Hey! So, it's been a couple years since I've updated. I still plan on finishing this story, even if the rest of it is all bullshit. Enjoy!


Over the next few days, Katrina made sure to keep a close eye on Ichabod. She was very concerned about him. If she didn't know him, she would have thought that he had mostly gotten over the ordeal, but she knew better. She had gotten to know him fairly well in the weeks he'd been in Sleepy Hollow, and she knew that this was not normal behavior for him.

Since the incident with their neighbor, Ichabod had grown quiet and withdrawn. He would spend hours at a time in solitude, and if someone were to intrude, he would act like he didn't notice. Katrina would often find him sitting silent in a chair by the window in his room, staring out into the yard, lost in his own thoughts. He barely ate or slept. If he was spoken to, he would either respond with a grunt or a single word, if he chose to respond at all. Whether he was ruminating on the events of the last few days or just deep in thought about the case, she wasn't sure, but she found his silence unnerving nonetheless.

On top of it all, his eyes no longer held their usual brightness. When he had first arrived, Katrina had been entranced by it; there was intelligence in his eyes, a passion that she couldn't quite understand. Now there was nothing. His eyes were dull and dark. It was like he wasn't even there anymore.

On the fourth day, he stirred.

She had been in his room, dropping off a tray with his breakfast.

"It makes no sense."

Katrina let out a startled cry and nearly dropped the tray.

"You startled me!" She placed one hand over her fluttering heart.

"Sorry." He said quietly before going back to staring out the window.

"It's all right." Katrina readjusted the contents of the tray and set it down on the table next to him. "What do you mean? What doesn't make sense?"

"Everything." He brought his fist up to rest under his chin. Katrina joined him at the window and rested her hand on his shoulder. "The Horseman. All these deaths. None of the victims appear to be connected. I can't make sense of it."

"Have you talked to anyone else in town?"

"Not in recent memory. I suppose I ought to."

"It might help. They might know something."

"I doubt it would be more than idle gossip." Ichabod leaned toward the window and frowned.

"Idle gossip could be helpful." Katrina shrugged. "You never know what you'll pick up. Nobody in this town can keep a secret for long."

"That's true." He shrugged to acknowledge her point. "Any suggestions on a starting point?"

"My stepmother is a notorious gossip. I'm sure she'd tell you something useful. From there, you could talk to some of the other women, like the midwife."

"Hm." Ichabod reached over and picked up his journal from the windowsill. He opened it and began to thumb through his notes. When he found something of interest, he flipped to another page, grabbed a pen, and began scribbling furiously. "I'll ask around and see what I can find."


He took her advice and interviewed townspeople according to her suggestions. And while he was correct in the sense that most of the information he picked up wasn't much more than idle gossip, some of it would prove to be useful in time, though he wouldn't put two and two together until later on.

Meanwhile, Katrina could tell that the distraction was doing him some good. Ichabod was at least talking again, and eating. His eyes were still dull, but he'd gained some color back in his face.

That is, until he was summoned to another crime scene. The work of the Horseman, of course.

He'd returned hours later, looking solemn and pale. He retreated wordlessly to his room, leaving his young assistant behind.

Against her better judgment, Katrina followed him up. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what he'd seen, but a morbid curiosity got the better of her.

When she opened the door, she could see that he was sitting at the window again, head resting cradled in one hand as if he had a headache. His eyes were closed.

She tentatively walked toward him and placed a hand softly on his shoulder. He startled, but relaxed when he realized who was there.

"It's just me." She said. "How do you feel?

"I'm fine." He said quietly, almost in a whisper. His voice seemed strained.

"Are you?"

"...I'm not sure."

There was a pause.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, I don't want to talk about it. I don't even know if I could." Ichabod pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't know what to think. I don't know how to feel about what I saw."

"What did you see?" No crime scene in Sleepy Hollow had ever left him so distraught or bewildered, no matter how gruesome it was.

"Her."

"Her?"

"Her." He looked up at Katrina. "She's dead. The Horseman got to her."

"Oh." Her eyes widened in recognition. "When? Where?"

"Sometime during the night, most likely. Not too far from home. She was just lying there on the lawn when her sister found her this morning."

"Oh my." Katrina put a hand to her cheek as if she'd been slapped. "That's awful. I know I didn't like her much, but I don't think she deserved to die like that."

"Nobody does." He sighed. "Not even her." He ran a hand through his hair and let his head hang. "How should I feel? On one hand, yes, I do find this whole thing upsetting. She was my friend for most of my life. But on the other hand... I almost feel relieved. I'm almost glad that she's gone." He chuckled mirthlessly. "That's terrible, isn't it?"

"It's not unreasonable. I'd be glad too, after the things she said and did to you."

"I know I should feel more strongly about it. But I don't. I suppose I'm still in shock."

"How do you feel right now?"

He paused and thought for a long moment.

"I'm not sure." He said. "I'm tired, for sure. But other than that, I suppose I'm all right. I'm thinking clearer than I have in days."

"What about here?" She reached down and placed her hand over his heart. "How do you feel in here?"

He reached up and took her hand. It was warm, and felt good against his cold skin.

"It's difficult to say." He leaned into her arm. "My heart is heavy, but not so much as it was. Maybe this isn't so bad."

"Perhaps not. She can't hurt anybody else now, at least."

"You're right, she can't." He paused for a moment. "But the Horseman can." He frowned. "I need to finish this case. Too many people have died already."

"Don't you want to take some time to rest?"

"I've been idle long enough." He stood and began to slowly pace. "It's time I got back to work."


He didn't go to the funeral. How could he? He felt angry just thinking about it.

It wasn't that he hated her. He didn't. At least, he didn't think he did. She had been an absolute pig of a woman, but he couldn't bring himself to hate her. He just felt very angry whenever he thought of her. He hated what she'd said to him. He hated the way her mind worked (or rather, didn't). Why, with just one more brain, what a halfwit she'd be! He hated her smile, her voice, her awful ugly face-

All right, maybe he hated her a little.

Days turned into weeks, and Ichabod had thrown himself back into his work. The case consumed him and his thoughts were constantly focused on it, except for the frequent occurrences of Katrina interrupting, which were a welcome diversion.

He still thought of Hannah, certainly. After all that had happened, it was impossible not to. He still remembered the good times they'd had, but he also remembered the altercations they'd had, and he suspected that he would for a long time to come. It hurt, but he knew that the pain would fade with time, as would the memories.

For now, he was content to bury himself in work. It was how he always coped with life's problems, and it had never let him down. There was always someone out there who had it worse than he did, and if there's one thing that puts life into perspective, it's examining the body of a murder victim. It wasn't particularly logical or rational, nor was it a healthy way to handle his feelings, but it was what he knew how to do.

He wouldn't let himself despair. He'd just move on.

He'd move on.


This wasn't the ending I originally wanted. I was originally going for something much more graphic and violent, but I think this ending better reflects how I've been feeling about everything that happened. I still have a lot of anger about it but I'm in a much better state of mind now.