Chapter Two - O Weary Night!

"Crane... Crane?" A strong hand smacked Ichabod in the face. His disembodied face. Ichabod groaned. Having a head with no body would be rather a drag.
"Constable Crane!" the voice said again. Slowly, Ichabod pried his eyes open and peered up at the man standing above him. His head, in fact, was still very firmly attached to his neck and he was lying in one piece beside the door of the police station. Above him, the magistrate was kneeling down, staring at him
"Are you alright, Constable?" the magistrate asked as Ichabod sat up, rubbing the back of his head.

"I'm fine..." Ichabod muttered, climbing to his feet. "What happened?"

"Well, I noticed you standing here and you fainted when I came to talk to you..." The magistrate raised an eyebrow, shaking his head. "You reported to me this... Horseman was gone for good. Now he is in the city." She led Ichabod over to his office and took out a small stack of papers. "Accounts of citizens around the same time of the murder... Happened in Manhattan, about midtown..." He sighed. "You better solve this quick, Crane. Or I'm afraid you're out of the promotion."
Ichabod clenched his teeth. It wasn't his fault someone else had figured out how to control that monster... Now all he supposed he had to do was figure out whom it was and return the head once more to its rightful grave... Plus, he needed to once and for all get through the marriage ceremony. Katrina was going to kill him when he got home.

-----------------------------------------------------

Once he had received the address to the location of the murder, Ichabod took a spare lamp as well was a loaded pistol from the station and headed that way, quickly followed by young Masbeth, eager to practice more of being a Constable. When they arrived at the site, a small crowd had forms, buzzing with gossip. Ichabod made a face as he saw husbands and wives; mothers followed by their little children, even an elderly old woman, staring down at the bloodied, headless body. He gagged as he bent down and examine the neck of the victim, wishing very much that the people would leave. It was all the same. Cauterized flesh, with no burns or scorching and a single powerful thrust to the neck. He had no doubt it was the Horseman. Standing up, Ichabod headed to a lower ranking constable not too far off. Leaning close, he muttered to the man.
"This is the wife of candidate Stephen Greene, no?" he asked; the officer nodded, but seemed afraid to open his mouth. He did look very pale himself. "And... where is Mr. Greene?" Ichabod went one.
Trembling slightly, looking ill, the officer looked at Ichabod unhappily.
"He... He left. 'Bout four hours ago... sobbin'." The officer blanched further. "I've been standin' 'ere for six hours now, sir... Can' I go now?" Ichabod nodded, sending the officer off, looking thoughtful. His hand at his chin, he paced back and forth, thinking, as the surrounding crowd thinned and finally only to officers were left standing there.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Tears coursed down her cheeks as she stared off into the waning light. Streetlamps were being illuminated and passersby were heading into their respective homes for the evening. She had run as quickly as her feet could carry her.
Katrina had been escorted home by a lower level constable in the city force when Anabelle had turned up on the doorstep with a housewarming gift for the happy couple. Upon hearing news of the Headless Horseman, she grew anxious for her cousin's safety. Desperate to be of service, she asked what Katrina needed to pass the night and after receiving a small list, she dashed off to the market, leaving Katrina in the care of the constable.
However, when she arrived back with the few parcels, she found the door off its hinges and the house in complete disarray. Papers, books, random articles were strewn all over the floor. Furniture was ruined and overturned. Anabelle dropped her packages and just stared sinking onto the stoop in complete shock. In the meantime, she mourned the loss of her cousin. Surely the Horseman had taken her.
The engagement ring Ichabod had given her gleamed from the floor of the antechamber, catching the light of the setting sun.

--------------------------------------------------------

It was going to be a long night. Back at the station, it was decided among the higher-ranked constables that a watch was to be installed about Manhattan. There would be five men out at once, each scanning the streets of the inner city for hour shifts. Then, five new men would be sent upon the return of the first five. When the first group had been assigned to streets and sent out, Ichabod sat heavily into and chair, massaging his temples, his dark brown eyes shut tight. Pain pulsed through his head, a sharp aching, making him a little ill.

"Constable Crane? Are you alright?" a fellow officer asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Yes... I'm fine," Ichabod murmured quietly. He stood from his seat and furrowed his eyebrows. "I am taking next shift, but I need to go check on Katrina... I will be back before first shift is over." Once more taking a pistol and lantern, Ichabod left the station and headed for his new house, the one he had wanted to surprise Katrina with.

When Ichabod looked up the steps of the new city home, his stomach twisted into an unbelievable know. The door was dangling from its hinges and there were horrid scratches in the paint and wood of the doorframe. He feared the worst, but then, there came the sound of sobbing from inside the house.
"Katrina," Ichabod whispered. His eyes grew wide with hope, and he dashed up the stairs to the antechamber. "Katrina?!"

She started at the sound of a man's voice calling out in the darkening night. Her feet were rooted to the floorboards. Surely she would have to explain what happened and that was something she did not know. Panic coursed through her as her deep brown eyes widened. She felt a cold hand touch her shoulder, only making her body paralyzed and her heart pound in her ears.

Ichabod's heart plummeted to his stomach as he realized it was a brown-haired figure standing before him, not Katrina. He, too, felt panic welling in him.
"Anabelle?" he said, shocked. Putting a hand on her shoulder, he turned her around to face him. "What are you doing here? Where is Katrina?! She's not... He didn't... Did he?!" Ichabod's words were almost incomprehensible as he stared, wide-eyed, down at the woman.

"I--I--saw her being escorted by a constable and when we arrived here I asked what I could get her to pass the night," Anabelle stammered, unable to look Ichabod in the eye. "The constable said he would stay with her until I returned, but when I got back, no one was here and the house was overturned," she choked on her tears, terrified at what may have happened to her cousin.
"I don't know what happened. I was not gone long at all," Anabelle's shoulders fell. "Ichabod, you must believe me," she pleaded.

A mix of terror and fury swept through Ichabod. He stormed past Anabelle and up the stairs, grasping onto any hope that Katrina was still here. It was foolish though. How could she still be here? She would have come down before now, and no one would have uprooted the house and left her here... alive. Desperately, Ichabod shook that thought from his head. She was still alive. She had to be.
After thoroughly searching the upstairs, Ichabod leaped down the stairs again, three at a time and ran past Anabelle into the kitchen. He looked inside every pantry, every cupboard, even down in the cellar in the ice shed. He would not lose hold on the possibility of her being here, hiding somewhere. However, after nearly ten minutes' frantic search, hurrying this way and that, Ichabod sunk to his knees in the dining room, his head in his hands. He could feel the last shred of hope being ripped from him, and it hurt. All at once, his headache returned full-force, he started to weep for the loss of his fiancé, and he staggered backwards on his legs at the shrill whinny that came from somewhere in the city outside.
Katrina, his love, was gone, and Ichabod had the Horseman to deal with. Anybody could be next, until he figured out who had the head. Nobody was safe yet.

Anabelle could do nothing but watch in grief as Ichabod tore about the house, searching for signs of Katrina. She hated seeing him like this; she knew how much her cousin meant to him. Anabelle saw him collapse at the foot of the stairs and ran to his side, her dark hair flying over her shoulder as she knelt beside him.
"Ichabod, I am so sorry," she breathed, not knowing what else to say. "Is there something I can do? Should I make you something? Should I send for someone? Please, I wish to help, but I don't know what to do."

His mind in a fog, Ichabod turned on her, grabbing her waist. He wasn't thinking straight. He was panicked, distraught, and desperate. The only thing that seemed to make sense in his confusion was that they was a rather beautiful woman, perhaps more beautiful that Katrina, kneeling beside him, asking him what he wanted her to do. The next action seemed only natural.
In one swift motion, the constable had pulled Anabelle to him, pressing his lips to hers as he leaned her back with one arm and bent down over her, kissing her fiercely.

Her heart was in her throat as his lips descended fervently onto hers. Her mind was swimming. Some part of her knew this wasn't what was supposed to be happening, and another part couldn't deny how good it felt.
Anabelle had always known Ichabod to be shy and, well, rather reserved, and here was the same Constable Crane with his lips roughly parting hers as his grip tightened around her waist.
She couldn't think, she couldn't even move, simply surrendering to his heated kiss.

Ichabod pinned her to the floor, his arms wrapping gently around her waist, his eyes tight shut. Nothing in him seemed to want to pull away. Nothing in him felt guilty at what he was doing, though he thought deep down that he should have. He didn't even know what he was doing. He was just...doing. With a soft, almost sad, sigh, Ichabod trailed his lips from one corner of her mouth to the other. His mouth stayed ardently glued to hers as his leg moved to hold her against the floor and his arms against to hold her against himself.

Anabelle could feel the beating of his heart through his shirt and vest as he pressed her to his chest. She heard him sigh, almost forlornly, as he trailed his lips from one side of her mouth to the other. That sigh broke her heart, causing her to gently lift her chin, kissing him softly.
Upon feeling his weight shift over her as he pinned her against the floorboards, she heard a soft moan escape her lips and enter into his mouth. Whether this was right or wrong, she didn't know or care. The butterflies he stirred in her stomach and the way her heart skipped beats was making her drown into him. She couldn't fight it if she wanted to.

His breath quickening, Ichabod tickled his fingers over her corseted frame. He was just fingering the ties of that same corset when something slid into place in his mind. Something major. This was wrong. So very wrong! This woman wasn't Katrina. She was far from it. And Katrina... she was gone, missing... dead?
Gasping, Ichabod pulled away, pushing her hard into the wooden floor. They're lips made a soft puckering noise as they parted. Ichabod leapt to his feet, running his fingers frantically through his black hair. What had he been thinking? He hadn't been thinking! He had to fine Katrina!

Anabelle let out a groan as she fell against the hard flooring, her lips suddenly cold. She shivered, knowing that what just happened wasn't supposed to; Ichabod wasn't supposed to have kissed her and she wasn't supposed to have kissed back.
Her mind reeling, she pulled herself up to her feet. Thinking on it wouldn't make anything any easier for either of them. Best to just chalk it up to the strange situation and move on. However, she didn't know how to do this.
She waited in silence, her pulse pounding in her temples, for Ichabod to say something.

However, when he finally did speak after nearly five minutes, Ichabod's words were muttered and rush, barely understandable.
"Did I ever tell you about the Horseman? No... No, of course I didn't. But perhaps Katrina did? Yes, that would make sense, wouldn't it? She's your cousin and all..." He had not taken a single breath yet, and he kept going. "She was almost taken last time, by the Horseman. That monster would have had her head, quite literally, and I saved her." He paused, pressing the top of his skull against the wall, his eyes shut.
"Why is he back? I do not get it. Who could it be? And how did the find out? It has to be a resident of Sleepy Hollow, nobody else knows the way around the Eastern Woods. Perhaps I should get a list of every citizen. Of course, I could be wrong. What if somebody else does know? I told a lot of people. Not every detail, but maybe enough... And Katrina, or young Masbeth, could have let something slip... There are a lot of people in the city; it could take years to sort out who took the head this time, and by then... By then we could all be dead..." Ichabod clenched his fists, stressed and anguished. "I need more pieces... I need more clues. I need help. Only one... sure victim. There is nothing to put together... Nothing to use to find out who might be next..."

Anabelle's mind was a blur as she watched Ichabod pace back and forth mumbling about the Horseman and his attacks, and something about Katrina. Her deep brown eyes widened, her lips parting as she realized something...
"The Horseman...he had to know she was here. Oh! God in Heaven, they're going to think that I led him here...to Katrina...They're going to think I have some hand in this!" Panic welled up inside her until she found herself shaking violently, tears streaming unbidden down her eyes. She shook her head, willing these thoughts to be gone.
"I know nothing of what happened or where she is, or if alive or no, but there will be an inquiry and I will be suspected," she buried her head in her arms.

Ichabod turned to her, eyes wide.
"An inquiry?" he asked, a little stunned at this. "But... you didn't do anything, did you?" He strode towards her and grabbed her arm. His whole character had seemed to change, and he looked absolutely enraged. "Did you?! If there were an inquiry, there would be no evidence you did anything wrong. Unless you did!" His face red and jaw jutting, Ichabod strode towards the antechamber, dragging Anabelle along behind him. "What did you do?!" he screamed right into her pale face. "Why would you do this?! Where IS she?!"

"I--I--I did nothing," Anabelle stuttered, her head rattling as he shook her. "I saw her with a constable and offered to fetch anything she required. Then when I came back they were gone and the house was a wreck."
She remained in his tight grip, her frame shaking with fear.
"But, it is my word against the world, and if even you don't believe me, I'm as good as hanged," she swallowed hard, searching Ichabod's eyes although half afraid of what she would find there. He was not himself and surely he blamed her for Katrina's disappearance.

Ichabod's eyes were narrowed to slits as he glared down at her. Then, a moment late, his gaze and features softened. Even to his own surprise, he pulled her close, and hugged her. It was a friendly hug, and nothing more, though there had to still be some tension between them for their earlier actions.
"I believe you..." Ichabod murmured, trembling. He pulled away and looked down at her. "I feel as if I have failed her. Like... all of this is my fault. I should have kept her with me... In the precinct."

Anabelle rested her weary head against his chest, just letting herself be held. Her tears stopped as she heard him say he believed her. Her head ached dreadfully and she could barely lift it from its resting place when she heard Ichabod blame himself.
"You should not say that, Ichabod," she answered, her arms circling him, hugging him back. "You were shielding her from the murder site and had her in the care of someone you knew you could trust, a fellow constable should have been able to care for her. Please do not blame yourself. It will never help us find what happened to Katrina, or who did it."

"But if I had not sent her back... She would not have been here, and he would have..." Ichabod trailed off sadly, pulling away from Anabelle's warm embrace. "But an inquiry... I won't let that happen. I'm almost High Constable... They'll listen to me."

"Promotion's off, Crane," said a voice behind them. Ichabod spun around and gulped at the face of the magistrate standing in the doorway, looking disapproving.
"You are half an hour late for your shift, your house is a mess, and you are with a woman..." He peered at Anabelle. "Who is not your wife." He glared at Ichabod, arms folded over his chest. "You better straighten out and solve this, constable, or there will be no High Constable title for you!" He looked around, taking in the wreck of a house. "What happened here?"
Ichabod bit his lip.
"The... Horseman. He t-took Mrs. Crane, we think and... this is Anabelle, Katrina's cousin." He looked down at the brunette and furrowed his eyebrows before looking back to the magistrate. "I'm very sorry for... everything, sir... But, my w-wife."
The magistrate's face stiffened and he nodded.
"Take the night off, but be back for your shift again in the morning." He paused then stepped forward to put a hand on Ichabod's shoulder. "I'm sorry to hear about Mrs. Crane."
When the magistrate was gone, Ichabod groaned and sunk onto one of the steps, his head in his hands and his face hidden.
"There goes my promotion... And we didn't even get m-married...," he muttered quietly.

Anabelle didn't know which was worse: her recent feeling of invisibility, or the sinking suspicion that the magistrate called her a harlot for being in Ichabod's house. She narrowed her eyes, watching the disappearing back of the magistrate with a scowl on her lips. He had treated her with disrespect and didn't seem to care that she was Katrina's cousin. All he noticed was that she was not Ichabod Crane's wife.
Well, she certainly knew where the police stood, as far as she was concerned. They would be no help to her at all, nor would they justly protect her. With an unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach, she made her way to the door, bypassing the debris and passing right by Ichabod. Somehow she doubted he'd even look up if she were to leave...

A moment later, however, a hand shot out and grabbed Anabelle's wrist gently. Ichabod was staring at her, eyes huge.
"You're leaving? But... what about Katrina? And... if they found out you were here." Ichabod took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Anabelle, you'll be convicted and punished... I've seen people punished for things like this before. Even if you came out alive... you would never be the same." He closed his eyes tight for a moment, images of his mother and those horrid contraptions flashing through his brain, and then he looked at her again. "Please do not go. I may require your help in finding Katrina."

Anabelle looked down at him, his eyes imploring her to stay. She drew in a breath, unsure of what her best course of action would be.
Either way she would be trapped. The idea of being punished for a crime she had no hand in was not exactly something she wished to experience. But, appearances would be against her if anyone knew she arrived before Ichabod. She would be thrown in prison. On the other hand, there was a Headless Horseman out there, and Ichabod seemed to believe she could be a target for this maniac.
"Ichabod," she finally replied. "I do not see a way out of this predicament. I can neither stay nor can I go. I know not what help I can be to you and I don't favor the idea of prison. What would you advise me to do? Besides," she continued, raking her bottom lip through her teeth. "There is one more, small problem which the magistrate just mentioned. I am not Katrina. How would you explain a woman residing in your home who is not your wife? Harboring the cousin of your fiancé while she is no where to be found would certainly not be good for your credibility and probably cost you that promotion."

Ichabod heaved a long sigh.
"The promotion is more than likely done for anyways," he said sadly, looking down into the chocolate eyes. Oh how those eyes seemed so familiar. "And I can protect you far better from the constables and magistrate than from the Horse-..." Once more, Ichabod's sentence was not finished as he trailed off, looking deep in thought. "I wonder..." he mused aloud. Letting go of her wrist, he ventured across the room and out the door, sitting down on one of the entry steps outside. His forehead was placed in his hands as he thought. After a minute, he stood and paced along the topmost step, hands clamped tightly behind his back.
"Anabelle? For the time being... can I ask one thing of you?" Ichabod asked, turning back to her and lifting his chin a little higher. "Can I ask you to trust me?"

Anabelle eyed him questioningly. He truly asked the strangest things. She thought over his request. Could she trust him? Well, she certainly trusted him far more than anyone else at this moment. And if what he offered would keep her safe, and possibly help him find Katrina, she didn't see how she could deny him her trust.
"Yes, Ichabod..." she breathed out slowly. "I trust you."

"Good," Ichabod said, nodding quickly. "There is a guest room in this house. You will stay in my room, while I take the smaller bed. It is late, and I believe I should think over this a bit more before explaining. If you trust me, will you stay here? You will be safe, I promise you. I'll do my best to fix the door, but this is the best place for you now."

She was startled that he offered no clarification or explanation of his plan. Truly, she hoped he had one.
Sighing to herself, she followed Ichabod up the stairs, watching as he occasionally turned over his shoulder to make sure she was behind him. The house was larger than she expected, apparently decorated for its new mistress. Suddenly something dawned on her.
"Ichabod, I cannot stay in the large room," she shook her head, her hair flying into her eyes. "I cannot ask you to leave your quarters, nor can I reside in the room that was meant for you to share with my cousin this night. That wouldn't be fair."

Ichabod wrapped his hand around her wrist again, pulling her on.
"You did not ask, Anabelle. I told you." He stopped in front of the double doors to the master bedroom. "Honestly, I would rather not stay in that bed tonight... Not without Katrina. I have gotten used to sleeping in the guest chambers. I was saving this room for the night Katrina and I married. Even if that wasn't tonight..." He sighed. "You sleep. It is very late. I will talk to you in the morning." He started to turn away, and then paused.
"And Anabelle? Please do not leave."

She slowly nodded her response. Ichabod did not speak harshly to her, but she knew it would be madness to argue. She passed through the double doors and entered into the room where she would pass the night.