"Mrs. Van Brunt, you shouldn't have come into town," Mr. Boer said. "This is going to be bad."
"I had to try one last time to stop what we know is about to happen," she said.
"These two men have to tangle," another elder said. "It has to happen. No point gettin' in the way anymore to try to stop it."
"Why, Mrs. Van Brunt?"
The low voice came from a tiny woman who stood behind them in the store with distressed eyes.
"Why? What do you mean, Mrs. Bakker?" Katrina asked as the men looked on.
"The Headless Horseman hasn't been seen nor heard for some ten years. We haven't even spoken its evil name. Now you all make it a center of full conversation again."
"None of this is my doing, Mrs. Bakker, or my husband's. It is this stranger who has caused all of this unrest. He almost killed my husband's men, and he spends his time spreading spurious lies about my husband with no hint of evidence."
"You don't even understand. None of you do. This isn't about two mortal men at war with each other. We're tempting the spirits. The war is between our mortal souls and evil, dark forces. We made it go away because we did not speak its name, and it let us be for ten years. Now doubters come into our town, doubting its power, doubting its evil. You're going to make it come back, all of you! You're going to make the Horseman come back!"
Mrs. Bakker was terrified. That fear was transferred to everyone else in the store. Katrina swallowed hard.
Hans continued to chop his wood for the fireplace. He didn't need to anymore. He had plenty to last for weeks, so it was more habit to pass the time. Today he did it to try to keep his mind off of other things, but it wasn't working. He stopped and stood up to look in the direction of Tarry Town. He knew what was about to happen, but there was nothing for him to do about it.
He liked Julian as much as he had liked Ichabod. He didn't want his new acquaintance to end up like his old friend. Julian didn't have room in his skeptical head to believe in the Horseman or any supernatural being, but Hans forgave him for that. He just didn't want Julian to end up like Ichabod in the end, dead, and be permanently remembered with an adjective attached to his name forever.
That poor Mr. Ichabod Crane.
That poor Mr. Julian Crane.
Several of the riders split away from the main group and rode at breakneck speed to the edge of the town. At each end, three sentries were already stationed to stand watch and stop anyone from leaving. The other riders quickly tied up their horses and marched down the street. No matter how long it took, the posse was to check every building, every room, every corner, and every possible hiding place to find Julian Crane.
Brom told them that it didn't matter if he was a marshal. "Get him and we'll sort out the consequences later," Brom said. No one asked what "get" meant. They had already decided amongst themselves that they'd shoot him on sight.
Two men reached the town livery stable and rushed in with guns drawn. They looked at each horse to verify none were the stranger's. One of the men ran up to the second floor to check. The remaining man, when done with inspecting the horses, ran back outside to circle the entire building.
Another two men reached the church.
"He's not here," the pastor said to them in a disgusted voice.
"We'll check anyway," said one of the men.
"Do what you will," he said back as they brushed past him. "Interesting that looking for a man to kill is the only way to get you in these walls."
"When I die, you have my permission to bring me in these walls," one of the men said back sarcastically.
The men walked down the aisles looking at each empty pew before searching the rest.
Tarry Town's schoolhouse main door was barricaded. The men who reached it didn't bother to force it. They looked through the windows to see all the children sitting on the floor watching them.
The stern schoolmaster gestured them away with his hands. "Go away from here! Don't you bring no gun fighting near the children!" he yelled at them.
Several men made a search of the taverns, and more checked each establishment as they walked up and down the street. De Graaf made himself as visible as possible to try to keep both Brom's men from going too far in disrupting the people's business and to keep the townspeople calm by showing there was at least some kind of impartial authority on the street to look after things.
Julian's horse was tied up in front of the post office. The three riders walked up slowly with guns raised, everyone in Tarry Town and the Hollow knew what his horse looked like by now. The horse looked up at them and bit at the air as they drew closer.
Nearby they could see an abandoned wagon filled with bales of hay. The first man could see someone hiding in the hay and smiled. He touched his lips with his finger and then pointed to it. The other two men nodded. All three of them pointed and fired.
Brom could hear the shots from his post and could now see all his riders moving to the scene. More shots echoed and then more. He smiled. The end of Julian Crane.
"Get down from your horse!"
The voice behind him made his heart stop. Brom turned his head slowly and there was the man—Julian Crane—aiming his gun right at Brom's forehead.
"Get down from your horse! I'm not going to say it again!"
Brom ignored him. The expression on his face was devoid of any emotion. Julian moved closer and gripped his gun with both hands, ready to fire. Brom threw one leg over his horse and jumped down.
"My men will kill you!" he yelled.
"Perhaps, but the one thing I do know is that you shall be the first body for the undertaker this day." Julian kept his gun aimed at Brom's face. "This is it for you, Brom Bones. You chased my poor uncle down in the middle of the night and killed him. It was a cowardly crime to get him out of your way to allow you to marry the daughter of the richest man in town. My uncle was a man who never did you no wrong. And you murdered him!"
"I didn't kill him! He was full of life when I left him. I scared him, yes. Chased him, yes. Threw a stupid pumpkin at him, yes. But I didn't kill him!"
"I'm sending you to hell. Good-bye, Mr. Brom Bones."
Julian aimed and Brom felt his knees buckling.
Time slowed down in Brom's eyes. He saw himself as a youngster barely reaching up to his father's knees. He saw himself as a rough-and-tumble, bold and brash young man with his Sleepy Hollow Gang following his every step on their never-ending misadventures in around the Hollow. He remembered when he first saw Katrina—how beautiful she was. He remembered standing before Old Man Van Tassel in a borrowed suit, standing as erect as he could, to formally ask permission for her hand. His future father-in-law was noticeably impressed with him in following the traditional ways. He didn't have to ask him for permission, as Katrina would make up her on mind in this matter. He did anyway, and the Old Man smoked his pipe in satisfaction at the show of deference. He remembered the feeling when Katrina answered, "Yes." He saw their wedding again. He felt the immense joy in his heart, and only one other event in his life could rival such a feeling. His entire life was playing before his eyes.
In an almost inaudible whisper, but to Julian, it was the loudest sound he had ever heard, Brom looked at him with sad eyes and said to this earthly agent for the Grim Reaper, "I didn't kill him."
Julian's finger paused on the trigger.
"Don't kill my father! You, bad man!"
Julian was beginning to turn when Brom yelled out, "Peter!"
A blur ran past Julian and a child jumped in front of his father with his hands outstretched. "You shall not kill my papa!" Brom grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and put the boy behind himself. "You're a bad man!" The boy popped out again from behind his father. "You shoot my papa and I'll get you, you bad man!"
The little boy was probably around five years old. There he was trying to protect his father with defiance, but there was also a growing panic in his face. The boy knew what death was, and he was terrified that it was about to happen to his father.
In the distance, Julian saw Mrs. Van Brunt running to them as fast as her legs could move. Off to the side was a cute brown pony that he imagined the boy rode all by himself into town. Several people ran close behind her, including Mr. De Graaf. Julian looked up at Brom one last time and then walked back the way he came.
Katrina grabbed her son into her arms. "Peter! Peter, how could you do such a thing?"
"Mama, I had to keep that bad man from killing my papa!"
She held him tight. "Yes, you did."
Brom realized that he was holding his breath. He inhaled deeply as he bent down and grabbed his knees. The other riders reached them and watched Julian in the distance.
"Mr. Van Brunt, we'll run him down," one of them said.
"Let him be," Brom said.
He stood and couldn't stop hugging his wife and son both. Katrina looked into his eyes, and they both had tears. He had stared across the threshold of death and was shaken to his soul by the experience.
"What do you want us to do, Mr. Van Brunt?" one of men asked.
"Send the riders home. It's over."
Follow
"Come with me!"
Six months ago Julian had met the man.
"Sleepy Hollow is where I am going," Julian answered.
He had been through so many towns that they were starting to run together in his mind along with all the people he had encountered. But he would never forget the bizarre animals, the feeling of dread, and the nightmares, even though he tried to convince himself that he had. And there was a man whose encounter stayed with him from when he passed through the northernmost part of Virginia on his way back from both Tennessee and Kentucky.
It was a tiny town. He expected to be in Pennsylvania the next day on his way to New York, and stopped to cautiously ask around what the reputation of the Hollow was in surrounding areas. Almost everyone knew it for its tales of ghosts. The more sober folk said it was a nice place to visit.
"Why don't you tell me why you're going there?" the man asked.
He was wearing deerskin clothes with a black hat. He never met a Black Indian before and learned he was part Mohawk, which normally meant to Julian that he wouldn't be friendly. But the War was over, and they were all one nation now.
Somehow the man managed to get Julian's true intentions out of him. It seemed that the man already knew what they were before Julian revealed them. They sat in a local eatery where the man told Julian all about Sleepy Hollow in more detail than anyone had recounted for him before along his long journey.
At one point, he grabbed Julian's hand. The Indian's skin was fully callused and one of the little fingers on his left hand was gone. He explained to Julian that a coyote wanted it more than he did when the Indian was a toddler. The man had grabbed Julian's hand to ensure Julian paid close attention.
"Don't go to Sleepy Hollow," the man said.
Julian smirked. "I've been traveling for half the year and planning for the half year before that. Sleepy Hollow will be seeing me in three days and that's all there is to it. Not you nor anyone else will be stopping me."
"Don't go to Sleepy Hollow," the man warned him again. "It will be a road to evil that you will not be able to pull yourself from once you start. At the end of that road will be true evil."
The man knew his breath was wasted. He even tried to scare Julian with talk of dark clouds following Julian and that he was entering a world where evil did not want him to go.
Julian laughed. "I don't believe any of that superstitious, supernatural nonsense."
The Indian chose not to be offended.
As the evening drew on, with plenty of drink in his belly, the man started to tell a tale.
"There's a story among my people about a great brave. He was the greatest warrior who had ever lived. But as with most great heroes, he had a fatal flaw. There also existed a great black buffalo, and it was the most fearsome beast that had ever lived in the lands. Its soul was as black as its fur and its eyes. It killed many braves and wounded many more. It even killed the great brave's family.
"The great brave said he would kill the beast, and despite the wisdom of the elders, he refused help from any of the tribes in his great hunt. It became his obsession, and that would be the great brave's undoing. He thought because he was the strongest and most capable hunter that he needed no one, that revenge would be his alone. He left his tribe to hunt the great black buffalo alone, saying he could not allow anyone else to share the danger with him. He said these words not out of bravery and concern for his people, but of vengeful hubris. He alone would bring back the bones of the great black buffalo, he declared to all.
"Many moons passed and the great brave never returned. A scouting party was finally sent out to find him.
"The great brave had found the great black buffalo. He had hunted it to the ends of the great cliff. The brave avenged himself on the buffalo as he professed. Never surrendering to fear.
"They found both of them at the bottom of the great cliff. He had speared the beast to death, and it had gored him to death. They went to the great cliff to fight, and both went over the cliff in death, side by side for all eternity in a lake of blood made from them both. The brave never listened to his people. There was no reason for him to die. The beast was clever and ran until the great brave had exhausted himself. It knew the brave would never give up his pursuit. It took advantage of the brave's obsessive hate.
"There is nothing great about lying broken and dead at the bottom of a cliff with a rabid animal next to you, Julian Crane. Especially when that is not how the gods intended for your life to end. Sometimes self-sacrifice is not the bravest path after all. Sometimes a great brave must work with others, not because he's not brave but because that bravery can so easily be confused with many base emotions that are far less noble. Sometimes the bravest thing to do is...simply walk away."
Julian had been quiet all along as the Black Indian told his story. The two of them were sitting across from each other in a tiny tavern with large glasses in front of them.
"I hope the moral of my story isn't lost on you. Intelligent people are often the least wise people when it comes to what really matters in life."
The man took a last gulp from his glass before leaving without even a good-bye.
Julian realized that it was doubt that made him remember this man from so many months ago. Had he made the right decision after all? Was his "hunt" a folly from the start? Who killed his poor uncle then, if not Brom? What would he do now?
Julian didn't bother to go back for his horse. He would do that later tonight. He walked the two miles back to the Hollow and then to Van Ripper's place. It was the only friendly place left to him.
"What are you plannin' to do now?" Hans asked him.
Julian sat at his supper table with a cup of coffee in hand. Hans sat across from him with his own cup.
"I don't know."
"I thought you said you were gonna hunt that foul murderer of your uncle Ichabod Crane to the ends of the earth if need be."
"I was. I am."
"What happened then?"
"Brom didn't kill him."
"You were so certain before that he did it."
"I have a talent for seeing through lies. Brom didn't do it."
"What made you so certain before?"
"What does it matter? My conclusions were false."
"I told you who killed your uncle, but you chose to disregard me. I knew Ichabod better than you."
"I know, but I will stick with the murderers of the natural world before I start looking for those in the supernatural one."
Hans leaned back. "I think you owe Brom an apology for the trouble you caused him. If you are sure he didn't do anything foul to your uncle, after all."
"I don't need to do that. We unde
rstand each other. Nothing more needs to be said."
"Is that so?" Hans smiled and stood from the table. "Are you leaving Sleepy Hollow?"
"I don't know yet. I need to rethink my plans."
"Yes, I'd say you have to do a lot of improvement in that arena."
"Hans, when was the last time this Headless Horseman was seen by anyone in Sleepy Hollow or nearby?"
"Ten years ago, I suppose."
"After my uncle disappeared?"
"Yes, I suppose."
"Why do you think that's the case?"
"There's nothing to think. It was satisfied with all the souls and Hollow blood it got."
"I thought your boogieman wanted heads not blood."
"Take a man's head off his body and, believe me, there's plenty of blood."
Julian felt himself starting to laugh but held it back. "I can't argue with that."
They could hear commotion outside the cabin—horses riding up, and men talking and walking up to the door.
There was a knock, and Hans walked to the front door. He noticed Julian slowly remove his gun from the holster and hold it under the table. Hans shook his head at him in disapproval.
"Hans!" A man in a tan cowboy hat stood at the opened door.
He was very tall with a large mustache and stubble for a beard. His long tan coat almost touched the ground and wasn't buttoned, and one could see a glimpse of his gun belt underneath.
His eyes caught Julian at the table. "There you are." He turned back to Hans. "Are you going to let me in, or am I going to have to stand out here for a hundred years?"
Hans let the man enter the cabin. It looked like at least a dozen riders were with him, but they made no movement to dismount.
The man walked to Julian and extended his hand. "Mr. Julian Crane, I am United States Marshal Damian Marshall."
"United States Marshal Julian Crane."
The Marshal grinned as he glanced at Hans. He turned back to Julian and his chin rose. "You mean specially appointed Marshal Julian Crane? You're in the job for revenge. I'm in the job to maintain law and order. You don't mind if I read that letter you have from the governor that I've been told about."
Hollow Blood (Sleepy Hollow Horrors, Book 1) Page 7
