Sleepy Hollow: Bridge of Bones

by Richard Gleaves

  “Jess?” He strolled into the bedroom and found her transferring stacks of clothes from her dresser and into a suitcase. A garment bag hung on the bathroom door. Hadewych frowned. “What’s all this?”

  “Bad breaks,” Jessica said. “I’ll have to cancel our date tonight.”

  “Why? Is someone sick?”

  “Yes.” She smiled and continued her work.

  “Who is it?”

  “Me.”

  “What’s wrong, baby?” Hadewych reached for her, concerned, his voice gentle. “You’re sick?”

  She evaded him. “It’s time for me to go.”

  “Go?”

  “I’ve done what I came for. No point in delaying.”

  “For how long?”

  “For good.”

  Hadewych snatched the clothes out of her hands. She snatched them back—a pair of slacks and a negligée—folded them neatly and packed them into the overstuffed suitcase. She tried to close the lid but couldn’t. “Be a dear?”

  Hadewych held the lid down for her. “You said you were sick?”

  She thumbed the combination lock. “I am sick. Of you.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Why not?”

  “We’re just getting started.”

  “Were just getting finished.” She produced another suitcase.

  “Come on. Let’s talk over dinner. I have something for you.” He reached into his pocket. His fingers closed on the velvet box.

  “I have something for you too.” She marched out. He followed her into the living room. She knelt, pulled a briefcase from under the sofa, and set it on the countertop next to the vase of yellow roses. She popped the briefcase open and handed Hadewych a manila folder.

  “What’s this?” he said.

  “Your copy.”

  “Of?”

  “Our divorce papers.”

  Hadewych stared at the folder, opened it, discovered sheets of legalese from the offices of Justin Piebald, Attorney-at-Law. “You’re kidding.”

  She opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of white Zinfandel. She took a pair of newspaper-wrapped wine glasses from a cardboard box, spilling excelsior on the floor like a scattering of rice. “Don’t bother ripping it up,” she said. “It’s already filed. It’s a done deal. You and I are severed at last.”

  Hadewych dropped the folder on the counter. “I won’t sign it.”

  She turned the corkscrew. “You already did.”

  “I what?” He flipped to the back page and saw his name there, his flamboyant signature, with its distinctive “H” and “V” and “B.”

  Jessica poured the wine. “That’s quite a signature you’ve got. Like some great man. Like John Hancock signing the Declaration of Independence. And that’s exactly what it is. Our declaration of independence. Happy July fourth.” She handed him a glass. “Let’s have a toast.” Hadewych threw the glass across the room. It shattered against the far wall. “Honey…” Jessica pouted. “My cleaning deposit.”

  “How dare you forge my name.”

  She laughed. “You think I forged it? That’s your signature, Dutch. Call the notary. He witnessed the whole thing.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  She raised her glass and drained it. “I hear that a lot.”

  He understood. Now he really wished he’d given her the ring. Given it to her in a glass of wine. So she could choke on it. “You didn’t.”

  “I did.”

  Hadewych brought a fist down on the folder. “You got inside my brain?”

  “I’ve been inside your brain for months. Funny little place.”

  “For months?”

  “Since Valentine’s Day. Since we kissed in front of your house, remember? I put my hands on your temples?”

  “You bitch.”

  “And from that moment on you loooved me. I got you to looove me again.”

  “I never stopped,” he whispered but she didn’t hear.

  “You have to admit I was clever about it. I had to keep you close enough to touch. Just until the papers were ready. We never slept together, by the way. I just kept erasing your memory of the night before. Aww. Hope you didn’t get a headache. One afternoon in April you came over and had a nap. I woke you, gave you your marching orders…” She tapped her temple. “We went to the notary. Two ticks, and we’d untied our eternal bonds of holy matrimony. It was like shrugging off a noose. We came home, I put you back on the sofa, and you never suspected a thing.”

  Hadewych shook his head. “All you ever wanted was the divorce.”

  “Not all. I got to know my son again.”

  “He’s my son.”

  “No, he’s not.” She poured another glass. “Zef’s much more like me. He’ll be a strong telepath. Stronger than I am. Just watch. Paul prophesied it years ago.”

  Hadewych paced in a circle. It was madness that she’d do this to him in his own apartment, where he and Zef had been two men against the world for almost a decade. This bitch—this telepathic bitch—she was doing it to him again!

  “We’re taking Zef to Boston,” she said.

  “What?”

  She was loose now, relaxed. The wine was increasing her enjoyment of his humiliation. “Paul wants Zef. Always has. He’ll be a senator himself, someday. Paul’s going to help him along.”

  “Whatever Paul and I decide for Zef, it’s none of your business.”

  “‘Paul and I’? Paul despises you more than I do. He always has. If it weren’t for Zef, he’d have kicked you to the curb years ago. Like I did.” She kissed her fingertips and pressed them to the manila folder. “Like I have. Zef is coming to Boston. He’ll join the staff and learn to charm the pull peddlers. He’ll attend Yale after that. That’s where Paul went and he insists.” Jessica giggled. “Look at you. Did you really think that Paul wouldn’t want to keep an eye on you? After New Year’s? We planned this months ago.”

  Hadewych’s face was hot. His hands too. He could feel the flames growing in him, coming closer, like a fuse sparking and burning towards the powder, the black powder of hatred he’d been packing in his heart for so, so long… “What’s all this ‘we’ talk? What’s between you and Paul?”

  She shrugged. “We get along. He’s more ambitious than you realize. That’s what you always lacked. Ambition. You won’t see Paul settling for an unemployment check, that’s for sure. He’d never sit on his ass and be a gigolo to some rich witch with a valve in her neck. Who do you think paid six months of rent so I could stay here and pump Ms. Maule for information? Who do you think paid Piebald’s legal fees?”

  “And what does Usher get out of it? Are you sleeping with him?”

  “Not yet. We’ll get around to it again.”

  “Again?”

  She shook her head. “I forgot. I took your memory when I left the first time. Paul was the other man, love. I should’ve married him. He asked me. I was pregnant. But I lost the child and I just… couldn’t stay.”

  Hadewych was dumbstruck. His fire sputtered, wet by sudden tears. He turned away, so that she wouldn’t see. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. His right hand trailed to his left. He had started wearing his ring again. Optimistically. He slipped it off. His thumb circled his ring finger over and over. It felt naked now. He raised his chin defiantly. “I don’t give a damn what you do.”

  “Oh, Hadewych, you haven’t changed at all. You’re the same vain loser I broke up with. And I’m breaking up with you again. So.” She came around the counter, taking a yellow rose from the vase and smelling it. “We’ve cleared the air. And it will smell even better in Boston.”

  “You can’t have Zef.”

  “Can’t I?” She tickled his chin with the rose. “Why did you invite me here in the first place? You meant to hurt me somehow, didn’t you? I think you did… But… You’re the one that’s getting hurt. Aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Her smile disappeared. “Good.” She struck him in the chest with the rose. The
petals broke and scattered like a sudden ignition of sparks. The black powder in Hadewych’s heart caught fire. His right hand left his ring finger and struck her backhanded. Oh, that felt good.

  Jessica wiped a thread of blood from her mouth, smearing her lipstick. “Get out!” she growled, her voice demonic. “Get the hell out!”

  He closed on her, seized her by the throat. He would choke the life out of this devious bitch. He should have done it years ago. Her fingernails clawed at him. She tried to gouge out his eyes. He throttled her, squeezing blood into her cheeks. She fumbled for the wine bottle, brushed it with her fingertips, but it fell to the floor. Her eyes rolled. Pink froth trickled from her mouth and wept across his wrist. Her knees buckled. She couldn’t resist him. And just as he’d promised himself that she would by the end of the night, the woman Jessica Bridge, formerly Van Brunt, went limp and melted in his arms.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  “Burning Man”

  Hadewych stood over Jessica’s motionless body. The impression of his fingers on her throat darkened and disappeared. She wasn’t breathing. What had he done? He’d murdered before but not like this. This had been the up-close and personal act, the kind he’d hoped to avoid. No Horseman’s Treasure, no magic, just the mother of his child collapsing on the carpet. What should he do now? He had to think. The phone was ringing. It rang on and on. He picked it up, absentmindedly, and said “Hello?” He cursed himself. How stupid. There were no alibis now. He’d practically confessed.

  “Dad?” came an urgent voice. “Is Mom okay?”

  Hadewych relaxed. Zef he could deal with. “Of course she is. Why wouldn’t she be?”

  “I had a feeling. Like she was in trouble. You know. My Gift. Can I talk to her?”

  “She’s in the shower.”

  “I’ll come over.”

  “No no no no no. No need. We’re late for a reservation and—actually, forget that. She’s decided to stay in. She has a… a sore throat. Where are you?”

  “At Kingsland Point. For the fireworks.”

  “Good. Stay there. I’ll come pick you up.”

  “How soon? I’d like to see the, uh—”

  “You’ve seen fireworks before,” said Hadewych, his voice stern. “Wait for me. I’m on my way. We’ll watch them together.” He hung up. He paced, circling Jessica’s body. He would go to Zef. Zef would be his alibi, as on the night Eliza died. Maybe… He glanced down at Jessica. Could he disguise this as a Horseman murder? Make the police think Jessica was a victim of the same serial killer? His eyes fell on the knife he’d used to cut the flowers. He picked it up. If I beheaded her… I could go be with Zef… and not a soul would know I was here.

  Someone pounded on the door. “Jessica?”

  Hadewych’s hand tightened on the knife. It was Valerie.

  “Jessica? I heard screaming.” Valerie knocked again. Hadewych slipped into the shadows. What could he do? What should he do? Maybe Valerie would go away. “I’m coming in,” Valerie said. Oh, God, Hadewych thought. Of course. She has her own set of keys.

  The door swung wide. Valerie stood on the landing. She and Hadewych stared mutely at each other. Hadewych felt like a bug crawling across the stage of Radio City Music Hall. Valerie’s eyes widened. They darted to Jessica’s body stretched out on the floor, back to Hadewych… and then she ran.

  Hadewych’s paralysis lasted one second too long or else he would have caught her on the stair. He grabbed Valerie’s arm. She tore away from him, ran into her apartment, swinging the front door with all her might. The knob caught him in the kidneys. Hadewych shriveled with pain and cried out. He staggered after her, knife in hand. She had the gun safe open now and was scrabbling for a pistol. He closed the distance before she could load it and took her by the shoulders, slamming her against the wall. She winced but couldn’t cry out. Good. He’d always suspected it would come in handy to date a woman who couldn’t scream. He brought the knife to her cheek and she went still.

  Hadewych kissed her on the forehead. She winced with horrified indignation.

  “Sorry about this,” croaked Hadewych, in brutal imitation of her voice.

  Valerie glanced away. Her eyes narrowed and, incredibly, a vase leapt from the mantle, by itself, flew across the room and struck Hadewych in the nose. Something cracked. He saw black spots and felt a gush of blood.

  The vase crashed to the floor, breaking. The pain arrived in the same instant.

  Hadewych released Valerie and his hands flew to his face. He staggered away. She ran for the front door but he caught her around the stomach, swinging her. Objects flew at him from every direction. She kicked his shin, got away. He blocked her path.

  “You too?” he cried, with ghastly amusement. “You’ve been lying to me too? I should have let you die in that river.” He saw her looking for a way to get past him. He grinned. It was time to be rid of this creature. “Well, my dear, guess what?”

  He dropped the knife as if surrendering. She looked momentarily hopeful.

  Then his hands exploded into flame.

  Her eyes went wide.

  Hadewych nodded, slowly, relishing her horror. He felt like himself. Fully himself for once in his life. Perfectly sincere… in hatred.

  She ran left and tried to escape. He threw a fireball in her path. It splashed off the wall. She threw her hands up, wincing.

  “Can’t go that way, Love,” said Hadewych.

  Valerie ran in the other direction.

  He threw another fireball. “Oopsy! Not without paying the toll. You know what the toll is, don’t you?”

  She shook her head.

  He lit both hands. “The death toll.” He giggled insanely and gazed off for a second. “You know, I’ve never killed anyone face to face, before tonight.” He turned back to her. “I think I’m actually enjoying it.”

  He threw both fireballs at her. She had nowhere to run. Her hands flew out, making claws. The sofa trembled, jumped into the air, and blocked the fireballs, exploding into rose patterns of flame.

  The floor shook as the sofa landed between them, smoldering.

  Valerie stared at her hands, as if shocked by her own power.

  Hadewych cried out, he continued throwing fire at her. Over and over, thinking of those ten years, of all the times she’d claimed the moral high ground, how she’d written him checks with a sigh as if doing him a favor, the way she’d scolded him whenever he’d raised a hand to Zef. Who did she think she was, anyway? She was nothing! Nothing but ash!

  She dodged the fire, backing away down the hall. She twisted open a door and disappeared into her bedroom. Hadewych heard three locks close. He seized the knob but Valerie’s security system was strong.

  He wiped blood from his nose. “You can just stay in there,” he spat. His hands glowed and the metal of the lock softened, the mechanism fusing. The heat of the burning sofa at his back felt so good. Yes. Burn the place to the ground. Burn them both. Valerie and Jessica. That was the answer. He walked to the music room and threw a ball of fire into the guts of the grand piano, into the pile of sheet music. He sent ribbons of flame up the bookcases, up the curtains. He fused the metal shutters at the windows. The bedroom windows were barred, he knew. Valerie wouldn’t be getting out. He felt powerful. Truly powerful for the first time in his life. He burned that room as Dylan had burned his men in the swamp. As Dylan had burned his men for their mutiny. Hadewych felt no guilt. He didn’t even muss his hair.

  On his way out he noticed a book sitting on a side table. Good. More kindling. He raised his hand to light it but… He knew that book. It was the book he’d seen in the RV. Jason’s green leather book. He snatched it up. What was it doing here? He opened it. Yes. The same blank pages—what did it mean?

  A single drop of red blood fell from his injured face. It hit the blank page and sparkled there like a sequin. The page… took the blood. As if into a network of capillaries. Spidery letters ran across the pages, joining into words, into paragraphs of Old Dutch. They filled th
e book. The pages congealed with text, as if some mad hand wrote feverishly there with a bloody quill. When the last page was written, he heard a voice. Agathe’s.

  “Someday,” she whispered.

  His face shone with firelight. He held her diary. Agathe’s diary. He turned to the first page and found three words in English: FOR MY HEIR. His hands shook. How…?

  Jason.

  Jason had found it in the tomb. Of course. Even as Hadewych had stolen the reliquary, Jason had stolen the book. Hadewych held the open diary to the firelight, staring at the old Dutch script, raising it high like the wafer of holy communion. His blood had activated it. His Van Brunt blood. He closed it and kissed the green leather.

  Valerie coughed in the distance. Poor thing. She wouldn’t last long. Not with her deformity.

  “Goodbye, honey,” he called. “Give the devil my love.” He went out and closed the door. With the shutters down, the fire was hardly visible at all. A few wisps of white curled from beneath the eaves. That’s all. He fused Valerie’s many locks. He darted up the stairs and did the same to Jessica’s door. He tucked the diary under his arm and swaggered to his car, whistling tunelessly.

  He looked at himself in the rearview mirror and winked.

  “You really are better off as a bachelor.”

  Zef searched the faces of the crowd, looking for Joey. The police presence at Kingsland Point Park was much heavier than at most such events but the cops stayed back mostly. David Martinez stood near one of the pavilions, ticketing a merry family for their over-loud salsa music. Grills whipped with briquette smoke that mixed with the odors of barbecue and cigarettes. Pit fires rippled the air, doubling the distant ripples of the Hudson. Children ran across Zef’s path. One child tripped and a young man in baggy shorts and a tank top helped her up. Zef recognized him. The waiter from Stone Barns. The man didn’t notice Zef. He returned to his towel, a rainbow flag towel, and cuddled up next to a handsome redheaded guy. Openly. In public. Zef glanced around. Nobody was even looking at the pair. Was being gay really… no big deal? The sight of the couple felt alien to Zef, as all unfulfilled wishes feel alien.