SLEEPY HOLLOW: General of the Dead (Jason Crane Book 3)

by Gleaves, Richard

  “I’ve got you! I’ve got you!” Tamper grabbed Jason’s ankle and pulled. His other hand pressed down on Jason’s knee. He straightened Jason’s leg inch by inch, but the cramps intensified. Jason shouted and cursed, his fists balling, his back arching. He’d never experienced anything like it.

  “What’s wrong with me?”

  “It’s tetanus,” said Tamper. “It’s a lot better than it was.”

  “Better?”

  “Oh, yeah. I don’t know what you cut yourself with, but you had a bad infection in your arm. I stitched you up best I could.”

  “God! It hurts!”

  “Just ride through it.”

  Jason screamed again. He had no choice but to ride through it. His hamstrings bunched, his toes pointed, and his legs fought to snap closed like a Swiss army knife.

  “Shh. It’ll stop.” Tamper gave him the toothbrush to bite. “It’ll stop. It’ll stop. It’ll stop. It’ll stop.”

  It didn’t stop.

  Zef sat with Charley in his lap. Even though he had to endure Mather’s withering scowl, he felt a lot better having unburdened himself of everything he knew. He hadn’t realized how heavily the secrets had been weighing on him. To have that weight gone was almost as big a relief as knowing that Jason might have survived July fourth. He was glad to have Joey there for support, though he could hardly bring himself to look Joey in the eye.

  “I’m very disappointed in you boys,” Mather said, drumming his fingers on Usher’s desk.

  “Don’t blame Joey,” said Zef. “It’s my fault. We should have told you right away. I was protecting my dad.” He scratched Charley’s head. “But if he’s got Jason… Joey and I can’t handle him alone.”

  Mather stroked his chin. “You actually think Hadewych Van Brunt has been keeping the Crane boy prisoner? I’ve known you two for a long time. He’s never struck me as a violent man.”

  “He puts on a show,” Zef whispered. “But he’s a monster. He’s to blame for everything.”

  “The blame doesn’t matter,” said Joey. “What are we going to do about it?”

  “We,” said Mather, “are going to do nothing. Paul is in charge of this town, at least where supernatural matters are concerned. If half of what you’ve told me is true—if Hadewych is controlling the Horseman—this is a matter for us, not you boys.” He raised a finger. “You two stay out of this. I insist.”

  “But what about Jason?” said Joey. “We’ve got to look for him.”

  Charley whined, agreeing.

  “And we will,” said Mather. “I assure you that every effort will be made to find Jason and bring him safely home. Paul has more than enough resources.” He turned to Zef. “And Paul doesn’t like being lied to, believe me. Hadewych put on quite a show of grief when we brought him in for questioning. He’s a good actor. Our detectives didn’t suspect a thing. Do you think your father has Kate?”

  “I don’t think anyone has her,” said Zef.

  “Explain,” said Mather.

  “I would know if she were in trouble. I love Kate.”

  Mather raised an eyebrow. “Not to be indelicate, but aren’t you a…”

  “Yes,” said Zef. “But I still love her. She’s my best friend. That hasn’t changed. I don’t feel any psychic alarms, so… that probably means she’s…”

  “Dead,” whispered Joey.

  Zef hung his head. “And that might be on my dad. I don’t know. I guess he’s capable of anything.” Charley saw his pain and scratched his chest, attempting to lick the tears away.

  Mather slapped palms on the table. “I’ll speak with Paul. We will leave no stone unturned. Your friend is as good as rescued. I’m glad you came to me with this. I give you my personal promise that Hadewych will be brought to justice. I lost friends at Stone Barns.”

  Zef wiped a tear. “Are you going to kill him?”

  “Is there any reason we shouldn’t?”

  Zef could only think of one reason. “He’s my dad.”

  Mather sighed. “I’m sorry, son. That’s not reason enough.”

  Zef hung his head and whispered, “I know.”

  Joey took Charley in his arms and they walked outside. Zef still couldn’t meet his eye. Joey opened Ladybug and set Charley down on the driver’s seat.

  “My mom says we can keep her,” said Joey.

  “I wish I could,” sniffed Zef. “I like the little mutt. But, you know… Paul’s allergies.”

  “It’s just for a little while. Jason will be back soon. Besides. I did pay a hundred bucks for her.”

  “I’ll pay you back,” said Zef.

  “I don’t want to be paid back.”

  “I’m responsible.”

  “No. You’re not.”

  “I should have stopped my dad.”

  “Listen.” Joey rubbed Zef’s arm. “They’re gonna find Jason. I have no doubt. Everything will be fine now. He’s not dead. That’s amazing. We should celebrate.”

  “I can’t celebrate,” said Zef, looking at the darkening sky. “I don’t deserve it.”

  “So you’re breaking our date tonight?”

  “I didn’t think you’d want to.”

  “I’ve been, like… counting the minutes, you jerk. If you’re still up for it.”

  “You’re just trying to cheer me up.”

  “Of course not. You know how much I love football.”

  “Come on, Joey. How can you even stand to look at me?”

  Joey’s voice became gentle. “I can look at you because you’re a sexy beast. And you’re not your dad. And you’re trying to do right.” He kissed Zef on the cheek. “Be on time. And don’t wear that prep school shit. People will think I’m into Mormons.”

  Zef rolled his eyes but nodded. Joey could always make him smile.

  Joey climbed into the car and started the engine. He rolled down the window. “By the way. How do you think your mom will take the news?”

  “About Jason? He’s family. She’ll be thrilled.”

  Jessica screamed and kicked the coffee table over. She turned circles in the Usher living room, hands clenched, face turning purple. She fell to her knees and beat her fists on the royal purple carpet as if beating her sour grapes into wine.

  Mather watched from the hallway, his face placid and amused. Paul approached, entering from the kitchen with a bowl of oatmeal in one hand and a spoon in the other. He listened for a moment then cocked an eyebrow.

  “A new wrinkle,” said Mather. “Let’s talk in your office.”

  Usher followed Mather down the hall. “Do I smell dog?”

  Jason’s screaming went on and on, but the cramp finally subsided. He wilted with relief and pressed his face into the blanket. “Oh, thank God. Thank God. Thank God.”

  “Once you’re up and walking it will get better fast,” said Tamper. “Hold your leg straight.”

  Jason obeyed. He rotated his foot, cautiously, afraid of a repeat performance. He accepted pills from Tamper’s hand and washed them down with a blessed mouthful of cold water. “Let me out of here, please?”

  “I’d love to. But I’m his prisoner too.”

  “Whose prisoner?”

  Tamper sighed. “He doesn’t show his face. He came after me in the parking lot after my shift, said if you died he’d kill me. He brings food, he brings medicine, he sleeps downstairs sometimes, but I don’t know his name.”

  Jason forced his breathing to slow. He tried to concentrate, but the pain was still fogging his head.

  “I’m just glad to have somebody to talk to.” Tamper patted Jason’s shoulder. “It’s been pretty lonely. My stuff’s downstairs. Let’s get some food in you.”

  At the word “food,” Jason’s stomach let out an enormous echoing growl. Food. God! Food. “Yes, please.”

  All Tamper had to offer was a bowl of room-temperature SpaghettiOs, but the slop tasted better than Eliza’s lasagna. Jason allowed the doctor to feed him, to wipe his chin when he spilled, as if he were a newborn. He felt a thous
and times better with food in his stomach. A million.

  “I’m sorry,” Tamper whispered, raising a spoon.

  “For what?”

  “For not saving your grandmother.”

  “I don’t blame you for that.”

  “I remember her. And you. You were pretty shook up. I could tell you loved her a lot. Is there some epileptic condition in your family?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Only that you and she had the same symptoms. Like you were being frightened to death. I couldn’t do the same tests on you, but it was like your fear center was on overload. You’ve been… calling out in the night. Struggling.”

  “Like she was?”

  “I thought maybe it was a seizure condition. I got our captor to bring some anticonvulsants, but they did nothing for you. Do you remember anything?”

  “I…” Jason frowned. “I beat him.” The words surprised Jason. They were the same words Eliza had spoken, when she’d briefly awakened.

  “Beat who?” said Tamper.

  “I… honestly don’t know.” The bowl was empty now. Tamper produced a wad of stale bread. Jason wiped the bowl clean with it, licking his fingers. “So tell me. Can we get out of here?”

  “It’s locked up tight. The windows downstairs are painted over and boarded up. These portholes are too thick to break. I’ve tried. And we have nothing to send a signal with. It gets dark in here. You can’t imagine.”

  “What’s the layout?”

  “I haven’t seen the first two floors. He brought me in with a pillowcase over my head, but there were two flights of steps. When he’s here, he sleeps on the second floor. I can hear a TV sometimes. He watches the stupidest shit. Lowbrow crap. And sometimes he snores. There’s a door between floors two and three. It’s got a flap, and he pushes things through it. Medicine when I ask. Food. Mostly canned stuff. Sorry it’s cold and gross. He won’t allow a hot plate. And there’s no electricity on three or above anyway. I’m down on three.”

  “What floor is this?”

  “This is four.”

  Jason pointed at the spiral staircase. It led to a trap door in the ceiling. “What’s through there?”

  “I wish I knew. I’ve never been able to get the trap open. There might be… never mind.”

  “What?”

  “There might be someone else up there.”

  Jason immediately thought of Kate. “A girl?”

  “No. It’s weird. Sometimes I hear… laughing. A man laughing.” Tamper shrugged and smiled, but Jason could tell that he was unnerved. “But that’s impossible. They would have starved to death by now. I might be going nuts. It’s been hard, I don’t mind telling you. God. It’s good to talk to somebody. What’s your name, anyway?”

  “Jason Crane.”

  Tamper straightened, as if introduced to royalty. “As in the Crane Foundation?”

  Jason winced. “Yeah.”

  “Wow. So you’re the kid with all the money. You’ve done a lot for the town. Thank you.”

  “Drop it, please.”

  “Sorry. I’m babbling. But I see signs for the foundation all over.” Tamper went to work getting the room together. “Jason is an excellent name, by the way. You should be proud of it. If I had a son, I’d probably name him Jason.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s from the Greek. It means ‘healer.’”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Well, now you do.”

  Jason looked at his hands. Had his parents known the meaning of his name? Had they named him “Jason” as a nod to the family healing Gift? His palms seemed strangely… hot. Hot and itchy.

  “If we get out of this,” said Tamper, “I’m going to hit your foundation up for a new hospital wing. You know, this is finally making sense to me.”

  “What is?”

  “This. He must have kidnapped you for the ransom. I bet your partner would pay anything to get you back.”

  “My partner?”

  “Your guardian, right? The one who runs the foundation for you. The guy with the weird name.”

  Anger rose in Jason. He didn’t feel like a healer, suddenly. He wanted to hit something. He wanted to hurt somebody. “Yeah. You’re right. This is all making sense now.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “The Crane Foundation finances this lighthouse. Like all the other Sleepy Hollow landmarks. That’s why he put us here. That’s why he was able to board it up without anyone suspecting.”

  Tamper understood. “You’re saying—we’ve been locked up by your partner? But… he’s a philanthropist! Everyone says so.”

  Jason rose to his feet, fighting the return of the leg cramps, refusing to let them start up again. “He’s no philanthropist. He’s no guardian. He murdered my grandmother. He’s kidnapped both of us. He’s an evil shit. I don’t know what he’s up to, but I know it’s him. It’s always him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. It’s always—”

  “Who?”

  Jason made a fist, wishing it were wrapped around a particular throat. “Hadewych Van Brunt.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “The Satanic Circle”

  Hadewych hesitated at the door of his former home. He dreaded every return to Gory Brook, but he couldn’t stay at the lighthouse for long, since neither Agathe nor Eddie could do errands for themselves. A mosquito whined past his ear. He slapped his own cheek, but missed the bloodsucker. He tightened his grip on the grocery bag he carried, turned his key, and went inside. Trash bundled up behind the door as he pushed it open. An empty plastic soda bottle clattered away and came to rest beneath the coffee table, which was heaped with dirty dishes and glassware.

  He glanced outside, at the sun setting over the village rooftops, feeling embarrassed, as if the whole world giggled at the squalid shame hidden behind his drawn curtains: piles of laundry and newspaper, oily handprints and flyspecked lampshades, stained towels and crusty tinfoil. A jumble of possessions, most of them Eliza’s, broken and stained as if he’d marked his territory. The squalor was not entirely his fault, of course. Zef had abandoned him, and housework had been Zef’s responsibility. Eddie was a slob, prone to blending exotic protein concoctions that splattered the kitchen cabinets and curtains. He often heard Eddie grunting in the night as he lifted weights—endless, rhythmic grunting, like a man beating an animal to death, echoing up the rope ladder to fill the rooms above.

  Hadewych had tried to clean, many times. It should have been easy. He’d been a janitor once, after all. He actually enjoyed cleaning—for others. But if he tried to clean his own home, well, he filled trash bag after trash bag, tied them off, and then… He always planned to take the bags out on trash day. But trash day came, and he felt too embarrassed to drag his trash out to the curb, to leave the bags on display, in public for everyone to see. It was easier to collect them inside. Hidden. Black snowmen in the corners of each room, watching facelessly. And of course, the more snowmen, the more shame to hide from the neighbors, and the greater his curbside pile would be the next time he tried to clean. It never ended. And it never could.

  He closed his door to the world and locked it. He had many locks to turn now, just as Valerie once had. But Valerie’s kept dangers out. Hadewych’s kept secrets in.

  He carried the groceries into the kitchen, brushed a section of countertop, knocking clutter into the sink, and set them down. He kicked trash aside on his way back through the living room and paused at the bottom of the stairs, dreading his ascent.

  If only Jessica had taken the deal. It would have been simpler. Now I have to kill her. Try again, anyway. If Agathe will let me.

  He pressed upward, hesitated at the top, and knocked on the door of the master suite. It swung open at his touch. He stepped inside, curious. He hadn’t seen his former bedroom since Agathe had taken it over. It was exactly as he’d left it. Once the filthiest room in the house, now it was probably the cleanest, relatively speaking.

  The stain on the ceiling had spread, and the
border of that circle glistened with sap, or honey, as if bees buzzed behind the plaster. He shivered, thinking of New Year’s Day, when he’d made his resolution to be a good man, yet had come home to find the Horseman’s Treasure waiting on his mattress in a pool of lake water and slime, as if it had fallen from that stain—from the tunnel above his bed.

  The reliquary would never let him go, would it? Sometimes you can touch a thing, and it clings to you for all eternity. Like gum on a shoe, or the smell of gasoline. Like Br’er Rabbit’s tar baby. Like the black snowmen downstairs. Some evils… you can never drag to the curb.

  “What are you doing?”

  Hadewych whirled. Agathe stood in the doorway behind him. She was a wild thing today. Lately, she went through stages of erratic personal grooming. Sometimes well-scrubbed, beautiful and poised, aware of her body and its allure, sometimes a feral creature, hair matted, face dirty, crouched in a corner drawing obscenities on the wall. Today she wore Hadewych’s best cashmere sweater, as a short dress, and it was ragged and torn. A smear of red hung on her mouth. He hoped it was lipstick, but knew that it wasn’t. Her knees and elbows were black, as if she’d been digging.

  “I’m—I’m sorry. I—”

  “I need you.” She disappeared up the attic steps silently, like the ghost she was. Hadewych followed, with much resentful clomping. Sometimes he couldn’t separate the ghost from the host, and it annoyed him to take orders from a seventeen-year-old girl.

  The attic had changed. Agathe’s perpetual scrawl ran across the walls, drawings of wildflowers and herbs, crude maps and symbols. It covered everything, like the hypergraphia of a schizophrenic. A severed hand rested on one of the rafters. Not a human hand. White marble, cut from some statue. A red candle protruded from the back of it. A Hand of Glory. Fetishes hung from nails: bundles of sticks, bird claws, the tail of a black cat. Tiny bones, hopefully animal bones, dangled from white threads, like the leavings of a spider-feast. The octagonal window at the far end of the room hung wide. The night breeze was cool, autumnal, and capricious. The fetishes spun lazily, stick-people dancing together, throwing skeletal shadows. The door slammed shut behind him.