Kairos – Chapter 12
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, 11:28 p.m., At the New York Public Library
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The library is completely darkened now, as midnight fast approaches. Security guard Walter Jameson is downstairs somewhere, or perhaps upstairs, doing his rounds. He has – fortunately – left Richard Castle to himself, sensing that something huge is bothering his friend. For the past couple of hours, Castle has been alternately doing internet searches and bursting into fresh rounds of frustrated tears. He's done nothing to hide either.
He has sat here for an hour, weeping over the loss of his daughter, Alexis. He can't seem to get off the emotional rollercoaster, feeling guilt ridden over ever making that damn leap back in time to save Johanna Beckett. If he had even had an inkling that saving the woman would end up killing his own daughter . . . well that's a trade he never would have made.
Ever.
Not for Kate Beckett.
Not for anyone.
Dr. Windholm had warned him about the ripple effects. Hell, Kevin Ryan had tried to warn him. But in his – as usual – singular focus to please Kate Beckett, he had ignored both of them. The doctor had been right. As had Kevin Ryan.
That singular thought had led him to search for a few of his friends – just to make sure that nothing else crazy has happened because of 'that damn trip' as he now refers to it.
He has been sorely disappointed.
A quick google search for 'Kevin Ryan NYPD' had broken his heart even further.
Kevin Ryan, NYPD, deceased March 1, 2011.
He had pulled up an article, having to remove his shaking hand from the keyboard mouse as he read. The article went into great detail about the deaths of two NYPD homicide detectives, Kevin Ryan and Javier Esposito. The two detectives were working a terrorist case with Federal Agent Mark Fallon. The case ended badly, with the two detectives unable to disarm a dirty bomb in the middle of New York City. Ironically, the bomb squad had been a block away, trying to get there in time. They, too, became casualties of the war on terror.
Castle continued reading, with angry tears pelting the keyboard, about the dirty bomb blast that – although contained – took out a full square city block a couple of years ago. He thinks back to that case, which found Castle and Kate Beckett almost frozen to death in a large trailer of sorts, and ended with Castle frantically pulling all of the wires from the bomb at – literally – the last second. Apparently, however, neither Esposito nor Ryan shared Castle's reckless and imaginative nature, as neither considered grabbing all of the wires and yanking furiously.
Now, both detectives stand honored – posthumously, of course – with bronze plaques on a large monument in the city at the spot of the blast. It is the second monument in the city for the victims of a terror attack. The surrounding area had been cordoned off and closed for almost six months, for cleanup. The death toll had reached 1,215. Those injured and affected by the cobalt fallout? Projected to be in the thousands, and still rising.
Further reading had informed him that Kevin Ryan left a wife, Jenny and a daughter. Evidently, the Ryan of this timeline married his sweetheart a year and a half earlier. As for Javier Esposito – he left a widow as well.
A certain medical examiner, Lanie Parrish.
It has caused Castle to wonder – sadly – about the impact, both good and bad, that he and Kate have had in the world. The fact that Kate isn't a cop here has doomed two good friends. The fact that Kate's mother is alive has doomed his own daughter. And the fact that he and Kate weren't at the 12th Precinct only sped up the marriage of Kevin and Jenny, and somehow allowed for the marriage of Javier and Lanie. But it also doomed both men, as it should have been he and Kate there at the bomb site, not their friends.
In his mind, in his memories, he and Kate survived, and went back to their friends.
In this reality, however, those friends are dead.
So here he sits, a couple of hours into his discoveries, regretting ever hearing about Kronologix. He curses the heavens and the universe for even allowing Sandra Windholm to come to the book signing in the first place, and talk to him about time travel. He curses himself for ever writing the stupid book that brought the doctor to him. The costs have been far too high.
No Alexis. No Javier. No Kevin Ryan.
And, to add insult to injury, his search on Kate Beckett revealed a fast-riser in the city government. She's the assistant district attorney, for crying out loud. Her pictures flood the internet from various gatherings. She is what he no longer is. A rock star of sort. Good pedigree, with a respected attorney for a mother and a professor for a father. A sister in middle school here in the city.
And the backing of a certain Senator at the nation's capital.
It's almost too much to bear. No. Scratch that. It is far too much to bear, as the ex-novelist and resident recluse breaks down yet again.
The phone call from Kate only unleashed an illogical but unrelenting anger at the woman he loves. He wonders if there still is a 'Castle and Kate' in this timeline. There doesn't appear to be. And despite the feelings they have for one another, she's going to have to insert herself into the lifeline of this timeline's Kate Beckett. She's going to have to figure out how to be an attorney. She's going to be working closely with Senator Bracken, evidently. She probably has a boyfriend here to deal with.
Probably Dr. Motorcyle-boy. Or hell, maybe the universe has completely fucked him, and put her in bed with the Senator. Yeah, wouldn't that be just precious.
Kate isn't a cop anymore. He knew this would be a possibility. Hell, a probability. But experiencing it first-hand is different. He hasn't been shadowing her. All of the cases she has solved; they have solved. His mind is racing now. Did Esposito and Ryan solve them? Were the people he and Kate saved still saved? What about all of the arrests? Where is Jenny now? Is Lanie all right?
All of those thoughts disappear as his focus crystalizes once more, and his vision blurs again.
"Pumpkin," he whispers out loud. There is a canyon-sized hole in his heart now. He knows that this will be a gaping wound that never heals.
Recluse? Yeah, he already doesn't want to be bothered by anyone – Kate included. Somehow, for now, especially not Kate.
Writing? No, he doesn't see himself writing anything anytime soon. Any inspiration he has had has been brutally ripped from underneath him. He completely understands the reactions of his doppelganger in this timeline.
Only now, there is no doppelganger anymore. There is only him. And his mother. Speaking of his mother . . .
Kate mentioned meeting him at the loft. He really ought to warn Martha, but somehow right now, even Martha doesn't seem real to him. None of this is real.
Not without Alexis.
For a moment, he considers a return to the Kronologix facility. A return to the past to right a wrong. To return things to their proper order. He is starting to mentally sprint down that trail when a horrible thought hits him.
He pulls up a new browser screen, and accesses his bank's customer account website. A few guesses at his username and password – now that he's done this once already tonight – and he is online with his account. The chuckle that leaves his throat is clearly haunted and resigned – with no humor whatsoever.
$18,917.45 in checking. $277,386.22 in savings.
Not bad, compared to a lot of people, he is certain. But a far cry from the tens of millions of dollars that he has . . . had in the other timeline.
His real timeline.
He shakes his head in anger and frustration and overwhelming sadness, as the reality of the life now facing him settles in. In this timeline, he was a happily-married up-and-coming author. Four Derek Storm books behind him, and a growing fan base. Suddenly, the two most important people in his life are snatched away. His response? He retreated into his cave – mentally and physically – never to write again. Which means no more Derek Storm, no Nikki Heat. No million-dollar paydays. No trust account for . . . for a daughter who no longer exists.
That all existed in his timeline. With Alexis. With Kate. With his friends at the 12th Precinct.
Now that timeline is forever gone. This is his new reality. His only reality. And even if he could somehow explain this massive screw-up to Dr. Windholm – even if he could admit that, yeah, they broke the rules and changed the past and now need to go back to fix things – he doesn't have the funds to do so!
It took two million dollars to go back last time, and he knows she would want at least a million or so to do so again. A million that he doesn't have.
Head in hands, he closes his eyes, musing aloud.
"Think, Rick, think!" he tells himself. "There has to be a way . . ."
"Yeah, but nothing legal or ethical," a cold, mirthless voice in the back of his head whispers tauntingly, almost laughing at him.
"Doesn't matter," he finds himself saying out loud. "Laws or no laws, I have to get back," he continues, now a little louder. He glances around, making sure that Walt isn't around to hear these musings.
"Maybe she'd take a quarter million dollars, since I already gave her two million," he rationalizes aloud, just under his breath, considering Dr. Windholm once again. He shakes his head, pushing the thought away, when another thought hits him.
"Nikki. Make some use of her," a strange, warm voice in the back of his head suggests, with a frantic urgency.
"Yeah, I've written all of those books," he muses aloud. "I know them like the back of my hand. I could re-write them. They were wildly popular in my timeline. Maybe they'd be popular here . . . now as well."
"That will take years, idiot," the former voice warns with a chuckle. "Are you really willing to wait years to get your daughter back? A lot can happen in years . . ."
"That's right," a despondent Castle agrees with the voice, as he reaches down into his desk and pulls out the bottle of whiskey yet again. He considers how much has happened in this timeline already.
"No!" the second voice screams at him. "Think big picture. You get your daughter back. Then what? You still need to be a writer. That's who you are. That's what you do. Do this the right way. A couple of years more won't kill you."
"Yeah, but it will," Castle argues back at both voices assaulting him. He wonders if this is what it's like – if this is how a descent into madness begins. Hearing voices. He's lost his daughter for less than one single day – less than one evening – and he is already having imaginary conversations, and drinking more tonight than he normally does in a week. No, he can't take one or two years of this.
He glances down at the whiskey. He keeps it in his desk here at work. At least this timeline's Richard Castle does. And he understands perfectly. Anything to kill the pain. Anything to dull the reality.
It is not lost on him that – in his world, his reality – Johanna Beckett died, and Jim Beckett became an alcoholic. Here, Johanna Beckett lived, and Richard Castle became the alcoholic.
He shakes his head, killing off both voices, as he spins his chair around, giving him a view of the darkness below on the first floor, wondering how quickly – legally or not – he can put his hands on the necessary funds for a return trip to Kronologix.
And the past. With or without Kate Beckett, he has to make this right again, somehow.
He closes down his desktop computer, pulling himself together – even temporarily – and walks out of the office. Suddenly, despite his earlier thoughts, he needs to be home. He needs his own bed, familiar surroundings – hell, even a familiar Martha Rodgers.
Minutes later, he is in the street, looking for a late night taxi.