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

by Gleaves, Richard

  Jason tried not to think of Kate. The phone was working. She could get through. Maybe she didn’t have the number. He didn’t have a number for her, and he wanted very badly to reach out and touch someone again.

  The downstairs had begun to look livable. Joey performed an inspection, chin imperiously high, testing surfaces for dust with one finger. He climbed the stairs, smoothed his hair, and in perfect imitation of the psychic from Poltergeist announced, “This house is clean.”

  They rolled their eyes and sent him out for food.

  Joey had been gone most of an hour when the door opened and Charley began barking. “Finally,” said Zef, rising with wet knees from soapy linoleum. “I’m starving!”

  But it wasn’t Joey.

  It was Jessica. She wore a smart blue suit and had not a hair out of place. She’d done her makeup expertly. She strode across the living room and put a finger to her son’s chest. “What the hell are you doing here?” She sounded stressed out and unlike herself.

  “Helping Jason clean,” said Zef, showing her his yellow gloves.

  “Paul wants us in Boston. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” She tapped her temple. “You might have called. Why are you hiding from me?”

  “I’m not going to Boston.”

  “It’s not a request. We’re done with this town, and it’s done with us. Come home and let’s pack your things.”

  He bent over his mop bucket and wrung out a sponge. “Maybe you didn’t hear me? I said no.”

  She rolled her eyes. “This is about your little boyfriend, isn’t it?”

  “Don’t call him that.”

  Jason cleared his throat. “Would you guys like privacy?”

  “We’re telepathic,” said Jessica. “There’s no such thing. Do you have any idea what’s happened here? You know how many people have died? How many questions are going to be asked?” She collected herself and calmed down. “I’m sorry. I’m desperate for a cigarette right now. I have a message from Paul for you, Jason. Kate’s given us an account of what happened. Paul says… well done.”

  Jason raised his eyebrows, surprised. “Thanks, I guess.”

  “He says ‘well done’ and he’ll be sending a team to help you out.”

  “With what?”

  “Whatever you need to get things buttoned up.”

  Jason thought. “I’m fine but… the Sleepy Hollow Boys. They’re still in jail on murder charges. Those guys were possessed. They’re innocent. If Paul’s got the connections…”

  “I’ll tell him. I’m sure he can do something. I’m starting to think he can do anything. His scrub-team is all over Lyndhurst. Poor Mather.”

  “So Kate’s with her dad?” Jason said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Can I—get the number?”

  Jessica gave him a knowing look. “I’m not free to give that out.” She turned to Zef. “You can’t be in the middle of this, baby.”

  “I’m not leaving Joey. This is home.”

  “And where are you going to live?”

  “I’ll figure it out.”

  “He can stay here,” said Jason.

  She raised an eyebrow, and Jason could tell that her estimate of him had gone down some. “I thought you had some sense. You’re staying in the Hollow too?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Paul would give you a job if you asked.”

  “No thanks. But if Zef can bear to stay here, he’s welcome. We are family.”

  “So you’re going to sponge off Jason?”

  “No,” said Zef. “Jeez.”

  “Well, he will be rich here, shortly. He turns eighteen on November first and then he owns the Legacy free and clear. I’m sure he’ll be able to keep you in the style to which you’ve become accustomed.”

  “Why are you acting like this?” said Zef.

  She rummaged in her purse, took out a green lollipop, and unwrapped it. “You belong with me.”

  “Do I?”

  “Of course.”

  “Because I have a question.” Zef’s voice gained an edge. “Where were you? At the Blaze?”

  “You know where I was.”

  “Do I?” Zef balled his fists. “When Hadewych set me on fire. And I died. Where were you?” He tapped his temple. “Psychic alarm, right? You didn’t come running. Or at homecoming, for that matter.”

  Jason hadn’t considered this, but it was a good question. Jessica was a Pyncheon. Why hadn’t she sensed that Zef was in danger? Did she not… love her son?

  She stuck the lollipop in her mouth. “I’ll take you up on that privacy offer, Jason.”

  Zef held up a yellow-gloved palm. “No. Stay. If you love me, Mom, you would have known I was in trouble.”

  She sighed, chewed the lollipop to nothing, and waved the air with the white stick. “If I still had my alarm. I’ve lost it.”

  “How? When?”

  “A long time ago.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s the truth. It’s embarrassing, frankly. I don’t want to talk about it. I do love you, Zef.” She reached out to smooth his hair.

  Zef darted away, maybe thinking she would voodoo him. “I think you’d better go.”

  “Not without you.”

  “Get out of here, Mom.”

  “Fine. It was guilt, okay?” She spat the words out. “Ten years ago. I felt guilty for leaving my little boy. And my Gift turned against me. Like your grandmother. Part of me went sour. The alarm hasn’t worked since.”

  “That’s the truth?” said Zef.

  “Yeah. So I do love you. I’m not a bad person, baby. I’m just a bad mother.”

  The door opened. “Whose car is outside?” said Joey, entering with arms full of McDonald’s bags. He saw Jessica and scowled. “What’s she doing here?”

  “I’m here to see my son, if it’s any of your business.”

  “What’s the matter?” said Jason, for Joey seemed oddly hostile.

  Joey dropped the food bags on the coffee table. “Oh, nothing. I was just talking to Valerie. It seems Mike’s buddies at the firehouse mysteriously forgot where he was at homecoming and yet—lo and behold, they’ve all just remembered and come to his defense with an airtight alibi. As far as I know, there’s only two full telepaths in town, and Zef didn’t do it, so…”

  “Are they releasing him?” said Jessica.

  “Already did.”

  “Good. Mike sounds like a nice guy. Valerie deserves some happiness.”

  Zef’s thick eyebrows turned up in an expression of suspicion and horror. “Did you frame him, Mom?” He searched her face. “On Paul’s orders? Or Mather’s?”

  Jason sensed her shielding her thoughts.

  “I am trying to do the right things,” she said. “You don’t always know what they are.”

  “So you did do it,” said Zef.

  Her eyes went from face to face. “Don’t be silly.” She snagged a few French fries and munched them. “You’re right. I ought to go. But think things out before you stay. What will you live on? Paul won’t pay your bills. I’ve nothing to give you. And even if Hadewych did steal seven million from Jason—”

  “How much?” Jason gasped.

  “Have fun sorting that out,” said Jessica. “But even if he left some honest money, you won’t get a dime if he’s a missing person. I’ve learned all about that recently. You’ll have to wait seven years. So…” She took another French fry. “How will you live? Selling popcorn? You won’t like it.”

  Zef shrugged. “I’ll manage.”

  “It’s just like your father! He left you nothing.”

  “That’s not true,” said Jason. “Hadewych did leave one thing. The Horseman’s Treasure. We lost the skull inside, but Zef can break up the reliquary itself. For the gold.”

  Jessica scowled at him. “You’re kidding.”

  “It’s his. It’s a Van Brunt inheritance. We’ll take a hammer to it. Boom. Problem solved.”

  Jessica smiled. “You’re funny, Jason.
”

  “I don’t need much,” said Zef. “I don’t need Hockaday School. I’ll finish senior year at Sleepy Hollow. Classes start again soon.”

  “November third,” said Joey. “A week from Tuesday. I’ve been asking around.”

  “I can’t miss senior year,” Zef said. “Joey’s going to do Hamlet.”

  “You’re playing Hamlet?” said Jason.

  “No,” said Joey, with a shrug. “But the gravedigger gets the best lines.”

  Zef spread his hands. “I can’t miss that.”

  Jessica went on tiptoe and kissed Zef on the temple. “Okay, kiddo, do what you want. I’m not going to beg. Boston is waiting if you change your mind.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Come find me, baby. When you decide you want more out of life than…” She gestured to the mop bucket. “… janitorial work.” She shouldered her purse.

  “Hey, Jessica,” said Jason, stopping her. “There’s something else you can tell Paul. The Appointed didn’t save Sleepy Hollow. We did. Me and Kate and Joey and Zef. And Valerie. We solved things. Not them. They just made things worse. So tell him—all of them—to leave us alone, okay? We’re not taking anyone’s orders. We’re rogues and we’re staying rogues. If he doesn’t like it, tough.

  “I’ll be thrilled to tell him that,” Jessica opened the door, turned, and smiled. “Take care of yourself, Jason. Remember, I’m still next in line.” The front door clapped shut behind her. The three boys collapsed into chairs, listening to her car pull away.

  Zef stripped his yellow gloves. “Holy crap,” he said, handing out burgers. “She’s a nightmare.”

  Jason couldn’t help but agree. They sat and ate, huddled over the breakfast table, in silence except for the slurping of straws and the whining of Charley, who kept leaping for a treat.

  “Oh my God,” said Joey, suddenly dropping his quarter pounder. “Rogues.”

  “Wha?” said Zef, speaking around a chipmunk-cheek of fries.

  “Rogues what?” Jason tore some patty for the dog.

  Joey laid a hand on the table. “The Rogues. That’s our superteam name.”

  The boys sat and thought it over.

  “Isn’t it… taken?” said Jason. “I think The Flash…”

  “Those are villains,” snapped Joey. “Besides. DC doesn’t count. That’s what DC stands for.”

  Zef grinned. “I kind of like it.”

  “Me too,” said Jason, feeling a peculiar thrill of excitement.

  Joey raised his milkshake. “Gentlemen, and Kate in absentia, and you too, Charley the wonder dog. I give you the Rogues.”

  “The Rogues,” said Jason and Zef, and they all clinked paper cups.

  Joey pulled out his phone. “Now, let us consult the superheroes wiki.”

  As Joey dove into his research, Zef nudged Jason’s arm. “You were kidding about the reliquary, right?”

  “Yeah,” said Jason. “No way we’d pass off that gold.”

  “I was wondering.”

  “Probably got some curse on it. Turn the town into lizards or something.”

  “So where’d you put it, Rogue Leader?” said Joey, his eyes still on the screen.

  Jason dunked a McNugget in hot mustard. “Oh, I—hid it in the recycle bin.”

  Joey laid down his phone and raised his hands. “All right, in my defense, there’s no way I could have known that.”

  The boys looked at each other, shot to their feet, and ran outside. The recycling bin was on the front curb, just where Joey had left it. But the trucks had come. The bin was empty, and Agathe’s reliquary was… gone.

  Zef scratched his head. “What did you say about cursed gold?”

  “That’s one way to get rid of it.” Jason sighed. “Good work, Joey.”

  Joey shrugged. “Easier than walkin’ it to Mordor.”

  “Word is spreading, Paul!” said a beautiful Indian woman in a clipped English accent. She wore a tailored bouse and tight skirt and held a phone pressed to one gold-spangled ear as she strode through the halls of Phelps Memorial. “They’re saying that something truly supernatural has happened in Sleepy Hollow. They’re online, talking about ghost-sightings and headless killers. We don’t have the resources to scrub it all. YouTube is full of videos, orbs presenting themselves to the townspeople. It’s not definitive, thank God, but it’s… convincing. People are believing.”

  “Relax,” said Usher. “Have any Gifted been exposed?”

  “No. But we’ve never had an outbreak like this one. It’s a disaster.”

  “Define ‘disaster.’”

  “Thirty-eight people in comas sounds like a disaster to me.”

  “Only if they die. What story are we going with?”

  “Dam broke, electric cables in the water. Event director negligence.”

  “Good. Be optimistic. We might get thirteen to twenty new Founders out of this. I tell you, we’ve been shortsighted. Speak to the Elders. An outbreak now and then might be just what we need. To survive as a species.”

  “They won’t go for that.” She checked her face in the window of the hospital gift shop, tucking her dark hair behind one ear. “You know they won’t.”

  “Let me talk to them.”

  “Not happening.”

  “You know I’m right. I’ve searched the future. My election will change things. So a few normals die. So what? This has been a total win for us.”

  “Speak for yourself. My whole life’s been upended. Drop this madness. Now. But—speaking of total wins…”

  “You’ve got my poll numbers?”

  “Your daughter is a natural and the camera loves her. Beautiful girl, tragic kidnapping, miraculous homecoming. It’ll be a landslide, Mr. Senator.”

  “Mr. Senator. I like the sound of that. Kate’s on her way down. To break the other news to Zef. Make sure she gets back to Boston. Where are you?”

  “At the hospital again.” She sighed. “One of the comas woke up.”

  “Already?”

  “This one’s from the homecoming massacre. The quarterback. Struck in the head by a flaming football.”

  “Now that’s an origin story. Just when you’ve heard them all. Be charming.”

  “Aren’t I always?”

  She hung up and slipped the phone into her purse. She entered room 390 and found it empty. A flush sounded. She opened the bathroom door, surprising a redheaded teen half-in and half-out of his pants.

  “Hey!” He covered himself. “Ever hear of knocking?”

  “Cody McBride?”

  “Yeah. And you are?”

  “Give me your hand first.” She extended a coal black palm, and dubiously, he shook it. A ripple of energy coursed between them, and in the mirror, her eyes shifted from cornflower blue to red. “Excellent. I am your new best friend, young man.”

  He gaped up at her. “Who the hell are you?”

  She smiled.

  “My name’s Mather.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTY

  “The Halloween Spirit”

  At dawn on October 31, the miracle happened. A band of red and gold light crested the Pocantico Hills. The bare blighted trees stood silhouetted, like skeletons linking hands around a bonfire, and were swallowed by flame, until you couldn’t tell where the trees ended and the sky began, the two were so similar. The sun mounted the crest, bringing Halloween morning, and the early birds of Tarrytown gasped at what they saw.

  The hillsides above Sleepy Hollow rippled with harvest foliage, as if the rot on the woods had healed overnight, as if the leaves had been hiding all this time, busily painting their own faces with scarlet and umber and pumpkin rind, impatient for this magical day when they could burst free and show off their costumes. The branches exploded with color—with fiercely crayoned wonderment, blazing like a chemistry set caught afire—jumbling all the mellowcreme colors of a trickster’s hoard: Kit Kat red and Butterfinger gold and Sour Patch green, Reese’s and Skittles and Smarties and Nerds, and the disappointing but traditio
nal orange and black of cheap generic peanut butter twists.

  The contrails of airplanes toilet-papered the ice blue sky, and a vampire nip of cold air shivered a million leaves into motion, a ballet recital of oak and hawthorn and maple, each leaf giggling and waving to the watchers below, slapping the buildings awake—Get up! Get up! You don’t want to miss it!

  The eyes of strange flowers blinked from their beds, from window boxes, from sidewalks, from their huddle beneath the town clock—lotus and mandrake, snapdragon and foxglove, a witch’s brew of herbs and creepers that no one had planted there. Cattails galloped in Patriots Park and a scattering of out-of-season sunflowers tilted curious heads in the Palmyra section. A crack had opened across the concrete slabs of the GM plant, undermined by the rush of water from the milldam. From it, a single green shoot emerged, a long-protected nut of the lost Hokohongas tree. A new American chestnut, immune to the hundred-year blight, and the first of the species’ triumphant return.

  Sleepy Hollow Cemetery had retained a little of its creepiness, just for effect—some spider-web and skeleton-key jitteriness, a clank of chain and rusted lock, an occasional jolt of shadows or raven-song—but the sunken graves had filled, like rectangles of black bread risen overnight, and one could sense that, after the holiday, the cemetery would shrug its shrouds and reveal the beauty beneath. The air smelled not merely of chocolate, but was infused with that cocoa-powder aroma, unique to Halloween, that builds inside a jumbo bag of Whoppers and mini-Snickers long ripened on a dime-store shelf. That tiny exhalation of malted mummy-dust when you first crack the seal.

  The Halloween spirit had come to Sleepy Hollow.

  But that was not the miracle.

  The miracle was… tourists.

  They began arriving around ten a.m., jingling the bells of Ichabod’s Restaurant, ordering steak and eggs, pulling into the Citgo station to top off the rent-a-car, waiting at the door of the gift shops, queuing at Sunnyside, grouching about the Lyndhurst and Philipsburg closures.

  They bought posters of the Old Dutch Church, tchotchkes and souvenir mugs and Horseman sweatshirts. They milled along Beekman Avenue, taking pictures of the pumpkin-headed scarecrow that menaced traffic and of the Horseman rearing on the side of the fire truck. They took forbidden rubbings in the burying ground. They picnicked and tailgated and unboxed Ouija boards. Cash registers rang at every village landmark. It was the greatest tourist season that the Hollow had ever known.