Chapter Seven
Abbie sat on the swing set outside Corbin's cabin, gazing up at the darkening sky. Through the trees, the treacherous moon shone brightly, its full orb glimmering with an icy pallor. Tonight was the night that would end it, one way or another. In the silence that enfolded her, she tensed, as if listening for the sound of approaching hooves.
She tried to cast her mind back to the time before she met Crane, before she became a Witness and all the plans she had for her life got blown to the four winds. With hindsight, everything seemed so much simpler then; the darkness and confusion of her childhood lay firmly behind her. All that lay ahead was latent possibility, clear and bright like cosmic dust waiting to form a star.
Now everything was a confused; her fate was entwined with another, bound together by prophecy to fulfil a predetermined role. She felt as out of control as she had when she was little - a child struggling with the shackles of a broken home and a damaged sister. She was a grown woman now, capable and strong, but inside she felt impotent and lost, terrified that her only ally – the person on whom she had come to rely so completely – was close to death.
Jenny emerged from the cabin and shivered in the chill evening air. Her exhaled breath formed plumes above her head. She sat down on the swing set beside Abbie.
'How are you doing?'
'I'm fine,' she replied too quickly. 'Any improvement?' It was a reflex now – Abbie already knew the answer, even before Jenny had begun to shake her head.
'I think it's gonna get worse before it gets better.'
She recalled with perfect clarity the day she had called Dr. Gibbons out to the cabin. Fear and panic had already begun to set in, sending her into a tailspin. It took every ounce of restraint not to rush to Crane's side, but she knew she had to respect his wishes by remaining outdoors. After what seemed like hours, Dr. Gibbons emerged to find Abbie pacing back and forth on the porch. Questions crowded her mind, emerging in shaking breaths.
'Do you know what's wrong with them? Are they gonna be okay?'
'From my preliminary exam, it would seem to be nothing more than a seasonal flu virus. I'm concerned at the rapid onset of symptoms. Katrina is stable at present, but Mr. Crane is spiking a high-grade fever.'
Abbie felt a relieved breath before her eyes widened in horrified realisation. Crane and Katrina had 18th century immune systems. They had probably never encountered the modern flu virus, much less developed a defence mechanism against it. Abbie was struck dumb with fear. Maeve's vision was true then – Pestilence had come for Ichabod Crane.
Dr. Gibbons looked thoughtful. 'I assume from their speech and mode of dress that they come from a religious community, like Mennonites or the Amish. Have they had inoculations?'
Shamefaced, Abbie shook her head. She cursed herself for failing to take better care of Crane. What kind of partner was she? Teaching him about baseball and Smartphones was fine, but what was the point when he was susceptible to all sorts of modern ailments?
Jenny shifted nervously, interrupting her thoughts. It was clear that she was gearing up to say something important. 'I have an idea how much Crane means to you, Abbie,' she said slowly, carefully choosing her words. 'Don't think for a second that we're not working our asses off to keep him alive.'
For you, she added silently. For all that was unspoken and repressed about the connection between Crane and her sister, one thing was painfully obvious to her. Abbie needed Crane, for no other reason than that he was her closest friend, her rock, her partner in the madness that had enveloped her life over the past year. For Abbie's sake alone, she had fought tooth and nail to keep Crane from dying.
'I know,' Abbie replied listlessly.
The cabin door opened and Dr. Gibbons emerged, exhaustion etched onto her small, bird-like face. Abbie stood up to meet her.
'I need to get more supplies from my office. Jenny, would you mind giving me a hand? It's going to be a long night.'
Jenny nodded assent and placed a reassuring hand on Abbie's back as she walked towards her car. Dr. Gibbons looked seriously at Abbie for a moment.
'I'll need you to keep a careful watch on them. You know the drill – keep them cool, keep them hydrated. And whatever you do…'
'Wear a mask and gloves,' Abbie completed the familiar litany. Over the past week, she had lost count of the number of times she had been in and out of the cabin, taking care of Crane and his wife. Following Dr. Gibbon's instructions, she had been scrupulous about safety, more concerned about their health than her own. Crane was shocked when he saw her wearing the mask for the first time, but she explained in vague terms about germ theory and the transmission of viruses. She laughed when she realised that her knowledge went no further than high school biology, promising to buy him a book as soon as he got well.
If he got well.
Duly prepared, she stepped inside the gloom of the cabin. Dying embers of a fire glowed in the grate, and Crane lay on the couch, stripped to the waist and bathed in sweat. Her heart clenched when she saw him; his breathing was shallow and his skin had a greyish tint. His eyes opened as she approached.
'Hey.' It was all she could muster.
'Miss Mills, I thought you had gone.'
She crouched down beside him and smoothed down his damp hair. It was meant to convey comfort, but the gravity of the situation lent the gesture a strange significance.
He might be dying, she thought, trying to keep the tears at bay. This might be goodbye.
'I'm not going anywhere,' she whispered. 'How are you feeling?'
'Better, I think.' The sickly shade of his skin and the rasping sound of his breathing gave the lie to his words. 'Well, to own the truth, I'm a little thirsty.'
Abbie held a glass of water to his lips, grateful to be doing something useful. Crane made a noise to signal when he had had enough.
'I've been thinking about Miss Burke's prophecy,' he rasped. 'How conveniently it came true.'
Abbie crooked an eyebrow. 'You think she and her husband are in league with Moloch?'
'It's possible.' He was overcome by a flurry of coughing. 'Forgive me,' he said when he had recovered. 'Mr. Doyle showed a marked antipathy towards me. It's curious.'
'Not that curious.' Abbie smiled with her eyes. Despite her attempt at humour, she couldn't help wondering if he was right. The sudden disappearance of Maeve and Finbarr certainly seemed suspicious. She noticed that Crane's eyelids were beginning to droop.
'You should sleep.'
'Miss Mills, would you be so kind as to check on my wife for me? I would rest easier if I knew how she was.'
Abbie nodded and saw his entire body relax into slumber. She smoothed his blankets and moved towards the bedroom where she saw Katrina asleep on the bed. Her agitated manner suggesting bad dreams.
'Katrina,' she said softly, touching her forehead with a gloved hand. The other woman was burning with fever.
'Miss Mills,' she said groggily, as if slightly confused about her surroundings. 'My husband – is he well?'
Abbie felt a tug at her heart. 'He was just asking the same about you.'
Katrina pulled back the blankets and placed her feet on the floor. She stood up unsteadily. 'We don't have much time.'
'Katrina, what are you doing?'
'I dreamed of the horseman of Conquest,' she replied, panicked. 'He is coming tonight – he is planning to infect the whole township of Sleepy Hollow. There will be a pestilence which will dwarf the plagues of old.' She looked intently at Abbie. 'The two Witnesses are all that stands in his way. If Ichabod dies, all is lost. Will you help me?'
'How?' Abbie asked, but Katrina was already moving into the other room.
Katrina knelt beside her sleeping husband, a look of terror contorting her face. 'He is fading.'
'No.' Abbie shook her head. 'The doctor will be back soon.'
'It may be too late. Abbie, the full moon is tonight.' Katrina looked at her in desperation. 'Help me!'
'Tell me how!' Even she could see that Katrina was right. Crane looked terrible; she wasn't sure that even Dr. Gibbons could help him now.
'Give me your hand.'
Even in the anguish of the moment, Abbie hesitated. After all this time, she had to admit that she did not fully trust Crane's wife.
'You want him to live, yes?' Katrina's gaze was unflinching. 'You are his partner, his fellow Witness. Alone, you are helpless - together you have the power to defeat the evil that grows daily. He must live.'
Abbie's mind reeled. She sensed that Katrina was about to ask something of her, something she was not sure she could afford to give. As she looked down at her dying partner, she realised that there was nothing she wouldn't do to save him. She held out her hand.
Katrina picked up a sharp scissors from Crane's writing desk. She tore off the surgical glove and made a cut in Abbie's palm that drew blood. Abbie gasped in pain and surprise as Katrina made a similar wound in her husband's hand.
'I will conjure a blood bond between you.'
'Katrina, no!' she cried out in alarm, but Crane did not stir. She felt horror at the words, recalling the pain that Crane had suffered because of his blood-tie with the Horseman of Death. It had almost driven him to suicide.
'You have an immunity to this illness, Abbie, I do not. This is the only way!'
Abbie had never heard such fury from Katrina before. The choice was clear to her – either accept this link with Crane or accept his death. She heard her blood pulsing in her ears.
'Do it.'
Abbie opened her eyes. She saw sunlight streaming through the windows of the cabin. It took a moment to realise that she was curled up in an armchair in the corner of the front room. Someone had thoughtfully placed a blanket over her during the night - the night that was a blank in her memory. She remembered Katrina casting the fatal spell over her and Crane, and then – nothing.
Crane…
The couch was empty. That was when she heard the noise. It sounded strange, like the whimpering of a wounded animal.
Dr. Gibbons emerged from bedroom and immediately locked eyes with Abbie. 'I'm so sorry,' she said.
Abbie pushed past her and stepped inside. Sitting on the bed was Crane – alive, though paler and thinner as a result of his ordeal. Tears were pouring down his cheeks as he cradled his wife in his arms.
Katrina looked beautiful in death, pale as frost in midwinter. The russet hair that trailed over her face was like a final blush in her lifeless cheeks.
Abbie rushed to Crane's side, tears falling from her eyes. She was speechless, uncomprehending. She held Katrina's hand as Crane wept, giving silent thanks to the witch who had given her life to save his. She had stopped Conquest from riding, from infecting the whole of Sleepy Hollow. Yet, for all of her power, she was not strong enough to withstand the sickness that consumed her.
It was just her and Crane now. Two Witnesses - bound together in life and death.
