occhi_bella (occhi_bella) wrote in story_arc, @ 2008-01-23 00:09:00 |
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Current mood: | anxious |
FIC Aftermath - Chapter 13
Cross-posted to occhi_bella and unknown_fandom.
Title: Aftermath
Author:occhi_bella
story_arc Set: 15-03
story_arc Theme: Unexpected (Author’s Choice)
Fandom: Sleepy Hollow (movie)
Character: Ichabod Crane
Rated: M
Warning: Non-explicit implications of rape and incest. Spoilers
Disclaimer: Sleepy Hollow and its characters do not belong to me. I make no money from this.
Link to Story Archive and All Chapters
Summary: Ichabod departs for New York with Katrina and Young Masbath, but their journey is delayed by unexpected complications. Picks up at the part where the Hessian disappears into the Tree of the Dead for the last time with Lady Van Tassel.
Chapter 13
Katrina had been at Stephen’s bedside all afternoon and evening, tending to him. Ichabod ceased working at the desk in their room and walked down the hall to join her, bringing both his and Abigail’s ledger with him. When he entered the room he found her crouched by the fireplace, eyes closed, scrawling symbols in the ash with a thin branch she’d gathered and mumbling feverishly. The sight still made him shudder and the roots of his hair prickle.
Her eyes opened and she looked up suddenly, turning to look straight at him. She graced him with a reassuring smile then returned to her ritual. He swallowed nervously and began to take deep breaths, then moved to one of the chairs before the fire and sat down. A thought that had occurred to him many times since he’d met her came to him again. She was breathtakingly beautiful. Her beauty, her quiet mystery and her all-seeing intuition completely captivated him. Of course he knew from the moment that he met her that she was a white witch, like his mother. Still, there was something about it that was both comforting and disquieting.
When she finished her chant she stood up and pulled the other chair up to face him. He smiled wanly at her as she sat down, took the two ledgers from his hands and set them in his lap, then took his hands in hers.
They sat together thus, in thoughtful and worried silence. For a reason that he couldn’t pinpoint he refrained from speaking to Katrina of his meeting with Mrs. Greeley. Something about the midwife’s inflection and tone when she hinted at Abigail’s bruises had given him the feeling that he ought not to, and so he remained quiet about it. Somehow his prescient wife must have sensed that he would not wish to speak of it, for on this occasion she did not ask him what had transpired. She merely gazed at him quietly, squeezing his hands tightly, giving him strength and reassurance and drawing it from him at the same time.
“I must continue my work,” he told her, breaking the silence after a long time. “I’m at a loss as to what to do, but I can only keep trying.”
“Did you accomplish nothing today then?”
“I’m not sure,” he admitted, frowning. “Every conversation I have, every clue I discover only yields more questions instead of providing answers.”
“Dr. Thompson is in Mr. McKinley’s room downstairs. I urged him to rest. He watched over Stephen all night and all day today.”
Ichabod nodded. “Yes,” he murmured distantly. “He said that he would try to keep Stephen comfortable.”
She released his hands. “Let me get you something to eat.”
“No, that isn’t necessary…”
“Ichabod, you’ve barely eaten anything today. Don’t look so surprised. Just because I’m frantic over Stephen doesn’t mean that I haven’t noticed you skipping meals. I’ll return shortly.”
He sighed in resignation. “Very well, my love.”
Ichabod opened his ledger as she exited the room and began to read over the additional questions he planned to ask James McKinley and Dr. Thompson. Mrs. Greeley’s cryptic remarks had provoked many more questions and he intended to cross-examine both men about them. If he could only figure out what she was hinting at, light would be shed on this mystery. He picked up Abigail’s ledger once more, flipping through the pages and stopping to reread certain entries whose dates he’d marked down in his own.
“What I really need is the diaries that Abigail wrote in prior to this. If they exist,” he muttered wearily.
Katrina returned with a tray after a spell and set it on the desk. “I brought food that I thought would be easy to digest. Come, love.”
Ichabod stood up obediently and moved to the desk, bringing the two ledgers with him.
She pecked him on the cheek. “Bread, cheese and an apple. I want you to eat all of it.
“How can I refuse you anything?”
“Unfortunately I cannot say the same for Stephen,” she replied sadly and took a seat beside the bed. “The entity inside of him forces him to refuse food and to lash out violently when the restraints are removed.”
Despite his nerves and queasy stomach Ichabod found that he needed the food, and he had no trouble eating every bit of it, just as his wife had ordered.
“Did you find Abigail’s other diaries yet?”
“No. I don’t even know where to look. If there were diaries prior to this one, she hid them somewhere else.”
His gaze fell on Stephen and panic began to well up inside of him as he took in the pale, gaunt face. The boy would not last much longer if there wasn’t a change very soon.
“Where are you going?” Katrina called out as he suddenly stood up and hurried toward the door.
“I…to find Mr. McKinley.”
Ichabod shut the door behind him and turned, intending to go downstairs where James McKinley and the rest of the town were gathered. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed the shadow of a dark figure on the stairwell leading to the upper floor. He started and turned to face it. The sweep of pink material was just disappearing from view and the figure was gone, disappearing up the stairs.
He began to sway for a moment but managed to steady himself. With determination he headed up the stairs, following. Once he reached the top of the stairs he glanced up and down the hallway. It was empty in both directions. A moment later the sound of a door closing came from the end of the hall off to his right, causing him to cry out and jump nearly a foot in the air.
Blood pounded in his ears and his heart was thudding. The floor began to tilt beneath him and he moved over to lean against the wall, his hand on his chest. The sound had emanated from the direction of Emily’s room.
“It’s my imagination,” he told himself in a quiet, shaky voice, thinking of the sweep of pink that he thought he’d seen, the color of Emily’s dress.
In the past several days he’d been working on very little sleep and even less food, and his mind was playing tricks on him now. As for the sound of a door, James McKinley had unlocked the doors, and that one must have been left slightly ajar. A slight breeze in the hallway must have blown it shut. Or…perhaps he had seen something after all.
It wouldn’t hurt to take another look in all of the rooms, he decided after gathering his thoughts. After all, he’d found the ledger on a third search of Abigail’s room. He hadn’t yet tested all of the floorboards. Perhaps there were more of them that could be removed.
But he would not go alone.
*******
It was late when he made his way downstairs to the first floor, but a handful of people remained in the tavern with James McKinley. Ian Dockery was among them and he glared at Ichabod when he saw him.
“Constable Crane,” McKinley greeted him.
Ichabod nodded. “Mr. McKinley. Pardon my intrusion. When you have a moment, I will need your assistance.”
“Of course. Is anything wrong, sir?”
“The entities are growing bolder,” Ichabod continued, trying to will his voice to stop shaking. “Stephen is possessed by Abigail, I believe. And just now…Emily allowed me a quick glimpse of her.”
He had been almost certain of this after leaving the third floor and mulling over what he thought he glimpsed, and the events that had been occurring. Saying it aloud made the truth resonate inside of him.
“What?” McKinley gasped.
“Utter nonsense,” Magistrate Dockery interjected. “You were dreaming.”
“Stephen’s condition…continues to worsen. His illness is not natural, it’s…supernatural. I’ve been certain of that for several days now. It is imperative that I discover what has occurred here. I believe that is the key to putting these spirits to rest finally, as well as freeing Stephen from their grip. If there is anything that you can tell me, sir…”
“There is nothing here for you to discover.”
“Magistrate Dockery…”
“Abigail was hysterical, making such accusations!” he exploded, slamming his fist on the table. “I will not speak of this anymore, Constable!”
Tense silence filled the room for a few minutes before Ichabod broke it, speaking in a firm but quiet voice.
“I apologize for troubling you this much, sir. But with all due respect, I do not agree. I shall not demand that you confide in me, but I beg you. If there is anything that you can tell me that would shed light on this, please do so. I know that something terrible happened to Abigail, and possibly to Emily. I also know that Abigail approached you and spoke to you about it. And I promise you, I don’t wish to lay blame on you or anyone else here, nor do I wish to create problems in this town. I simply want to save a boy’s life.”
Ian Dockery frowned sourly and didn’t answer. About a quarter of an hour later the stragglers departed and Ichabod was left alone in the tavern with James McKinley.
“You need my assistance, Constable?”
“Yes, but first…I must speak with you about several things.”
McKinley nodded mutely.
“As you are aware, I spoke with Mary Greeley today. I thank you for arranging that for me. What she had to say was somewhat different than…well…she said that Abigail and her father were very close. In fact…” he gulped involuntarily. “In fact, she remarked that they were unnaturally so…”
He trailed off as he observed that James McKinley seemed to be squirming in his seat.
“What did she mean?” he pressed on.
“Didn’t she tell you what she meant?”
“No. That was all she said.”
“Well then…I couldn’t say.”
Ichabod sighed. He knew that his answer wasn’t truthful and he was exasperated at being stymied once more.
“You said you saw…where did you see Emily, Constable?”
“I glimpsed her on the stairwell leading to the third floor. And then…when I followed…I believe she was leading me to her old room. I should like to examine the rooms upstairs again. But it is dark and I will need your assistance in keeping the room light enough for me to see.”
“Wouldn’t it be wiser to wait until morning, Constable?”
“As much as I would love to wait until daylight, I’m afraid it’s pressing. Stephen’s condition grows worse and I cannot afford to procrastinate,” he answered curtly. “Magistrate Dockery refuses to speak about it. You have indicated that you cannot shed any light on what Mary Greeley said. Therefore I must attempt to discover the truth by other means.”
Ichabod stood up abruptly and gestured for him to follow. They headed upstairs to the top floor with lanterns in hand. Ichabod led them to Emily’s room first, since it was from there that he’d heard the sound of the door shutting. It was freezing inside.
With the room now partially lit, Ichabod tested the floorboards to see if he could find any that were loose.
“You are looking for more hidden storage in the floor, then, Constable?”
“Yes. Abigail’s diary goes back to December of 1897. Two years ago. There must be prior journals. It seems unlikely that she would have so recently begun to write in a diary. Perhaps she wrote about what happened to her.”
“I see,” McKinley answered in a tight voice.
Ichabod frowned as his sharp eyes skirted the room. He’d searched this room before, but he’d been in a different frame of mind, uncertain as to what he was looking for then. It was different now. He knew that he was searching for a ledger. Though why Abigail’s ledgers would have been in Emily’s room was beyond him. Still, this is where the vision of the phantasm had led him.
Quickly, he moved to the desk and searched the drawers once more. He found nothing but stationery and moved on to the rest of the room. After careful examination of the bookshelves, he found what appeared to be a ledger. It was very thick and bound in leather. He took it from the shelf and searched the surrounding books. Grabbing several similar-looking leather-bound volumes, he turned and walked to the door, motioning for McKinley to grab the lanterns and follow.
Once in the hallway, McKinley set down one of the lanterns and shut the door.
Thumbing through one of the volumes quickly, Ichabod found it to be filled with drawings, along with short dated entries. The other books appeared to contain the same. Emily had a very artistic hand, he thought sadly as he glimpsed some of the detailed figures that she had drawn.
“Those were Emily’s sketchbooks. She was quite good. Abigail spoke of hiring a drawing master to teach her further.”
“It appears that she wrote in here as well.”
Ichabod turned on his heel and headed for the stairs, carrying the volumes that he’d gathered. McKinley followed him.
“Will you be needing to search any of the other rooms then?”
“No, that won’t be necessary yet. I shall start with this discovery and continue searching tomorrow. Thank you for your assistance, Mr. McKinley.”
They descended to the second floor and Ichabod turned toward Stephen’s room.
“I bid you goodnight then, Constable.”
“Goodnight.”
Katrina was sitting beside Stephen’s bed reading when he entered the room.
“Where did you go?”
Ichabod told her of his glimpse of Emily and he showed her the books he had retrieved from her room.
“Maybe I was imagining things.”
“No, I don’t think so, Ichabod. This house is genuinely haunted.”
On shaky legs he moved to the desk, where he’d left Abigail’s ledger and his own, and took a seat.
“And…she was leading me to her room, so I would find these volumes. Her…artistic journals.”
At that moment, the door opened and Dr. Thompson stepped into the room.
“I’ll look after him, if you both want to get some sleep now.”
Ichabod watched him as he set his bag on the desk and withdrew a syringe and a tincture of medicine. An idea began to form in his mind as he watched the physician fill the syringe.
“I want to have it ready in the event that he wakes up and is violent,” he explained, noticing that Ichabod was staring at him.
“Dr. Thompson, Stephen has lost far too much weight and he has not been taking in any nourishment. Is it possible to inject him with nutrients, perhaps a solution of water with sugar and salt? It is not enough, I realize, but at least it would be something.”
The doctor looked thoughtful. “That is an interesting idea, Constable. And it’s worth trying.”
“I’ll go downstairs and start boiling water,” Katrina offered. “I’ll dissolve the sugar and salt and bring it up when it has cooled.”
*******
Seated once more at the desk in their room, Ichabod perused Emily’s sketchbooks. After scanning the dates of the entries, he chose the book that was dated 1st March, 1898 on the very first page, intending to investigate the dates that coincided with those in which Abigail spoke of Emily’s refusal to eat and sleep. He was relying on the fact that perhaps Emily herself confided in her personal journal what was troubling her.
Pages and pages of the ledger were filled with drawings and sketches, interspersed with written entries here and there about what she did during the day. Her birthday was 15th March and she wrote in great detail about the party that her mother organized for her tenth birthday, and how happy it made her. But for the most part she had expressed herself in her drawings. There were portraits of people from town as well as her family, sketches of the house, of the main street, of the river and wood.
She would have been an excellent artist.
Ichabod sighed sadly at the thought and continued to scan the drawings and entries. The depth of emotion captured in the faces of the finely drawn, detailed pictures of people and their uncanny resemblance to the members of her family astonished him. She had perfectly captured Mark Jenner’s features and their sternness, which he’d seen in the family portrait, as well as her mother’s elegant beauty and haunted visage. And she’d even drawn herself well. Emily had possessed a true gift.
He scanned the pages quickly, stopping to read the dated, written entries, and then moving on. As he turned several pages among the late April and early May entries, he stopped, suddenly realizing that he’d seen something. Flipping back, he found the picture that had given him pause and stared at it.
Emily had drawn herself with a sash tied around her head, covering her mouth. Edna Jenner stood off to the side, a blindfold tied around her head. The picture was three dimensional and Mark Jenner stood behind her and off to one side. His face looked angry and threatening. Abigail was not in this picture.
There were almost no written entries after that. He studied the self-portrait drawings carefully, noting two recurring themes. Either she drew herself with the sash covering her mouth; or in tears, without the sash. Mark Jenner always looked threatening, no matter the posture in which he was drawn. There were several drawings of Emily lying in bed with her grandfather sitting on the edge looking down at her. Sometimes his hand was over her mouth.
Something about those pictures made Ichabod shudder for a reason he could not credit. He instinctively knew somehow that she was attempting to express what was troubling her in these drawings. Had Mark Jenner been beating her as well?
Ichabod marked the place where he’d stopped with a scrap of paper, then backtracked to see if there were any pictures of Emily with the sash over her mouth prior to that late April entry. There were not. Something had changed in Emily’s life at the end of April.
He combed the rest of the ledger carefully, examining the drawings with painstaking attention to detail. When he got through the entire book, he stood up and stretched, trying to work out the aches that had gripped his muscles from sitting in one position for too long.
“She is the same age as I was,” he murmured, the sight of Abigail’s large, capital letters screaming in his brain.
Whatever had happened to Emily, whatever she was attempting to convey in her drawings, had most likely happened to Abigail as well. Was it as simple as Mark Jenner beating her? Or was there more to it?