76Just Another Day: Chapter 1
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DISCLAIMER: Most of these characters are not mine at all, but they are memorable. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe. The others? Yeah, they're mine
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11:17 a.m. West Coast Time on Monday, May 14, 2012, at the Castles Complex in Sausalito, California
The early morning fog – that for a couple of hours prior – had settled in over the campus like a blanket of clouds has now dissipated. In its place is a heavy dew that remains on the grass here at the Castles Complex, where Richard Castle watches with great interest as the newest foundations are being poured for the panic rooms that have just been dug out last week.
After the thankfully-uneventful departure of Elena Markov some eighteen days ago, Castle and security chief Mike Monroe had used the opportunity to review the infrastructure of the grounds. The panic rooms had come in so handy during the assault on the campus months ago. Now that new construction is underway, with ten new buildings now underway – improvements have been made to the design of the panic rooms and are being implemented with the new buildouts.
Truthfully, it is a good time for the complex, its workers and its inhabitants. It has been calm and quiet for the past two and half weeks. And there have been no new admissions, which is good.
It is good because they are out of space.
The ten new buildings, each housing four women and/or families, will add a total of forty new residences. If luck – and weather – holds, they will be ready for new residents by August 1.
"Two and a half months," Richard Castle thinks out loud. The figure next to him leans over, and the two men brush shoulders.
"What was that, Richard?" Sam Carlos asks.
"I was just thinking we have two and a half months," Castle repeats, as Carlos nods in agreement. The panic rooms that were dug last week have been funded by Sam Carlos himself, as well as from reserves from the Castles Foundation.
"A shame the existing buildings can't be retrofitted with this new design," he thinks to himself. He immediately discards the thought.
"We won't think of everything all at once," he reminds himself. "We will make improvements and adjustments where we can."
"Thank you again, Sam," Castle tells him, bringing himself out of his inner thoughts and reaching over to shake his friend's hand. The San Francisco mobster-slash-businessman accepts the handshake with a nod of his head.
"It is the least I can do, Richard," Carlos tells him. "It is long past time that I contributed in a more substantial manner to the good that is being done out here."
Castle simply grunts in agreement, watching the liquid concrete falling into place.
"I also must thank you for the final payment on behalf of Mrs. Romaines," Carlos continues, referring to the twelve thousand-and-five-hundred-dollar payment Castle made almost two weeks ago, after Markov's departure.
It has been that long since the two men have seen each other, which is probably a record over the past few months.
"I pay just under thirteen thousand-dollars and you pour concrete for the panic rooms of ten brand new buildings . . . I think I got the better end of this deal, Sam," Castle laughs out loud. Carlos joins him in laughter.
For the businessman-mobster, it is a light-hearted moment that comes all too infrequently. Especially in the past two weeks.
"Do you know how many women have been re-directed to other facilities since you are out of space?" Sam asks.
Richard Castle runs his left hand through his hair, the frustration now evident in his voice.
"Last count, four, that I know of," he tells Carlos.
"Make that five, now, Boss," Mike Monroe tells the two men. Monroe has just walked up behind the two men, slapping Castle on the back while offering a hand to Sam Carlos.
"Mr. Carlos," Monroe greets the campus visitor.
"Mr. Monroe," Carlos replies with a smile.
"You said five now?" Castle asks.
"Just had to turn another away just this morning," Monroe replies sadly. "As with the others, she is on the waitlist and will have priority if she chooses to come here once we have availability."
"Dammit," Castle mumbles aloud.
"No way you could have known that one hundred residences would not be enough after not even five months, Rick," Monroe reminds him. The two have had this conversation constantly over the past few weeks.
"Where is Willie?" Castle asks, suddenly glancing around. "I thought he was with you."
"He stayed back to chat with Kate," Monroe reminds him.
"Ah yes," Castle smiles knowingly, as does Sam Carlos beside him.
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Same time, at 11:17 a.m. West Coast Time on Monday, May 14, 2012, at the Castles Complex in Sausalito, California
The residue of fog and mist still lies heavy over the wooded opening at the Z, the monument built on this campus to its most famous resident . . . the one who never safely made it here.
Kate Beckett sits on the stone bench, watching as Willie Crockett stares almost reverently at the stone structure. The big man has been uncharacteristically silent for the past few minutes. He was quiet during the walk to this place that Kate suggested he visit, and he's been quiet since they arrived. The ex-detective has learned, long ago, that sometimes silence speaks more clearly than any contrived conversation . . . so she allows their friend his peace.
It is a peace he is now ready to break.
"This is . . ." he begins, and then stops. He is searching for the right words. Kate knows this and gives the man the additional few seconds that he needs.
Seconds later, he continues.
"This is – perhaps – the saddest story I have ever heard," he tells Kate, his back still to her as his fingers caress the stone structure once again.
"That she was this close to safety . . . this close to a fresh start . . . at this place," he emphasizes. "You people would have changed her reality . . . changed her life . . . and she never made it here?"
"No, Willie," Kate remarks, now standing and walking toward the big man. She sees the moisture in his eyes, and is momentarily taken back. But then she remembers what Detective Jennifer Blackard has told her about Sam Carlos' main enforcer and right-hand man.
She remembers that everyone – at some basic level – has that spark of humanity that cannot be denied . . . and cannot be buried.
"And yes, we could have changed her life," Kate agrees, now standing next to the large man, putting her hand on his shoulder.
"But we cannot save everyone," she admits, "but do NOT repeat that to Rick," she warns. "He is not there yet, and truth be told, I don't think he ever will be."
Crockett simply nods his head.
"If he has built this place . . . if he has dreamed this place up . . . if this is his vision, then no, I don't suppose 'We can't save everyone' will ever sit well with him.
Crockett glances away for a few seconds, before patting the small hand that still sits on his shoulder, now looking at Kate.
"Thank you for bringing me here," he tells her. "I understand better now."
For her part, Kate can only nod her head, smiling wistfully. She knows how the death of Penny Zimmerman affected Richard Castle, how it impacted the man she loves. And she has seen how others react to this now-hallowed place. The residents who wander back here, and immediately realize how blessed they are to have even made it to this place, much less finding peace here. Her best friend, Detective Blackard. The mayor of the city across the bridge. Even, according to Castle and Lindy Matthews – one Elena Markov, who found time to visit this place twice . . . in less than twenty-four hours.
And now Willie Crockett.
The two friends begin the trek back to the buildings that make up the campus, silent with one another, listening to the singing birds and the sounds of bugs buzzing through the wooded trees.
"How long do the women stay here again?" he asks.
"Up to a year," Kate replies. "Castle's original thought was to have them stay six months, maximum. But days after opening, he expanded the maximum stay to a full year."
She notes the laughter under his breath and stops walking. He stops with her.
"What's so funny, Willie?" she asks, hands on hips, already recognizing her slip.
"You call him Castle," he laughs. "You refer to him by his last name. You don't do it often, but I . . . I can't understand why you'd ever refer to him like that."
"Old habits die hard, Mr. Sunshine," she laughs, and he laughs with her. "When Rick first started haunting me back at the 12th Precinct – and yes, haunted is absolutely the most accurate term – he and I were not . . . we were not what we are now, let's just leave it at that."
The two continue walking, the clearing toward the buildings now another minute away.
"Why did you ask?" she asks him.
"Ask what?" he replies.
"About how long the women can stay here," she answers, as a slight smile starts finding its way toward her face. It is a coming conversation that – on one hand – surprises her, but on the other hand – she has been expecting for a few days.
"I just . . . wondered," he replies, glancing away again.
"I like the human version of Sam's right-hand man, Willie," Kate replies softly, trying to will the man to the well, so to speak. They continue walking for another ten to fifteen steps before he answers.
"I like visiting here," he finally acknowledges.
"We like it, too, Willie," she answers. "You are always welcome here. We want you to be comfortable here. And I want you here where our women can see you. They have heard what you have done for us. During the assault. For Alexis. They know of you. And a couple know you by sight," she smiles.
He simply nods his head, breathing deeply the wooded scents once more before they step out into the opening toward the buildings.
"One of them even asks about you," she almost whispers, smiling more broadly.
"Is that so?" he asks, a slight smile growing on his face as well.
"You have a thing about redheads?" she asks. "Rick certainly did . . . before me."
"He did, eh?" the large man chuckles.
"He did," Kate smiles.
The two continue walking out of the forest and into the clearing and find the concrete walkway, as Crockett continues.
"Back to my question," she smirks. "Redheads."
"Well," the large man almost drawls, "I can't say that as a generalization, but . . . there is someone who . . . I don't know, Kate . . ."
"New for you?" she asks. She knows she is on shaky ground here. She knows that the man lost his girlfriend of six years, who left him, when he left a career with the San Francisco police force in favor of a career with Sam Carlos. Jennifer Blackard was very clear that it is a buried but constant wound for the large black man.
"It has been a while," he admits. "I don't let anyone in, Kate. No one. Not one. Not in that manner."
She nods her head, as this, too, is something Jennifer has told her.
"Jackie has asked about you," she tells him. "Which is stunning, given that she is here because of abuse. She is trying to heal. She has a long way to go. Yet she noticed you in the few seconds we interacted with her a couple of weeks ago."
The two are quiet for a few more seconds as they walk toward the administrative building. A few women are out walking, and see the duo. Each waves, some calling out to Kate, who replies to each.
"Hey Helen, how are the boys?" Kate asks.
"Driving me nuts," Helen replies with a smile. "Exactly the way I want it to be."
Kate merely nods her head, as she and Willie Crockett are now no more than twenty feet from the building.
"I noticed her, too," Crockett finally remarks.
"Yeah, I noticed that," Kate smiles.
"That obvious?" he asks, returning her smile.
"Well, let's just say when Mr. Tall, dark and brooding changes his mood in an instant in front of a beautiful woman . . . yeah, Willie, that's kind of noticeable," she answers, not even trying to stifle her laughter now.
"Well, I shall endeavor to be more consistent with my mood in the future, Detective Beckett," he smiles in return, using her former title.
"And I cannot allow anyone to become a distraction," he continues, his smile suddenly disappearing, and Kate suppresses a shudder, as she watches yet another uncanny transformation in her friend, recognizing his protective enforcer nature that is coming to the surface, the closer they get to the building.
The closer they get to Sam Carlos.
"Willie. I know Sam," Kate tells him, grabbing him by the shoulder, stopping both of them just short of the door."
"I know Sam," she repeats for emphasis. "And Sam would not want you thinking this way. Even Sam is expressing new feelings these days, and I know you have noticed that."
"Perhaps," the large man replies, now opening the door for Kate. "Perhaps. But that is a discussion for a later time."
She stares at the man for a brief instant, then smiles as she walks through the doorway.
"You're here today, Willie," she tells him as she walks in front of him, then turning her head so he can hear.
"It would be a shame if you didn't at least say hello to Jackie while you're here."
She leaves the large man standing in the doorway. He watches her retreating form as she walks down the hallway.
"Perhaps," he thinks to himself, smiling.