't think so," Castle replies quickly, shaking his head from side to side and drawing a look of stunned surprise from both women in the room.

"Castle? Really?" Kate questions, unable to contain her surprise. "I would l have bet money you would jump on this without a second thought."

"I, too, am a bit taken back, Mr. Castle," Dr. Windholm admits, masking her disappointment.

"Oh trust me, if you let me sleep on it, I have no doubt that I would be back in a nanosecond tomorrow," he chuckles. "But that was before you explained all this copies of copies of copies crap. I have to really skull that over."

"But you are interested in trying this out," the doctor pushes. She knows – from experience – that the likelihood of a donation is generally going to be tied to a personal experience with the technology. And that experience can have a huge impact on the amount donated.

"Sure, sure," he agrees. "But I think I – or anyone else – would need some type of purpose, some reason beyond just getting my body torn down and reconstructed years in the past just for giggles."

"Oh believe me, Mr. Castle, Detective Beckett," she addresses them both. "This isn't about shits and giggles, so to speak. You have, Mr. Castle, the opportunity to get in on what is still a ground-floor investment opportunity. We have no clients yet, no partners yet, no government oversight yet. We are still firmly in the early-adopter stage. As such, the investment opportunity reflects that status."

"What are you talking, Doctor?" he asks, intrigued. "Of course, I'd have to run anything and everything by Stanley. I didn't get where I am making knee-jerk decisions without his . . . what did you call it . . . oversight."

"I understand completely," the doctor tells him, nodding her head. "I assume Stanley is . . ."

"Stanley Keeton. My financial advisor," he replies.

"Well, I'm sure Mr. Keeton will see the financial upside in what we are offering. Preferred stock, at twenty five cents a share. Four million share minimum transaction."

"A million dollars," Castle notes aloud. Kate can only raise an eyebrow.

"And what are you asking for?" Kate interjects.

"We are trying to raise another four million dollars," Dr. Windholm replies, in a matter-of-fact tone. "I'm hoping Mr. Castle might be agreeable to a quarter, or perhaps half of that availability."

"Two million dollars, eight million shares?" he questions. She nods her head.

"That would be taking fifty percent of our remaining available outlay," she agrees.

"What's the total ownership percentage?" he asks.

"At eight million shares, roughly sixteen percent," she tells him, pleased as she notes the inquisitive look in his eyes, knowing he is doing the math in his head.

"You have roughly fifty million shares total?" he asks.

"Yes," she tells him, "including the sixteen millions shares we have just released for investment."

Castle is quiet as he walks up to the large cylinder, placing his hands on the glass-like material.

"It's cold," he says, pulling his hand back in surprise.

"Yes," she says cryptically. "It took us a while to determine . . . well, that was in the past."

"What was in the past?" Kate queries.

"Trial and error, Detective," the doctor replies, clearly avoiding the subject.

"What . . . you're not going to give us the old 'crack a few eggs to make an omelet analogy, are you?" Kate asks.

"No," the doctor replies darkly, and this time, an uncomfortable silence settles among the threesome for the next few seconds.

"People are not eggs, Detective," Windholm finally exhales.

"She's lost someone," Castle muses to himself. "Someone close. Someone here." He makes a mental note to do his own little research on Dr. Sandra Windholm when they get home later tonight.

If you are serious about your interest, I'll get you paperwork before you leave our facilities today," she tells him, eager to change the subject.

"That's' fine," he agrees. "I will have Stanley review your documents. But I admit, it sounds like a great opportunity . . . from a financial point of view."

"Good, good," she remarks. "And seriously, give some thought to that test run I offered you. I have yet to have an investor not be personally . . . invested in this project," she tells him, pleased with the development.

"Pig verses the chicken, eh?" he laughs.

"What?" Kate asks in confusion.

"Personal commitment in your investment verses personal involvement in your investment. Kind of like your bacon and eggs breakfast, babe," he tells her. "The chicken is involved in the process, but the pig is committed."

Both women share a short, nervous laugh at the age-old farm joke.

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Friday – April 26, 2013, A half hour later, in a cab two minutes away from the Kronologix warehouse

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"You're certainly quiet for a kid who's been offered a ground floor opportunity in the candy store," Kate remarks with a smile. They are only a few minutes away from the warehouse, having left 'Dr. Evil's lair' as Castle has dubbed the warehouse and grabbed a cab back to the city.

"I really didn't want to say much more inside the facility," he admits. "If I were the CEO there, I would have all of the rooms bugged, just to see what potential people are saying."

"You're probably right," Kate laughs.

"What?" he asks. "That they should have the rooms bugged?"

"No," she remarks. "That if you were CEO, you probably would have all of the rooms bugged."

"You're darn right, I would," he laughs, along with her. Still, now that they are beyond potential prying ears, there is a private conversation he wants to have with her. And part of that will have to wait until they are back at the loft – away from their current cab drivers' ears as well.

"Forget the investment opportunity for a moment," he tells her. "The whole reason I went there – the entire reason I brought you there – was to see if it was real. And it is."

He offers a glance forward toward the dark-skinned Jamaican who is singing a happy song with his own lyrics, and smiles. He turns his gaze back to Kate.

"Think about it," he continues. "Think of what we always joked about, what we would do if time travel were possible."

"Castle, we weren't serious. We were both just joking."

"Were we?" he asks. "Kate, what if this is the universe reaching out to us, giving us a chance to correct a horrific wrong?"

"Okay, now you're being melodramatic . . . even for you."

"Really?" he argues. "That's all you've got?"

"Castle, this is insane," she tells him. "It's far too risky, and you know it," she continues, turning her gaze out the window and the scenery that zips by. He gently grabs her chin, pulling her attention back to him.

"Kate, I once asked you what you would be willing to do to get your mother back. To get your life back. Do you remember?"

"Of course I remember," she comments dryly.

"You said – and I quote – 'anything and everything'," he reminds her. "The universe heard you. Fate heard you. God heard you. You know I don't believe in coincidences."

"Neither do I," she admits.

"So," he begins, "you think it is mere coincidence that the CEO of a time traveling research company takes notice of one of my books, decides to come to my book signing, leaves a card all but inviting me to come watch her pull the curtain back so we can watch the wizard at work? That's all a big coincidence?"

"No, it's no coinci –"

"You're darn right," he interrupts. "Yeah, it's risky. But no, it's no coincidence. You know that . . ."

He stops talking as he notices the cabbie watching them through the rear-view mirror, and quickly shuts the conversation down. Kate senses what he is doing and settles back, closing her eyes.

Twenty-five minutes later, they are walking into the loft on Broome Street. She walks in first, and he closes the door behind them. When he turns from the door, she is standing there next to him. Waiting. They barely are into the loft before she resumes their conversation.

"What if something goes wrong?" she asks.

For a few seconds he just stares at her, with his trademark smirk that – for years now – has driven her crazy in so many different ways. But the smirk gives way to chuckles. And seconds later, he is bent over, guffawing violently.

'Castle," she says in a warning tone.

It's too late. His laughter is loud and boisterous, and turns into a coughing fit, and still, he cannot stop, still bent over.

"Castle!"

His laughter continues, slowly subsiding before it rumbles into a few tailing chuckles. Finally, he makes it over to the sofa where he sits down. He looks up, tears of laughter staining his face.

"This better be –"

"You've hung off a building by your fingertips," he interrupts. "You've been left for tiger food, you've been shot in the chest, you've drowned and been resuscitated, and damn near froze to death in a trailer. You were almost blown to hell by a dirty bomb, and that after almost being blown to bits inside your old apartment. Oh yeah, and hell, just last week you were almost blown to smithereens standing on a time bomb. For heaven's sake, what is it with you and bombs anyway, Beckett?" he chuckles.

"And now," he continues, still barely holding in his laughter, "you have a chance to do something you have long dreamed about. You have a chance to save your mother . . . but you're concerned that 'something might go wrong'", he laughs again, making quotation marks in the air.

"Of course something is going to go wrong!" he bellows. "That's the story that has been written about you and me. We can try this, we can go back to Brooklyn and take the leap –"

"Literally," she adds. He dismisses her thought with a wave of his hand.

"We can go back there – and something will go wrong, that's for certain."

"You're not instilling a lot of confidence here, Castle," she warns.

"But guess what, Kate. We can decide not to try this, we can just forget we ever heard about Sandra Windholm, and time travel, and move on with our lives . . . but I promise you - something will go wrong then, too. That, too, is for certain."

She opens her mouth to object, but suddenly stops. She eyes him warily, and then smiles softly as she nods her head in agreement. Or maybe just acceptance. He's right, of course. This is their story. One of challenges and victories, defeats and resurrections. And against all odds, here they are. Alive. Together. Stronger and closer than ever.

She joins him on the sofa, interlocking her fingers with his.

"Obviously you had a plan in your mind," she begins. "Earlier today you mentioned something about a letter. A single letter."

"Not just a letter," he corrects her. "The letter. The one that started it all. We intercept the letter from Joe Pulgatti to your mother."

He sees the incredulous look on her face, as she begins to realize that he is serious.

"That letter started a chain of events," he continues. "She took his case, discovered what was happening – and that got her killed."

He stands, releasing her hands as he walks away from her – just a few steps – before turning, and returning to her, sitting next to her again. Grabbing both hands again.

"We have an opportunity to do the impossible. Go back in time. Change the course of history. Your history."

"Dr. Windholm was very explicit in saying that going back was for observation pur-"

"Dr. Windholm was very explicit in saying that she wants two millions dollars in investment monies," he interrupts. "Don't lose sight of her big picture, which is fund raising. All that other stuff is posturing."

She glances away, putting her hands through her hair. She throws herself backward, deeper into the plush sofa.

"We don't have to stop Bracken," he tells her. Yeah, he has thought this through. "We don't have kill anyone. We don't have to make any arrests. We simply stop the letter from getting to Johanna. We make sure that we send a reply back to Pulgatti – a reply that will discourage him from ever reaching back out to your mother again. Your mother never gets the letter. She never opens that can of worms. She never gets killed."

"Castle," she begins. "Rick . . ."

"It's dangerous, sure," he interrupts. "But it's worth it. It's worth it. It's worth the risk. She's worth the risk . . . isn't she?"

"I know, Castle. Of course she is. But . . . Remember that word she used, Castle," Kate argues. She wants this. She really does. But she's scared. And she can't ask him to do this. He'll do anything for her, she knows this. But this?

"Virtually," she reminds him. "That's the word she used. She emphasized it. Almost identical. And copies of copies. Things could go horribly wrong. You've seen enough of your crazy sci-fi movies to –"

"Hold on there, Beckett," he pushes back, smiling easily. "You know you are a closet sci-fi geek yourself, Miss Nebula 9!"

"Castle, I'm being serious. This is risky, and it's dangerous."

They are quiet for a moment, staring at each other from close quarters, their foreheads now touching. Seconds later, he ends the conversation.

"You can have your mother back, Kate," he says softly. "If you don't do this, you will regret it the rest of your life."

She moves her head back, and drops her chin to her chest, letting a single tear drop onto her waiting lap. He won't say anything else. There is nothing left to say. It's her decision.

"Let's sleep on it," she tells him. "We have the entire weekend in front of us. Deal?"

She extends a hand to him. He ignores her hand, instead, bringing her in for a tight bear hug. The hold the embrace for a little longer than usual.

"A drink?" he offers.

"Where?" she asks.

"The Haunt. One last time . . . before we launch into . . . THE GREAT BEYOND!" he yells, with emphasis on the last three words. It has its desired effect, breaking the tension. She kisses his lips softly.

"Let me go change," she tells him, suddenly dashing toward their room.

"Right behind you, fair maiden," he cries, following her and laughing with each step. They reach the bedroom, with Kate chuckling and Castle almost out of breath.

"Out of shape there, old man?" she teases.

"Oooh, that hurts," he returns, now walking into their bedroom. "Keep it up . . . I might find myself a younger woman . . . somewhere out there . . . somewhere in time," he chuckles.

"Nice," she smiles, as she pulls the blouse over her head, her back to him. She bends over to step out of her black slacks, tossing them to the bed.

"Now you're Superman, too?" she giggles. "And I'm Jane Seymour?"

"You wish," he chuckles under his breath as he walks into the master bathroom. The pillow pops him in the back of his head before he can get completely through the doorway.