I was drawn to the fire like a bug to light. The flames were consuming evidence, the same evidence I spent months preparing. The feeling was oddly familiar to how Katrina had drawn me nights before. But this time was much different; I felt certain hatred between us. I almost felt that the flames were mimicking our spirits.

I emerged from my stallion and spoke before Katrina had looked at me, "Katrina, you took the evidence and burned it," I told her.

She arose from her position and turned to me. I could tell instantly, just by the glance in her eyes, that she had shared my feelings of betrayal, "So you would not have it to accuse my father," she responded bitterly.

Other then the essence of betrayal I had sensed very little from her. By admiring her stern face and stone straight posture I could only guess what she had been thinking, what she was feeling, and most importantly, what she was feeling for me. I looked into her eyes and made an educated guess on how she was feeling. What I had guessed was she had been accusing me of a monster, "I accuse no one. But if there is guilt," I denied, "I cannot alter it no matter how much it grieves me."

Her silent frown and silent response allowed me to continue, "And no spells of yours can alter it, either," I remarked sarcastically.

Her face remained expressionless, "Your father has a motive. It is he who stands to profit from these murders," I explained.

She took a deep breath to rejuvenate her. When her strength returned to her she continued, "If you knew him you wouldn't have such harsh thoughts about him," she stated in his defense.

No words were fit to respond to her. I felt her expressionless state almost consume me as if it were contagious, "Nor if you felt anything for me," she continued.

My stomach sank the second she had denied my love for her and, like most would feel, I couldn't bare her talk of "love" at the moment. Instead of debating the subject with her I continued to explain why I had accused her father, "I am pinioned by a chain of reasoning," I growled, "Why else did his friends conspire to conceal?"

Our conversation quickened and our responses slurred together, "You are the constable. So find another chain of reasoning and let me be," she responded.

Our conversation hesitated for a moment as I had gasped a breath of air. Afterward, the conversation continued at a lightning bolt speed, "I cannot. Nor the one or the other. And I am heartsick with it," I denied.

She shook her head. I could tel1from her expression and the position of her plump clover red lips that harsh words were to be said and they were, "I think you have no heart," she muttered hypnotically, "And I had a mind once to give you mine."

I couldn't bare her regret for loving me, "Yes, I think you loved me that day," I said in attempt for her to agree of her love for me.

I was startled by no response. Nevertheless, my eagerness forced me to pursue. I knew I wouldn't feel complete until she would admit her love for me. I continued hopefully, "When you followed me into the Western Woods to have braved such peril."

She shook her head in disgust, "What peril was there if it was my own father… who controlled the headless horseman," she asked turning away from me.

I hadn't the courage to speak up, instead, I allowed her to jump on her white steed and gallop away, "Good-bye, Ichabod Crane. I curse the day you came to Sleepy Hollow."