The Coming Future (A Castle Fanfiction)

Part One: The Art of Missing Things

Looking down at the test in her hand, Katherine Beckett couldn't even begin to imagine what this actually meant for her future. She'd never expected this to happen to her without at least being married first. Especially not now. Not when she was on such thin ice with the Captain and the fiancé stand point. Gates no longer had the "reasonable deniability" thing going on, and the only reason she was allowing Castle to stay was because he helped Kate solve countless cases quickly, which had recently become an issue with the precinct barely making its numbers on time.

How could this happen? Well, she knew how this could happen, she just never imagined it would. She was on the pill. He wore condoms. This was impossible. There was no way this was real. It just couldn't be happening. How was she going to tell him? How was she going to tell everyone? The fact that this was even happening astonished her, and she was the one that noticed she'd missed her last two periods. What was Rick going to say when she told him she was pregnant? What was anyone going to say?

Outside the stall, the restroom door opened as another cop walked in. Kate couldn't stay in the restroom forever, she knew that, but what was she going to do when she left? Thinking as quickly as she could, she tossed the test into the trash can and quickly made her way toward the sink. Washing her hands so fast and so hard she nearly rubbed her skin right off, she managed to dart out of the restroom before she was seen by anyone.

Out in the hustle of the bullpen, Kate avoided everyone's eyes and stared at the wooden floor as though she were ashamed of herself. Realizing the ridiculousness of this, her head regained its usual high stand point and found the view of the brick columns and red walls as she tredged ahead. Finding her desk filled with a group of men larger than her usual crew and each of them standing with an ominous glow around them, she moved with a greater haste and a curious brow. Her fiancé standing in the back of the scrum, Kate called to him, "Castle? What's going on? That's not porn on my computer is it?"

Without a sarcastic remark, he turned to her as though the world were about to spiral into the sun. She knew the look, she knew the posture, but what she really needed was to know the news. "You have to see this," he said in a bleak, near mournful tone.

Unspoken issues with this, Kate simply gave the writer a look as she slightly pushed through to her desk. It wasn't until the video began its loop again that the story became clear.

A young woman, about fifteen years old, is sitting in a chair, arms, legs, torso and head duct taped to a chair, gagged with a red strip of cloth holding her silent filled the screen. Eyes filled with tears, stripped of all clothes and having only black lace panties and a neon bra on, her trembling, muffled words rang through the room. "Please, help." Shining blue eyes and fiery red hair, she looked so innocent, so young, and so scared it nearly made Kate sick. The footage rolled.

A deep voice came through with a hoarse reflection, "Hello New York Police Department. Men, women, detectives and officers, welcome to the show. I want you to know that I have full faith in your abilities, and I know you will find me, however it's up to you as to when you find me and how many people die before you do. Now, please, let me give you a start for your investigation." Moving now into the picture, the girl still trembling in her place, the man's entire being was covered by a tight, black body suit aside from a single pair of medical gloves covering his hands.

Even through the thin black fabric, his smile was easily seen as he moved to the child. Now in near convulsions, the young girl pleaded for her life in the dingy, dim lit room. It was useless. The man crept toward her, bringing a small, thin, clear blade to her neck, calming her as a father would for his distraught daughter. Stroking the weapon calmly along her face, she winced as it began to slice her cheek. Blood falling slowly to drip down the blade, coating the metal and causing the once clean gloves to stain. Pulling the blade from her cheek, he slipped the blade under her chin on the opposite side, again slicing along her skin, blood streaming from her jaw line like the flood gates of the sky had opened to let the smallest drips of a brewing storm free.