Even though it was not in sight, even though it was a good ways away, I knew exactly where Katrina’s eyes wandered—the bridge. His bridge. The Headless Horseman’s bridge drew her attention more than the two attractive men before her.
“Why?” I spoke, utterly confused in every way.
The arguing between Ichabod and Abraham stopped, and through the crowd of onlookers, I was able to watch Katrina’s neck turn, ever so slowly, until she gazed right at me.
Yeah, at me. The person who shouldn’t even be here. The woman who was out of her own time. Katrina versus Kat 2.0. The look she gave me could kill, even though she was a good distance from me. Her full lips frowned, and in slow motion, she opened her mouth.
The next thing I knew was screeching. My skin burned, and my head throbbed. Inside my skull, my brain threatened to explode. I brought my hands to my head, as if holding the sides of it would stop me from exploding. Tears fell from my eyes, and through it all, my vision turned pink. They were not salty, watery tears. They were tears of blood, of bone-wrenching sorrow and pain.
And I wanted to die.
No. I wanted…
I wanted to fucking live, and this woman, this town—it wasn’t going to be the final nail in my coffin.
As my will hardened into stone, I closed my eyes, readying myself to sprint toward her and sucker-punch her in the gut. Something, anything. If she could see me, surely I could hurt her? If she was the cause of my pain, I could inflict some right back. I wasn’t afraid to get down and dirty, rough and tumble…
But the moment I opened my eyes, I wasn’t in old-time Sleepy Hollow anymore. I was back in Crane’s house, standing in his kitchen with a pen in my hand and the peanut butter spoon on the floor. I must’ve walked to the stainless-steel fridge and yanked off the notepad hanging there, because beneath my hand and the pen, the magnetized notepad sat, full of directions. Directions I didn’t remember writing.
The big oak tree near the center of town, due west, thirty steps off the road, at the base of an old, fallen tree, six feet down.
My fingers dropped the pen, and I took a step back when I realized the note was not in my own handwriting. It was far too swirly, and in cursive, too. Who the hell wrote in cursive these days? And some of the words…weren’t spelled quite right, almost like the note was written in old English, just like the book of shadows.
Which, I pointedly noticed, was gone. Nowhere in sight anymore.
What the hell was going on? What was happening to me? I reached for my face, remember how I’d been crying bloodied tears just moments ago, but my face was free of any tears, salty or not. Almost like none of it had happened, like it was all in my head.
A breeze blew past me, causing me to shiver, a cold creeping over me and settling deep within me. I turned my head, finding that the set of double doors was open, yet again. My eyes returned to the note for only one second before I headed to the doors to close them. Outside, the world had started to turn to dusk, the sky no longer blue, but purple and red. The sun was nearly setting, and yet, as I stood there, my arms outstretched toward the glass doors, a feeling of ice grew.
Cold. I was so cold. Why?
A sharp buzzing sound erupted in my head, and I threw a look over my shoulders, thinking I was somehow back in old Sleepy Hollow with the original Katrina Van Tassel looking like she wanted to rip out my eyes and eat my heart. But there was nothing behind me. Nothing but Crane’s expansive, ridiculously expensive house.
I was about to shrug, to shut the glass doors, but then something cold grabbed my wrist, jerking me forward, out of the house. I fell onto the patio, the glass doors still wide open behind me, falling onto my knees so hard the bones felt bruised. I was seconds from leaping up and glancing all around, and then darting back in the house, but pain spread from the back of my skull as something hit it, and the world went black.
The next time I opened my eyes, greeted by a pounding head and cold stonework all around me—a crypt in one of Sleepy Hollow’s cemeteries—I wanted to pretend this was a dream.
But it wasn’t. It was real, and I sat, face-to-face with the one person I never thought I’d see again.
My dad.
Chapter Twenty – Crane
I couldn’t say how long Brom and I sat in the study, but I did know it was a while. The air was thick between us, a certain kind of tension only he and I could understand. We’d never liked each other much. I was a few years older than him, and I was usually away for the summers, so I never encountered him and Kat together. I was obscenely jealous that he got to spend so much time with her growing up, however.
It simply didn’t seem fair, not considering everything. I felt for her just as he did; he was just fortunate enough to know her. Me? I had feelings for a girl I’d never met for years, and then feelings for a woman I never thought I’d have the chance to see. Working with her father, a secret part of me always hoped she’d decide to visit, take a short holiday or something, but she never did. It was as if her father didn’t exist to her, and the same with Sleepy Hollow.
And me. The same with me.
It wasn’t too far of a leap to think that she could never feel anything for me since it was clear being away from Sleepy Hollow hadn’t been too difficult for her, but to hear her say she had feelings for me—and, by extension, Brom—made me both relieved and slightly confused.
Relieved to know she could feel for me, confused that she could feel the same way about Brom, someone who was so immensely different from me. Everyone liked Brom. Just like Abraham, Brom was the local hero, the guy everyone knew and liked. Me? Everyone saw me as the weird eccentric who worked with Phil Aleson. It didn’t bother me so much what the townies called me, but it did bother me how easily everyone always seemed to fall into Brom’s lap, as if he was the golden child of Sleepy Hollow, just as his ancestor was.
Ichabod Crane was the loser in the story. Nobody liked Ichabod, therefore hardly anyone liked me. It wasn’t as if I went out of my way to be liked; I preferred to stick to myself, but still. It was annoying.
And hearing Kat liked us both? I wasn’t quite sure what to do with that information, how to handle it. I felt drawn to her, and I could only assume Brom felt the same way, so to hear she felt it too was both enlightening, relieving, and aggravating.
I didn’t want her to feel for Brom. I wanted her to like me and only me, and I was certain Brom felt the same.
Brom and I were swallowed by silence for a long while. The minutes ticked by, the world outside slowly darkening. I was slow to look at him, wondering what the man was thinking. Similar thoughts as I was?
Brom must’ve felt my stare, for his blue eyes slowly turned to me. He still sat on the floor, his thick legs spread out, beside the chair I had moved to when I sought to comfort Kat. We were a few feet apart, far too close, considering I disliked the man, and yet neither of us made the first move.
“So,” Brom broke the silence of the room, eyeing me up warily. He said nothing else, probably because there was nothing else to say. I didn’t know about him, but my mind still reeled a bit.
“So,” I echoed, sounding…resigned. If Kat liked the both of us, I knew it was only a matter of time until she no longer liked me. That’s just how things went. A Crane would never triumph in Sleepy Hollow. We were destined to lose, to run away with our tails tucked between our legs. The town’s golden child always won out in the end.
“Kat likes us both,” Brom went on, as if I couldn’t remember Kat’s words for myself. I could, and I didn’t want to. It was only prolonging the inevitable.
“She does.”
Brom’s stare hardened as he studied my hunched figure on the edge of the chair. “And we don’t like each other.”
“We don’t,” I agreed, meeting his eyes. At least we could agree on the facts. At least there was that. I was sure it was more than what could’ve been said about our ancestors. I highly doubted they ever stopped trying to one-up each other to even have a civil conversation.
“Technically, the original Katrina was forced to choose Abraham simply because Abraham scared Ichabod out of town, using the Headless Horseman as a prank,” I muttered, earning myself a deep scowl from him. “But I suspect you’re right. I don’t know her as well as you do—” God, I hated saying those words. “—however, I can tell she’s not a fan of the old stories, or tradition.”
“I’m not giving her up, even if she doesn’t choose,” Brom warned me, and I glanced at him sharply.
“Me either,” I stated, doing my best to puff out my chest and seem intimidating. For a man like Brom, it came naturally. He looked like a weight-lifter, packed with muscles and a stature that you wouldn’t want to come across in a dark alley at night. Still, I would not back down here. Even if I thought it was a tad hopeless, I would remain in this race for as long as I could.
Kat…I felt for her more than a man should, considering I’d just met her not too long ago, but I couldn’t help myself. This town and its spirits, its legends and its hauntings; it was clear Sleepy Hollow itself had magic. How else could I love her before even meeting her? Why else did the thought of being with another woman make me anxious and sick? Yes, as foolish as it was, I loved that woman, and I wasn’t going to sit back and let Brom have her.
No. I wasn’t going to run from town like my ancestor did. This time, this Crane, he was here to stay.
Silence once again took over the room, and Brom and I sat there, lost in our own thoughts. It was a few minutes before Brom said, “So, that’s it, then? Neither of us will give her up, so we’ll…both date her?” He spoke slowly and stilted, as if he couldn’t believe what he was suggesting.
I could hardly believe him, either.
Both of us date her? Was that something people did?
“I…” It took me a while to find the words to say, and they weren’t particularly good ones, either. “I suppose, provided she wants to do that.”
“Yes,” Brom spoke, “of course.” His fingers tapped on his knees, and an air of awkwardness spread between us. If we indeed both went on to date her simultaneously, I had a feeling this awkwardness would become somewhat normal.
It was another long while before I said, “She’s been gone quite a while. Should we go to her and apologize?” At this point, I wasn’t even certain what we’d be apologizing for, but I’d do anything to not have Kat upset with me.
Brom ran a hand down his face. “Well, she did say not to follow her, but I think when women say that, they really do want you to follow them.”
“Ah, and you know this from your vast experience with other women?” I didn’t know why, but I wanted him to say yes, to say he’d been with countless of other women before. A man like him wasn’t lacking for female attention, but if he felt anything similar to what I did when I thought about other women…well, maybe he wasn’t as much of a sleaze as I thought he was.
“Movies,” he said. Brom got to his feet, and I slowly followed. I was taller than him, though I was also skinnier than him, so I couldn’t lord over my height to him. “And I have dated, just…” He stopped himself, rubbing the back of his neck. “None of them were Kat, so none of them lasted.”
I nodded, not saying anything else as I led us out of the study and into the hall. I was the first down the steps, calling out for her, “Kat—” I brought us through the dining area, to the kitchen, where the patio doors were.
They were wide open, the wispy breeze of the nighttime air sifting inside the house, blowing past us. Kat was nowhere in sight.
Brom tried calling her cell phone, but got no answer. He swore.
My legs brought me to the back patio, and I gazed all around, past the manicured bushes and the stonework and the outside furniture. I didn’t see her anywhere. Didn’t see any sign of a struggle.
Kat wouldn’t have walked outside. She knew the house was safe. Unless…unless someone came here and grabbed her, but then why wouldn’t she have fought, struggled and screamed? Why wouldn’t she have made a scene? The only thing I could think was that whoever it was caught her off-guard while Brom and I were too busy awkwardly bonding upstairs.
“Crane,” Brom’s voice from inside the house brought me back to reality.
I ignored my wildly thumping heart and the worry coursing through my veins as I found Brom standing near the kitchen island, the notepad that normally hung on the refrigerator in his hands. He turned the notepad to me, and I took it, studying it.
“What is it?” he asked, and I read the note twice, three times, to be sure.
“Directions,” I said.
“To where?” Brom asked, tapping the island in nervousness. When I didn’t say anything, his hands curled into fists. “We have to find her. If this town kills her, I’ll…” He couldn’t say what he wanted to, but it didn’t matter, because I felt the same.
If Sleepy Hollow killed her, if a spirit got to her and possessed her, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself either. I’d go crazy. I’d lose what little sanity I held onto.
I took the note, a peculiar feeling in my gut, tearing it off the notepad as I headed to the front door. Brom followed me, asking where we were going. I only looked at him and said, “You’re driving. We’ll need to make a pitstop.” I got into his car, not even bothering to lock my house. Didn’t matter much anyway; the most valuable thing was still missing: Phil’s journal.
Brom got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “Where are we going?”
I told him the convenience store, and he knew exactly which one I meant. It was dark by the time we walked inside, past the acne-riddled teenager behind the register, who sat on a stool with his head in his hand, reading some comic book. The teenager didn’t even glance at us; we were the only ones here.
I headed straight to the aisle that had the outdoor stuff; being a convenience store, they didn’t have a great selection, but any old one would do. Brom studied me, asking me, “What are you—” He froze the moment I reached for the shovel hanging on the rack, then another.
My fingers curled around the shovels, and I met Brom’s eyes, knowing, deep down, the man knew what we were about to do.
The note. There was only one place the note could lead. Whoever took Kat didn’t leave it; Kat did.
“No,” Brom said, following me to the front register, silent as the teenage worker rung me up and I paid. We exited the store, getting into the car. “Tell me we’re not doing what I think we’re doing.”
The shovels resting on my lap, I glanced at him.
“Those directions—” Again, Brom tried to speak, but was unable to finish. I had the feeling by the end of the night, assuming we all emerged from it alive, he’d be speechless numerous more times.
“The head,” I said. “Of course, I’m not certain they lead to the head, but we’ll find out, won’t we?”
“But Kat—”
“I have no idea who took Kat, or where she is. The Horseman will be able to find her.” It made sense if I didn’t think about it too hard. This could very well be a huge, terrible mistake, or it could be the only way we’d find her.
I prayed we wouldn’t be too late.
I opened the note after pulling it from my pocket, directing him where to go.
The big oak tree near the center of town, due west, thirty steps off the road, at the base of an old, fallen tree, six feet down. It wasn’t a comprehensive list of directions, but we’d manage.
The center of town mainly consisted of a park-like area with a gazebo. It was where the town’s festivals were held. There was more than one tree, but a certain oak tree was the largest. Brom parked his car in the parking spaces near the sidewalk, and we got out. I handed Brom the shovels, focusing on following the directions.
Due west from the big tree took us out of the park, past the shops lining the area. Directly behind the shops, a field sat, and though I hadn’t c
ounted my steps, I glanced all around. Houses butted up against the field a ways away, but I knew centuries ago, this area had been nothing but a field.
Perhaps, even, a battlefield where a certain man had lost his head.
Brom peered around me at the note, and he raised an arm, pointing with one of the shovels. “Over there,” he said, and I turned to look. Maybe an acre or so out, a great tree had fallen over, split from its stump. It was the only one felled in the area, nature wanting it back. We hurried to it, and Brom handed me a shovel. “Where do we start?”
Honestly, I had no idea where we should begin. The directions weren’t that specific, unfortunately for us. We’d have to dig and hope that the head lay somewhere beneath. Six feet down—that was a long way to dig.
I shrugged. “You start over there, I’ll start here.” We were far enough from the road that no one would see us, unless they themselves chose to walk in this little grove. It was a good thing Brom was a police officer; we could always use his badge if we needed to. Then again, since he wasn’t in his uniform, I didn’t know whether or not he had his badge on him.
The moon rose in the sky as Brom and I began to dig. Needless to say, Brom was a better digger than I was. He had the muscles, and he was able to heave the shovel into the ground with ease. With me, it took a little more work, a bit more sweat.
I had no idea how much time passed, but I knew every moment that ticked by wasn’t good. The longer Kat was with them, whoever, whatever they were, the less likely we’d reach her in time.
I couldn’t lose her. I couldn’t. I’d only just found her; to let her slip through my fingers so soon would be madness.
Sweat beaded along my brow, and I ignored Brom’s progress with his own hole and focused on mine. Digging a hole was a lot of work. I never knew exactly how much until tonight. Minutes ticked by, though I knew those minutes had to add up to at least an hour or two.
The moon was high in the sky, and Brom was climbing out of his first hole, ready to dig the second, when I heaved the shovel into the dirt below, hitting something hard. Brom heard it, and he stopped to look at me. “Root?” he asked, trying not to get his hopes up.
The Cursed Hollow (Return to Sleepy Hollow Book 1) Page 18
