Deadlier than Fiction

Season 9, Episode 12

Written by SeriesTherapy and Meg Moore

This is a work of fiction by writers with no professional connection to ABC network's Castle. Recognizable characters are the property of Andrew Marlowe and ABC. Names, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Every day was the same. Seriously... every day. The exact same thing. Walk around the block. Wait for Alfie to do his thing. Return home. Day in and day out. It was always the same.

Not for the first time, Lucy regretted the day she had promised her parents that, if they got her a dog, she would walk it every day. When she could manage it, she liked going to the nearby park for a change of scenery, but she was pressed for time that morning, not to mention she got sidetracked by the appearance of a wild Abra in her Pokémon Go app. Within moments, the Pokémon had vanished, along with any possibility of a good mood. She seemed to have gotten out of the wrong side of the bed that morning.

Her sour disposition had started the previous night, when her stupid boyfriend decided to ignore her text messages. Maybe she should check again. Taking advantage of the moment her dog finally stopped to relieve himself, she opened the Twitter app to have a look at his timeline. There it was: a tweet he had posted that morning. Ah-ha! She knew it! He had been on his phone, but decided not to reply to her.

Thinking the best strategy was to try to take her mind off of the issue, Lucy proceeded to catch up with the latest posts from her Instagram friends, since the Facebook app was taking too long to load. And maybe later, she could send her friends a picture with her dog. The face-swapping feature on Snapchat was always a hit.

She was brought out of her musings by a sudden, sharp tug on the leash she was loosely holding. Grabbing it more securely, she pulled in the opposite direction in an effort to make Alfie stop, but to no avail. The animal seemed to be intent on guiding her into the alley they were passing. Lucy shook her head and trailed after the animal in surrender, no match for the dog's strength.

"You know, you can be a real pain in the ass sometimes, Alf."

The dog started to bark in response, or at least, that's what Lucy thought at first. Then, she followed Alfie's line of sight and what she saw made her stop in her tracks.

It was a sneaker. Still attached to a leg. Something in her gut told her it wasn't just a homeless person who had crashed there for the night. Her first thought was to call 911, and she did just that, as she rushed to the person lying on the ground to see what the problem was.

The first thing the emergency operator heard was a piercing scream.

Kate stood just outside the bathroom, observing Castle from the shadows as he made his way through his daily grooming rituals. She'd seen it an uncountable number of times before, of course, but it was different today; he was different today. Fascinated, she watched him pick up his aftershave for a second time, only to shake his head, thinking better of a second splash and replacing it in the cabinet. He did opt for a second application of gel, sweeping it self-consciously through his hair, and Kate smothered the temptation to snicker at his vanity, her amusement just as quickly replaced by the painful clench of her heart at his obvious insecurity.

What was that all about, anyway?

But that was the moment she noticed him eyeballing the tube of gel once more, and realized it was time to make herself known.

"Mornin', babe. You look mighty fine today. Special occasion?" She pushed the cup of coffee she'd prepared for him into his hands, more to distract him from his styling products than anything else. He smiled in gratitude, so obviously pleased that she had learned how to prepare his order to perfection, but his face remained tight and tense, the smile fading just as quickly as it had appeared.

Her husband's hands wrapped around the warm mug, abandoning their mission to primp further, and he took a long sip, humming in appreciation. "As if you don't know exactly where I'm headed this morning, Beckett," he huffed.

Her own smile faltered at his comment. It was the second day of CrimeCon, a convention that revolved around crime fiction, and while he wasn't scheduled to participate in any events today, he was planning to go for a while just to interact with his fans. However, she knew his nervousness about tomorrow was escalating, when he was scheduled to be the featured guest at a sold-out panel of mystery novelists. They'd be discussing writing techniques and methods, and his writer's block was weighing on him.

It pained her to see him struggle; he'd always thrived on events like this in the past, interacting one-on-one with fans and having crazy, unexpected questions thrown at him during the panels. He was usually so good at that kind of spontaneity, but right now he seemed so unsure of himself, so scattered and apprehensive, and it was so unlike him.

"Hey," she said softly, stepping up to stand right before him and reaching out to wrap her fingers around his forearm, getting his full attention. "What's up? You're not nervous about the panel tomorrow, are you?"

His eyes slipped shut momentarily, and when he opened them again, there was so much worry behind them, so like a panicked little boy. "How can I not be nervous? I haven't exactly been productive lately. How am I supposed to tell aspiring writers how to write when I can't even do it myself?"

Her heart thrashed hard against her ribs, her most protective instincts rising to the surface. She'd known about his struggles with writing since the shooting, the only other person privy to the many times he'd groaned and slammed his laptop shut in frustration. High Heat had been all but complete when he'd sustained his injuries, so he hadn't been called upon to do a great deal of writing lately, but she understood his fears. So much of his identity was wrapped up in being an author, and when he struggled to do the thing that defined so much of who he was, where did that leave him?

Well, she wasn't going to let him leave their home without being certain of her unwavering belief in him and his abilities, not if she had anything to say about it. He'd been nothing short of a rock for her when the mood swings that accompanied her pregnancy had sent her on an emotional rollercoaster ride. Now that her temperament wasn't yo-yoing at the drop of a hat, the least she could do was offer that same support to him, and it was so easy to do, especially when she had every confidence in the world that he would triumph in the end.

"Listen, I know you're hesitant to talk about the writer's block that you've struggled with, but you've come so far in your therapy with Dr. Burke, and you should acknowledge that. You've made real progress." He sighed, but before he could interject with any negativity, she continued. "Aaaaaand, something else to keep in mind? Maybe there will be an aspiring writer in your audience who is also working to overcome their own creative block. Hearing you admit that it happens to even the most experienced writers might make a huge difference for someone."

He just stared at her, a soft smile creeping back into place. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. And you look very handsome. Even the men will want you to sign their chests." She quirked an eyebrow playfully at him, determined to lighten his mood further before he headed out for the day.

"Ha! Flattery will get you everywhere. And besides, I don't roll that way anymore." He shrugged as he set down the mug and slid forward, clutching at her hips and drawing her into his body with his coffee-warmed hands. "I only sign my wife's chest now," he added, leaning in until he could place a soft kiss on her lips.

"Mmmm, good answer," she murmured against his mouth, inhaling his scent, letting herself relax into his embrace. Of course, that was the moment their unborn child decided to make herself known, nudging hard against the wall of her belly where it was wedged between the two of them.

Castle gasped quietly and pulled away just far enough to look into Kate's eyes, his eyebrows rising in wonder. Feeling their baby move never failed to astound him, and it made her want to kiss him senseless for his unbridled devotion to their family.

"Was that...?" he trailed off.

"Definitely," she affirmed, her grin almost splitting her face in two as she watched him descend to one knee, framing her bump with his hands and whispering sweet hellos to their little one. "Guess she wanted to say good morning to her daddy."

Castle nuzzled into her midriff and she could feel his quiet good morning baby girl against her skin as much as she could hear it, placing a brief kiss there before his gaze rose to meet hers once more, cool blue and serene, calmer than he'd looked all morning. Mission accomplished, courtesy of their child. "I honestly cannot wait to meet this kid."

"Me too," she sighed, gritting her teeth and willing the tears back, no desire to smear her already-applied makeup. Stupid pregnancy hormones.

"Any more thoughts about a name?" he inquired as he rose to his feet and they exited the bathroom together. "I mean, I've got some ideas, but you always seem to think they're too crazy or... what was the word you used the other night? Exotic?"

"Castle. We're not naming our daughter 'Gnocchi.'"

"Killjoy," he mumbled as he pulled on a navy blue button-up, the one that she was particularly fond of because it made his eyes pop. "My suggestions are unique. You just need to open your mind a little."

"My mind has been opened plenty. I agreed to marry you, didn't I?" she teased, but there was no bite behind it. She stepped forward to smooth his collar, sliding her hands up to latch together behind his neck, her husband's rumble of contentment at feeling her fingers in his hair reverberating from his chest to hers. "But we're definitely not naming our child Gnocchi."

Castle opened his mouth to share what was sure to be the suggestion of a new, more unique name, but he stopped before he could begin, his ringtone piping up from the pocket of his slacks.

"Hold that thought," he murmured as he retrieved the phone and looked at it with a frown.

"What is it?"

He turned the phone around so she could see the screen. Why was someone from the Twelfth Precinct calling him and not her?

"I wonder what trouble I'm in this time," he mused just before answering his phone. "Castle."

"Hey, what have we got?" Beckett asked as soon as she and Castle ducked under the police tape at the entrance of the alley and Ryan came into view. She didn't often go to crime scenes anymore, so when her husband's presence was specifically requested today, she had to admit that her interest had been piqued.

"We believe the victim is one Lauren Grant. Lanie says that she looks to be in her early twenties. She was found this morning by a woman walking her dog," he explained, signaling to the body of a young woman, covered by a plastic sheet. Dr. Parish was kneeling at one side, examining the corpse and taking notes.

"Do we know the cause of death?" Castle asked her.

"Blunt force trauma to the head," Lanie answered, rising from the position in which she had been examining the body. "She was hit with a some kind of heavy object, but the boys tell me that initial canvassing of the scene has come up empty for a murder weapon. I might have a better idea of what it was when I examine her back at the morgue."

"There are also a few more items missing from the scene," Esposito said, approaching the group with a backpack in his gloved hands. "If the victim had a purse and phone, they're nowhere to be found, and check this out." He opened the backpack and showed them its contents. "Laptop case and charger, but no sign of a laptop."

"Might have been a robbery," Castle concluded.

"We'll see about that," Beckett told them, examining the backpack carefully. "How do we know the victim's name?"

"There was a small notebook with her name on it in her coat pocket," Esposito explained, showing her the item.

"We'll need to confirm her identity more definitively before contacting any family," Beckett remarked, turning to Lanie.

"I'll run her prints as soon as I can and see if there's a match. And I'll confirm her time of death as soon as possible, but judging by body temperature and lividity, I'd say she was killed last night between seven and nine PM."

"Thanks, Lanie," Beckett said, already turning around to leave the scene.

"I'm afraid that's not all," Ryan called after her, a somber expression on his face. "The victim had something else in her backpack."

"That's actually why we called you, Castle," Esposito added, taking a step forward.

"What is it?" the writer asked.

"It's a manuscript," Ryan began, but he had to stop and swallow before continuing. "It's called Scorching Heat."

Castle exchanged a confused look with Beckett before accepting the thick stack of paper Ryan held out to him. The title was neatly printed in capital letters on the first page.

"I'm sorry, Castle, but it looks like someone stole the novel you're working on," the detective told him. "We were going to contact your editor, but we wanted to tell you first."

In the silence that followed, Beckett took a step closer to her husband to have a better look at the pages he was perusing with a furrowed brow.

"But... you never wrote a book called Scorching Heat," she said, looking at the print like she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

Ryan blinked a few times in rapid succession and scratched his head, his gaze fixed on the manuscript the writer was leafing through.

"But we checked it out. The names of the characters, the locations... it really looks authentic."

"Guys, this is not one of my books," Castle interrupted them, a huge grin plastered on his face. "This is fanfiction."

Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for Chapter 2, coming tomorrow!