"Fire in the hole!"
Abbie hardly paid any attention to the attendant's warning. She was too distracted by the winsome look in Ichabod's eyes as he slowly and deliberately surveyed every feature of her alluring face. There was a time when such scrutiny from him would have made her uncomfortable, but she could no longer deny that things were evolving in their partnership. In the past, the nectarous smiles that Ichabod seemed to reserve only for her would be rewarded with Abbie skillfully averting her eyes and quickly changing whatever subject had induced his reaction in the first place.
She was a master at deflecting but today was different. The whimsy of their afternoon had caused her to lower her guard. And although she begged Ichabod not to request of Irving that they be given the whole afternoon off, she was overjoyed when the captain complied in spite of the short notice. Ichabod's only mistake was leaving it solely up to Abbie on just how they would spend their new-found gift of time.
Today she would not shrink away from his intriguing gaze. Rather, she drank in every moment and only hoped that she was not setting herself up for disappointment. If her deepest desires did end up crashing around her like shattered glass, there would be time to lick her wounds; she was no stranger to doing so. But for now, she would simply relish the moment and resist her tendency towards over analysis.
Abbie felt the unmistakable jolt of being catapulted into the air and immediately sensed a disconnection from her surroundings. She peered over to Ichabod and was alarmed when he appeared to be moving further away from her; almost as if she were being sucked into a tunnel. She could see that he was screaming at the top of his lungs; face red as a beet and the vein in his forehead on the verge of erupting. However, the sound he was producing inexplicably grew fainter. Abbie's vision blurred then all went pitch black.
000
Abbie opened her eyes and struggled to regain focus. The blackness had been replaced by a dull, gray expanse of diffused light. She was so disoriented that, until a small flock of birds intersected her line of sight, she hadn't realized she was lying in the middle of a plush, dew-soaked lawn. The moisture from the ground soon seeped through the denim of her jeans, causing her to quickly leap to her feet.
The young Lieutenant struggled to make sense of where she was, and more importantly, where she had been. She knew that she had been with Ichabod, but that was not uncommon and an easy assumption to be made since they rarely spent time apart as of late. Being in one another's company was scarcely part of a pre-planned outing. Their time together was considerably more organic than that. Their days, filled with tracking down leads, seamlessly melded into evenings grabbing a bite to eat and talking for hours.
The surroundings were foreign to Abbie she wanted nothing more than to find anything recognizable that would give her some grounding. With a pirouette-like move, she surveyed the landscape, but it was all for naught. The woods at her back were definitely not any she'd ever explored in Sleepy Hollow. The buildings in front of her were impressively stunning and much too grand for the unassuming village she'd always called home.
She chuckled at just how much the past several years had altered her perspective. While most people would have long been overtaken by fear and dread, Abbie Mills was simply perturbed by the inconvenience of this latest trek. It helped that she at least hadn't landed in Purgatory. That horrid place had a virulent aura that would never be obliterated from her consciousness and this place was much too pleasant. Right now, she just wanted to get home. Back to Ichabod who could at times aggravate her to no end, yet still remain endearing. Back to Jenny who could be ten times more aggravating than Ichabod on any given day. Even back to Captain Irving who did more than he realized in keeping their motley crew unified.
Walking across the open field toward the only sign of civilization, Abbie studied the architecture of the buildings more closely. One building in particular caught her eye—a circular structure with arched doorways and portals encompassing the ground level. It looked almost as if the rotunda of the U.S. Capitol had been displaced and dropped into the middle of where ever this place was Abbie currently found herself.
Then it hit her: she had seen this particular building before and the recognition caused Abbie to pick up her pace. Ichabod had shown her a photograph of the structure one evening when he was conducting research online. She couldn't remember the exact name of the building, only that it was out of the ordinary (Radcliffe something) and that it was a library. She finally ascertained that she was on the campus of Oxford University, or some reasonable facsimile thereof. Abbie was not yet convinced where she found herself was truly 'reality,' per se.
"How in the world did I get here?" she wondered aloud.
Abbie had set her course for the rounded edifice when the motion of someone ducking behind the massive trunk of a nearby English oak caught her eye.
"Hello?" she called out. "Hello? I know you're there."
Abbie cautiously advanced upon the towering stock and purely out of habit slid her hand across her right hip probing for her firearm to no avail. Fortunately, she didn't feel particularly threatened and wouldn't be deterred from finding out who was trying to engage her in a game of hide and seek.
The first thing she saw was a hand with long fingers grasping at the rough bark. Soon to follow was one eye peeking from behind the trunk, examining Abbie from head to toe. When the young boy finally pulled away from the safety of the tree, she could see that he wore an ill-fitting long, black academic robe, almost as if he were playing dress-up. His head was shod with an oversized cap and a ribbon-fastened ponytail extended from its back edge. The jet-black breeches that stopped right at his knee, in conjunction with the other cues of his appearance, let Abbie know that she had undoubtedly been thrust into the past.
The young boy, no more than 10 years old and equal to Abbie in stature, leered at the fetching woman with equal doses of fascination and bewilderment. A small, leather-bound volume that teetered in his grasp eventually fell to the ground, yet this could not rouse him from his reverie.
Abbie smiled sweetly and said, "You dropped your book."
"The dark lady," the preadolescent mused.
With arched brow, Abbie retorted, "Excuse me?"
The flustered youth scrambled to collect his reading material from the thick grass and extended it to Abbie.
"It's a group of sonnets, written by Shakespeare. I was reading some of them when you…appeared," he nervously explained.
"Ah, yes," said a mollified Abbie as she received the book of poetry from his hand.
Abbie loved the discussions she'd often have with Ichabod about literature, but he only briefly touched upon the sonnets. She adored the cadence of his voice when he read poetry, yet he would suddenly become bashful whenever he attempted to venture into that area of the Bard's body of work. On one occasion, she specifically requested that he read sonnet 128 which had always been her favorite. Ichabod had struggled through the verse with an uneven delivery and flushed cheeks. She swore she even heard his voice crack when he read the last line: Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss. At the time he explained it away as uneasiness in vocalizing something so carnally intimate in the presence of a lady. As a woman of the 21st century, the salacious nature of the text was completely lost on her, but she supposed it was all relative.
It dawned on Abbie that this not-so-21st-centruy lad was reading something well beyond his years and more than likely surreptitiously.
"So, you like the dark lady sonnets," she playfully ribbed the moppet.
"Oh, yes, they are my favorite," he hastily offered before realizing the implications of his declaration.
The youngster lowered his gaze in embarrassment and anxiously fidgeted with his hands. A flash of crimson washed over his jowls then down his neck and Abbie couldn't help but think of Ichabod and giggle.
"I see," she said mercifully returning the book so his hands could at least be occupied.
Quickly switching subjects, he asked, "May I ask, from whence you came?"
Abbie thought better of being completely forthright with you young man, primarily because she didn't fully understand herself how she came to arrive at Oxford.
"I'm, uh…from far, far way."
"Are you a pirate?" he excitedly asked with the expectation only a child could exhibit. "I have heard stories of females who have resorted to piracy."
Abbie initially wondered where the thought of her being a pirate could have come from, but taking into consideration the clothing she wore, it wasn't that far of stretch. The calf-high, tawny leather boots and matching suede jacket paired with her form-fitting blue jeans could have been mistaken for the garb of a buccaneer. And nearly every time she wore the powder blue peasant blouse that she was presently sporting, Ichabod would tell her how she looked as if she were transported from a bygone era. When he flat out told her, "I like it on you," she found herself wearing it more frequently than she usually would a single item of clothing.
"No, I'm not a pirate," she chortled.
Abbie could see the disappointment in his eyes and decided to give him a glimmer of hope.
"I'm more of what you would call an explorer."
The juvenile's spirits were buoyed and the twinkle in his eye returned.
"An explorer?"
"Yeah. That's kind of like a pirate, right? Even better, if you ask me, since I'm not doing anything illegal."
He concurred by saying, "That is a very good point madam."
"Can I ask you a question?" Abbie asked while sizing up her surroundings. "Is this Oxford University?"
"Yes," he confirmed.
"And that building over there?"
Following the trajectory of her finger, he offered, "Radcliffe Camera."
"Camera! That's the strange word."
"Strange, madam?"
"Well, yeah. When you think about a name for a building, you don't think, 'camera.' A camera takes…" she said, abruptly cutting off her statement. How do you explain photographs to kid from centuries past?
"I take it you are not familiar with Latin."
"Not particularly. Just a few legal terms. Why?"
"Camera means "room" in Latin."
"Oh! Not so strange after all," she shrugged.
Before the youngster had a chance to ask too many questions about what a camera meant in her world, Abbie quickly asked, "Do you know if anyone is there now?"
"Most definitely: it's the science library."
"Oh! So there should be a lot of smart people there," she half jested.
"Madame," he started with a self-satisfied tone, "this is Oxford University. There are a lot of smart people everywhere on campus."
"Huh, is that so," Abbie shot back with one of her signature subtle eye rolls. "We'll see how smart they are when I tell them where I'm from."
Abbie commenced walking towards the library and wasn't surprised or disappointed when her newest acquaintance followed suit. She felt his eyes upon her, but it didn't make her uneasy. She could almost hear the innumerable questions buzzing about in his ripening mind. The curiosity of children never bothered Abbie since it usually wasn't coupled with malice. Adult curiosity, on the other hand, was too frequently mingled with ulterior motives and duplicity for her taste.
A rising sense of apprehension took hold of the feisty lieutenant as she attempted to figure out the best way to convey her plight to whomever she encountered in the library. To some degree, there was an inherent feeling of liberation when one knew they were a part of destiny. Still, there was always the risk of being unjustly locked away in an insane asylum, and Abbie wanted to avoid that possibility at all cost.
"So, what are you, one of those child prodigies, or something?"
"What would cause you to draw that conclusion?"
"The way you're dressed. Means you're a student here, right? But you can't be more than 10 years old."
"I will have you know that I will be 11 in less than a fortnight," he corrected. "But no, I am not a student here. Not yet—but someday. However, nothing about my dress would indicate I'm a student at university."
Abbie scoffed and said, "Yeah, right."
She then turned around to see that the cap and gown he had been wearing was replaced by finery befitting an aristocrat. Abbie decided not to draw attention to his wardrobe change because, quite frankly, it wasn't the strangest thing she'd seen during her tenure as a Witness and she just didn't have the energy. Her primary objective was getting back home. Lightly shaking her head in mild disbelief, she looked ahead and noticed that they were no closer to Radcliffe Camera than when they'd first started making their way towards the building.
"Pardon me, madam, but I have been remiss in not asking your name."
"I could say the same. Well, not exactly," she corrected. "I probably would have just said, 'What's your name?'"
The two exchanged a friendly smile before he began, "My name is …"
However, before he could reveal his name, he was interrupted by a disembodied voice that floated gracefully along the wind. The tone was ethereal and distinctly feminine.
"Ichabod," the voice summoned, drawing out each syllable with ghostly effect, though the manner of speech was much too loving to engender fear.
"Ichabod," the pleasant intonation continued.
"That is mother," he excitedly chimed, grabbing Abbie's hand and sprinting towards their destination.
The stunned lieutenant could only respond with, "Ichabod?"
The longer the voice beckoned, however, the more stern it became. Soon it no longer possessed the same dulcet tones and it was successful in stopping Ichabod in his tracks. Abbie could immediately feel the tension in his hand.
"ICHABOD!"
This voice was stern, booming, and unyielding causing Ichabod to become numb with fright. Additionally, this vociferation did not remain bodiless, but before long became corporeal. In an instant, Abbie and Ichabod had advanced within a hundred yards or so of the library as the source of his consternation burst through the door opposite them. He wore the same cap and gown that Ichabod had donned only moments earlier, except the regalia fit him perfectly.
"Madam, we must leave this place," Ichabod strongly commanded.
"But why? Maybe he can help me."
"No, he won't! He will make you go away."
"What do you mean, 'make me go away?' Do you think he'll hurt me?"
"He would not physically harm you. But he would take you away from me."
"ICH-A-BOD!"
The man was now close enough that Abbie could see the rigid expression on his face. His eyes were steely and she immediately understood why Ichabod was so frightened.
"Ichabod, who is that man?"
"He is my father. And we must run."
Ichabod, still clutching Abbie's tiny hand, swung her around until they were facing the opposite direction. Instantaneously, they were no longer outside. They were instead standing in the middle of a wide hallway within a stately manor.
Abbie, attempting to catch her breath said, "Alrighty then. This is definitely not reality."
To be continued...