Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own it.
Author's Note: Due to recent responses I have decided to rewrite this fic.
Hopefully the characters are more accurately portrayed now, it's been a while since I've watched the show so... Also, I'm sorry if they're still bad. I'm not trying write Abbie horribly, I promise, I'm just apparently very bad at it
Changes to Chapter 1: I apologize for a phrase which has been removed, no insult nor conotation was meant, it was merely a case of unfortunate phrasing.
PS: The parts in italics are visions.
Suspect Motive
Chapter 1
Ichabod Crane strode through an overgrown, abandoned house. He had recently found the old home, his and Katrina's home, and he been surprised to find it still standing. Every day since, he has delved deeper into the ramshackle home, and the memories it contained.
His head swam with the recent revelations concerning the happenings surrounding his own death. The Horseman, their current enemy, was in actuality his old friend, Abraham. And Katrina, his purgatory bound wife, was to be the Horseman's prize.
Behind him stood a door, the very door which he had carried Katrina through after they had been wed. The room in which he stood had served as kitchen, informal dining room, and parlor. To the right a pair of doors led to the formal dining room, we'll light by a large west facing window; the brass chandelier still hung from a sagging ceiling, over a dusty water-stained oaken table. With every step a great plume of dust surrounded his boots like the smoke from a musket shot, the particles danced in the streams of light from the windows. To the left a central of the central room was a short hall way. On one side one of the two doors led to a small pantry; the other into his study, the sturdy desk surrounded by mostly empty bookcases. The shelves held a small number of artifacts which may prove helpful as well as a relatively small amount of ragged looking books, he had planned to send for others of his things after the revolution. Across the hall a single door opened into the master bedroom, though the ropes and mattress had rotted, the wooden frame had suffered little damage. Too few the happy nights he hand Katrina spent, wrapped in each other's arms, laying in that bad. He had walked through the home in reflective silence, the only noise was the dull thud of his boots on the floor boards. He was painfully aware of the empty bedrooms above him, which had been intended for the children they had planned to have. As the sun was setting, Crane sat on a straight back chair in the central room, a working oil lamp on the table beside him. He watched the ghosts of years past play in the shifting shadows of last light.
Sitting in this state of revory he became hungry, and wondered whether any canned preserves had lasted the centuries. The latch of the pantry had rusted locked, it took some fiddling and time to lessen it enough to be opened. The majority of the shelves still housed filled glass jars. Spotting a jar of strawberry preserve on an upper shelf directly before him, he stepped forward. The dull thud that had accompanied every one of his steps was conspicuously absent from this step, the floorboards beneath his foot sagged from the weight.
He retreated a step and knelt on the dusty floor. He knocked on the spot his foot had been, marked by an absence of dust in the shape of a boot print, a hollow boom followed. Finding the edge of a board, he began pulling up floorboards until there was an opening large enough for him to go through. He could not imagine why this would be there, it seemed to be an underground tunnel. Perhaps escape routes had been more common in homes of the time than he had thought. A candle sat on a low shelf near him. He light its ancient wick with a match, which he still found quite amazing, from the complementary box at the hotel. Once alight he lowered it into the hole, the flame did not quaver.
Lowering himself, candle and all, his feet connected lightly with the floor after less than a foot drop. The light illuminated a long corridor of clean huen earthen walls. As he walked forward he found an opening in the wall, blocked by a thick wooden door, which contained pieces from several different varieties of tree. He tested the door and found it to be locked. Walking on a little ways he found more doors all locked or stuck fast. Suddenly the sensation of another presence came over Ichabod and he turned. Near the now far end of the corridor, just on the boundary of the candlelight's reach, the figure of a woman in a long white gown began to walk slowly toward him. "Katrina!" He called to the ghostly and familiar figure, as he ran towards her. He met her at the first door, without looking at him or acknowledging his presence the figure turned and walked through the locked door.
He pushed on the door which swung open easily to reveal a small earthen room furnished with various entirely intact items. A rocking chair sat in one corner close by a bookcase. One book in particular caught his attention, Katrina's favorite book, inside a letter, the letter that would have been received by her upon the occasion of his death. On the other side of the room were a few tables, all covered in different containers of supplies ranging from food to mysterious necessities of witchcraft; a large wooden chest; a bed and beside it a much smaller bed, on the latter of which a doll sat. On the bedside table there were two pictures; one was their wedding portrait, the other of a girl of about three clutching the doll that now lay on the tiny bed.
Sitting down upon the larger bed in a state of confused shock, his mind unable to process into a coherent thought all the information contained in this room. Eventually a single word made its way through his head and out his mouth. "Baby." Could it be possible that at the time of his death Katrina had been with-child?
"Ichabod." He turned his head to find Katrina standing near the bookshelves. He jumped up from the bed, the portrait of the girl still in his hands. "I can't stay long. But you must understand."
"We have a daughter?"
"Yes, her name is Abigail."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't know when I buried you that I was with-child. And in saving you I had angered my coven. For awhile I was able to hide in Europe. In the final days I found sanctuary at Lachlan's home, where Abigail was born. Within minutes of her birth the coven came to the door demanding that Lachlan bring me out. He told them that we were in sanctuary and were safe as long as we were on the property. I stayed there for about a year. Abigail would play with Grace, housekeeper's, children. Lachlan aided me in casting protective charms over this house, especially these underground rooms. But something went wrong."
"What? Katrina, what happened?"
"I'm sorry, Ichabod, I'm out of time." She began to fade from the room.
"Katrina, no, wait!" He yelled stretching out his hand to hold her there, but she had already disappeared.
Later, long after the sun had fully set, Ichabod was sitting at the ancient kitchen table wondering what could possibly have happened to his wife and daughter. His thoughts were interrupted by a beam of searching light. "Crane, that you?"
"Leftenant?" The approaching Lieutenant Mills came into the lamp's light.
"We should get out of here, this place looks like it about to fall down."
"It has stood since 1778, I have no reason to believe it will not continue to do so."
"How do you..?"
"That was the year in which I built it."
"You mean this was your house?"
"Indeed."
"Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I talked with Katrina. I... I... I have a daughter."
"What? You?" Ichabod's face remained in its worried expression. "What's wrong?"
"Something happened to them. Are there any old houses still standing in Sleepy Hollow?"
"The oldest would be the Old Fredericks House, I suppose."
"Yes, that's where we'll go." He jumped up from his seat and headed to the door with a quick determination.
"Why are we-" Abbie hurried to keep up.
"Lachlan Fredericks. He was the owner of the house during the revolution, a friend of mine and Katrina's. And, according to what Katrina told me, a warlock."
"Crane. You may be willing to walk across town, but I'm not. Get in the car." He conceded and climbed into the car parked on the street. "So why are we going?"
"Lachlan's home was a sanctuary for any who wished protection. All the workers who lived there were free men and women and stayed there of their own will. Katrina's coven was after her, she knew that she could find aid and shelter there. That's where she went and that's where our daughter was born."
"Okay."
"Turn here."
"No, I stay straight."
"No, you turn here. One does not enter a governor's drive through the exit. Turn."
Abbie refused to back down, "You want to get there fast, right? This is the fastest way, I know because we used to come as kids." She drove past the turn off and continued on her intended route.
They soon pulled up in front of an overgrown manor, standing in a condition only a little better than Ichabod's own home. "How could this house have fallen into such a state of decrepitude? It was once one of the grandest households in the area."
"Well, I think the family died out in 1813 when the last Fredrick male died in the War of 1812 and his sister married into some wealthy family in New Jersey. So it's been abandoned since then."
"Let us continue then."
"What exactly are we looking for here?"
"I'm not certain. But whatever it be it's here."
Abbie tested the doorknob. "Locked. Don't suppose this friend of your's gave you a key."
"Even if he had I doubt the lock would not have been changed."
"Would it be some great offense to etiquette if I were to just knock down the door?"
"If there were people living here... but as it is, go ahead." He relented, resisting the urge to explain the rules of proper entrance. She proceeded to knock the door inward, and together they entered the house.
"So if we see anything out of the ordinary..."
"Yes, that's what we're looking for. Anything out of the ordinary." They split up as they continued into the house, following that very unspecific guideline.
"You know, Crane, when I was a kid we thought this place was haunted."
As they separated further into the the house the heavy atmosphere of the passed years weighed on them both.
Ichabod walked through the rooms that had been the public rooms, the style of the furnishings in which were as foreign to him as the modern world outside. "Times have changed, Ichabod." He looked up from his reverie to see the figure of Lachlan Frederick standing in front of a window. "Even my house is no longer as it appeared during the revolution."
"Lachlan, what became Katrina?"
"Ah... Yes."
As Abbie moved towards a hallway lined in bedrooms she heard footsteps nearby. "Crane? That you?" She called. When no reply came she took out her gun and held it in a preparatory fashion. "It's not haunted. Not haunted." Another footstep. "Crane?" She called somewhat frightened.
"Shhhh." The sound came from a black woman clothed in colonial garb, standing in front of a door a finger to her lips accompanying the sound. As Abbie gazed at the strange sight of the woman, she silently beckoned her closer with a waving motion of her hand. Obeying Abbie approached the door before which the woman stood. The woman turned and walked through the door which opened as she passed through it. When Abbie crossed the threshold of the room sound filled the room as though the sound barrier had snapped. Upon the bed Ichabod's wife, Katrina, lay screaming from the pain of childbirth. The woman who had led Abbie into the room was acting as midwife, her orders to the other younger women in the room and her speech to Katrina muffled by the latter's cries. In the same moment that Katrina's screams ceased a high pitched and wailing cry began. The woman held, partially wrapped in a blanket, a newborn baby. "It's a girl, Mrs. Crane, a little baby girl." She said, fully wrapping the baby girl and presenting her to Katrina.
"Thank you, Grace." Katrina said taking her daughter into her arms. "Hello, little one!" Her face was alight with a glow of joy and a smile crossed her sweaty face as she gazed at the little bundle. "If only Ichabod could be here." The baby cooed, looking with wide eyes at her mother.
"What's her name gonna be?"
"Abigail. For she would have been a joy to her father." A loud knocking from the door echoed through the house. All the people in the room froze and fell silent, even the baby was silent. Voices from outside could be heard, but understood, through the window. Katrina clutched the baby protectively to her chest while the woman, Grace, hurriedly shut the draperies of the window. The people vanished, all that remained in the room was a wardrobe and the deteriorated bedstead.
Ichabod stood facing Lachlan expectantly. "You have a daughter. I don't know if you knew that." Ichabod nodded. "Katrina came here to deliver the child. Within minutes of the girl's birth the coven appeared at my door." Lachlan's voice faded off as Ichabod's vision shifted to the window behind the man. Visible through the panes was the doorstoop. A small crowd of women gathered there, Lachlan appeared before them. Sound returned to the vision. "What do you want?"
"We want Katrina Crane, bring her out to us." The apparent leader of the coven ordered.
"This property is a sanctuary. All who come here seeking safety are granted it. She is under my protection as long as she dwells here."
"And what is to stop us entering now and taking her. She is weak from childbirth and will not resist us."
"I will. My protection controls this place, you shall not pass through that door. Nor shall you return here. Now go."
"Go we shall. But you can not protect the woman forever. And when she leaves we shall find her." With that threat the vision dissolved and only Lachlan stood before Ichabod.
"You see, Ichabod, I tried to keep Katrina safe. She remained here with the girl, Abigail she called her, for three years. After which I aided her casting similar protective charms around your home. Occasionally Grace and I would check on her, to see how she was doing. One day the coven returned here and afterward I was unable to leave the property. I was unable to help Katrina when she came. My deepest apologies and sympathies. Perhaps this will be of aid to you." He flicked his hand, from a nearby room the thud of a fallen object came. Then he disappeared. Ichabod then approached the door from which the sound had originated. On the floor, beneath a shelf was a book, within which was what appeared to be records of all those who had come to the estate seeking sanctuary.
The two remaining presences within the house eventually found each other and exited the long abandoned house. Neither talked until they were in the car, Ichabod holding the book of records.
"What's that?" Abbie asked referring to the book.
PPS: For those of my readers who are wondering why I chose to have two characters named Abigail; my advice is to lookup the meaning of the name Abigail then reread the vision about little Abigail's birth (Specifically what Katrina says after naming her).
