Johanna Danvers was going to die. There was no way out. She watched in horror as the headless man ripped free from the chains that she'd summoned. He came closer and closer, ax ready. She could see clearly that he was wearing some kind of old military uniform. She had the oddest feeling of recognition, not that she could recognize the man without his head anyhow. Johanna's back brushed the side of the church. As Jo's hands curled around the cold bricks and she stared into the darkness, she knew that she was ready. "I'll not tell you where it is." The headless man's white steed reared up at this, its red eyes glowing. "I'm prepared to die." As the headless man swung the axe toward her, it glinted in the moonlight. In that moment, the weapon was almost beautiful. It would be a beautiful death. She felt as the blade connected with her flesh—
Jo woke gasping for breath, drenched in sweat. She threw the sheets from her bed and put her head, which was now pounding with the sprint of her heartbeat, into her hands. The cold wooden floor beneath her feet was a soothing reminder that she was awake. She rubbed almost absently at her throat; she could feel the phantom presence of the blade against her skin. Jo stood at the side of her bed and stretched, waiting until she was fully awake to glance at the clock.
"Please, God let me have slept longer than two bloody hours." She covered her eyes with one hand and peeked through her fingers at the evil, red digital numbers. 3:33am. Jo groaned; four hours was better than nothing.
Jo turned back to her bed, tearing the sopping wet towels from the sheets and threw them over the side of the bath as she had done every night for the past three weeks. Every night, Jo had the same dream and in every dream, Jo died. Night terrors were expected when one deals with the forces that Jo did, but not the same dream. Never once in the two centuries she'd lived had Jo dreamt the same dream.
As a witch, Johanna had encountered plenty of dark forces; dark witches, demons, even some humans…Some had terrified her so badly that she wanted to give up being a witch; at times she'd wanted to give up all together. Her friends throughout the centuries, most of them were dead now, had helped her keep it together. There was only one person that could help Jo in this dark hour. Reverend Knapp.
Albert Knapp was like a father to her; he pushed her when she needed to be pushed and comforted her when the world was simply too much to deal with. He'd taken her in after her family had abandoned her when she turned thirteen. Her powers had begun to manifest and her mortal family believed that she was an agent of the devil himself. Knapp had found her asleep on one of the pews of his church in two centuries before…
August 1795
"Where is your family, Child?" The white haired reverend asked, sitting carefully beside her.
She'd sat up like a proper lady and explained that they were afraid of her, and so they left. They left like everyone else had left her because she was different.
"Different how?" Reverend Knapp asked sadly.
"I can make things happen." The candles around the church began to spark and light up as young Johanna spoke. Tears trailed down her cheeks as the dark church was illuminated. "Mother said that I was a devil. That I was going to be burned!"
For the first time in her life, thirteen year old Johanna looked upon another's face and saw sympathy. Reverend Knapp said simply, "People are afraid of what they do not understand." With a wave of his hand, the candles were extinguished.
Johanna's eyes widened, "You—"
"You mustn't speak of what you can do to others, Johanna. Do you understand?" She nodded eagerly, a small smile growing on her face as the tears subsided. "And you must understand that you will always have family in me. I made a promise to your mother that I would look after you should anything happen to her." He handed her a worn leather bible, "This was your mother's."
"She left me. I do not want it." Johanna replied stubbornly.
"She did not leave you." Before Johanna could ask what Reverent Knapp was talking about, he stood and ordered with a kind smile, "Read the scripture. I will return for you when rooms are made ready."
Johanna smiled at the memory as she dialed the number for Reverend Knapp's church. After a few rings, an elderly female voice answered. "This is Sister Patrice. May I help you?"
"Yes, this is Johanna Danvers. I was hoping to speak with Reverend Knapp." There was silence. Something was wrong. "Sister?" Johanna asked after a moment.
"I'm very sorry. Reverend Knapp was murdered three weeks ago. God rest his soul."
Johanna's hands were shaking as she took the phone from her ear and ended the call. She couldn't take her eyes from the cell phone for a moment.
Jo bit her lip as she felt the tears begin to build. Tears of sorrow, tears of regret. The tears that fell were tears of rage. Rage that was realized when Jo hurled the phone at the wall and it broke into dozens of tiny pieces of metal and glass. She could feel the power crackle in her fingertips, like static electricity as she took a deep breath and swept her long auburn hair from her face. The lights around her room began to flicker to life as she focused the power outside of her body. The lamps all pulsated in unison, growing brighter and brighter. Suddenly, every light bulb in the room burst, sending shards of glass every which way.
Johanna was in the dark again.
Just like in her dream.
Maybe it hadn't been a dream at all.
"One night." Abbie muttered into her pillow as she rolled over and grabbed her screeching cell phone, "One night without crime is all I ask." She clicked on her bedside lamp and sat up as she accepted the call. "Lieutenant Mills."
There was only static on the other end.
"Hello?" Abbie asked loudly, "Hello?" She took the phone away from her ear to squint at the screen. There was no phone number listed on the caller ID.
Through the static, Abbie could make out a few whispered words. "Hollow… …way…careful…very…"
"Who is this?" She demanded. The static buzzed louder and the same words were repeated in a feminine whisper. Fed up, Abbie went to end the call.
As her finger connected with the touch screen of the phone, the world around Abbie dissolved away. Somehow, she ended up standing fully clothed in an unlit white room. It took her a moment, but Abbie was able to recognize where she was. Katrina had summoned her again.
The witch rounded the corner, dressed in her usual black dress with her hair spilling over her shoulders. "Hello, Ms. Mills." The white, gauzy curtains rustled with a mystic wind.
"Was that you on my phone just now?" Abbie asked, eyebrows raised and she crossed her arms.
Katrina nodded as she stepped forward, "I thought that it would be of more convenience to you, but I couldn't establish a clear connection. My apologies." Outside, the dead trees creaked in unison with the moans of the souls in purgatory. Katrina's eyes widened and she continued in a softer voice, "We are always being watched here, but I had to warn you."
"Warn me?" Abbie glanced out the window and noticed a shadowy figure lurking near the window. Her hand automatically went to her hip, but her gun was nowhere to be found. Purgatory. Right. Abbie looked back to Katrina, "Warn me about what?"
"You're all in danger. There is a witch on her way to Sleepy Hollow. She is more powerful than anyone I've ever seen. I don't know her intention yet, but you must keep yourselves safe." Katrina walked further inside of the ancient looking house. Abbie tried to follow her, but she couldn't seem to move her feet. Katrina's next words were a whisper. "You must remember that nothing is what it seems."
Abbie was jolted back into her bedroom by the ring of her cell phone once again. This time it was Captain Irving. "Rise and shine, Lieutenant Mills; we've got a murder suspect in holding demanding to speak to you and Crane."
Later, Abbie was banging on the cabin door with her fist, yelling, "Crane! Let's go! We've got a case!"
When the door finally opened a fully clothed, perfectly groomed Ichabod Crane was standing in the threshold. He looked better than Abbie had seen him in days; he'd taken the horseman's revelations pretty rough. Ichabod asked as he shut the door, "Does crime never sleep?"
Abbie sighed and shook her head, "Nope. But I'll bet there's a fresh pot of coffee waiting at the station with your name written all over it."
Ichabod's brow came together in confusion as they got into the car, "Why would my name be written on it?"
"Never mind."
Irving met Abbie and Ichabod almost as soon as they walked through the door, "The suspect's name is Gerry Mason. He's being charged with the murder of his wife, Emma. She was found dead three days ago." He handed Abbie the file as they reached her desk. She opened it to reveal pictures filled with blood and gore. Emma Mason had been found tied to a chair with burn marks, bruises, and slashes covering her body. "The M.E. hasn't completed the autopsy yet, with all of the backlog, but his estimate is that she was tortured for at least twenty-four hours before he killed her."
Ichabod took the file from Abbie, saying, "How could you do this to someone you love?" Abbie knew from the look in his eye that he was thinking of Katrina. She hadn't told him about her visit yet because she needed him focused on the case. Not that there was a case, as of yet, but if they ended up being the lead with the suspect, she needed to keep him focused.
"Morales was the lead on the case." Irving warned as he went back to his office, "Try not to step on any toes."
"This is gonna be fun." Abbie said sarcastically as she looked around the office. Most of the desks were empty, considering that it was the middle of the night. Morales was there, glaring daggers at Ichabod. There was a night janitor cleaning the windows of Irving's office. There one thing that was out of place was the woman at the front desk. Abbie couldn't quite make out what she was saying, but she seemed to be arguing with the secretary about something.
The British woman was a little younger than Abbie, with long, wavy auburn hair and pale skin. Her hands were gripping the secretary's desk as her voice grew louder and louder. She looked furious. This drew Ichabod's attention. "Who is that?"
"I have no idea." Abbie said as she stared.
Out of nowhere, the lights above their heads began to flicker. Ripples ran through the fresh coffee that had been waiting for them on Abbie's desk. Abbie looked to Ichabod and the expression on his face said that he could feel it too. The raw energy that was suddenly running through the office.
Irving emerged from his office again and looked to Abbie. "What's that about?"
"I have no idea, Sir."
"Hm." Was all the Captain said before he went out to the lobby area. Abbie watched him try to calm the woman, but she wasn't having any of it. Captain Irving raised his voice when she began to start in again, "Ma'am, I am only going to ask you once to keep your voice down and respect this office. It is the middle of the night and we are all tired."
The woman took a deep breath, as if she actually considered yelling again. "Sorry." The look on her face said that she was not sorry at all.
Irving gestured for her to enter the bull-pen and said, "Formalities. I'm Captain Irving, and you are?"
She clenched her jaw, "Johanna Danvers."
They stood at the entrance of the office. "And how can the Sleepy Hollow Police Department help you at this ungodly hour, Ms. Danvers?"
"You can help me, Captain Irving, by explaining to me why I wasn't informed about Reverend Knapp's murder." Somehow, Johanna Danvers, the petite little thing she was, managed to talk down to Captain Irving.
Ichabod was probably trying to be helpful when he butted in, but Abbie bet that Irving didn't see it that way. "You knew the good Reverend?"
Johanna's dark green eyes glared at Ichabod as she challenged him with snark, "Did you?"
"May I?" Ichabod looked to Irving, who threw up his hands in a surrender motion and retreated to his office. "Would you like to sit?"
"No, I would not." Abbie could see that she had calmed a little, "I would like to know what happened to Alfred."
"Alfred?" Abbie said, suddenly interested by the newcomer as she sat comfortably in her desk chair, "Did you know him on a personal basis?"
"He raised me." Ichabod pulled out a chair for Johanna. She took it, giving him a nod in thanks.
"I'm sorry for your loss." Ichabod said, "His sacrifice was for the greater good."
"Sacrifice?" Johanna asked, confused as Abbie tried to quiet Ichabod. "How was he murdered?" The lights flickered again. "Sorry." Johanna muttered as she leaned forward.
"He was decapitated." Ichabod said simply. Abbie winced at the bluntness of the statement.
"He was decapitated." Johanna repeated before she fell silent for a moment. She cleared her throat, "By a horseman?"
"You know of The Horseman?" Ichabod asked before Abbie could stop him.
"Excuse us for just a moment." Abbie smiled sweetly to Johanna. Suddenly, she seized Ichabod's arm and tugged him away into Irving's office and shut the door behind them before he could protest. Something wasn't right.
Captain Irving looked up, unsurprised and unamused, "What now, Lieutenant?" He leaned back into his chair.
"What is it, Abbie?" Ichabod asked, concerned as his flustered friend glanced out of the window of the office, past the janitor, and to Johanna Danvers, who stared right back.
With her voice lowered, Abbie said, "Katrina visited me earlier." Ichabod looked to Abbie surprised, probably that she hadn't mentioned this earlier. "She gave me a warning."
"A warning?" Ichabod said as he and Irving listened intently, "What was it?"
Abbie glanced out to the office again; Johanna was still waiting in the flimsy metal chair. "Katrina said that a witch was on her way. A really powerful witch. Did you see how the lights flickered when she walked in? Couldn't you feel the power?"
"Yes." Ichabod said immediately, "I could feel it."
"I felt something." Irving admitted, "Like—pop rocks were fizzing all over my skin." At the strange looks from both Ichabod and Abbie, Irving explained, "My daughter's favorite candy."
"If Ms. Danvers is to whom Katrina was referring, it would make sense. Reverend Knapp was present during the revolution. He assisted Katrina with the spell that she used to ensure my resurrection."
Abbie and Irving stared incredulously. "The Reverend was 250 years old."
"Reverend Knapp was 307, actually, and a warlock." Ichabod corrected his partner.
"Is no one normal in Sleepy Hollow?" Irving exclaimed, "I'm being serious."
"I think that Johanna Danvers was who Katrina was talking about!" Abbie hissed as she continued, "Katrina also said that nothing is what it seems…" The three all looked out at the office again.
This time something was different.
This time something was missing.
This time, Johanna Danvers was gone.