Murder in the Fandom pt.3

Beckett and Castle stood by Esposito and Ryan as they briefed them on their latest lead. "We've tracked the number that was texting Jennifer, pretending to be Daniel," Esposito said. "It's registered to a 60-year-old woman named Ann Smith. She lives in an apartment complex on East 72nd Street."

Castle raised an eyebrow. "A 60-year-old woman? That's… older than I expected."

Beckett gave him a nod, understanding his surprise. "Come on, let's go talk to Mrs. Smith."

They arrived at the apartment complex, a modest building nestled between taller ones, with a small, worn-down lobby that hinted at its age. Beckett, Esposito, and Ryan led the way, with Castle following close behind.

As they reached Ann Smith's door, they fell into a standard formation, two on either side of the door, Beckett ready to knock.

Beckett knocked firmly on the door. "NYPD! Mrs. Smith, please open the door!"

There was a pause, followed by the sound of shuffling inside. It was clear someone was moving things around, possibly trying to hide something. Beckett exchanged a look with Esposito, who nodded in silent agreement.

Beckett knocked again, louder this time. "Mrs. Smith, open the door, or we'll be forced to break it down!"

There was a brief silence before the sound of a lock turning. The door creaked open, revealing Ann Smith, a woman in her sixties with a weathered face and nervous eyes. She clutched the doorframe tightly, her knuckles white.

"Why are you here?" Ann asked, her voice trembling slightly. "I haven't done anything wrong."

Beckett stepped forward, her tone firm but calm. "Mrs. Smith, we need to ask you some questions. May we come in?"

Ann hesitated, glancing around the apartment as if looking for a way out. "I… I don't see why you need to come in. I haven't done anything."

Beckett's expression remained stern. "Mrs. Smith, we're investigating a murder. You're a suspect. Please let us in, or we will have to enter by force."

Ann's face paled, and she reluctantly stepped back, allowing them entry. As Beckett and the team walked in, she noticed the cluttered living room, filled with old furniture and stacks of newspapers. The apartment had the look of a place that hadn't seen a thorough cleaning in years.

Beckett began questioning Ann while the others searched the apartment. "Do you know anyone named Jennifer Michal?"

Ann shook her head quickly. "No, I don't know her. I haven't met anyone by that name."

"Are you a fan of the Percy Jackson books?" Beckett asked.

Ann looked confused for a moment before shaking her head again. "No, no… But my nephew, he lives with me. He's mentioned that before."

Just then, Ryan called out from another room. "Beckett, we found something."

Ann's eyes widened in fear, and she immediately protested. "There's nothing there! I didn't do anything wrong!"

Ryan walked over, holding up a small bottle of pills. Beckett's gaze shifted to the bottle as she raised an eyebrow.

"Ah, I see. So that's why you were so reluctant to open the door," Beckett said.

Ann shook her head, her voice defensive. "It's prescription! It's not illegal!"

Before Beckett could respond, Castle and Esposito appeared from the hallway, Castle holding a photo frame in his hand. "Beckett, you need to see this," Castle said, his tone serious.

He handed the frame to Beckett, who looked down at it. Her eyes widened in shock as she took in the image. "Oh my God," she whispered.

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Daniel POV

I had thrown myself into work after the breakup with Haley, trying to take my mind off it by burying myself in projects. In a way, it worked. I had written half of my new novel based on Elden Ring, started collaborating with Christopher Nolan, worked on the Superman script with Scott, and even made progress on the second book of A Song of Ice and Fire.

Was this me crashing out? No, not really, I told myself whenever the thought crept into my mind. I was just keeping busy, keeping my head above water.

Yet today had taken an unexpected turn. The craziest day of my life so far had unfolded, dragging me into a police investigation over the murder of one of my fans—a murder linked to a bizarre cult that had formed around me and my work. Part of me felt deeply guilty about the existence of this cult, knowing that something I did had inspired such madness.

Lucy, my ever-vigilant agent, was in full crisis mode after I told her what had happened. She was furious that I had even talked to the police.

"Why are you so upset?" I asked, irritation seeping into my voice. "They just wanted to talk, and you're acting like they accused me of something."

On the phone, which I had on speaker, Lucy replied, "You should have called me first, Daniel. The media can twist anything. It's already out there; some are saying you're involved!"

I felt my temper flare. "Lucy, the woman was killed with a fucking replica of the sword my main character uses! Of course, my name is going to be mentioned," I nearly shouted, frustration bubbling over.

Lucy's sigh was heavy, filled with exasperation and concern. "I just want to protect you, Danny. This is a PR nightmare waiting to happen."

"I get that, but I need you to release a statement to all the forums, disavowing this cult. Make it clear that if anyone believes this stuff unironically, they should seek help," I demanded, my voice firm.

There was a pause before Lucy responded. "Fine, we can do something about that. I'll draft something and get it out there as soon as possible."

"Thank you," I said, trying to keep the tension out of my voice.

"This isn't your fault, Danny," she added, her tone softening.

"Yeah, I know, but that doesn't mean I don't feel bad about it." I sighed, running a hand through my hair.

Just then, there was a knock on the door, interrupting my thoughts. "I've got to go, Lucy. I'll call you later." Without waiting for her response, I ended the call.

The door opened, and Mick Harrison stepped inside, his demeanor subdued.

"Ah, Mick, right? Is it time for the signing?" I asked, trying to shake off the lingering tension from my conversation with Lucy.

"Yes," he replied in a low voice, avoiding eye contact.

"Alright, let me grab my jacket," I said, turning toward the wardrobe in the room. As I reached for my jacket, the sudden, sharp command from behind me stopped me in my tracks.

"Drop the knife, Mr. Harrison!" Detective Beckett's voice rang out.

'Wait, knife?' I thought, alarmed. I turned back around, my heart pounding in my chest, to see Mick Harrison standing just a few feet away from me, a knife trembling in his hand.

"Dude, what the fuck?" I asked, my voice filled with shock and disbelief.

"Drop it," Beckett repeated, her gun trained steadily on him, her eyes locked onto Mick with laser focus.

Mick's hands were shaking violently now, and after what felt like an eternity, he finally let the knife fall to the floor. The clattering sound echoed through the room as he collapsed to his knees, tears streaming down his face. Beckett moved quickly, the two detectives behind her rushing in to secure Mick. They pulled him up, his expression one of utter shame as they cuffed him and led him out of the room.

Just then, Castle came bursting in. "Oh, good, you're alright. We were just in time."

"Just in time," I muttered, still processing the adrenaline rush coursing through my veins. "What's going on?" I asked, my voice tinged with shock.

Beckett approached me, her demeanor shifting to one of careful concern. "Why don't you sit down, Mr. Adler?"

I nodded, realizing just how close I had come to being stabbed. My legs felt weak as I sank into the nearest chair, my mind racing. That bastard was going to kill me… I was that close to getting stabbed to death.

I looked up at Beckett, the question escaping my lips before I could even think. "Why?"

Beckett looked at me with a serious expression, taking a deep breath before she began to explain. "We found several conversations between Mick and the victim, Jennifer. It turns out he was her friend. But he wanted more, but she rejected him."

"Mick couldn't handle the rejection. He started pretending to be you online to try and create the relationship with Jennifer that he always wanted," Castle added.

Beckett continued, "He thought that if he eventually revealed himself to Jennifer, she would accept him, thinking it was romantic or that she was meant to be with him all along."

"But when she didn't accept him… he killed her in anger," I said, the pieces finally clicking together in my mind.

Beckett nodded. "Yes, that's what we believe happened."

I rubbed my temples, trying to process everything. "But why did he want to kill me?"

Beckett's expression softened, but her words were no less serious. "Mick isn't mentally well, Mr. Adler. When Jennifer rejected him, he shifted the blame to you."

"Fuck, that's terrifying," I muttered. "I'm going to fire whoever suggested having them involved in the first place."

Beckett and Castle exchanged a glance. "Take care of yourself, Mr. Adler," Beckett said as she and Castle made their way to the door. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to reach out."

"Thanks," I replied, trying to muster a smile, though it felt weak and hollow. They left with polite goodbyes, the door closing softly behind them.

Just as they exited, the head of my security team, a large Latino man named Jim, walked in, guilt etched across his features. "Sorry, boss," he said.

I looked up at him, shaking my head. "No, no, it's not your fault. It's mine. From now on, Jim, tighten security—do what you suggested when we first met."

Jim nodded. "Got it, boss," he said before turning and walking out, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

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In the evening, I found myself at Castle's apartment. He had invited me over, suggesting we could talk and also surprise his daughter, who, apparently, was a huge fan of mine. I accepted—after all, the man had played a part in saving my life, and he was also a fun guy to talk to.

What I didn't expect was to end up playing poker with Castle, the Chief of Police, Mayor Robert Weldon, Michael Connolly, and Stephen King of all people. Yes, Stephen King. I was starstruck, but he was incredibly welcoming, telling me he enjoyed The Blair Witch Project and even encouraged me to write horror someday.

The game of poker was intense but fun. Surprisingly, as the night went on, I found myself winning hand after hand. The pile of chips in front of me kept growing, much to the frustration of the others.

"This isn't fair," Chief Michael Connolly grumbled as he watched me rake in another pot. "He's not old enough to play!"

Mayor Weldon, laughing as he leaned back in his chair, replied, "You were very excited to take his money when we started playing, Michael."

"Don't be a sore loser, Connolly," Stephen King added with a grin.

"Well, that's a lot of money," I said, gathering all the chips toward my side, feeling a bit overwhelmed by my unexpected winning streak.

Castle looked at me with mock betrayal. "You told me you never played!"

I shrugged, trying to look innocent. "Beginner's luck," I said, winking at him.

I stood up to get some drinks from the other table. Here I was, in the company of some of the most influential people in New York and Stephen King, casually playing poker and actually winning.

When I returned to the table, King was in the middle of telling a story that immediately caught my attention.

"So, the rights lapsed back to me," he was saying as I sat down. "They never did anything with it."

"Wait, what rights?" I asked, intrigued.

"The rights for It," he replied, almost casually.

The fuck? I thought.

"Are you saying that the rights for It have lapsed back to you?" I asked, making sure I heard him right.

"Yeah," he confirmed, giving me a look. "What, you want a go at it?"

"Well, yeah," I said quickly, not believing my luck.

Stephen leaned back in his chair, a smile spreading across his face. "Well then, let's talk business."

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