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
Tortured almost to madness by this shocking account, Abberline returned into the city, but even before he reached it, the evening was drawing closer. The day was beginning to break. In entering the town he was obliged to pass several stately homes and buildings, the residents of New York, who supported themselves with little effort. New York, where the rich were richer and the poor were poorer. The Inspector was amoungst a sqaure bursting with people, who strode past him simply. It was nearly dark: he heard from a neighbouring steeple a solemn toll that seemed to say some poor mortal was going to meet their last breath, the sound struck on the heart of Abberline, and he involuntarily heightened his frustration and panic, pushing through the people and stopping a few every other second.
''ave you seen a man called Ichabod Crane?'
'You seen Ichabod Crane anywhere?'
'Has anyone 'ere seen Ichabod Crane?'
Each time he saw the appearance of either a scared pedestrian or one who just shook their head to get rid of him. Almost unknowing what he did, he followed the crowd at a small distance; passing a small burial and as they let the coffin into the grave, he stopped.
Red. Smattered against tree leaves.
The bustling people moved past him, as his eyes fixed on the floor.
It wasn't a fields, a wood. A wood smeared in blood.
The visions ran through the Inspector's head, happening so quickly and sparking a pale fear in his face.
A flash of sliver, a baby crying.
He soon recovered; and fixing his eyes on ahead he gaped. Abberline know not what to believe, what he should do. He knew not whom he was realizing, or what he cursed in the bitterness of his heart. He had begged the visions not to come near him, they would contaminate him. The viper that stung the peace. Something had turned the poor Ichabod out to perish in the street. No, not the street. Heaven have mercy, he saw him now. Lying against the ground on black grass, eyes wide open and mouth agape, bright red smatters on his white face. Such was the fair bud of innocence that his vile arts blasted in his head half blown.
Abberline turned his head into the direction of the forest, and hoped to God he was not too late.