* Some people wanted me to expand on the It Wont Be Long piece from Maybe If We're Lucky. Here it is. The murder idea is from The X-Files.*
"They make it hard on purpose. There are lives in our hands. There comes a moment, when it's more than just a game. And you either take that step forward, or turn around and walk away. I could quit, but here's the thing: I love the playing field." – Meredith, Grey's Anatomy
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1. Life is Short
[Castle POV]
Beckett wasn't listening, not that she ever really did. It's not like I can blame her, either. Most of the time, my ideas are outlandish and insipid. This time, however, I am right. I know it with all of my heart. The only problem is, it sounds like something my eccentric brain would concoct. Something I would think up for one of my books. She just won't take the time to listen because of the peculiarity of it all.
A boy turned up dead last week. Jack. Three days before his eighteenth birthday and just two weeks before Christmas. The last time he had been seen was when he picked his girlfriend up at her house for a date. This had been four days before his body was found dumped in Jefferson Park over in East Harlem. Jack had been beaten and tortured before a fatal blow to the head ultimately killed him. His girlfriend, Jessie, was still missing. This was one murder case that Kate was not toying around with. But neither was I. She just couldn't see that. Beckett was too far into her own head during this case to listen to anything that couldn't be programmed, categorized, or easily referenced.
The wounds inflicted on Jack resembled those on a young couple that had been abducted five years previously on the exact same night. The only problem is, their murderer, Serge Gullet, has already been caught. He is currently serving life behind bars and we have no credible leads. I, however, have found something; something that no one else wants to look into. Why? Because it involves working with that same man who killed those kids five years ago. He knows something. This guy claims to have some sort of psychic connection with the killer. Maybe it's true. I have never been one to believe in psychic abilities or paranormal phenomenon, but what if we were the wrong ones all along? What if that stuff really exists and we are just overlooking the facts? Maybe this guy is in league with the killer, trying to get time off his sentence for 'good behavior'. Who knows really. All I know is that this guy might be able to help. So why not use him?
At the moment, I am making my way across town to do just that. If Kate won't listen, I will have to dig up some information that she can't ignore. I'm starting at the most reasonable source and am willing to dig as deep and wide as I need to in order to find this girl alive. She needs us, and I am not about to let her down.
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[Beckett POV]
"Where's Castle?"
Esposito's voice pulled me from my reverie. I had been so engrossed in finding some detail in Jack's file that we could work with that I was unaware of the detective's presence at my side. Rubbing my eyes with my left hand, I raise my right to check the time on my father's watch. I have been at it for nearly three hours straight. It is then that Esposito's question finally makes it through my subconscious.
"What do you mean? Isn't he with you?" Shaking my head, I attempt to clear it of the stupor now clouding my senses.
"Nah, Ryan and I have been working on the murder board and haven't seen him in over four hours. I thought he was with you." Seeing the confused expression on my face, he backpedals. "You know, maybe he just went home. It is like, what? Seven-thirty? He does have a kid to go home to."
Sighing loudly as I turn in my chair, I address the man to my side. "You may be right." Pausing, I run a ragged hand through my short, choppy hair. "But you may be wrong. Why don't you put in a call to Lincoln Correctional and see if anyone has been to see Gullet in the last four hours."
"You got it boss." Turning on his heel, Esposito begins to walk away.
"I'm going to try him on his cell." Turing before he reaches the fence at the end of my desk, he faces me once more. Shaking my head from side to side, I chew on my bottom lip. "I swear to god, if that man has done something stupid, he may not live to regret it."
Esposito chuckles. At least we can make light of the situation. I wonder whether there will be a point in the near future that such an act would be wholly inappropriate. "How many times have you threatened to kill him?"
"At least twelve. I bet I can make it an even twenty before the week is out." If he has done something stupid, if he's gone behind my back and done something I have explicitly told him not to do, the consequences will be great.
Smirking, Esposito turns once more. "I don't doubt it. I'll go make that call."
Swiveling back toward my desk, I reach quickly across its surface to my cell. Holding down the number five, I wait until the screen reads 'Calling Castle' before bringing it to my ear. It rings only once before going strait to voicemail. "Damn it, Castle! Pick up your phone!" I call out in vain, hit the end button, and throw the offending piece of technology down on the desk before me. Where in the hell is he?
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[Castle POV]
As I make my way down Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Blvd from the correctional facility, I am all abuzz with excitement. Maybe that's not the best word to use in this context, but in truth, I am excited. I have information. Information that could solve the case we are on right now. Gullet was a nut job. But he was a helpful nut job, at least if what he told me was true. During our 'discussion' he had synchronized his mind with the kidnapper's and gave me some landmarks to look out for. I knew the place he was describing. Let's just say I wasn't the best kid growing up and spent a bit more time than necessary in Harlem. Not that it is necessary to spend any time in Harlem, but I digress.
His descriptions fit perfectly with a jazz club I remember flawlessly from my youth. Above it were some old dilapidated apartments and I am hoping against hope that I will find something, anything there that we can pin to the kidnapper. My rusty lock-picking skills allow me entry through a side door. The club is not yet open for the night and I can hear a small number of employees speaking in the main area. Slipping through a dingy hallway, I take a flight of rickety stairs up to the second floor. There are a number of doors off of this hallway and I begin to wonder how I will even know what to look for. I hear a voice. It wafts down the hallway from a slightly ajar door at the end. The gruff voice seems as if it is a one sided conversation, possibly someone one a phone.
Silently making my way toward this door, I almost fail to notice as it begins to creep open further. My wits about me, I quickly slide into a room to my right - making no noise as I do so. Slipping the door closed behind me, I lean against it in relief. It had been a close call. My relief soon vanishes, however, as I realize what I have walked into. Stepping promptly forward, I lift the limp chin of Jessie Payton. Am I too late? She's still warm and on closer inspection, I find a weak pulse beating through the vessels in her neck.
"Jessie," I whisper as I crouch before her. "Jessie, wake up." Shaking her face gently from side to side, I attempt to rouse the young girl, but to no avail.
"Who in the hell are you?" a deep voice sounds from behind me.
Spinning quickly as I rise to my feet, I face the most recent addition to the small room. Before anything else can be said, I hear a loud bang. My body is thrown backward, narrowly missing the unconscious girl behind me. As I hit the ground, I reach for my chest – toward my heart. A warm, sticky liquid flows over the top of my fingers, cascading down to the floor. I barely have time to register that I have been shot before everything fades to black.
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