It started with a painting.
Wars had begun over less. Or at least feuds. This could qualify as both.
Abraham von Brunt often told himself his intentions had been good. When he sent the completed portrait to Abigail Mills, he did so as a courtesy. Respect from one soldier to another, as it were. Nothing untoward about that. His hands were clean even if his soul remained befouled.
He had given her a carefully crafted work of art into which great skill and patience had been imbued.
And in return she sent him… her underwear.
When the Headless Horseman opened the manila envelope and withdrew its contents, at first he mistook it for a handkerchief, which hardly made any sense considering he currently possessed no brow to perspire or nose that required blowing. A note included simply said, 'Loved the painting this much'. It was while puzzling this out that he… unrolled the item in question, and its true nature became clear.
A snap of flame shot from the Horseman's throat that scorched the ceiling.
Stunned, he had contrived to hide this evidence of illicit goings-on so that Katrina would not find it and have cause to wonder. Unfortunately that had not been the end of it. Another package came that he burned immediately without opening. Shortly afterwards the texts started. They were short, but intense. Enough to make the Horseman of Death regret having ever bothered to learn how to operate modern communication devices. This went on for days. He made repeated polite requests to Miss Mills that she refrain from such unseemly behavior, to no avail. Abraham had never felt more awful in his life. It was as though he were embroiled in an affair through no fault of his own! Certainly during the war he had been willing to risk his standing and good name for the cause of liberty, the loss of either of which would make death seem lenient by comparison. But this… it smacked of skullduggery. There was nothing noble attached to it in the slightest!
And it was growing steadily worse. Yesterday Abigail had upped her game. She now included pictures with her electronic messages. Images of a sort that would surely spell the end of any hopes he might have of convincing Katrina to find favor with him should she ever see them. This whole business was turning the Headless Horseman into a nervous wreck. Every beep of his phone made him jump. The sound of the mail delivery wagon caused his stomach to roil like a storm-wracked sea. If he had hair he was convinced it would start falling out.
Perhaps it was a sick fascination that caused him to answer the next time his phone rang. He knew who it was; not like many people had Death's number, after all. There was the message, as expected. However its content was quite brief. All it said was, 'Take me for a ride?'
Without thinking he scrolled down to see the attached image. There was an automobile in the photo, a sort of shiny red vehicle some might call a 'muscle car'. And there spread out on the hood casting a sultry look over one shoulder was undoubtedly Abigail Mills, and she was… was…
The explosion of hellfire that emerged from his trachea this time lasted for several seconds and set the roof of his cabin on fire.
Slumping into a nearby chair, the Horseman did nothing for several seconds. When it finally occurred to him the cottage might burn down and leave him exposed to the daylight if he did not react, he managed to locate a fire extinguisher and proceeded to douse the blaze. Upon completing this task, Abraham realized he had made a decision.
That does it. I'm calling my lawyer.
"Abe, did you really have to bring the ambulance chasers into this?"
The four of them were now seated in a conference room on the second floor of the town courthouse. On one side of the table were Abraham von Brunt and Jeremy Crane, a.k.a. Henry Parish. Opposite them sat Abigail Mills and Ichabod Crane. The latter had not been invited, merely shown up making grand proclamations about saving his son's soul from wickedness. A pall of heavy black storm clouds conjured by Henry's sorcery allowed the Horseman to walk abroad during daylight hours, though his strength was still considerably reduced as a result. Nonetheless they were here at last where the matter would ostensibly be settled.
"You know, Abe," Abigail continued teasingly, "I'm a little hurt you haven't been responding to my messages. Not checked your phone lately?"
"I will thank you to address all communications to me, Miss Mills," Henry Parish rumbled while removing some binders from his attaché case. His voice always sounded like a particularly malevolent teapot bubbling and churning on a stove. "My client will remain silent during these proceedings."
To this Abbie merely gave a snort. She then turned to regard the hell-born warrior across from her. Still attired in his Redcoat getup, Abraham sat with arms crossed and posture rigid. She had never seen a dead man look quite so cross. The sight of his obvious discomfort sent a wicked thrill up her spine. With it came a truly terrible idea. Grinning mischievously, she slid down in her seat just a little bit.
Across from her, the Horseman jumped, hands clutching at the arms of his chair so hard she could hear the timber creak.
Henry flicked a glance over before returning to shuffling his papers. "Miss Mills, kindly remove your foot from my client's groin so we may proceed."
She did so, never losing that playful smirk. Abraham visibly relaxed before scooting his seat backwards a little bit.
Abbie pouted but consented to allow him his comfort zone. "Fine, whatever. Let's get this wrapped up quick, okay? I've got a meeting with two folks from the Seattle P.D. in about twenty minutes."
"As I was about to say," the former Horseman of War continued, "this matter is a clear case of harassment combined with egregious abuse of power on the part of a law enforcement officer. We are prepared to offer evidence–"
"Jeremy!" Ichabod leaped to his feet with a passionate outburst. "My son! Take me if you must, but spare the others your wrath! I hereby accept upon myself the entire brunt of your ire, vast though it may be!"
Parish continued burbling without even looking up. "… scandalous for yourself and the entire municipal police force, not to mention the memory of one August Corbin, as well as…"
"I do this willingly, for only I in all humanity could bear such a burden without breaking, as I did come close to breaking when General William Howe, a dear personal nemesis of mine, threatened me with unbearable bodily harm!" Crane raised forearm to forehead as he strove to hold back tears. "Oh, the very thought of how I ALMOST submitted to that dreadful promised torture! I am overcome by my own NEAR failings, which would have brought me into the sphere of lesser men and surely cost us the war and by extension the entire world, I…"
"SHUT IT, PISS BOY!"
At this Abigail clasped one fist in her palm and drove her elbow into Crane's gut with all her might. He gave a woof and collapsed back down clutching his midriff while trying to get in a breath.
"Okay." Mills turned back to the soulless duo. "You were saying, Crane Jr.?"
A faint flicker of annoyance passed over his prematurely aged face, but Parish soon recovered. "Lieutenant Mills, I trust the seriousness of your situation has not escaped you. Whatever might have transpired between you and my client in your professional capacities, now or in eras already bygone, the fact of the matter is you have engaged in unseemly intercourse–"
"Not yet, we haven't." She grinned at Abraham, who managed to give a very convincing impression of pointedly not looking at her even without a head. He's cute when he's flustered, she thought. "Have we, Abe?"
At this the Horseman apparently couldn't hold back any longer and yanked out his phone to begin furiously typing. Abbie immediately took advantage of this to slip a hand into her coat pocket and press the 'Send' button on her own. Gotcha!
Across from her Abraham's phone gave a musical jingle to indicate the message had been received. She saw him hesitate, but by instinct his thumb moved over and clicked on the new mail tab.
A second later his neck had converted to a flamethrower, causing everyone present to shield their eyes. When the fire died out Henry reached over and snapped up the phone from his paralyzed client's palm. "I'll be submitting this as new evidence," he rumbled with a meaningful glare at Abbie.
"Oh, come on." For the first time she was feeling really perturbed by all this. "Be serious, Son of Crane. You actually think you can win a lawsuit against me when your client is the single biggest mass murderer this side of Fargo? Plus all I have to do is point out that you don't have a birth certificate from anytime in the last century and you'll be arrested for impersonating a lawyer!"
"My dark powers have already provided me with sufficient legal verification to pass the bar in this state, so I doubt you could cast credible aspersions upon my veracity!" the mage in tweed croaked while clapping a hand on Von Brunt's shoulder. "Has no one else bothered to point out yet that you have behaved in a childish manner unworthy of a mature adult? You should be made to face the consequences of your own ill-advised actions. And I hardly see how disparaging my client and his profession might serve to endear you to him, officer!"
Abbie bristled at his remark but did not immediately take up the challenge. For his part the Headless Horseman still appeared too stunned to join the conversation.
However by this point Ichabod had recovered enough to leap back into the fray without regard for any personal harm it may entail. "It is easy to love your friend, but sometimes the hardest lesson to learn is to love your enemy."
At this Parish finally consented to glance scornfully at his delusional sire. "Really, Father? 'The Art of War'? Have we sunk to that conversational low point already? Is this a chatroom filled with swaggering adolescent boys eager to try and sound worldly and well-read to perfect strangers? To think I expected better even from you." He gave a pleased chuckle then. "And I believe it was Machiavelli who wrote, "It is far safer to be feared than loved!"
Still Abbie did not join in. Upon noting her uncharacteristic lack of fire, the legal warlock crossed his arms and gave a terse nod. "It would seem you are finally beginning to catch on, Miss Mills. The truth about ourselves is not always as readily apparent as we wish to believe. Self-deception makes fools of us all far more readily than any outward conspirator. "For there is no way to guard against flattery but by letting it be seen that you take no offense in hearing the truth: but when everyone is free to tell you the truth respect falls short." Again, Machiavelli."
Ichabod surged to his feet and planted one foot on the tabletop, hand automatically at his waist and chin raised proudly. "Do not let his poisonous words sway you, Leftenant! We have in no way lost the moral high ground even considering your appalling lapse of sanity in this regard. Indeed, I believe we are stronger as a result of your unseemly feminine confabulations! For as Sun-Tzu said, "Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak!"
Slowly Henry rose to face his haughty sire with threatening mien. "Appearances cannot hide what lies within, Father. No one is without evil in their souls. But it is said, "A prince should understand well how to use both the man and the beast." Machiavelli."
Meanwhile Abbie had begun to frown slightly. Oh, man. Did I seriously just get taken to task for poor behavior by Ichabod Crane of all people? That is not right. Just not right.
Beside her Crane threw back his hair in defiance. "To quote Sun-Tzu: "Hence that general is skillful in attack whose opponent does not know what to defend; and he is skillful in defense whose opponent does not know what to attack!"
"Fortresses, therefore, are useful or no, according to circumstances, and if in one way they benefit, in another they injure you." Machiavelli."
Oddly enough Henry Parish too had placed one foot upon the table and a hand upon his hip so that the two men were mirror images of one another. Whether he realized this or no was not apparent at the time.
"Sun-Tzu had this to say: "So in war the way is to avoid what is strong, and strike at what is weak!"
"All which considerations taken into account, I shall applaud him who builds fortresses, and him who does not." Machiavelli!"
Looking at them, for some reason Abbie found herself imagining both men as characters in one of those arcade fighting games from when she was a kid, the kind where both combatants announced every attack out loud. Only instead of 'Tiger!' and 'Shoryuken!' the 16-bit Crane would deliver punches and kicks to the cry of "Sun-Tzu! Sun-Tzu Sun-Tzu!" To which digital Parish would block with "Machiavelli!" only to strike back with enchanted tree roots while proclaiming, "Machiavelli! Machiavelli Machiavelli!" It was totally ridiculous and even a little sad watching them wage a war of words. Indeed, they both seemed to have forgotten about legalities and sultry text messages, and were now intent on out-quoting each other in terms of their respective overblown historical idols.
However, the ensuing battle of the egos did serve to wake Abbie up to what truly deplorable behavior looks like. And seen in this light, yes, her own actions regarding Abraham did appear much less salutatory and more unsavory. The comparison did not improve her position. She had acted like a crazy ex-girlfriend on the Internet, stalking some poor confused guy and bombarding him with unwanted attention that only served to make her feel good with no obvious benefit to anybody else. Or worse: a cyberbully, mercilessly hectoring someone online who didn't know how to fight back.
"According to Sun-Tzu, "Thus it is that in war the victorious strategist only seeks battle after the victory is won."
"Since men are dishonest and will not keep faith with you, you, in return, will not keep faith in them." Machiavelli."
Which wasn't to imply that the Headless Horseman was helpless. Had any of her immature and admittedly embarrassing stunts truly gotten him angry, he might have just chucked any goodwill that existed between them and come gunning for her head. Past experience showed just how hard it was to stop him when he went on a rampage. For all Abbie knew, she might have been one sext away from unleashing hell on earth. These realizations combined to bring her back down from whatever lunatic crush-zone had been dominating her mental faculties ever since returning from the 18th century.
I am such a damn fool.
"Sun-Tzu teaches us, "You can ensure the safety of your defense if you only hold positions that cannot be attacked."
"Against the latter he will defend himself with good arms and good allies, and if he have good arms he will always have good allies; and when things are settled abroad, they will always be settled at home, unless disturbed by conspiracies." Machiavelli."
And oh my…!
"GOD!" Abigail Mills screamed as she slammed her hands flat on the table. The Cranes turned equally surprised looks on her at this outburst.
"Do you two really not hear yourselves?" she demanded furiously. "You're like a teeter-totter going up and down and up and down all day long! Say one thing, then say the other! This isn't wisdom passed down through the ages, it's the intellectual equivalent of a palindrome! The same thing from front to back! "If you do not learn to master your rage, your rage will become your master!" You know who said that?"
"Sun Tzu?" Ichabod hazarded.
"NO! It's from that movie 'Mystery Men' with all the wannabe loser superheroes! Which is exactly where you clowns belong! Even if I am at fault, this so-called lawsuit would be right at home on 'The People's Court' with the way you're both acting!"
Father and son stared at her for a while. To her great surprise, Henry Parish actually hung his head in shame!
"Ah… perhaps I should take my own advice, Miss Mills. Self-deception starts with the self. I have lost sight of serving my client in the same way I lost track of any real purpose in life. Truthfully, ever since vanquishing Molloch I have been adrift, without direction and lacking a clear goal to…"
"No, Jeremy, do not reproach yourself!" Ichabod leapt to his heir's defense. "It was I who abandoned you even before you were born into this world, through no fault of my own I might add!" He again brought forearm to brow and gave a choked sob. "Oh poor, forsaken offspring of mine! The twisted vehemence you feel towards the whole human race is naught but a byproduct of knowing that you were denied the opportunity to be raised by me, your one true father! Abandon your hatred of mankind, for as Daniel Boone once confided in me…!"
"Indeed, Father, I do recall remarking to a young man by the name of Daniel Webster that…"
"Holy shit," Abbie whispered in horror as she looked between the two men. "It's genetic!"
The namedropping, once begun, continued as naturally and inexorably as the flow of the tides.
By now, though, the Horseman had come out of his trance and had been listening in on the debate for some time. After a while he gave what might constitute a shake of his head. He then waved a hand to get Abbie's attention. When she looked his way he indicated with his thumb at the door.
She considered for a while before giving a nod. They both stood up and exited the room together, leaving the Cranes to bond in the way only they could.
*CLUNK!*
A soda dropped from the vending machine in the courthouse lobby. Picking it up, the Horseman handed the can over to Abbie.
"Thanks." She popped the tab and took a swig before getting back to their conversation. "Okay. I freely admit that I went a little out of control. Maybe a lot out of control. There's no real excuse for it and I regret the whole thing deeply."
Abraham finished pouring his own soft drink into his funnel before typing out a response. 'I appreciate your candor, Miss Mills. You have suffered a great deal in the past year, partly as a result of my own actions. And while our respective circumstances prevent any true reconciliation, perhaps we can at least strive to bring as little misfortune to one another as possible in the future.'
He held out his can. Glumly she clinked them together and they both drank. "You haven't exactly been Public Enemy #1 ever since Molloch bit the big one," Abbie admitted. "Did you ever think about just chucking it all in, this whole 'Emissary of Armageddon' business? Concentrate on finding your head and living with Katrina? You're rich enough to get away with it. The world seems to be going to hell just fine without anybody's help from what I can see."
He removed the funnel with a somewhat dispirited air. 'In all honesty I am beginning to doubt Katrina and I were meant to be. In some strange way, having you pursue me so aggressively and unabashedly has cast my own courtship methods in a rather harsh light. Holding a woman I love hostage no longer makes quite as much sense as it did when I first began. I see now t'would be best to set her free and allow Katrina the opportunity to make up her own mind concerning love. For helping me come to this realization, I must thank you, mademoiselle.'
"Huh." Looking up at his headless heights, Mills allowed a small smile to creep up her face. "So does that mean you're possibly looking around for new prospects, then, Abe?"
'Do not lapse back into bad habits, Miss Mills. Until such time as new infernal elements arise, perhaps we would both best be served by attempting to locate my head. Regardless of what course I choose in love and morality, having it would put you in a much better position.'
"Can't argue with that." Her features fell of a sudden. "I know you were a good person once, Abraham. You fought for this country to exist and risked a lot in the process. That doesn't excuse the things you've done since, but getting to know you now and in the past leads me to hope you can still pull yourself back together… pun not intended. This could be a great world if we don't give up on it."
'Perhaps. I make no promises, but… perhaps.'
Probably as good as it could get at this stage. She indicated up the stairs. "Shall we go pull apart the Cranes?"
He swept out his arm with a bow, and soon enough they were heading back upstairs. Abbie felt remarkably lighthearted. Just goes to prove if you take the time to stop and think now and then, you might just find you're better off making a few adjustments in your life. Nobody gets it right all the time. And on reflection, there was a lot to look forward to. Even for her.
With a smile, she opened the door.
"When government fears the people, there is liberty!" I argued this case so extensively that Thomas Jefferson himself was forced to concede defeat and asked me to leave his home, at gunpoint even!"
"Machiavelli, quoting someone else: "He who builds on the people builds on mire." So you see, Father…"
"Power to the people! Don't tread on me! Crane in 2020! Four more years! Four more years! Four more…!"
Right then, something inside Abbie's head went *SNAP*. She swept into the room, the door slamming shut behind her.
A few civil servants taking their lunch break loitered outside the Sleepy Hollow courthouse chatting amiably. Pedestrians hurried about on business downtown, and cars trundled the old cobblestone Colonial streets, when suddenly…
CRASH!
Heads turned in time to see Ichabod Crane come flying headfirst through a second-story window to hit the lawn like a sack of bricks. Moments later…
CRASH!
Jeremy Crane followed his father in defenestration, landing in a shower of glass a few feet away. Seeing as how it was only a two-story drop neither man appeared to have been killed. They just lay face down in the turf giving intermittent twitches and moans. Passersby stared.
After a while when nothing more seemed to be occurring, the onlookers went about their business without concern. This was Sleepy Hollow. Stranger things had happened, and frequently.
A minute later Abigail and Abraham came walking out the front door together. They moved past the recumbent Cranes without so much as a glance. Abbie opened the door of her police cruiser parked by the curb. Before getting in she paused with one hand on the frame as she turned back to the Horseman. "Guess we're back to business as usual, eh, Abe?"
'Quite. I shall see to Katrina's release, and then continue the search for my head.'
"Yeah, I'm not really looking forward to hunting that Franklin-stein monster it's attached to." Here she grinned gamely. "I feel kinda bad for you, all the same. Even without a head start, you've only got one hell-horse to your name, while I've got 365 horsepower under the hood." She patted her car with a smug grin.
'No cause for concern, mademoiselle. If I am to give up imprisoning women, I should allow myself one last go. For the road.'
He then held up a very familiar keychain.
Mills blinked. "Hey! That's my…!"
She reached for it, only to come to an abrupt halt. Looking down, the police detective was shocked to find she had been handcuffed to the car door window… by her own cuffs! Disbelieving, Abbie looked up at the Horseman. "How the hell…?!"
'Sleight-of-hand.' With that Abraham proceeded to lob the keys, including those that would open the cuffs, onto the courthouse lawn well out of her reach. He then went trotting over to where his pale steed waited patiently for its master.
"Oh, you evil headless bastard!" Abigail shouted. If he thinks he is getting away with this…!
Upon gaining the saddle the Horseman of Death offered her a salute before turning to head up Main Street. As per the norm, nobody cared to remark on the decapitated demon in a Redcoat uniform. It was simply the new regular around town. For his part Von Brunt allowed himself to feel a bit cheerful. What did she expect from a demon? And what Abigail said was true. There was good in the world, although sometimes you had to make it yourself. Even the damned could appreciate that.
"ATTENTION! ATTENTION!"
Abraham turned in his saddle. Far behind him, Abbie had pulled the corded radio megaphone from her police cruiser and was shouting into it. What was she attempting to…?
"FEMALE RESIDENTS OF SLEEPY HOLLOW! THE MAN ON THE WHITE HORSE CURRENTLY TRAVELING UP MAIN STREET IS RICH… SINGLE… AND STRAIGHT!"
Perplexed, the undead rider stared. He was unsure if perhaps the poor woman had lost her mind and he might want to consider going back to offer his assistance, when suddenly…
The ground shook with an audible rumble.
Down the street, a fat woman in a flour-dusted apron came running out of a bakery. A crowd of ladies soon gathered behind her. They scanned up and down the street, eyes finally alighting on Abraham, and when they did…
"THERE HE IS, GIRLS!"
And with that, they all came stampeding towards him.
More followed. From every coffee shop, bookstore, Pilates class, and government building they poured out into the street. The young, the old, the single, the unhappily wed. They came bursting from clothing stores with unpaid merchandise still clutched in their fists, dropping bags of groceries as they took up the pursuit. Two women being fitted for wedding dresses raced from the shop and homed in on their quarry like white-draped radar-guided missiles. Some of them pushed baby carriages or climbed onto ten-speed bikes. Pregnant women by the score poured from a Lamaze class to go piling into their minivans and sedans before gunning the engines.
The chase was on!
Oh, hell, Abraham von Brunt thought as that tide of feminine frenzy surged towards his position. Before he could even kick his horse's flanks, the red-eyed stallion took off as though sensing the danger its master was currently in. They galloped faster than the wind, leaving a trail of hellfire down the street as their pursuers raced after them like hounds on the scent of a red-coated fox.
Abbie flicked off her radio with a smile. You brought it on yourself, Abe. Now, how am I going to get out of this predicament? If I had hairpins I might pick the lock; maybe Crane's got some in that rat's nest of his? If I can just reach his body…
"Excuse me? Are you Lieutenant Mills?"
This heavy British accent caused her to turn. Standing on the street was a tall Indian man with a beard beside whom stood the whitest girl Abbie had ever seen. Her bloodless skin was the color of copy paper and her short uncombed hair looked like it belonged on the end of a brand-new mop. This odd pair regarded Abbie as though she was the one attracting comment.
"Yeah?" the policewoman demanded.
"Er, well, you see…"
The man seemed uncertain how to proceed at this point. It was Casper's Sister who took up the case, although a bit tentatively. "We're with the Seattle P.D. Someone from your precinct told us we'd find you here? We're supposed to meet with you about cases involving trafficking of human corpses across state lines. My name's…"
"That's great, Two Percent," Abbie quickly responded with a somewhat unhinged smile. "Could you be a dear and get my car keys from over there?"
The out-of-towners exchanged a glance. After a second the girl went over and crouched down to pick up the keychain, pausing to study the two men still groaning a few feet away before rising to slowly back away from them. She then returned and handed it over to Abbie.
"Thanks."
A moment later she was free. Leaping into her vehicle, Lieutenant Mills slammed the door shut and started the ignition, ignoring her rescuers' attempts to get her attention. She revved the engine a few times, threw it into first gear, and left a patch of burning rubber behind her as squealing tires went roaring down the street.
Gripping the wheel, Abbie grinned to herself as she joined the mob in pursuit of a better boyfriend. Have fun being Sleepy Hollow's most eligible bachelor, Abe!
Back on the curb, the two visiting law enforcement officials stared after their departing contact.
"See that right there?" the bearded man declared. "That is why I don't like small towns. They're just plain weird."
"Whatever," his partner fidgeted from one foot to another and glanced around apprehensively. "Hey, do you have any brains on you? Seeing all those bloodthirsty maniacs chasing somebody makes me feel a little peckish, if you know what I mean."
"No, sorry, I'm fresh out at the moment," he threw back sarcastically. His gaze then drifted over to where two generations of Cranes remained flat on the turf. "Are those two dead? Think you could sneak a little slice of cerebella without anybody noticing?"
The girl looked at the pair, nose wrinkling. "That one smells like grave dirt and lawsuits and the other one smells…" She peered closely at Ichabod and shuddered. "Like nothing I want in my mouth. Besides, they're still alive. Let's get outta here, Ravi, before I'm forced to eat your juicy delicious medically rich brain."
"Liv!"
"Sorry. Just hungry." The Seattle medical examiners then walked off in the direction of their hotel.
A minute after they left, a man dressed in a somewhat out-of-date Grunge fashion came around the corner of the courthouse building. Like the girl from before, he boasted pearly-white skin ignored by the sun and his short spiky hair was the color of curdled milk. Casually this solitary figure strolled over to the still unconscious Cranes. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching before giving each of them a small nudge with his foot. When they both groaned, he appeared satisfied and flashed a signal to a van parked down the street. The vehicle rolled up in front of the building, upon which two big hulking goons jumped out and dragged Ichabod and Jeremy into the back. The doors shut behind them.
Climbing into the passenger seat, the pale man pointed westward. "Home, James! The clients are hungry."
FIN.
