In one way or another, I'm going to get my ass kicked for uploading so many new stories. I will finish all of them. I've actually started on a few but I haven't had much time to upload and finish.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sleepy Hollow, nor Johnny Depp...-sigh-
A Mission
A bell clamored loudly in the moonlight hour, echoing off the cobblestone streets of Eighteenth Century New York City.
"Where are you?" Called a young constable, running to the docks of the Hudson. He, along with another constable was patrolling the streets when they spotted someone in the dark along the dock, crouching down near the water.
"Over here!" Came the reply from the young man. Both constables raced over to where he was standing.
"Constable Crane? Is that you?" Said one of them, approaching the young man.
"It is none other." He responded. "Come quick, I have found something, and I need your help with it."
One of them lifted his lantern to reveal a young man no older than twenty-four. He was tall and a bit lanky with pale skin, high cheekbones, messy dark brown hair, and eyes as dark as the deepest abyss, nervous and unsettled. The constables peered over the dock and saw the bloated body of a man, presumably dead, floating downwards in the murky river.
"…Which was lately a man." He added, paling suddenly.
Two of them reached in and pulled him out as Ichabod Crane covered the lower part of his face, feeling a sudden wave of nausea wash over his thin body.
They carried the bloated body to the city watch house in a wheel barrel and stopped in front of the stand of a snobby looking old man, well known as the High Constable. He lifts the covers off the body and takes a look with faint disgust on his faded features.
"Burn it." He said bluntly, as Ichabod's expectant face fell.
"Yes Sir." Said the first constable, wheeling the body away.
"Just a moment if I may…" Ichabod inquired. "We do not yet know the cause of death."
"He was found in the river. Cause of death, drowning." The High Constable said in annoyance.
"Possibly so if there is water in the lungs, but…by pathology, we might determine whether or not he was dead when he went into the river."
"Cut him up?" The older man looked over at him in ludicrous. "Are we heathens? Let him rest in peace – in one peace as according to God and the New York Department of Health." He finished in a mutter.
Ichabod, clearly frustrated, opened his mouth to protest more on the matter when he stopped himself. Just then, two different constables walked in, supporting a half conscious man on their shoulders.
"What happened to him?" The High Constable asked raising an eyebrow.
"Nothing Sir." Replied the first constable. "Arrested for burglary."
"Good work. Throw him in."
The two men toss in the thief into the cell, head first, and he landed onto the ground with a sickening thud. The whole action has caused the young constable to flinch visibly.
--
"Gentlemen!" Ichabod Crane began, standing in the gloomy courtroom before the Burgomaster and the High Constable, early the next day. "The Millennium is almost upon us. In a few months we will be living in the nineteenth century –!"
"Constable Crane!" The Burgomaster said in annoyance.
Ichabod held up a piece of paper. "I have here a confession to the murder of a man I fished out of the river last night!"
"Stand down!" The High Constable yelled angrily.
"I stand up, for sense and justice!" Ichabod continued a little passionately. "Our jails overflow with men and women convicted on confessions worth no more than this one!"
The Burgomaster banged his gravel, for silence in the room, from the murmurs in the crowd.
"Constable, this is a song we have heard from you more than once but never before with this discordant accompaniment. I have two courses open to me. First, I can let you cool your heels in the cells until you learn respect for the dignity of my office…"
Ichabod held up a hand in interjection.
"I beg pardon. I only meant well. Why am I the only one who sees that to solve crimes, to detect the guilty, we must use our brains – " The Burgomaster and the High Constable frowned at this " – to recognize vital clues, using up-to-date scientific –?"
"Which – " The Burgomaster interrupted. " – brings me to the second course. Constable Crane, there is a town upstate, two days' journey to the north in the Hudson Highlands. It is a place called Sleepy Hollow. Have you heard of it?"
"I have not."
"An isolated farming community, mostly Dutch." The Burgomaster continued. "Three persons have been murdered there, all within a fortnight…each found with their heads lopped off."
Ichabod swallowed.
"Lopped off?"
"Clean as dandelion heads, apparently. Now, these ideas of yours, they have never been put to the test…"
"I have never been allowed to put them to the test!" Ichabod said in outrage.
"Just so, granted. So take your experimentations to Sleepy Hollow and deduce, er detect the murderer. Bring him here to face our good justice. Will you do this?"
Ichabod swallowed again.
"I shall, gladly."
"And remember – it is you, Ichabod Crane, who is now put the test." The Burgomaster finished in quiet dour.
--
Ichabod sighed as he approached the coach parked before his home. He looked back and saw a little red-feathered speck in the sky, then entered the coach. It took off through the city until it reached the city limits and plunged onto a dirt road leading into the wilderness.
As the coach lumbered along, day slowly fades into night, and a wolf howls in the not to far distance. Ichabod looked up in alarm and immediately shuts the shades of the window.
The sun rises, marking the beginning of another day. The young man woke up to find the surroundings of his travel vehicle through a sun-dappled forest, upstate.
He picked up his leather satchel and placed it on his lap, checking its contents. He picked up a Bird-in-Cage Spinning Disc Toy, played with it and watch it as the images blurred together. In a short time, he puts it down and looked onto his hands. He fingered the strange puncture wounds on his palms, each hole evenly dispersed from one another.
After a moment, he returned to looking through his satchel.
Soon enough, it became late day, and the coach made a stop at the gates of a desolate town. Ichabod stepped out with his bags and headed over to two massive stone pillars.
He stopped unsure as he surveyed the scene before him. He looked back just in time to see his coach turn the bend of the dirt road, disappearing around the bend. He faces forward and stepped fourth up a long straight road to the town.
'This is only the beginning…' Ichabod thought in false enthusiasm as he made his way into the village. He was, however, vaguely aware of the three dead ravens hung by twine above him between the pillars.
R and R if you want.