Sleepy Hollow: Bridge of Bones

by Richard Gleaves

  He swung his feet to the floor. This bedroom had once been his own—and Valerie’s. Had he ever been happy waking beside Valerie Maule? Honestly, yes. He had been. She had been undemanding, decent, if a bit… unaggressive. Not like Jessica. Jessica told you where you stood. Jessica declared what she wanted.

  Jessica doesn’t need you.

  She didn’t, and he rather missed being needed. Valerie had treated him as if he were a shining diamond she didn’t deserve. Jessica treated him as if he were the undeserving one who should be grateful for any coin she remitted from her golden treasure.

  He scowled at the ceiling, the headache blistering. He needed an aspirin. Five aspirin. He stood and dressed himself in silence. He closed the bedroom door with the tiniest click. Let her sleep, poor thing. I’ve worn her out. Good for me. If only I could remember it. He found the aspirin in the kitchen, chewed a handful, and sat on the sofa, tying his shoes. He felt like himself again. Not a wannabe. Not a never-was. Before Jessica walked out, it had been like this. Peaceful. A cup of coffee on a spring morning. He remembered, suddenly, that today was Easter Sunday. The day of resurrection, of renewal, the return of life after the long months of winter. The day of new beginnings.

  He ran into Valerie in the yard. “What are you—doing here?” she buzzed, her eyes wide and accusing.

  Hadewych rubbed his temple. Her voice would not help his headache. “None of your business.”

  She clutched the Sunday Times across her chest, as if drawing strength from it. “I asked you a question.”

  Hadewych spread his hands. “Well, what are you doing here? I thought you didn’t stay here at night.”

  She scowled. “Get off my property.”

  “Gladly.”

  “And don’t come back.”

  This irritated him. “I have every right to be here.”

  “You should be—in jail. You murdering—sack of shit.”

  Hadewych’s irritation ripened into anger. He’d been in a good mood. Now this bitch was spoiling it. He raised his fingers to his throat, imitating her. “Go—to—hell—you chainsaw.” He considered burning her newspaper with his Gift. Wouldn’t that be a shock? And the Great Curse could take care of the rest. “I’ll come here any time I want. Any time Jessica invites me.”

  She took a step back, glancing at the upstairs apartment. “Jessica?” Recognition grew on her face. “Your Jessica?”

  Hadewych frowned. He didn’t want to complicate matters. “We’ve… reconciled.”

  “Zef’s mother? How dare she.” Valerie muttered a string of obscenities, made more colorful by the sound of her valve pop and the infrequency with which she used them. “Jessica Bridge. In all the time I—knew you—you hated her guts.”

  “I did. And now I love her.” He patted Valerie’s shoulder. “It’s a fine line, isn’t it?”

  She wrenched away and heaved the Sunday paper at his head. It exploded against his shoulder, breaking into sections, into Business and Lifestyle and Faith, scattering in the wind. Valerie ran into the house and turned her many locks. Hadewych retrieved the sports page and read it on the way to his car.

  Valerie turned a circle in her living room, struck by helpless fury, looking for somebody to punch. She grabbed a throw pillow and kicked it hard, as if trying for a field goal. She grabbed another pillow and threw a Hail Mary. The pillow arced across the room and struck the gun safe. Valerie’s brows knit. She went to the safe and twisted the dial. She swung the door open and pulled out a box of ammunition. She gathered handfuls of bullets, went to the front door, and threw them overhanded at the wood.

  She coughed, brought her hands to her throat and opened her valve wider so she could breathe. Why was she so angry? Why should it make her so furious to know that Hadewych was reconciled with—

  How dare they!

  How dare those people be happy? How dare they be back together? After all that Jessica put Zef through, after all that Hadewych had done—neither of them deserved happiness. The idea of them together, upstairs in her home, in the apartment where—

  Oh, why had she stayed in town last night? She’d grown tired of being a coward, that’s why. Tired of running from shadows and living in fear. She’d wanted her own bed and her piano. She’d wanted a normal life, not a perpetual hotel room. She’d wanted a home.

  She knelt and searched for the bullets. A few had rolled under the sofa. A trickle of mucus dripped from her valve and snail-tracked the floor. She wiped it away, embarrassed by it, and broke into tears.

  This is why I’m angry.

  Because I deserve happiness, not them.

  She sat with her back against the sofa, returning the bullets to the box one by one.

  Good people should be happy, not evil people. Good people should have friends and lovers and husbands. We shouldn’t be alone. She glanced at the door, at the deadbolts, the iron bar, the security chain. My door to the world is locked, she thought, and the words enveloped more things than she could begin to comprehend. It’s locked and no one will ever break it open. No one will ever come save me.

  She dried her eyes, composed herself, and went to her desk. She found her father’s seashell there, on its leather thread. She kissed it and slipped it around her neck. She booted her Mac, opened her word processor, and began to type.

  NOTICE OF EVICTION

  Dear Ms. Bridge,

  This letter is to inform you of my intent to evict you from my property at…

  Jessica laughed when she woke and found the eviction letter. She fetched an eyebrow pencil and wrote at bottom: MAKE ME. She signed it with a kiss of bright red lipstick and slipped the paper under Valerie’s door.

  Hadewych took a side trip to check on the reliquary. He parked behind a mound of dirt at the former site of the GM plant. As he walked, he mentally rebuilt the place from the outline of the foundations. He saw the finishing plant and the freight elevator and the assembly line and the dumpsters; the closet where he’d kept his mops and cleaning supplies. He could feel the railing of the north stairwell under his touch, like the ghost of an amputated limb. He saw Bradley Warren’s office, that snot-nosed kid in Human Resources who had canned him. Years later, Hadewych had come back to witness the demolition but he’d felt no joy. Jessica was gone by then. This had been his old life. His happy life. Under the wrecking ball.

  His feet took him to the lighthouse. He glanced back, making sure he was unobserved. He kissed his fingertips and pressed them to the small green plaque that read The Crane Foundation.

  He unlocked the rusty lighthouse and went in. The interior walls were of red brick, like Dylan’s brick, though not the same. Buckets and rags littered the old keeper’s apartment, long abandoned. Hadewych ascended to the second level. The Crane Foundation would be turning this space into a tiny Maritime Museum after the remodel, which he could string out for months. He climbed a steel ladder to a trap door. He took out his key, the only copy, and climbed into the roost. The reliquary lay hidden in the base of the great lantern, just as he’d left it. He’d tried to rid himself of this smaller, ghastlier lantern but it kept coming back, like all sins come back. Agathe wouldn’t let him renounce his heritage. But he could hide his past away, hopefully, and lead a normal life. Have a new beginning. He wanted that, desperately.

  He went out onto the tiny balcony overlooking the Hudson. He gazed at the Tappan Zee Bridge and the landing below his feet where he and Zef had fished together.

  It’s time to put the past behind…

  The police were waiting for Hadewych when he got home. Well, one policeman. David Martinez, father to Edward the football player, the one Hadewych had gotten expelled. There was no love lost between the two fathers, and Hadewych had suspected that Martinez would try to harass him eventually. He was tempted to drive on but the officer raised a hand in greeting. Hadewych parked the new family car (an excellent little Phantom Coupe) next to the Mercedes and climbed out. Martinez met him in the yard.

  “What can I do for you, officer?”


  “I’m going to ask you some questions,” said Martinez. He was a dumpy man, rather swarthy, with an unfortunate crew-cut that emphasized his thinning hairline. He carried himself like a bully, as if he were standing on the testicles of lesser men. Just the kind of miniature Attila who would kick a child’s lemonade stand over for the absence of a health permit.

  “Is this about your son?” asked Hadewych.

  Martinez scowled. “Have you seen him?”

  “No. Why?”

  “We’ll speak inside.”

  “I’m fine out here.”

  Martinez scratched his hip, his hand brushing his sidearm, accidentally of course. “You want to make this hard?”

  Hadewych cocked his eyebrow. “Of course not. Only… the place is a mess. My ward Jason is… untidy.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  Hadewych shrugged and fished for his key, the one with the triangle on it. He felt Martinez’ eyes at his back as they entered. Hadewych hated police. They always made him feel guilty, even though he’d done nothing.

  Martinez flopped onto the davenport. “Nice house.”

  Hadewych took the straight-backed chair. “Thank you.”

  “Not yours, though?”

  “Half mine.”

  Martinez nodded. He produced a notebook. “Who was Eliza Merrick?”

  “A dear friend.”

  “And she’s dead.”

  “Tragically.”

  “How?”

  “She fell down those stairs,” Hadewych muttered, pointing.

  “She fell.”

  “Yes.”

  Martinez nodded thoughtfully, allowing Hadewych time to squirm. “And who was… Debbie Flight?”

  Hadewych relaxed. He’d had nothing to do with Debbie. Still, he didn’t like this line of questioning. “I believe she was… yes. The realtor. The one who killed herself.”

  “We’ll make that determination, thanks.” Martinez nodded thoughtfully again. He drew a photo out of his pocket—of a New York type in suit and tie. “Did you know this man?”

  “No,” said Hadewych, honestly. “What is this about?”

  “How about this man?” He flashed another picture: a curly-headed man about thirty.

  “Both are strangers.”

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Martinez tucked the photos away. “That’s Franklin Darley and Arthur Rackham. Darley was found dead in October, Rackham disappeared at Thanksgiving. His car was found on the side of the road. His family’s been looking for him.”

  “Goodness. Sounds like you have work to do.”

  Martinez grimaced. “Yeah. And my Eddie has disappeared.”

  “What you mean, disappeared?”

  “He just never came home.”

  “And what does your son running away have to do with me?”

  “Nothing. A lot. I really don’t know. You did get him kicked out of school.”

  “He got himself kicked out.”

  “You pressed it. Put your money behind it. It is your money, right?”

  Hadewych shook his head. He felt like going on the offensive. “Jason’s money. You know, the boy your son almost murdered.”

  “Kid pranks.” Martinez flipped a page. “You were the host of that Stone Barns thing, yeah?”

  “Yes. And I can’t believe you people haven’t found those murderers yet.”

  “Yeah, me neither. I… can’t… believe. I can’t get a straight answer from the Washington types.” He patted the notebook against his knee. “We’ve had a lot of murders lately. And suicides. And… accidents.” He glanced at the back door.

  Hadewych tensed but he was an expert at this sort of thing. “That’s horrible. You think there’s a killer running around?”

  Martinez nodded. “And I think I know who it is.”

  Hadewych hesitated. “Who?”

  Martinez raised a finger, pointing at Hadewych’s chest. “Your son.”

  “What?” Hadewych leaned forward. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Would you lower your voice?”

  “No. What could possibly make you think that… Zef—”

  “Well, there’s a couple of busboys from Stone Barns who aren’t telling the same story as the others.”

  “Busboys,” said Hadewych, dismissively.

  “I questioned them in Spanish and they say they saw a Headless Horseman.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “That’s what they say.”

  “There’s no such thing. And what’s that have to do with Zef?”

  “He’s the school mascot, isn’t he? If I searched this house wouldn’t I find a Horseman costume? And he did flee the scene.”

  Hadewych stood. “Get out of my house.”

  Martinez rose, slowly. “So now it’s your house? Not half-yours? Tell me. Who pushed the old woman down the stairs?”

  “How dare you.”

  “How dare you. Where’s my boy?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Something stinks.”

  “What stinks is you waving your badge around and trying to intimidate my family for your own personal vendetta. Making ridiculous accusations against my son that have no basis. And you know that, don’t you? You know damn well.”

  “I’m just… following my leads.”

  “Of course you are. This couldn’t possibly be payback for the expulsion, could it? Your boy deserved everything he got and more.”

  “Now, you listen…”

  “No. You listen. He’s a punk and a bully and if he’s disappeared he’ll probably turn up in an alley with a needle in his arm.”

  Martinez’s hand strayed to his weapon again. But he flexed his fingers, relaxed, and headed for the door. “You have a good day, Mr. Van Brunt.”

  “Why, thank you, Officer Martinez.”

  Martinez turned on the porch and grinned with unmistakable malice. “Happy Easter.”

  “Happy Easter,” said Hadewych, shutting the door too roughly. He paced in the living room. Martinez wasn’t seriously accusing Zef, or else he’d have taken Zef in. He wouldn’t do that. Not on a hunch. Zef was a popular kid and there was absolutely nothing to suggest his guilt. But… what if? What if Hadewych’s sins were… visited upon his son? Hadewych could afford to hire the best lawyers in the world… couldn’t he? Couldn’t he justify that expense to the court? Getting his son a lawyer? Paying for it with Jason’s money? Hadewych had no money of his own. What if they did come after Zef—after Jason turned eighteen? All the more reason to steal the Legacy before then. After all, Hadewych might need that money in the future. Especially if these things kept coming back to haunt him. Why couldn’t he put this nonsense in the past? He’d made a fresh start. He was a new man. A good man. Couldn’t the universe see that? He walked to the kitchen and poured a glass of apple juice. He scowled at the scrap of paper on the breakfast room table. The old woman’s taxes were due. Her income tax, her property tax. He needed death certificates and had another visit to probate court ahead, he had her headstone to pay for, Agathe to deal with, Van Brunt Foundation paperwork, and where was Dylan’s letter? And why was Paul Usher not returning his calls? And now Martinez… Why couldn’t things be simple for once?

  He saw the light blinking on the kitchen phone. He stabbed a button to retrieve his messages.

  “Hadewych, it’s Justin Piebald. Sorry to call you on a holiday but I need to speak with you ASAP tomorrow morning. I’m looking at some bank statements here—I took the liberty of requesting them for the Legacy accounts—and they don’t match the statements you submitted at our last conference. Give me a call so we can meet and sort out these discrepancies. My number is…”

  Hadewych searched the cabinets and found more aspirin. His headache had returned to haunt him.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  “Valhalla”

  Jason Crane knelt at the grave of his grandmother with a wreath of Easter lilies in his hands. She had a tombstone, finally.<
br />
  Eliza Merrick

  Beloved Mother and Grandmother

  Joey had helped him pick it out, after Hadewych got around to authorizing it. It was rose granite, a little rough at top, smooth and mirror-bright on the sides. He could see his reflection in it, a skinny boy in a suit. He straightened his tie, imagining that she was doing it.

  “Why don’t you haunt me anymore?”

  He waited. She didn’t answer.

  “Did I Curse you?” he whispered.

  Jason didn’t like the look of her grave. No grass grew on it. He saw a tiny weed and remembered her words. He tore it out of the ground and threw it aside. He had promised to pull the weeds from her grave. And he always would.

  He despaired at the state of the cemetery. The Palmyra section looked dismal, slightly sinister. He laid the wreath of lilies on the brown grass, securing it.

  “I don’t know what else to do, Eliza. I’m just one person. And I’m so… alone without you. I’m going to go see my parents today. Like you always wanted me to. It’s time.”

  He searched for her voice but found silence. Why wouldn’t she speak to him any more? The magnetic poetry hadn’t budged, nor had the Scrabble tiles, not even to spell, “The Great Beyond is experiencing technical difficulties. Please stand by.” No reply came, not even in his head. No, don’t let me lose her voice, don’t let me forget the sound of her voice. He would need to read something of hers, soon. Keep her near, keep her alive. He searched his heart and… there she was: “We all die, baby. In all the long, long history of the world there’s not been one of us who didn’t. We’re not here to see what came before and we’re not here to see what comes after. But we’re here now. And it has to be enough. It has to be.”

  She would always be in his heart, at least.

  “You okay, Jase?” Joey had walked up the hill. He wore slacks and a button-down shirt. His hair was combed and his face was uncharacteristically clean.