CHAPTER 2: HIM
Please note that the rating goes up in this chapter.
She closed the distance between them and wrapped him in a tight hug. Her body slammed against his, her hands touching every spot on his back. Her tears falling on his neck felt joyful, he noticed he has started to cry as well. She knew why she was crying but he didn't know why he was.
She trailed kisses on his cheek, jaw and shoulder; when her lips weren't in contact with his skin she said his name, over and over again. He realized that his arms had stayed along his body, not returning the embrace and put them gently on her back. He felt the strange familiarity in the gesture and applied more pressure. Has he ever done this before?
Her touch, her smell and her voice were gentle and strong, new and familiar.
She made him remember an old dance when he couldn't remember he had ever listened to music.
"Kate?" She had felt special, unique and beautiful in the book... Like now.
His mind didn't remember but his heart was certain, pounding harder and faster as their bodies were pressed firmly together, as he tried to say her name. He knew this, they, were right. If only he could say it to her, if only he could look at her eyes and say her name.
"Kate." He tried once more. Still nothing. Only silence.
Everything was blurry. He had smashed his head hard on the air bag. As he brought his hand to his face to check for any injury, a scream escaped him. The source of the pain was his hand, his fingers had been seriously bent, and his wrist seemed broken.
He had seen a black car driving fast towards him. Next thing he knew, his head was pounding and his hand seriously injured. He had to get out. His whole body screamed as he tried to be free of his seatbelt. His clothes were ruined with blood.
"Beckett is finally going to use that gun of hers." he murmured to himself before pressing the seat belt button. One step done, the door wouldn't be that easy. It got stuck and all his attempts to force it open only brought more pain to his body. He tried to move to the passenger seat only to see that the other door wouldn't open either. He had to break the window. He took off his jacket and wrapped it around his arm to avoid any cut. A few drops of blood were acceptable but cutting himself seemed a little too much for the wedding.
"You look like you could use some help!" a feminine voice said from door swung open and a hand helped him up, his weight was too much for his legs forcing him to rely on the car and the unknown woman.
"You are my savior, thank you." he told the blonde short haired woman. She smiled at his word, and started to straighten his clothes.
"Such a beautiful suit, too bad you won't be attending your wedding." she opened her bag pack and took out a red tissue.
"Oh I think I can manage without… wait how did you-"
The tissue was now on his noise. His world went black.
"Wake up!" His eyes blinked, he could hear cars in the distance. "It's time for the show."
He finally opened his eyes and met others, green, staring at him with excitement. He looked up to the trees, more green. Everything was wrong, he shouldn't be here. Where was Beckett? Where was he?
"What? You don't like my eyes Rick? Or was it others you were looking for?" She forced his head down, letting him no choice but to look at her. He had to stay calm, more importantly; he had to get out of here, and fast. She looked at her watch and moved to his side.
A new scene reveled itself in front of him. Several cars were gathered around his, which was burning now. The unintelligible voices of stranger were meddling with the cars engines. A white car approached the scene in front of him. The door flew open to reveal a woman in a wedding dress.
Kate.
He wanted to scream her name and run to her, hold her in his arm and tell her he was okay. But he did none of this. He straightened his legs to get up but didn't see his ankles were tied up on a chair, his weight balanced and made him fall, head first on the ground.
"Oh yes, I tied you up a little bit. I thought you'd try to run to her." The woman crouched and tried to put tape over his mouth. He moved his face away from her hands but there was nothing he could do. The plastic ropes were tight around his ankles and wrists (the right one was still painful).
"Enough!" she placed her hand violently against his cheek to keep him steady and put the tape over his mouth. She took a handful of his hair and turned his face towards the scene in front of him.
"She can't see you. She can't hear you." He saw her fall on the floor, her face wet by her tears.
They both started screaming. Only her voice could be heard. He kept screaming over the tape. He stopped breathing, his lungs and mind only shouting her name. His eyes only focused on her. He could only see her. And then, his world went black.
Darkness was all he could see. He had been moved hours ago, how much exactly he had no idea: knocked down twice, wrist broken, no light, and no sound beside his own heavy breaths. He couldn't move, still heavily tied up to a chair (a different one). No way out. A bright light suddenly appeared from the ceiling, blinding him.
"Look who is finally awake!" he couldn't see her enter, his eyes still trying to adjust to the white light burning his eyes. "I hope you enjoyed your sleep, because you won't be having much of it before a long time." She approached him and removed the tape on his mouth.
"What do you want?" This had been his first words since she had helped him out of the car (he would have done without the help really). Engaging in a conversation with a deranged woman seemed like a bad idea, but it was the only thing he could do.
"I already have what I want. I have you," she walked to a trail in the corner of the room he hadn't noticed. Syringe, medicine, tubes, knives… The situation was getting worst by the second. "If you have any questions, now is the time. Believe me, you won't remember the answer."
There's nothing he wanted to know. There's nothing he needed to know. She must have left a trail, and Beckett will follow it. She'll find him. He didn't care about answers he didn't need.
"And before you ask, she won't find you."
"She will find evidence of what you did. She'll find out I wasn't in the car."
"She'll find evidence, of course. But only the ones I want her to find. Long story short, everyone has something they need or don't want to lose. Find the right people, and well… you can make things disappear! Or in this case, look slightly different."
Bribes, threats, murder... Had she done this? All this by herself? Which people was she talking about and more importantly, could she really make everyone believe he was dead? Could she make Beckett believe it?
"I know this isn't making sense to you. But don't worry, I'm doing this for your own good. You'll forget everything, you'll forget her... And you'll thank me... You'll love me."
"Oh so you're the deranged kind of fan who kidnaps the object of her desires? I am saddened to say that me loving you seems highly unlikely." Her features changed. She wore a tank top which revealed her muscles of her back tensing at his words. He was getting to her, let's hope he would't regret it. "Actually, I'd say impossible. I love another."
It happened quickly. She turned around and a knife flew across the room, landing on his right shoulder. Now he regretted it. He screamed as the knife cut his flesh and entered his right shoulder.
"She doesn't deserve you! Don't you see it! Little cop thinks she can wave her badge and get whatever she wants, whenever she wants. But now... Now she can't, now I have what I want, now it is my turn!"
He didn't pay much attention to her now, more focused on his shoulder and the blood escaping it and falling down his arm, leaving a red trail on his white shirt. And pain, he was focused on the pain.
"I'm sorry about the knife... I'm... I'm just excited to start this new life with you. It won't be easy at first but... Every love story has a rooky start right?" She walked to him with a syringe in her hand. "I'm going to take care of you from now on. Just one last good night of sleep and then we will get started. Then..." His world went black.
Light. So much light. Too much light. He wasn't tied up to his chair anymore, but a bed. He was laying on his back, hand and feet restrained, shoes and shirt gone. He looked to his shoulder and found it bandaged, his hand also hurt less, a splint was on it. The light was directed to his face, blinding him just like earlier. Added to it was the dizziness, she had drugged him with something that made his head and stomach turn. He didn't feel good at all. He stayed like this for hours. He was hungry and felt as if he could throw up at any second. He wanted to sleep again but the light was too bright. He noticed cables on his legs, chest and arms, but it was impossible to see to what they were linked. Hours passed and his eyes felt heavy, the light didn't matter anymore and his eyes began to close, anticipating the sweet peace of sleep.
His eyes were about to shut when music started to play loudly in the room. He had been to a few concerts in his life and enjoyed listening to music a little louder than necessary when he needed an escape from his writing, but this was an entirely new kind of loud. The kind of loud you can't get used to. The kind that hurt. The kind that keeps you awake when you need to sleep. He stayed awake, his brain and body in pain, for hours. Starving, thirsty, exhausted added to the high temepeature of the room.
Suddenly, his world went black. The sound stopped at the same time the light turned off. Silence. He slept.
The light went on again too soon. The thirst and hunger kept him from enjoying the little sleep he actually got. He had kept waking up to nightmares, only to find himself awake in another.
The door opened and she entered. She looked completely different; she had died her hair brown and let them fall on her shoulder. Her tank and trousers were replaced with a dress.
She sat next to him on the bed and showed him a photograph.
"Who's this?"
The photograph she held was one of Beckett during their weekend in the Hamptons a year ago. She was sitting at a table outside a café smiling, he knew that because he had been there, but he was cropped out of the photograph. Why was she asking him what she obviously knew?
"Who are you?" he replied, it only occurred to him he still didn't know her name. She cringed and repeated her question.
"Beckett," He finally said, "That's Beckett."
She stood up and left. What was the point of this? She was obviously not happy with his answer but was she expecting another? The point, was revealed to him a few minutes later. He screamed as electricity went from the cables to his body. She was doing this to him. The pain was so big he had stopped breathing; his left fist closed so tight that his nails dug dipped in his hand drawing blood. It lasted minutes and then it was gone.
He was panting. How much time before Beckett would find him? How much time had passed since he had last seen her? He stayed alone in the illuminated room hours. The woman didn't come back. When he tried to get some sleep either music would start playing again or he would get a jolt of electricity. He still hadn't eaten or drunk anything.
Then his world went black. The door opened and he heard footsteps in the room. He couldn't see anything but felt that someone was nearby. A hand touched the back of his head, helping him up.
"What's your name?" he asked once more.
"Drink,." It was the woman's voice, but she didn't sound like before, she sounded calm, almost sweet, and innocent. But she was none of this. "It's only water don't worry." He didn't want to drink anything she would gave him, but his throat was dry and his limbs longed for it. So he did. And it was only water.
"I'll try to come back later." And then she was out of the room. A few minutes passed and he slept.
The light and dark pattern repeated itself month after month. The woman would always enter the (his) room, wearing that same dress and her curly hair down on her shoulder. She would ask who the woman on the photo is.
"It's Beckett." he would answer. Minutes later he would feel the painful and familiar electricity running in his body. Sometimes she would drug him, letting him in a dizzy state, with hallucination, and then he would throw up. Which it was going to be, he could never know.
She always came back when it was dark, like she promised. She gave him some food, some water or even washed him from time to time. He never spoke to her in the dark.
"Kate." he would keep answering as the woman shows him the photograph.
Electricity and drugs were met with cutting after some time. On his chest mostly, sometimes his arms or legs.
Two years had pasts and he kept answering her question. Until one day he did not. She knew the answer anyway and he knew what would follow. He was tired. She had starred at him for a long time, waiting for the answer. It never came.
He just looked at the beautiful woman on the photograph he hadn't seen for over two years now, refusing to answer her question. That day was the only time she had cut his face, leaving a scar on the right side of his lips, and blood falling in his mouth.
When his world went black again, the other woman had come back again, gave him some water and tried to clean his face.
"Darkness," she whispered as her hand swept off the blood on his face. "You once asked for my name."
She would always come back to him, treating his cuts and burns. She brought a candle once. She had short blonde hair and beautiful green eyes. Darkness looked calm, sweet and innocent. Light was the opposite. Light was pain.
After three years the woman on the photograph wasn't smiling anymore. No one could hold a smile for this long. The woman on the photograph felt distant. He had stopped answering the question. He had stopped looking at the photograph. He just wanted to see Darkness.
Darkness had given him water and bread that day. She had stayed with him, she had left him. He stared at the darkness, waiting for Light to come, for the question, for the pain. He didn't quite feel it anymore, maybe he was getting used to it. Getting used to look at the floor when Light came, used to never answer, used to wait for the pain to hit him, used to be dead for 5 years.
Everything went wrong. Electricity ran into his body, stronger than he had ever felt. He tried to scream but his mouth let no sounds escape. He was grasping for air, pleading in his head for the pain to stop, it was all wrong, the light weren't turned on, Darkness never did this to him, everything was wrong. The light turned on and the door flew open.
"WHAT IS THIS?!" the woman screamed. She had Light's clothes and Darkness's face. She held what seemed to be a book in her hands. He had never seen Light so angry. But it wasn't Light, he realized, it was Darkness. This was Darkness' true face. Darkness was Light. And Light was pain.
She threw the book at him and it fell by the side of the bed. He took it (he hasn't been tied up for a long time) and looked at the cover.
"CASTLE" the title said.
"By Katherine Beckett"
He felt a strange familiarity in those words. Not the same familiarity he shared with Darkness when she came everyday to fix him before Light came. This one felt distant but also strong as if it had been within him all along and it was only now he could feel it.
"WHO'S THIS?" the woman screamed showing him the photograph.
He had always known one name: Darkness. Until now. There was this other name. It must be a beautiful name to say, it was a beautiful one to think about.
"WHO. IS. SHE?!" she screamed again.
"Kate?" He tried to say. His mouth still refused to let any sounds out. So he just looked at the photograph.
"This is NEVER GOING TO WORK!" His eyes were fixed on the photograph. No this wasn't Kate. "IT'S NOT HER IT'S ME! YOUR EYES THINK OF HER BUT THIS IS ME! DON'T YOU SEE!"
And indeed it was. It was long ago since he had last looked at the photograph, but this one was different. The woman on it tried to replicate the old one. Every detail had been taken care of: the light, the background and the clothes. But the smile. He remembered her smile in a corner of his mind. It used to fill him with a pleasant feeling, one he hadn't felt for a long time. It was natural and generous. It was beautiful. The one on the current photograph was not. She had replaced the photograph without him noticing one day.
"YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO START LOVING ME! THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO WORK! AND HERE SHE IS WAVING HER SUCCESS AT ME, WAVING MY FAILURE! I'M SURE YOU ARE ENJOYING THIS!" She left and slammed the door after her, leaving the photograph in the middle of the room. He looked down to the book. Underneath the title was the silhouette of a man, sitting on a chair and legs crossed on a desk. He turned the book to look at the back cover. The photo of a man smiling was on the left corner of the book. He read:
"Dear Rick, I don't know how much time I have, even to write this letter. What I do know now is that I'm in this and the only way I'm going to make it out alive is to see this through. I'm sure everyone is looking for me and if they figure out I was here CSU is going to search this house. They're going to look for blood and they will find it, which will lead them to this letter. Babe, it's your letter. And I hope you never have to read this, that I can tell you all of these things in person, but if something happens and I don't make it, I need you to know that our partnership, our relationship, is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. You're an amazing man and I love you with all of my heart. Always."
He had read the book as fast as possible, fearing the light will leave again. When he did, he felt this familiarity again but there was something else. Something he felt and knew he had felt before, but couldn't put a name on it, a face on it. The second reading was slower; he had found a pen nearby the trail and used it to underline some part of the book. The light never turned off since the woman had given him the book. The woman also never came back.
The book had stirred something in him. Things that felt like memories. It spoke of unknown people and unknown places. It spoke of people and places he used to know. It spoke of what he wanted to know (again?).
He looked at the nightstand; on the right side was the book, on the left the photograph.
He didn't know if what the book was saying was true, but his heart felt more sure than his head. And so he decided to follow it. He picked up the book and walked to the door, it opened to his surprise. The place was silent and only his footsteps could be heard. He walked in rooms and corridors, looking for something or someone that could help him. He walked towards the last room he hadn't checked and fell. Blood. He had slipped on blood.
He landed just next to the pool of blood, too tired to stand up he followed the the trail with his eyes.
It led to the woman. She was lying on the floor, her face was against the floor and her neck had been sliced open. She was dead. Scared, he stood up and put as much distance as he could with the body.
He stopped. The book, he had dropped the book.
"No. No. No. No. No." The book had fallen right next to the puddle of blood. The corner was stained, stained by the woman's blood.
That's when it hit him. The woman was never real, but she had ruined what was. She had tried to make him something new and made him forget the old to do so. And it has almost worked. He cried. It had worked.
Eventually he stopped crying. He stayed sitting next to the puddle of blood, holding the book in his hand and looking at the back cover: "I'm in this and the only way I'm going to make it out alive is to see this through." He glanced at the only door he hadn't walked through yet. He wanted to make it. He wanted to make it out alive. He stood up and opened the door.
He wasn't in the apartment anymore.
He had walked aimlessly for a few days, walking as far as his legs could take him. After a while he had gathered that the city he was in was New York. He had found a bag with some food and a bottle of water along the way, which he saved as much as he could. The day was hard. The sun hit him too hard; the noise of the city reminded him of the room. That's why he only walked at night, during the day he would sit in a corner and wait for the night to come.
He was now in an alley, the sun was low enough for shadows to appear, he had sat on one and brought his bottle of water up to his lips. Empty.
"You can have mine."
He looked up and found a little brown haired girl with blue eyes staring down to him. No one had ever looked at him since he was in the city. (Why would they when there is the sky above them?)
"Thank you." he tried to say. She was smiling at him. He thought he had finally spoke but then realized that she was just returning his smile. The girl looked at him a little longer, specifically the book she was holding.
"I have to go, my bus is coming." The little girl turned around and ran to the bus stop. She held a woman's hand, at her touch the red haired woman looked down and started to talk to her.
Alexis. It was Alexis. She looked so much like her, it was her. How much time had passed?
"Alexis!" he tried to scream but they stepped into the bus. "Alexis!" he whispered, but they were gone. He stood up and walked to the bus stop. He will be on the next one. He opened the new bottle of water and drank.
He stood in front of the door and rested his hand on the flat surface. He couldn't be sure this was the right door; after all, he had just got off the bus because he had like the look of one building. It didn't mean anything. He knocked; hope getting the best of him. Nothing.
He looked down to the book in his hand and knocked again.
"A minute!" a voice said. He heard her voice again, not as loudly as before, and ones of kids talking. He waited a minute, the longest minute he had lived.
"I'm sorry for taking so much time, kids you know how it is."
Her. The woman from the real photograph.
He heard kids' voices but had no idea what they were saying. He was lost in her eyes. He remembered the photograph and it did not do her justice. She was beautiful.
Emotions ran through him, he had to talk but it was too hard. He had to think of something, of somehow. So he handed her the book. They way she had looked down to it would have made any doubts he had go away, but he didn't have any at this point. She had understood what he had just said. He smiled. She was the woman from the book.
She reached for his cheek, at the contact he almost drew back, he felt something coming from her fingers to his skin. It wasn't like the electricity that used to go through him, this touch was pleasant and warm. Loving. He liked it and leaned in her hand. He had come back home.
Author's note: Thank you for all the review/fav/follow/tweets. They all pushed me to write a little more of this story. I didn't expect so much love for my first fic. Enough said, enjoy it. I'm looking forward to your reviews.