Trigger Warning: This chapter contains a brief discussion of suicide. Please feel free to PM me if you have any questions.
Ce qu'on ne peut dire et ce qu'on ne peut taire, la musique l'exprime.
(Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent.)
-Victor Hugo
Castle stole a glance over at Beckett as he steered his Mercedes out of the Symphony Hall parking garage. She was slumped in the passenger seat, chewing on a fingernail, showing none of the confidence and poise that she had shown while they stood in the performance hall looking at Annabel Matthews' corpse. She looked small, thin, and pale all of a sudden.
In a weird way, he was relieved. It was comforting to know that the indomitable Beckett wasn't as unshaken as she had initially seemed. It made him feel better about his own brief loss of composure.
He drove as quickly as he could in rush-hour traffic, and soon pulled up to a convenient parking meter a few doors down from his favorite bar. "Come on," he said softly to the still-silent Beckett. "I'll buy you a drink."
She startled slightly, then flashed a quick half-smile, reaching to unbuckle her seatbelt. Her violin was safely stowed in the trunk, and she slung her bag onto her shoulder as she climbed out.
Moments later they were settling into a quiet booth in the corner, and Castle ordered scotch for both of them, neat. Beckett's hand shook slightly as she lifted her glass.
"Hey," Castle said quietly. "You okay?"
She blinked, and seemed to come back to herself. "I should be asking you that," she responded, with a slight glint in her eye. "You're the one who had to run for the bathroom."
He shrugged. He wasn't going to feel ashamed for his reaction. He had just witnessed a - Holy shit. "We witnessed a murder," he breathed, feeling the shock of it hit him all over again.
"Yeah. Some witnesses," Beckett scoffed, taking a gulp of her drink. "We didn't see, hear, or know anything at all useful."
"I saw more than enough." He shuddered and took a large sip of his drink as well. "But hey, you were pretty damn composed in there, Beckett. At first you hardly even seemed rattled."
"Well..." She looked away, a little embarrassed. "For a while, in high school, I thought I wanted to be a cop. A homicide detective."
"Really?" Fascinated, Castle leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "You didn't always want to be a musician?"
"Oh, I did, I did. It was just a period of, I don't know, adolescent rebellion. A phase." She gave a self-deprecating shrug. "My dad's a lawyer, so he managed to get me an internship with the NYPD for one semester."
"That's so cool," Castle enthused. "They let you help solve murders?"
"Hardly," she snorted. "That's what I hoped too, but of course they can't be letting seventeen-year-olds hang around crime scenes." She shook her head. "No, it was mostly paperwork, filing and stuff like that. But I did get to spend some time in the morgue, even observed a couple of autopsies."
"Ahh." He nodded. "That explains why you didn't freak out when you saw the ... when you saw her."
"Yeah." Beckett looked away, her eyes unfocusing briefly. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, almost plaintive. "Who would want to kill Annabel? I didn't know her well, but she seemed nice enough. She wasn't one of those divas, the kind everyone talks about and no one likes."
"No. But everyone has secrets." Castle sank back against the booth, pensive. "Everyone makes mistakes, bad choices."
"Like her choice to flirt with you?" Beckett asked, a small grin curling the corners of her mouth. Castle huffed a little.
"I prefer to think of that as demonstrating excellent judgment and taste. And you don't have to be jealous, Beckett. It was just a little harmless chatting."
"Jealous!" she exclaimed, then caught the twinkle in his eye and subsided, giving him a shake of her head and simultaneous eye-roll. "Dream on, Castle."
He smirked, but then thought again of Annabel, who would never flirt with anyone again, and he dropped his eyes to the table surface. He was quiet for a moment, contemplating it all.
"I was going to be a mystery writer, you know," he murmured, almost to himself.
"Really?" Beckett raised her eyebrows in surprise.
"Yeah. My first couple of operas, I originally wrote them as mystery novels. Never quite got up the nerve to submit them for publication, but after I started composing music, I realized that my novels would make great musical theater." He picked up his almost-empty glass and stared into it. "Always was fascinated by death, mysteries, the things that make people kill each other."
"Hmm." Beckett ate a few peanuts from the bowl on the table. "That makes sense, actually. Opera plots and murder mysteries do have a lot in common."
"Exactly," he nodded. "Death, betrayal, secrets. Drama."
There was silence between them for a few moments, perhaps both thinking about what kinds of secrets and drama in Annabel's life might have led to this.
"What I'm wondering," Beckett mused after a moment, "is what Annabel was doing there between when you saw her and when..." She trailed off briefly, then picked up again. "That was more than two hours. What was she doing all that time?"
"I don't know." Castle drained the last few drops from his glass, thinking about it. Now that Beckett had mentioned it, he was curious too. It didn't seem to make sense. "Maybe someone else saw her. A chorus member?"
"Maybe, but there are a hundred and fifty people in the chorus, Castle. Do you think the police will interview all of them?"
"Probably not." He pursed his lips, pondering, watching as Beckett lifted her own glass and scowled when she found it empty. "Another drink?"
"Yeah." But then she blinked, sat up a little straighter, and amended, "No, I shouldn't. One was enough." She tapped the back of his hand with her forefinger. "You shouldn't either. Driving."
"Right," he nodded, sighing as common sense asserted itself. "Of course, you're right. I should be getting home. I'll have to tell Alexis something." The idea was sobering. Shit, how was one supposed to tell one's child about witnessing a murder?
"Your daughter?" Beckett was looking at him curiously. "How old is she?"
"Fifteen." He shook his head slowly. "I just wish I could keep her from knowing about this kind of thing. All the ugliness out there in the world."
"You can't shelter her from reality, Castle." Beckett sighed. "Eventually, we all have to face up to it."
"I guess." He took a deep breath, blew it out, then pulled out his wallet and tossed some money onto the table. "I'll give you a ride home."
"That's okay, I-" Suddenly Beckett gasped. "Oh, shit. I'm supposed to be meeting Lanie for dinner in," she looked at her watch, "half an hour." She pulled her lower lip between her teeth. "I can make it if I get a cab."
"I could drop you off-"
"No, no." She waved that away. "You should get home to your kid."
So they went back out to Castle's car and Beckett retrieved her violin from the trunk while Castle hailed a cab for her.
"Good luck with your daughter," Beckett said, a little awkwardly, standing in the open door of the taxi.
"Thanks. Uh, have a nice day off?"
It felt very strange to Castle, to be exchanging goodnights with Beckett as if it were any other evening; as if they hadn't witnessed the ending of a life. A flash of understanding in Beckett's eyes told him that she felt the same. But what else was there to do? Life goes on.
"Night, Castle."
"Goodnight, Beckett."
A short while later Castle was sitting on his sofa, another glass of whiskey in his hand, with his mother on one side and his daughter on the other, both murmuring in surprise. He had told them the bare bones of what had happened, not wanting to go into too much detail.
"It's just unbelievable," Martha fussed, "like something out of a movie. Are you sure you're all right, darling?"
"I'm fine, Mother," he said, not for the first time, and closed his eyes briefly. His body felt heavy and sluggish, which he knew was from the aftereffects of the long day and then the shock of the murder. "It was upsetting, but I'm okay." Shaking his head, he muttered to himself, "Can't believe how cool and collected Beckett was. Barely a blink."
"Who's Beckett?" Alexis asked, snuggling in against his side. He gave her a squeeze.
"Kate Beckett, the concertmaster," he answered, distractedly, his thoughts whirling. "I was talking to her when it happened. She went right over to look at the," he would have to start getting used to saying it, "the body. Not even a moment of hesitation. Didn't show any reaction until we were on our way to the bar."
"You went to a bar afterward?" Martha asked, and he almost missed the glance that passed between the two redheads. But he caught it, and sat up a little straighter.
"Oh, hey, listen, Beckett and I just went to grab a quick drink to deal with what we saw, okay? Let's not make a big thing out of it." But even as he spoke, he knew he was doing nothing toward putting them off the trail.
"Uh-huh," Alexis said skeptically, and Martha was trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile.
"So, Richard, tell us about this young woman, then. She plays the violin?"
"Yeah," he sighed, resigning himself to the conversation. "She's the first violinist, concertmaster, and pretty much the boss of everyone." He looked over at Martha. "Her mother was Johanna Beckett, the singer, you remember her?"
"Oh yes, of course." Martha's face lit up with recognition. "What a glorious voice that gal had. I remember seeing her in Turandot..." She trailed off, and Castle knew she was remembering the rest of it. "Oh, dear. Didn't she, uh," and she paused, looking over at Alexis.
"Yes, Mother," he cut in, "she committed suicide. About ten years ago."
"She killed herself?" Alexis asked, pulling back a little to look at his face. "And now you're working with her daughter? How old was she then?"
"Uh, let me think..." He didn't know exactly how old Beckett was now, but from what he knew of her schooling, he could make an educated guess. "I guess she must have been still a teenager, probably about nineteen, because she was in her second year of college."
"Wow. That must have been awful for her," Alexis mused, her face falling. "Why would someone kill themselves if they had a kid? Even if she was nineteen, she still needed her mom."
Castle's heart twisted painfully. Of all the things he had expected to upset Alexis tonight, the thought of her reaction to Beckett's mother's death hadn't even occurred to him. "Oh, pumpkin." He pulled his daughter in tightly. "I don't know for sure, sweetie, but she must have been very depressed. A person doesn't do something like that lightly. She probably thought there was no other way to deal with her feelings. It can seem that way, sometimes, to a person who's depressed."
"If memory serves," Martha put in softly, "I seem to recall she had been diagnosed with cancer of some kind."
"That's awful," said Alexis into Castle's chest, "but it's no excuse. A parent should be stronger than that."
"Mm," Castle murmured. He knew it wasn't that simple, but he hated the idea of his little girl dwelling on such a sad topic. He squeezed her tighter and kissed the top of her head.
"Oh, darlings," said Martha gently. "So much maudlin tonight. Let's say 'enough, enough,' and be thankful for each other. Yes?"
Castle lifted his other arm and put it around his mother's shoulders. "Well said, Mother. Maybe some ice cream?"
By the time Beckett got to the Italian restaurant where she had agreed to meet Lanie, the gossip mill had done its work. "Oh my god, Kate, are you okay?" were her friend's first words as she walked up to their table, and Lanie jumped up from her chair to give Kate a hug.
"Yeah, I'm all right," she promised, hugging Lanie back, then pulling away to take off her coat and sit down. "What have you heard?"
"Only that someone shot up the whole place and killed Annabel," Lanie said, lowering her voice to a discreet volume, "and you and Castle nearly got brained by her on the way down."
"Ugh, that part's not true at all," Kate denied, signaling to the waiter. "I need wine. Lots of wine. A bottle of Cabernet to start with, please."
Over wine and appetizers, she told Lanie about the incident, including the aftermath. "And then the cops kicked us all out so they could go over the place with forensics and all that," she concluded. "So I went to grab a drink with Castle." Oops. As soon as the words were out, she knew she had made a mistake. Lanie's eyes were widening in a combination of amazement and delight.
"Girl…"
"Oh god, Lanie, don't start."
"Please. Like I'm gonna let you off the hook that easily? I heard you and the Maestro were cozied up in Starbucks this morning too."
"We were not 'cozied up,' we were going over the music and making a plan for the rehearsals," Kate sighed, exasperated. She lifted her menu in front of her face, but Lanie reached out and pulled it away.
"Don't hide from me. And don't pretend like you're planning to order anything other than your usual," she smirked, and, turning to the waiter, quickly ordered for both of them. As soon as he was gone, Lanie turned back to Kate with a determined gleam in her eye.
"Seriously, spill."
"Seriously, Lane, there's nothing to spill. We met at Starbucks to look at the music. He hasn't conducted this kind of thing before and wanted my input."
"Uh-huh." Her friend's nod was as skeptical as a nod could possibly be. "And then you went out for drinks, but that was nothing too, right?"
"Yes! I mean, no. I mean..." Kate huffed and took a large gulp of her wine. "We were both shaken up by seeing what happened to Annabel, so we had a drink together. One drink. Nothing remarkable about that."
"Oh, sure. Nothing remarkable at all," Lanie snickered. "I suppose you'll try to tell me there's nothing remarkable about the way he's been looking at you, either."
"You're out of your mind," Kate mumbled, burying her face in her glass. The way Castle looked at her? What did that mean?
"Girl, don't tell me you didn't notice. He kept flashing you these looks during the rehearsal. Like…" Lanie pondered for a moment, then her lips curved upward in a wicked grin. "Like he's Frederic and you're Mabel."
Kate nearly choked on her wine, laughing and coughing at the same time. "Pirates of Penzance? Seriously? So you're calling him a pirate?" Castle would probably love that, she thought ruefully.
Lanie chuckled and shook her head. "Don't be obtuse, Kate. You know what I mean."
Kate's smile faded as she took in her friend's words. "That's crazy, Lanie. We hardly know each other, and it's just for work." But she thought about Castle calling her old teachers to find out about her, and the questions he had asked, and the way they'd talked over their glasses of scotch, sharing little details about their life paths.
No. It was all in Lanie's head; it had to be. "It's all in your head," she said aloud, and looked up to find her friend studying her with a knowing expression.
"It's not, and you know it." Lanie pointed her fork at Kate. "The guy likes you, Kate, and you like him. And you haven't let any guy get close in way too long."
Kate squirmed in her seat. "I have a busy life," she protested weakly.
"I know you do, but girl, he's right there. You should take him for a ride. Why not? We know he's good with his hands." She smirked suggestively. Kate blushed.
"Really? I hadn't noticed," she said toward her risotto, and Lanie laughed out loud.
"Sure you hadn't. You keep telling yourself that. Now let's eat."
A large bowl of ice cream with his mother and daughter went a long way toward helping Castle start to feel normal again. But he hadn't come close to finishing the dessert before his mind drifted. He was hearing again the strains of melody that had begun to come into his head in the bathroom earlier: the song about the mysteries of death, about the irony of a musical life ending in harsh noise.
As the details began to come together in his mind, he realized that he wasn't hearing just a song, but an entire scene. He pictured the woman singing the song, and she had a flashlight in her hand. She was walking along a dark, deserted alley in a city, late at night. As she walked, and sang, she was shining the flashlight into every corner and nook and cranny of the alleyway. She kicked aside a stray garbage can - cymbals clashed - and lifted the lid of a dumpster - the whine of a saxophone would approximate the creaking of the hinges.
Castle wasn't sure what the woman was looking for, yet, but he knew better than to let himself get distracted by elusive details when the inspiration was flowing. He would come back to that. For the moment, he just watched in his mind's eye as the woman walked and sang and looked. Then emotion overtook her and she sank to her knees in the dirty alleyway as the song came to its climax.
Castle played a few notes of the song on his piano, and quickly seized a pencil, scribbling notes and lyrics across the fresh sheet of score paper on the piano's music stand. His melting ice cream was forgotten; he hadn't even noticed Alexis tugging him off his kitchen stool and steering him to the piano, or Martha setting out the paper and pencil. The women withdrew, leaving him to his creative haze.
When he finally emerged, several pages were full of musical notation, and the loft was in shadow. The dishes had been washed and put away; the upstairs, where his mother and daughter had their bedrooms, was dark and silent. Castle stumbled groggily to the bathroom, quickly washed up, undressed, and fell into bed.
Author's Note: Thank you to all who have reviewed, favorited, followed, etc. - I am delighted that this story is exciting so many of you. I hope you continue to enjoy it.
To elucidate the Pirates of Penzance reference: Frederic has only ever seen one woman, who is his nursemaid; he believes her to be beautiful - until he sees Mabel and her sisters, and realizes that until now he has never known what female beauty truly is.