Sleepy Hollow
A/N-First, I'd like to thank my two amazing beta's. You girls sure do know how to keep me on my toes! To everyone who visited, reviewed, faved, or followed this story, thank you so much. The support helps me see I'm doing something right! I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get the chapter up; I had some unexpected things pop up. In case you're wondering, in chapter one I went and wrote out 'Leftenant', from this point forward, I'm going to spell it correctly (Lieutenant) and trust that you know he's saying 'Leftenant.'
XxX
Sleepy Hollow Cemetery
Stepping out of the Jeep - or motorized carriage, as Crane calls all vehicles - Abbie surveys the scene in front of her. The air is crisp, the leaves starting their annual change from vibrant greens to varying shades of death. The cemetery, usually appropriately solemn, is abuzz with activity. A single crow squawks from its perch on a nearby oak tree. The breeze picks up and blows Abbie's bangs into her eyes. She shivers, the eerie stillness of her environment taking its toll.
"I have a bad feeling this crime scene has something to do with our otherworldly activities, Crane." She says grimly, heading in the direction of the uniformed guard on the scene. Nodding his agreement, Ichabod falls into step with her, bracing himself for the gruesome image he had been warned about.
"Who found her?" She asks tilting the badge on her hip to the officer for inspection.
"I did." He says, color draining from his face at the thought. Hands on his hips, he swallows audibly, clearly trying to get hold of himself.
"I'm sorry, care to clarify, officer?" The town of Sleep Hollow, all 144,000 citizens, were already alive with a mixture of fear, wonderment, and curiosity regarding the death of the mayor's wife. The mayor's wife. She shudders, not in the mood for the backlash this was already causing. She looks between the sickly officer and Crane realizing something amiss.
"Go see for yourself." He is barely able to spit his sentence out before he runs to a nearby tree to vomit. Staring after him, Abbie clenches her jaw; her thoughts go everywhere and nowhere until Crane cuts in.
"I hope that type of behavior isn't customary for law enforcement. In my day, that type of conduct would have resulted in dire consequences." He informs her dryly. She looks up at him out of the corner of her eye.
"No," she begins making her way over to Morales; Cranes' long legs allow him to keep in step with her, despite her increased speed. She does not need his judgment right now.
"However," she continues. "Just because we are law enforcement doesn't mean we are absolved from feeling any sort of emotion." She says this hotly, angry for no particular reason.
"Forgive me Ms. Mills, I did not mean to imply that one within the field of law enforcement … bloody hell!" He stops, mouth slightly agape, face pale and developing a slight perspiration. Fingers trembling, he points to the offensive item. Noting his countenance, she turns in the direction his finger is pointing.
"Oh God." Her eyes scan the scene in a matter of seconds taking in every crevice; the images are forever burned into her skull. Rubbing her eyes she tells herself to prepare for the nightmares she knows she'll have for quite some time. How do you prepare for- oh God, what the hell was this? Rolling her shoulders and struggling to hold down the piece of toast for breakfast, she moves forward.
"Are you coming, Crane?" She stops a few feet in front of him, she doesn't want to face it alone. Nodding quickly, he takes a shaky step and moves to follow her.
"Here." She reaches down into an opened crime scene technicians' bag, her stride never breaking, and snaps on the blue department-issue latex gloves to rub a little vapor rub under her nose. She holds the bottle out to him.
"This will help with the smell of the body." He takes it from her and sniffs the contents curiously. After examining the bottle, he sniffs again, causing her to raise an eyebrow.
"This is Turpentine." He looks awestruck- reverent, even, and momentarily forgets the horror of the crime scene in his amazement.
"There may be some turpentine in it," she answers as she kneels next to a headstone. With her stomach rolling, she's grateful for Crane's pointless incredulity.
"But, I'm failing to see your point." She stands and eyes her surroundings again.
"My point," he says crossly, looking around again as well. "Is that, Turpentine was used for a plethora of reasons. It's actually quite astounding how liberally the substance was used." Abbie observes him, watching his face come alive; she can't help but think that he looks a bit adorable.
Paying her blatant adoration no mind, he continues on with his explanation: "External rubefacient, stimulant, astringent, a laxative even. To burn turpentine in lamps it only required purification by redistillation and a burner … and it was one of the best means of chasing away flees."
Crane," she says to jar him out of his diatribe. Enough. They need to focus on the crime scene.
Unhearing, he rambles on, "If you melt together an earthen pipkin half, one pound tallow, four ounces of hog's lard, two ounces of turpentine, and as much beeswax…"
"Who gives a shit dude? It's 2013," Morales quips as he walks up.
Looking at Abbie with a wounded expression on his face, Crane begins in a rush of words. "Lieutenant, I was merely expressing my profound amazement something survived the great changes of the generations." He places a little vapor rub under his nose with a huff. She nods taking the clear evidence containerMorales hands to her.
"I know Crane." She smiles softly. Rolling his eyes, Morales steps between them and bends to her ear.
"He's a grown man and you baby him likes he's some type of invalid." Shock colors her expression rendering her momentarily speechless.
"LUKE!" She numbly looks down at the object she's holding, her mind obscurely registering what it is. Goggling, Crane snatches it.
"Oh dear heavens, is that …?" He swallows heavily.
"That," Morales says morosely, not looking at Abbie. "Is her tongue."
Abbie moves over and kneels next to Esther Newcastle's head. Earlier Crane had described the scene to her in his customary formal, prim tone. He detailed the precise markings made on the tree, tombstones, and Mrs. Newcastle's face and body. In fact, Crane had taken such care in his description of the torrid scene that Abbie had had a visceral reaction to what her imagination had conjured. She had never seen such an atrocious murder in the quaint, quiet town of Sleepy Hollow, a reality Crane was able to decipher rather quickly. What dear Crane had neglected to mention was that First Lady Newcastle's tongue had been removed from her body. And, from what Morales was telling her, this foul transgression had occurred while Mrs. Newcastle was not only alive, but conscious.
"Miss Mills?" Crane begins testily, standing next to the badly scarred and burned body.
Peeling her eyes away, she raises an eyebrow in response. "I recognize these markings."
XxX
Cabin of deceased August Corbin
Standing in the doorway, Jennifer Mills looks around the cabin of her deceased mentor. When Corbin told her that Abbie would come back to her when she was ready she had laughed in his face. In fact, she'd told him she would shoot her sister if she even so much as crossed the doorway to her room. And yet, here she is two months later and she still hasn't shot her sister … yet. She's still a know-it-all. She's probably sleeping with Crane. But, still, overall, she isn't so bad. With a sigh, she walks to the thick pine wood table and drops her belongings onto it. Looking up to see her reflection in the mirror she notices a figure behind her. She takes a curious step forward and five terrified steps back, but her reflection stays put while Moloch's long claws slide across the figures abdomen in what seems like slow motion. The other Jennifer Mills drops into a heap, cracking the mirror when she hits the floor and causes the demon to disappear. Shaking, she raises her shirt and looks down at the spot where Moloch had wounded her reflection. A deep purple bruise is starting to form. She's barely had time to enjoy being normal, whatever society's definition of normalcy is, and then this mess begins again. But Corbin had warned both her and Abbie, and this was their life now, so she may as well get used to it.
"Oh shit." She breathes pulling out her phone to call her sister.
XxX
Sleepy Hollow Cemetery
"Oh hell," Morales grumbles upon seeing Abbie's piqued interest. "And where have you seen these markings, Oxford?" Refusing to enter into a battle of wits he knew he would win, Crane keeps his gaze on Abbie.
"Lieutenant, I have seen these markings before," he states again rather pointedly. "In fact, so have you." The way he looks at her makes his meaning very clear and her lips form an "O" shape as she nods slowly.
"Morales, can you go ask CSU if she was restrained by anything? I want her body off this stake and I want to know what caused those markings." She orders.
"Sure," he nods, looking between them. "But we need to talk Abbie." She too nods, before turning her attention back to Crane.
"Where the hell are these markings from?" She whispers harshly, stepping closer to him to avoid being overheard.
"Do you remember Serilda of Abaddon?" Hands on her hips she narrows her eyes to little slits.
"Yes. So?" She smiles absently at a passerby, not paying attention to who it is.
"Do you remember anything distinctive about her?"
Abbie runs a hand over her face and shakes her head dejectedly.
"Other than you were throwing the torch that bought her to her second and, hopefully final, death? No."
"On her palm…" He begins. Recognition flashes over her features.
"That symbol! Hang on a second!" Taking out her phone, she stops a technician just before she begins to move the body. After taking a picture of the symbol on her hand, she looks at Crane.
"Does this mean what I think it is means?" She turns back to the body to document the other markings when her phone rings.
"Jenny, slow down. What happened?" She begins to pace, her free hand running through her hair nervously. "What?" She begins to walk to her vehicle, a determined look on her face. "Morales can you run point? Call my cell if anything develops!" She yells over her shoulder before swinging herself into the Jeep; slamming it into gear and swerving wildly to avoid hitting Crane.
"Jesus, get in the damn car!" She hollers as he stupidly fumbles with the door, a panicked expression on his face. He'd nearly met his demise by these cursed vehicles far too many times to ever feel comfortable around them.
XxX
Cabin of Deceased August Corbin
"Miss Mills!" Crane tries to catch her before she jumps out of the car without putting it in park. Ignoring him, Abbie takes the porch steps in one leap, a feat that is mind-boggling for Ichabod Crane, seeing as she is one of the shortest women he has ever encountered. She yells her sister's name and whips her gun out while opening the cabin door.
"Jenny!" The urgency in her voice causes Crane to give pause. In the past few months he has seen her in many different states of mind. But he's never heard this tone, seen this side. Exposed. Vulnerable. Afraid to lose someone she's only just gotten back.
They are met with no answer from her sister. Crane feels himself being pulled to the left and winces as his shoulder roughly collides with the wall. Abbie looks up at him helplessly, imploring him- why, exactly, he doesn't know.
"Do something," she growls, tears pooling in her pretty brown eyes. "Help me find my sister." She says urgently. Her back is against the wall and one foot crosses calculatedly in front of the other as she makes her way further into the room. Crane can do nothing but watch, mesmerized.
"Jennifer!" She scans the room quickly, her gun swiping from side to side. Her training as an officer of the law allows her to take in her surroundings quickly and her line of sight zeroes in on the cracked mirror at the exact moment her sister runs into the room, a flurry of hair, limbs, and shouts.
"Abbie! Look!" Unable to properly express her relief she gasps as Jenny pulls her to the mirror and shows her the crack along the glass.
Gingerly, almost to ensure she is in fact seeing things correctly, Abbie touches the glass.
"It can't be." Crane steps behind Abbie –which doesn't go unnoticed by Jenny- and places his hands behind his back.
"It appears Moloch is making a return." Obviously. Watching her younger sister, she is still unable to express the relief she wants to as her mind reels with shock.
"There's more." Jenny recounts the events, including the doppelgangers' demise and raises her shirt to show the bruise along her abdomen.
"Miss Jenny, this is most improper!" Crane turns swiftly to avoid seeing Abbie's sister while she is indecent. He can sense the sisters sharing a simultaneous eye roll.
"I was worried as hell." Abbie says, dropping to her knees and running her fingers gently along the dark bruise. Crane looks over his shoulder to see Abbie tending to her sister; the gentle way she touches her, the way her eyes soften as she tries to gauge the amount of pain she is in- it's all terribly unfamiliar to him.
"Abbie," she hisses drawing in her abdomen and rolling her eyes to the ceiling. "That hurts." Nodding Abbie stands and walks the perimeter of the room.
"Explain Crane. I know you have a reason for this."
He looks hastily over his shoulder to ensure that Jenny is in fact decent, before turning around to face the two. "Miss Jenny will you recount the events for me one more time?"
Jenny retold the story slowly, from the beginning. It wasn't that she didn't think Crane was capable of keeping up, but she was instead unnerved by the way Abbie was scrutinizing her so closely. When she finished, Crane took his time answering.
"Miss Jenny, I believe you are in grave danger. Moloch is marking you and the fact that your mirror-self is deceased, does not bode well, I think." He opens a cabinet and hands her a pot.
"Look into it." All three gather around it, but only two images are looking back. "He's already killed your reflection."
"You can't be serious. Are you serious Crane?" Abbie squeaks.
"You can't be serious. Are you sure Crane?" Jenny puts a hand to her bruised stomach. Shock and then resignation register on her face as she sits down in the nearest chair, she lets out a sigh.
"Corbin did say there would come a time when a sacrifice would be needed."
A stunned silence overtakes the room as the three of them contemplate the implications of the statement.
XxX
O'Donnahue's Tavern
Her fifth drink.
The first was a quick shot. Whiskey. Jim Bean. It went down easy. A friend, in one of her more annoying moments, had once told her 'whiskey gets you frisky.' Maybe there was some truth to the statement though because as she sat alone at the bar, with alcohol coursing through her veins, she felt more than a little frisky. A quick, innocuous, "Here you go Lieutenant Mills, enjoy," and she could be well on her way. She was in danger and she didn't even know it yet.
Her second drink, well, she was sure she was going to stop after that one. Hell, she had to figure out a way to keep her sister alive, so that was going to be the last one.
That was three drinks and forty five minutes ago.
Five drinks in one whole hour was a poor decision. For the guys at the station, this was nothing –but she, on the other hand, was five feet one inch and weighed exactly one hundred and sixteen pounds meaning she was more than a little inebriated. She was drunker than drunk.
Eyes heavy, tongue thick, she lolls her head languidly to the side when a hand touches her thigh.
"Feeling Froggy …" She teases with a sultry lilt to her voice. The man sitting next to her could be an ax murderer, a big burly woman, or a psychotic patient escaped from an institution. But she didn't care. It was late, she was drunk, and she needed a distraction. She needed to let go for once and stop being so damn uptight.
She was Abbie, the good one, but even she needed a break every once in a while.
"Luke." She breathes.
He's sitting there, dimpled smile and dark hair still damp from a shower, with his leather jacket hugging his broad shoulders. To make matters worse, his hand is still resting reassuringly on her thigh, she's creaming and oh God she's so wet all of a sudden that her panties are probably stuck to her nether regions.
His eyes darken because he knows. And he also knows that he probably shouldn't because he knows she's drunk, that's why Anthony called him here after all, and she might not even remember this in the morning. But her lips are so pouty, she's leaning toward him, and he's missed her so much. So against his better judgment, he does it.
Their lips meet and suddenly she's in his lap and they're in public, two officers clinging to each other and damn near fucking in the dirty tavern in little Sleepy Hollow where everyone will know that Abigail Mills and Luke Morales were dry humping on a bar stool.
"We need to go." He picks her up off her stool; he always loved how small she was and sets her gently on the ground keeping her close to him. She hugs him closer, loving this feeling of familiarity. She missed it, how well they fit together.
"M-my drink," she stutters, stumbling against him as she makes a grab for the dark liquid.
"No more Abs, we need to get you home."
She nods, at least she thinks she does, but her head feels heavy and she can't lift it. So when Luke takes her chin and raises her face to meet his, she thanks God because it gives her a much-needed sense of stability. Her face is against his chest, and she can hear his heart thunder against her ear. When he turns her so that her face nestles his arm and leads her out of the bar, she knows he's going to be in her bed before the end of the night.
It's a wonder he manages to get her out of the bar. She's incredibly unsteady on her feet, but once she hits the crisp air she gains a little clarity; enough to turn to him, rise on her toes, and give him an open-mouthed kiss. Enough to thread her arms around his neck and grind her hips against his.
She whimpers, he growls. Fuck it all. He backs her against the wall and lifts her up he plunders her mouth, greedily and animalistic. He tastes whiskey, vodka, Coke, and peanuts on her breath. She grins wickedly against his lips and brushes her trembling fingers over his cheekbone.
"How long has it been for you Luke?" The alcohol makes her brave, it makes her say and do things she would never dream of. She doesn't like that she's so drunk but it feels good to be free. To let go and enjoy. She can feel his eyes roaming her face, watching the rise and fall of her chest, and when she sees his pupils dilate she knows he's feeling the pull too.
She grinds her hips against his and licks her lips, desperate for a release. She sucks his lip into her mouth then bites roughly almost hard enough to draw blood. He uses his hands to still her hips and gazes into her eyes. How one woman can have such an effect on him he doesn't know, but he wants this, he wants her. But he wants to do it right and she's so drunk that it can't be right. He wants her to wake up in the morning without wanting to punch him, or worse, shoot him. And so, reluctantly, he dodges her next barrage of kisses, grips her hips so tight she cries out, and rests his forehead against hers.
"Grace." He says it firmly, needing her to say it. Needing her to understand what his means to him.
"Answer me Luke."
She smacks him, hard enough for her hand to leave an angry red mark on his jaw, hard enough to make his member jump, and hard enough to make him forget chivalry. He's only a man. He has needs and she's more than willing to accommodate him. He couldn't care less about chivalry in this moment. He's gripping her hips and all he wants to do is take her right here in the middle of the damn street, for the entirety of the town to see. With a growl he manages to back her into the alley, pressing her against the brick wall.
"How long has it been for you Abbie?" he whispers hotly in her ear grinding his growing erection into her backside. She whimpers again and presses back against him daring him to challenge her. He sweeps her hair to the side and sucks at the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck, cupping her through her jeans. With every moan, whimper, and kiss, he grows harder, his jeans straining almost painfully against him.
"It's been so long." He tantalizes unzipping her jeans. She groans and looks back at him. Eyes heavy, lips swollen, panties wet. She grinds back against him again.
"Please." She begs, not embarrassed in the least that he's managed to reduce her to such behavior. She had thought she would be content to simply be drunk in a bar with cheap alcohol, bad music, and stale peanuts but this; him on her, teasing her, rocking his palm against her core and -oh yes, his lips on her earlobe- she knows, even in a drunken haze that this is so much more than she could have expected. Part of her knows she's going to regret her decision in the morning and part of her feels that this is where she's supposed to be but in the moment, when his finger finally manages to find its way past her jeans and under her panties, she doesn't care which part of her is actually correct.
"Luke," she breathes, her fisted hand connecting with the brick wall. "God." She chokes out almost in a sob.
He tongue explores her mouth fervently when she tips her chin back to look at him. Curling his finger, he smirks slyly into the kiss.
"I want you Abbie. I want you beneath me, writhing, shaking, and begging me to let you come." With that, she's torn apart, crying out and gripping his wrist.
"Luke." She pants. He misses this, her shaking under him, his name a breathless whisper on her lips. He's so hard he can't think straight and when she grinds back against him he hisses and bites his lip in order to prevent himself from losing it right there. And then the tables are turned and as much as she misses him inside her she has his back against the wall, she's on her knees and pulling him out of his pants before he can even realize what's happening.
"Don't." He tries, but it's too late. Her lips are on his cock, taking him deep and when she sucks then blows on him his hips buck and a growl escapes his lips. Her mouth is divine and when she cups his balls something in him snaps and he bucks wildly, grabbing her hair and pushing himself further into her. She gags and he can't help but respond in kind, forcing her name through his gritted teeth.
He hears the sound of footsteps in the distance and even though he knows he should really make her stop, that he should try to find some sense of dignity, he cannot. She's sucking his tip, murmuring dirty nothings around mouthfuls of him, and when she looks up at him and winks, he loses it. Hot and sweaty he crashes into her mouth, grabbing handfuls of her hair and uttering a violent stream of profanities.
"Hey!" The footsteps sound closer pulling them out of their coital bliss. "Hey, Miss."
A sharp shake to her body brings Abbie out of her reverie. Her blurry eyes search the bar wondering where Luke had gone and how she had ended up back on this barstool, a half empty glass in her hand. She lolls her head to the right, taking in the stout man next to her.
"Are you alright, Miss?"
"Yeah," Abbie clears her throat. "I think I just need a cab."
XxX
Cabin of Deceased August Corbin
She feels the object against her back before she can reach her own gun. It's digging into her spine and she knows that whatever it is, it's sharp and she needs to remain calm in order to find a way out of this situation.
"Who are you?" She tries to turn her head but a sharp blow to her lip makes her vision blur and snaps her head back front facing. Crane told her she was in danger, that Moloch had a plan and maybe this was that plan coming to fruition. There's nothing she can do but see this through, so she swallows her fear, spits blood again, and allows anger to flood through her. She's pissed.
"In the car, Jennifer." And with that, there's a prick in her back and her world goes black.
