Disclaimer.
I do not own Sleepy Hollow. The characters and movie plot of Tim Burton's 1999 motion picture Sleepy Hollow is the property of their respective owners. I acknowledge that they do not belong to me. This is a Sleepy Hollow fiction, introducing the character of Inspector Frederick Abberline from the movie, From Hell.
WARNING: I will give you a fair warning. This fiction contains male on male rape and male pregnancy. If you are offended by it then read no furthur and leave now, because I don't want your flames and ash words in my review box. Flamers, I repeat, turn away now.
I rate this mature for strong language, sexual scenes and a scene of rape.
Collaberation with EmiStaw13y
The fixes and fittings of the small room lit only by the daylight through the barred window was not exactly to taste. The floor ran with the occasional rat, the bricks were dark with dirt and there was a brisk chill blowing through the cracks in the walls. In the rooms centre, stood a lengthly table and lay ontop of that was a very still - very dead - body. At the tableside an even small table, made to fit purpose and staying tucked into the corner of the examination table, holding up a tray of custom made tools and tricks. Ichabod silently stood waiting, hands rested on the edge of the table and his head down. He had lost count of the minutes he had been kept waiting by his supposed disciples, distracted by a terrible and gradual churning feeling in the pit of his stomach, making him breath queasily and sweat more then he had today. Every now and then he was forced to dab at his face with the front of his apron. Was he more nervous then he thought he would be? Perhaps so.
'Ey,' Ichabod's head lifted when he realised he was no longer alone, seeing his Inspector walk in through the arched brickway. He looked at Abberline wearily as he began to approach him, thinking he would have a thousand things to tell him. But was it really wise? Perhaps the Inspector would be driven away by the idea of another worldly force handling his body so roughly. The thought scared Ichabod, the thought of narrowing down his already dense time with him. He swallowed, perhaps now was not the time.
'Whats th' matter?' Abberline asked, stopping at Ichabod's side. The constable looked so flustered, not to mention exhausted.
'What?' Ichabod said under his breath, side-ward glancing the Inspector. Brought back from his thoughts. 'Oh nothing, Inspector. Nothing.'
'Doesn't look like nufin.' Abberline said mildly, beginning to step behind the constable. He had took to noticing the dear man's apron was untied and just hanging loose off him. Taking the two flimsy pieces of fibrous threads and began to tie them together. 'Your as white as a sheet.'
'You always say that.'
The Inspector chuckled, looking down at what he was doing. 'Yeh, your right.' His quiet laugh died. 'But in all seriousness, are you aw'right?'
Ichabod managed a weak nod and Abbeline pulled the final knot in the string of his apron, returning back to the constable's side. He decided this moment alone with him he would use well, reaching to hold the side of his face and brushing away escaped strands of black hair with his thumb. 'Don't lie t'me, wha's wrong?'
It took a moment or so for Ichabod to face him, unsure of what he would say. The Inspector was determined, staring into his eyes with genuine concern in his face. He wanted to tell him, he wanted to tell him what had happened to him - but he was so afraid of the aftermath. Ichabod's mouth slowly opened to try words, failing several times before any sound came out.
'Abberline .. '
Mutters and chattering voices that were once distant became noticably louder, Ichabod backing away suddenly and the Inspector dropping his hand as a bustle of constables began to pour into the room. All uproarious and loud like a rabble of school children. They swarmed around the table, standing shoulder to shoulder and Abberline leaned forward to quickly mutter to Ichabod.
'Over t'you, constable.' He whispered, beginning to back away into the crowd. As he joined amoungst the noisy gathering, Ichabod swallowed again with nerves. How observation suffered him. The crowd of men began to quieten, all eyes on Ichabod in the centre of the room.
He cleared his throat, pressing both palms together in an attempt at composure. 'Alright, well .. now that everyone is here .. '
'Clumsy Crane's going to show us how to defile a corpse?' A rather rude constable cut in, afew mumbling chuckles from the crowd.
'Oi,' The Inspector drew his club and struck it hard against the corner wall, gaining the attention of the offending constable. He pointed it at him as a warning. 'What did y'r Burgomesiter say?'
The man almost rolled his eyes, but thought better of it. 'No interruptions, Inspector.'
'Inspector who?'
There were more chuckles coming from the crowd at the humiliation of the offender then the outburst itself, the interjecting constable reply with a bit of a grumble. 'Inspector Abberline.'
'S'better.' He gave Ichabod a nod vertifying him to continue. 'As you were, Constable Crane.'
Ichabod could not help but feel some sense of pride. Even in silence the beautious, bold but brave man was his. He tried not to smile at him, his lips wobbling a little to stay straight. Turning back to the corpse, he ran his hand slowly and smoothly over its' surface.
'The purpose of an autopsy is to examine the body and determine the cause of death. It is a critical assessment.' Ichabod said clearly, picking up one of his more favoured tools and hovering it just above the body. 'This cadaver, as you can see, was a man. He was discovered just yesterday and has yet to be identified.'
Abberline watched the demonstrator as he paced deliberatly around the dead body, tool in hand. Savouring his intelligence. Ichabod continued, 'I have reason to believe the deceased was beaten to death, if there is bruising to the brain matter then it will confirm that the deceased lost his life to severe trauma to the head, and so was murdered. So in tern, we can hunt down this murderer before he kills again. Am I understood?'
There were some nods from the crowd, and some just didn't bother. The constable wasn't really watching for his student's reactions, he was more focused on the head of the body. Vertical lines marked around the entire head, done by himself just hours earlier. 'What I shall do now is cut along the marked lines, remove a portion of the skull and begin the process of removing the brain. Once it is cut from its' attachments, it can be gently eased out and placed into this tray.'
Ichabod tapped at a flimsy tray with his index finger, some of the constables grimacing. All eyes were on his hand grappling at the tool with the jagged circular blade, poised above the head. 'To ensure the skull is properly penetrated, a key thing to remember is .. i-is ... '
Oh no. He could feel it coming on, that sickly churning in his stomach pushing against his throat. Not here, oh dear God not here. The silence was broken by the wave of murmerings falling over the crowd, looking at him oddly as he hunched, dropping the instrument to the floor with a clatter and clapping his hand over his mouth.
'E-excuse me .. ' He quickly muttered through his hand, breaking into a sprint and pushing his way through the gathering. Abberline was anchored in place, for a moment stunned. But it did not take long for him to take after Ichabod, pursueing him down the hall and dissappearing from the sight of the other colleagues.
'Crane - wait! Ichabod .. !' The Inspector shouted after him, but the man wasn't as on his heels as he thought. Ichabod was far ahead, desperatly trying to escape from anyone's view and rushing outside. He darted to the side of the building, as hidden as possible and his head threw forward by its' own force. He coughed loudly as he vomited into a hedge.
The coughing, spluttering and heavy rustles of the hedge leaves lead Abberline to him, standing just behind him and watching in a haze. The man, as it seemed, really wasn't all the well.
'I knew there was sum'fin wrong wiv you.' The Inspector said sadly, approaching his side and deciding to help him by holding back his hair as he heaved more. 'You ain't well.'
There was a moment of mercy where the vomiting stopped, Ichabod panting and wiping at his mouth in disgust. He sighed, knowing the Inspector was right. 'I know.'
'What's wrong?'
'I don't... ' Ichabod was cut off as he felt it again, turning his head away back into the hedge and, again, violently upchucking. Abberline sighed, rubbing his hand up and down the man's back with his other hand.
He waited until the poor constable's stomach stopped making him chunder up its' contents. Speaking again, 'You need t' see a doctor.'
'I'm fine.' Ichabod insisted, his eyes closing. The rubbing of his back felt good, it was soothing. 'I don't need a doctor.'
'Bullshit.' Abberline said, his tone not changing. 'Yer not well.'
There was a touch of worry in Ichabod's voice, 'What if .. what if I'm dying?'
'Oh rubbish, y'aint dyin'.' The Inspector said, combing his fingers through Ichabod's thick hair to calm him. 'Y'need a doctor. 'Ey, I'll take ye if you want.'
