Dear Castle,
I failed. I failed everyone. I failed myself, my Mother's memory, Derrick Storm, and all the victims you helped me bring justice to. God, how out of touch did I let myself get? How many years on the force did it take for me to get like that? I ignored the blatant mistakes in the Tisdale murder, because Kyle Cabot fit into the little box I drew in my mind. The whole reason I decided to become a police officer was to avoid things like this. It's what infuriated me most about my Mother's case, how the detectives ignored things that seemed obvious because it fit with what they thought happened. And worst of all, I did this in front of you.
I've written you two letters, letters that for whatever reason, I never sent (and clearly, I can't send you this one now.). I applauded your character, his drive, and used him as inspiration to join the force. So, I guess that by extension, I sort of idolized you too. I always thought that there had to be someone special behind Derrick Storm. I built you up in my mind, and falling so far in front of you was one of the most embarrassing things I've ever done.
You know how people say that you shouldn't meet your hero? They say that you'll only be disappointed. But I don't think that happened to me. Yes, you were different than I expected. I was expecting to find some stuffy millionaire, who couldn't have cared less about Ashley Tisdale. Instead I found a child in a man's body, who only wanted to help. Despite that, you were compassionate and observant, helping us out when we didn't think we needed it. Yes, sometimes you annoyed me, and I wanted to throw you out. And stealing the file didn't help with any of that. But having you around helped me remember the cop that I always wanted to be. Your persistence, while annoying, was actually helpful. And I thank you for giving that drive back to me.
And yet, even though I failed, you want to write a book about me. I can't imagine what you saw in me. I don't know why anyone would want to read about me. And while I'm not thrilled with the prospect of chasing you around, maybe you'll help me keep up this drive that I came onto the force with. And maybe, in another eight years, I won't fail again. But first things first. I'm going to have to teach you how to follow orders. Something tells me this will be impossible. Here's to hoping you write quickly.
-Beckett