Castle-
Why me? What is it about me that has you digging into my life? I'm not that spectacular, or compelling, and I don't think your readers would ever care about my life. And I still don't understand how your "research" gives you the right to stick your nose where it doesn't belong. It was the one thing I asked. That's not true. I've asked you to do many things that you haven't done. But it's the one thing I meant when I asked, and I thought we had an understanding. I thought you would take this one seriously!
My Mother's case is off limits. I don't look at it, the boys don't look at it, my Captain doesn't look at it, and that expectation of privacy extended to you. Just when I thought you might be different, that maybe you cared, you go and pull this. I can't believe I let my guard down, that I let you have unfettered access to my life. I'm not a character in your stupid book, I'm a real person, with real feelings, that you're exploiting for some sort of personal gain. I don't care what you found, what "new evidence" might exist, I don't want to know. It's not good for me or anyone else if I start investigating again.
I spent many sleepless nights going over every inch of that file. I can still quote every line. During really bad cases, the nightmares come back, my own voice reading the file out loud. The first few years I was a cop, I followed every miniscule lead I could find. Every off duty moment was spent searching for my mother's killer. The obsession consumed me, drove me. I ignored the concerned looks of my partner when I came into work with bags under my eyes. When my Captain asked if everything was okay, I blamed my exhaustion on noisy neighbors. And every night I would return home and pore over the details again.
Eventually, it got the best of me. We were tracking down a pimp we suspected of trafficking children. Reports had come in saying he was moving a group of teenagers, so we were waiting at the drop off location. He caught wind of us though, and took off. Luckily, we were ready. My partner gave directions from his car, he had planned out how to box this guy in. I was supposed to be waiting at an intersection by the park, but the suspect changed directions. My partner told me where to go, which way to turn, and I said I copied. But I couldn't keep up. I turned left instead of right, I wasn't waiting to stop the guy, and he got away. My partner didn't let me live it down.
We caught the guy about a week later. By then, the girls he was moving were long gone. I blamed myself. If I had been alert enough, I could have stopped him, and those girls would be safe. Once he was arraigned, I cashed in my vacation time, and disappeared from the precinct for a bit. I went into therapy. The doctor told me that the plan seemed complicated, that anything could have gone wrong, and that I shouldn't blame myself. But he suggested that my drive for justice may have been hurting me more than I was willing to admit. He asked me when the last time I had cooked for myself was. When was the last time I socialized outside of work? When was the last time I slept more than four hours? When was the last time I did something for myself just because it made me happy? After a few sessions, I decided to return the file to the archives.
My sleepless nights seemed so much longer once I stopped investigating. Somehow, not having the file to fall into made time pass slower. Even in the silence, I could still hear the whispers of the case, begging me to come back to it. I fought it with all my might. I would play music, specifically Billy Joel since my Mother loved him, and would dance until I was tired. One night I cleaned my apartment from top to bottom. Sometimes I would pull out a book and read. And slowly, my life became normal. My coworkers stopped looking for bags under my eyes. I threw my passion for my mother's case into my work. And while I never forgot those girls I couldn't save, I tried not to let it hang like a dark cloud above my head. I became the youngest female detective, and the first female in Homicide in fifteen years. I had a new purpose, one that would make my Mom proud.
So I can't look into this new evidence you've found. I can't fall back into that rabbit hole. I can't put other people in danger. And if you can't respect that, then we can't be partners. I won't apologize for standing up for my own mental health. My life is not yours to be toyed with. Find a new inspiration.
-Beckett