Kairos – Chapter 11
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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Saturday Evening – April 27, 2013, 11:27 p.m., At Jim and Johanna Beckett's Home in New York City
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"Kendall is going to be so bummed that she missed you," Jim Beckett tells his daughter, as he takes another sip of wine from the oval glass. "She was just here last month for a weekend."
For a smiling Kate Beckett, it is both a wonderful comfort and a jolting horror to see her father partaking of alcohol so easily and effortlessly. She had to bite her tongue just to prevent herself from jumping down the man's throat when she first saw him pour himself a drink. Then again, she has to remind herself.
His demons never surfaced.
Her mother is alive.
Johanna Beckett has been sitting on the couch right next to Kate for the past hour and a half. She never died. And so Jim Beckett never lost himself in the bottom of a bottle. Alcohol is nothing more than a casual drink of iced tea or soda pop to the Jim Beckett of this timeline.
Tonight has been a dream come true for the ex-detective. She stands and excuses herself – she has had a few drinks herself, and nature is beckoning now. Strongly.
She idly wonders about her life in this timeline during the bathroom break, as she sits on the familiar toilet seat in the familiar bathroom of years long ago. However, instead of enjoying a moment of happy reflection, her mind immediately pulls up current events.
Being the mistress of William Bracken? That is so over. She's not sure how she will do it, but that ship has sailed in her mind. Then again, somehow he is her mentor. Somehow she owes her current upward trajectory to the Senator who – in turn – enjoys a horizontal trajectory with her – apparently any time he pleases. She frowns at the thought.
She's having an affair with a married man.
And of all the men on the planet, it had to be that married man, to boot!
The frown deepens as she thinks about Javier Esposito and Kevin Ryan, and how to get in touch with them. How to introduce herself into their personal lives.
Her thoughts also travel to the 12th Precinct. She no longer works there. She works down at . . . where in the hell does she work, as Assistant District Attorney? And what in the hell does she know about being a lawyer? Coming back into this timeline didn't magically give her decades of legal knowledge and legal precedence. In her mind, she's a cop, not an attorney.
Her mother's calling voice breaks the temporary sadness and rising concern, reminding her of what is most important here.
Johanna Beckett is alive. Her family is intact. And it has increased by one. Kate finds herself anxious to meet her younger sister.
"You fall in, in there?" her mother laughs from outside the door. "Your father is turning in for the night, and I'm right behind him."
"Coming," she tells them, and a minute later she is back in the living room. Her dad is – indeed – gone for the night, apparently. Her mother has waited behind.
"This has been so nice, Katie," Johanna tells her. "I . . . I do hope that . . ."
"We will be doing this much more often, Mom," Kate tells her, letting her off the hook. "Trust me on that."
Johanna beams happily. She's about to ask another question when Kate cuts her off.
"Do you mind if I stay the night, Mom? Here, I mean?" she asks. Johanna could not be happier. And Kate, for her part, wants nothing to do with what may still be waiting for her back at her own apartment.
"Oh, Katie, stay anytime you like, as long as you like," her mother replies, wrapping her up once again in a familiar hug that Kate never imagined experiencing again. "I know you have the nicest place in town," she tells her, with an odd expression. "I also know that it comes with a price."
"Yeah," Kate replies, now wondering just how much her mother knows about a certain relationship with a certain politician. No matter, this has been enough for one night. She has a lifetime ahead of her to sort all of this out.
"Let's save that for another night," Kate tells her, and something in the woman's voice tells Johanna Beckett that something has changed on that front also. She could not be more pleased.
"Another night it is," Johanna remarks with a smile. "Your old room is still there, very little has changed," she promises. "Oh, it will be so good to wake up with you at home . . . even just for one night. And Kendall should be home tomorrow – perhaps you will get to see her."
"Thanks, Mom," Kate tells her, placing a long kiss on her cheek, once again startling the older woman. "I will see you in the morning, and I can't wait to see her, too."
"In the morning," Johanna repeats, and makes her way down the hallway, humming happily.
Kate watches until she is out of sight, then moves to the sofa table where she has left her purse. Reaching inside, she pulls out her cell phone, and frowns with concern.
No calls.
Not even one.
That's not natural. They have far too much to talk about. She has called him three times during the evening after she got her.
No answer each time.
She has texted him twice.
No answer either time.
Yeah, something is wrong on his end. He wouldn't go dark like this unless . . .
She shakes her head, wondering just what could have happened. They did nothing – absolutely nothing at all – that should even remotely impact Richard Castle's life in this timeline. She pulls up her contact list, and once again, touches his picture.
"Come on, Castle," she begs with growing frustration, "Pick up."
Four rings, and it rolls to voicemail again.
"No!" she mutters to herself. "I know exactly what you would do if the roles were reversed Mr. Castle," she remarks out loud, softly. She hits his image again. Four rings later, she receives the same result. Undaunted, she hits his image a third time.
This time it doesn't even ring.
"What do you want, Beckett?" she hears him reply on the other end. His voice is slow, slurred, and as shocking as his greeting is cold.
"What?" she asks in a whisper. "What do you mean what do I want?"
There is a long silence – a pause of only three or four seconds – but it is uncomfortable on her end. Her mouth hangs open, waiting for a reply. When she gets none, she begins to speak.
"Castle, what –"
"She's dead, Beckett," he says softly, and now she can hear the tears. She can tell these aren't new, fresh tears. His voice is hoarse and cracked. It sounds like his has been crying . . . probably loudly . . . for hours now.
Wait, what did he just say?
Who's dead? Who is 'she'?
"Who, Rick?" Kate asks, and her first thought, somehow, is Martha. Something has happened to his mother.
Another pause follows, before he speaks again.
"Alexis," he tells her. His voice is soft and haunted, barely audible. She cannot believe her ears.
"No!" she whispers loudly, her head jerking to quickly glance down the hallway, making sure she still has privacy for this call. "That's not possible," she mutters to herself, under her breath. Unfortunately, he hears her words.
"On the contrary. It is more than possible."
"Rick," she calls out to him, her voice heavy with emotion. "What happened?"
"It's my fault," he tells her. "It's my fault. I saved your mother. And killed my daughter. I killed all of them."
He's not making sense, but suddenly she understands the cause for the alcohol-induced thoughts she knows are coming across the telephone.
And who is 'all of them'?
"Rick, I don't understand," Kate tells him, now frantic. She makes her decision quickly.
"Hold on just a second, babe. Don't hang up. Please, don't hang up," she tells him as she picks herself up from the sofa. She holds the phone in her hand and runs down the hallway to her parent's room.
She's had the night of her life, seeing her mother alive again. And apparently tonight, she has done much to repair what appears to be a damaged relationship. She can't ruin it by just leaving unannounced.
"Mom," she knocks on the door. "I have to step out, just for a few minutes. I will be back in a bit. Okay?"
"Okay, Katie," she hears from the behind the doorway. Quickly, the door opens and she sees her mother, who is just starting to get undressed, peeking behind the door.
"Are you sure everything is okay, Katie?" she asks.
"Yes, Mom, I promise," she tells her. "I have a dear friend on the phone who needs my help," she tells her. It's the truth.
"I will be back, I promise."
Before Johanna can say another word, Kate is hustling down the hallway. She hears her daughter calling out a name.
"Castle? Castle are you there?"
Johanna shakes her head, tightly holding on to the door. Surely she can't mean that Castle. Not him. Suddenly memories flood Johanna's mind of a horrific accident. She's back in the back seat of the runaway taxicab, screaming a prayer out loud, watching it plow into the helpless woman. And her child. The beautiful young woman never sees the cab coming. Unfortunately, however, her daughter does. For perhaps the thousandth time over the past decade-plus, Johanna sees the look of terror on the young red-headed child's face. The look that sent Johanna Beckett into a couple of year of therapy. Seconds later the child is airborne, along with her mother, crashing through the glass window of the bookstore.
Johanna slams the door shut, closing her eyes tightly, shaking.
"No," she whispers to herself, "It can't be him."
Kate Beckett, of course, has no knowledge of the hand grenade that her single word unwittingly tossed into her parent's bedroom. She continues on toward the front door, opening it and exiting quickly as she talks.
"Castle, I'm headed your way," she tells him, her voice louder now. She glances up and down the street, looking for a cab. Finding none, she starts jogging toward the intersection where she knows one will be passing by.
"I'm coming to the loft," she tells him. "I will be there in less than twenty minutes."
"Don't bother," is the reply she gets back. It punches the air completely out of her chest, and she scrambles to catch her cell phone that fumbles out of her fingers. A cab approaches, and she quickly hails the vehicle, stepping out into the street. She slides into the back seat.
"595 Broome Street," she tells the driver. "And please hurry."
Turning her attention back to Richard Castle, she almost yells into the phone a little louder than she intends.
"Castle! Tell me what's happened, please!"
There is no answer. It takes a few more seconds for her to realize he is no longer there. He's hung up.
"What the hell!" she barks, pulling up his image again, and initiating the phone call yet again. This time, there are those same, damnable four rings and his voicemail greeting.
"Dammit, Rick!" she mutters, and now her chest starts to tighten, as she starts to put together everything – what little she knows – from their all-to-brief conversation.
Alexis is dead?
All of them are dead?
How – and what – is he talking about? Her thoughts immediately go to Alexis. If the young woman really is dead, then all of this – everything they did to bring Johanna back – is worth nothing at all in Castle's mind. She knows this. She knows how important his daughter is. She knows that his daughter is the most important person in his life, their evolving romance notwithstanding. She knows – in that moment – that Richard Castle's life has just come crashing to earth.
And there's very little – if anything – she is going to be able to do about it.
She tries him one more time, and is not surprised at all to see the call – once again – roll to voicemail. She slams her phone into her purse, offering a plea to the driver.
"Please hurry," she tells the man, who complies with a quick acceleration as he begins to weave through the lighter, close-to-midnight traffic in the city.
Less than fifteen minutes later, the cab pulls to a stop in front of Castle's building.
"Thank you, thank you so much," she repeats, her words jumbled upon one another as she throws two twenties into the front seat and dashes out of the back door.
"Thanks!" the cabbie hollers as he watches her enter the building and then drives off.
Kate walks through the door and is greeting by a quizzical Mike Monroe, who is still an hour away from getting off of his shift. He recognizes the woman immediately. Fred Sanderson is the District Attorney for the city, and Kate Beckett is up-and-coming looker that is beloved by the paparazzi and local networks, and the anticipated heir to Sanderson.
Yeah, he recognizes Kate Beckett right away. But what is the assistant DA doing here? At this hour?
"Can I help you, ma'am?" he asks, standing and approaching the woman.
"I'm looking for Richard Castle," she tells him. "I know my way around here," she finishes as she heads to the elevator.
"I'm sorry, Miss Beckett," he tells her, drawing a raised eyebrow.
"I know Mike, but how does he know me?" she thinks to herself, since it's pretty apparent that she and Richard Castle have nothing going on in this timeline.
"I can't let you up without calling first," he begins. Unbeknownst to Mike Monroe, Castle left the building hours ago, taking the stairwell and the side exit. He had heard the exit door open – the 'ding' on his screen told him the door had opened. When he got up to look, however, no one was there, and so the security man had correctly assumed someone from the building had just left, not come inside.
"Your first name is Kate, correct?" Mike asks.
"Yes," Kate replies, as a gnawing fear begins to grow in her belly. This is a security guard at Castle's apartment building. Again, she wonders why he would know the Assistant DA, by sight, if she and Castle aren't together.
"Let me call up," he tells her. "Rick . . . Mr. Castle doesn't take many visitors," he tells her pausing. "And none that I have ever known this late at night."
He picks up the phone and dials a number, then looks back at Kate.
"He's not in any trouble, is he?" Mike asks, and Kate can see and hear the concern from the large black man. It doesn't surprise her at all to realize that – in any timeline – Richard Castle probably is a kind, gentle soul that draws friendships to himself.
Seconds later, Monroe hears Martha Rodgers voice on the other end.
"Ms. Rogers," Mike begins. "I'm sorry for the late call. I have a visitor for Rick. Is he there?"
Kate watches the one-way exchange from her vantage point, and her heart drops when it becomes obvious that, for whatever reason, Castle is not here.
"He's not?" Mike says, his eyes showing surprise. His mind quickly puts two and two together, realizing that it must have been his friend, Castle, who left earlier this evening through the side door next to the stairwell.
"Any idea when he will be returning?" he asks, knowing that will be a question that the woman standing here will want to know.
"I have no idea, Mike," a concerned Martha replies. "It's almost as if . . . it was almost like he was reliving everything all over again for the first time," the elderly woman tells him, her voice breaking. "I have no idea what happened."
"Well, you're not going to believe this . . ." he begins, and then changes his mind.
"I am just going to send our guest up," he tells Martha. "I think you'll be able to better deal with this than me," he says, glancing Kate's way as he hangs up.
"What does that mean?" Kate asks, a little edge creeping into her voice. Unknowingly, it has an effect on the security guard who clearly does not want to run afoul of the district attorney's office.
"Ms. Rodgers is expecting you," he tells her. "Understand, Miss Beckett," he continues. "Rick and his mother . . . they don't blame your mother for what happened . . . they know it's not her fault. But it's still hard. It was a long time ago, I know . . ."
Monroe sees the total and complete confusion etched across Kate Beckett's face, and stops talking. Either the woman is a great actress, or a complete airhead. He decides that whichever it is, it doesn't matter. Either way, Kate Beckett has just dropped a few notches in his mind.
"Go on up," he waves at her, and Kate recognizes the immediate and sudden change in the security guard. Between his change of tone and his cryptic words about her mother . . . well, Kate is certainly on edge now, having no idea what any of that means, or what is waiting upstairs for her. This is Martha, after all.
But not the Martha she knows.
The ride upstairs is short, thankfully. Kate exits the elevator and finds herself walking at a brisk pace, despite her trepidation, toward Castle's loft. She reaches the door and knocks quickly, then takes a step back.
She knows Castle is not here. He has told her Alexis is dead. And Mike – downstairs – hinted that Castle and Martha don't really blame Kate's mother?
What in the world is going on?
She is ready to knock again, a second time, when the door opens. Martha's eyes betray her, as she recognizes the woman outside their door immediately. And there is something else in those eyes.
Anger? Sadness?
Kate, can't tell. She is about to greet her old friend when Martha beats her to the punch.
"You!" Martha Rodgers exhales softly, eyeing her warily. "Why in God's name would you come here?"