occhi_bella (occhi_bella) wrote in story_arc, @ 2007-09-09 01:52:00 |
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Current mood: | accomplished |
Entry tags: | fifteen set 03, ichabod crane, occhi_bella, sleepy hollow |
FIC Aftermath - Chapter 9
Cross-posted to occhi_bella and unknown_fandom
Title: Aftermath
Author: occhi_bella
story_arc Set: 15-03
story_arc Theme: Mark (5-04, #5)
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 9
As Ichabod expected, his inspection of Mark Jenner’s study revealed nothing of use. He was able to ask James McKinley questions, since he accompanied him now, such as where Mr. Jenner had been sitting, his position.
“He’d been reading. The book was splattered with blood and had to be burned.”
“Along with his and Edna’s clothing, I presume.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And…you said that the wound…he was attacked from the front?”
“His face, his torso. According to Dr. Thompson both Mr. and Mrs. Jenner received more than one blow each.”
“Dr. Thompson examined the bodies, then?”
“He did. Or, at least, he inspected their wounds to try to determine the weapon used.”
“What about the ax? Was it ever found?”
“N-no…”
“Mr. McKinley, I am determined to get to the bottom of this matter for Stephen’s sake. Please do not lie to me.”
“The men who came to assist the doctor in removing the bodies also removed the weapon. It was covered in blood and of no use to anyone. They threw it in the fireplace so that the wooden handle would burn. When the fire went out they retrieved the remaining metal blade from the ashes.”
“And?”
“That was given to the blacksmith to be melted down.”
“What is the blacksmith’s name?”
“Kerrigan. Brian Kerrigan.”
“When we arrived here, there was an older gentleman who demanded that we immediately leave. Who is he?”
“His name’s Dockery.”
“What were the relationships of these men to the Jenners?”
“Well, Dr. Thompson was the family physician.”
“Of course.” Ichabod pursed his lips together as he ruminated upon this information. It would be necessary to speak with Dr. Thompson now. Several questions were already coming to his mind. “And the other two men?”
“Well, Kerrigan was the blacksmith of the town. Naturally he provided cookware and horseshoes for Mark Jenner as well as the other families in town.”
“And Mr. Dockery?”
“Ian Dockery is our magistrate.”
“Your magistrate?” Ichabod couldn’t believe it. The town magistrate had been the one clamoring for them to leave town?
“Yes, sir. He is quite aged now, but he does still have his faculties.”
“And clearly something to hide.”
Fear flashed in James McKinley’s eyes.
“Is there anything else that you can tell me? I do not want to cause trouble for you, Mr. McKinley, but I beg you to help me. There are…many supernatural occurrences here. And I believe that they are tied to the murders of Mark and Edna Jenner. And Stephen is caught up in it somehow.”
Ichabod related to McKinley what had happened to Stephen at the stream and the conversation that he’d heard by Stephen’s bed, the two distinct voices.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why…why they would want to be using your boy, Constable Crane. Honestly, I don’t.”
“Yes, I realize that you couldn’t possibly know that. But you can tell me about what happened. You told me that this macabre crime has brought shame upon the town, and I don’t doubt that. But there is much more to the story. The quarreling among the family…before the murders, had it ever escalated to physical violence?”
“At times,” McKinley answered softly, his head bowed.
“Was Mark Jenner a violent man?”
“He wasn’t particularly violent, though he had his moments like anyone else, I suppose. But…those were family matters. It was not anyone else’s place to intervene.”
“Perhaps it was self-defense then,” Ichabod murmured thoughtfully.
But that didn’t explain two murders in two separate rooms.
*******
Ichabod paced back and forth in the tavern early that afternoon, waiting for Dr. Thompson to exit Stephen’s room and come downstairs. By the time the doctor finally appeared at the foot of the stairs, he was in a state of agitation.
“Well?” he demanded irritably.
“His condition is not improving, sir. With your permission, I would recommend beginning to bleed him…”
“No,” Ichabod replied abruptly. “Absolutely not.”
“But, sir…”
“Bleeding him is unnecessary and will do nothing to help him. His fever, his illness…is not a natural one. And I believe that you already know this to be true.”
“Sir…”
“Please sit down, Dr. Thompson. I have many questions that I must ask you.”
The doctor’s eyes shifted to James McKinley, who sat at a nearby table with a mug of beer. McKinley merely sighed and raised the cup to his lips, taking a healthy gulp of the brew. Dr. Thompson turned his gaze back to Ichabod.
“What is this about?”
“The Jenners. You were their family physician.”
A look of complete surprise had crossed Dr. Thompson’s features.
“Yes, sir,” he finally answered when he recovered from his shock. He shot James McKinley another look.
“We’ve hidden this for too long, Michael,” McKinley muttered softly into his mug. “Their spirits will not find peace until this is brought to light. It is not only this town that has suffered from the incident. Now an innocent boy has been pulled into it.”
Dr. Thompson turned his attention back to Ichabod, a resigned expression on his face. “What is it you would like to know, Constable?”
“You examined the bodies of Mark and Edna Jenner after they were killed?”
“I did.”
“Mr. McKinley tells me that they were both killed with an ax. Is there anything you can tell me about the crime scene? Although I don’t have all of the facts, it seems to me that the assassin was consumed with blind rage.”
He nodded and sighed wearily. “It was a crime of appalling violence, Constable. Both Mark and Edna each received at least fifteen blows, to the head and torso. And Mark…was struck in the face. There was blood everywhere.”
“And…Abigail?”
“Suicide, I believe. It was not surprising really. She was a very troubled young woman. A few days before her death she bought arsenic from Thomas Cleary, our apothecary.”
“Do you believe that she killed her parents?”
The doctor’s face fell. “A woman committing such a crime? And her own parents?”
“Yes,” Ichabod answered weakly. “I admit that I, too, find it nearly impossible to believe. And perhaps there is another explanation. But Abigail had more than one motive. Her inheritance. You have just now admitted that she was very troubled. And…the family quarrels. If she was physically threatened by them, by him, in some way…”
“Mark Jenner was a highly respected man in this town,” Dr. Thompson interrupted, his voice curt. “He put a lot of time and money into the building of it and he did much for our small community…”
“Dr. Thompson, please. I’m not interested in slandering anyone or disrespecting the memory of a man. I am only seeking the truth. There is a truth here…is it so horrible that none of you can bring yourselves to speak of it, to even acknowledge it?”
Receiving no answer, Ichabod sighed and took a seat across from the doctor. Once more, he revealed the incidents that had occurred since their arrival. Stephen wandering off to the cemetery and lying on Abigail Jenner’s grave. His talk of the girl Emily. The conversation that he’d overheard between Stephen and an unknown voice. The incident at the stream. And he told both of them about the impression that had stricken him the moment he laid eyes on the portrait of mother and daughter; Abigail’s eyes.
“I discovered bruises on Abigail’s body for the first time when she was about ten or eleven years old,” Dr. Thompson began softly. “At that time I didn’t think anything of it. Abigail was not like other little girls. She was wild and quite a handful for her parents. When I saw the bruising, I assumed that she fell out of a tree or sustained those bruises during her usual rough-housing with two boys of the village with whom she was always seen about.”
“And now you’re not sure?”
“There were other occasions, even after she entered her teens and had simmered down somewhat, when I noticed the same kind of bruising. As if someone had grasped her with great violence and strength.”
“Then, the bruises resembled fingerprints?”
“Not all of them. But some.”
“Do you believe that it was Mark Jenner who had inflicted those bruises?”
“I’m not certain, and frankly it is no one’s business. If it was something that occurred in this house, then it was a family matter. Abigail was wayward and it was common knowledge that she took up with several men of the town, old and young. Despite Mark Jenner’s efforts to marry her off to any of several fine young men, she refused marriage. If he ever raised a hand to her, it was no doubt to try to bring her into line. If not, it may have been one of the many men that she clandestinely…fornicated with.”
“I see,” Ichabod answered, his voice high-pitched and shaky. He was becoming quite uncomfortable, not only of the doctor’s discussion of the girl’s sexual activities, but from the idea that those activities justified her getting beaten.
“I must be on my way, Constable Crane,” he told him, rising to his feet. “There is another patient that I must attend to out on one of the farms beyond the village and I would prefer to limit my walking on these snow-covered roads to the daylight hours. Unless you prefer that I didn’t do so, I will continue to look after Stephen. Even if his illness is…beyond the natural world, I can at least assist in controlling his symptoms and making him as comfortable as possible.”
“Thank you, Dr. We would greatly appreciate that.”
Dr. Thompson pulled on his coat and departed. Ichabod stood up and hurried upstairs to the room that he and Katrina were staying in. He retrieved his ledger, ink and pen and returned to the tavern, taking a seat across from James McKinley.
“Would you like a cup, Constable?” he offered, gesturing to his mug of beer.
“No, thank you. I should like to take down the names of the townspeople.”
Opening the ledger to a new page, he dipped his pen in ink and began to write.
“Ian Dockery, the town magistrate,” he muttered to himself as he wrote. “He seemed most in a hurry for us to leave. What is he hiding?”
“I don’t know,” McKinley answered.
“Hmm?” Ichabod looked up. “Oh. I…wasn’t actually asking you.”
“I’ll leave you to your thoughts then,” he responded casually and stood up, taking up his mug and disappearing behind the bar.
“Dr. Michael Thompson, the town physician,” he continued to speak aloud as he wrote. “He knew of evidence that Abigail may have been physically harmed by someone, possibly on a regular basis. Thomas Cleary, the apothecary, from whom Abigail bought arsenic.”
“He’s also the town notary.”
“What?” Ichabod looked up.
McKinley returned to the table, his cup refilled, and took a seat. “Thomas Cleary is our apothecary and he’s also our public notary.”
“I see.” He jotted the information down next to Cleary’s name. “Brian Kerrigan, the blacksmith. There was also a Mrs. Greeley that someone mentioned at the cemetery…”
“Yes, Mary Greeley. She spotted Stephen walking in that direction. She is the midwife of the town.”
“Did she attend to Abigail?”
“Probably, especially once she was ready to give birth.”
“Are there any other leaders of town?” he asked as he wrote the midwife’s name in his ledger.
“Father Patrick.”
Ichabod looked up, startled. “Father Patrick?”
“Yes, Patrick Murphy. Our priest.”
“Priest? I have seen no church in this village, or anywhere nearby for that matter.”
“There is one in town. The building is not obvious.”
“Why is that?”
“We are Catholics in this village, Constable, and where we came from…there were disputes that were complicated by the fact that the sides also happened to be divided into Protestants and Catholics. We are accustomed to secrecy now.”
“Where are you from?”
“Ireland.”
Ichabod wrote Father Patrick Murphy in his ledger. “Father Patrick,” he murmured to himself as he made the note.
“He performed last rites for the Jenners. Whatever sins Mark committed in life, it is for God to judge him.”
*******
The tavern was in an uproar that evening. Ichabod listened, sitting at the top of the stairs where he couldn’t be seen, but it didn’t really matter. Everyone had discovered that the constable from out of town had been asking questions and that McKinley and Dr. Thompson had been answering his queries.
“Send them away,” the old man, Ian Dockery, rasped. “That constable has no business investigating anything in this town. Why did you talk to him, Jamie?”
“Because his boy is sick and it is connected to what happened.”
“Are you sure of that?” someone else asked.
“Positive. He related certain things…I’m sure of it.”
“As am I,” Dr. Thompson chimed in. “Besides, we cannot send them away. The boy is very sick and not fit to travel.”
“It is God’s will,” a different voice spoke up, one that was serene and powerful all at once.
“What is, Father? That this thing is coming back up to haunt us?” Ian Dockery demanded.
“This has to be put right.”
The old man slammed his fist onto the table. “There is nothing to put right.”
“There is Abigail…”
“Abigail Jenner was a disturbed and hysterical woman.”
“We all know what type of a woman Abigail was,” someone else, a woman, piped up.
“Is that constable upstairs now? He can probably hear every word we’re saying.”
“He heard us the other night, too. It no longer matters.”
“None of this would have happened if you’d made them leave, Jamie!”
“And what of Emily?” James McKinley retorted. “Emily was an innocent little girl. If it was true…”
“The stories Abigail told were ludicrous!” Ian Dockery banged the table once more for effect. “A figment of her twisted imagination.”
“Well, there is no turning back now. Perhaps this constable can discover what happened to Emily and she can finally rest in peace. And maybe the hold that she has on his boy will be released.”
“If it’s indeed Emily who has a hold on the boy. I’m beginning to suspect it might be Abigail,” McKinley told them. “Or both of them. In which case it will be much more difficult to save that boy.”
Ichabod’s head hit the floor with a thud as he fell back in a swoon upon hearing those words.