Disclaimer: This is my love letter to Tim Burton, because he rocks my world, as well as Johnny Depp. I don't own any of it.

AN: So here it is, the second part! I must say, it was more difficult to get into Ichabod's head than it was to get into Katrina's. Maybe it's just because I'm not used to writing from a man's perspective. Ah well, I did it, and if you see anything seriously wrong with my characterization, please don't hesitate to point it out. I'm always looking to improve. Anyway, enjoy!

Part Two: Ichabod

I was dreaming again. I was beginning to hope I would be free of them after moving to New York to begin my life anew, but since I had come to Sleepy Hollow, they had been occurring with much more frequency. They had altered somewhat, however. The dark figure, The Priest, had now become the Horseman. The Red Door finally opened, and I was drawn inexorably inside, and suddenly I remembered, I knew what I would see when I got to the end of that chamber of horrors, and I didn't want to see it, wanted to turn back, but couldn't.

Those eyes. My mother's eyes, so warm and loving in life, frozen now in pain, and empty with death. I jumped back, and felt the searing pain on my palms, holding them up I saw them covered with my own blood. I looked up as the Iron Maiden opened, slowly, and all I could see were her eyes, her blood, my blood, the blood of all the innocents who had met their deaths in this room for the Faith. The entire universe became a hell full of blood, with those eyes at the center of it all and then…

I started out of sleep and into the arms of an angel.

The wound in my shoulder was healing quickly, the pain reduced to a mere ache, I noted with the part of my mind that was always rational, even in times like these. But my palms were throbbing with pain I noticed as the angel spoke.

"Shh. You were dreaming." She said soothingly as I looked at my hands to see the old scars reopened, my palms dotted with blood. I felt I should answer her, so she wouldn't worry.

"Yes…" I began, "of things I had forgotten…and would not like to remember." I gave an involuntary shudder.

"Tell me what you dreamt." She said softly.

I found myself opening up to her, as I had never opened up to anyone, save my mother. I was surprised to find myself telling her the story, the event that had changed me forever.

"My mother was an innocent," I began. "A child of nature. Condemned…murdered…by my father." My God. What was I saying? I had never even admitted it to myself; in my head he had always been The Priest.

Katrina pulled away suddenly, looking me in the eye. "Murdered by…?"

I looked away from her face, I couldn't bear to see the surprise and compassion there. "Murdered to save her soul, by a Bible-black tyrant behind a mask of righteousness. I was seven when I lost my faith."

She seemed even more shocked by this blunt statement, or maybe at the anger behind it.

"What do you believe in?"

I found myself answering the way I would have answered to one of my fellow constables in New York. "Sense and reason; cause and consequence. I should not have come here, where my rational mind has been so controverted by the spirit world." I felt awful the instant the words had left my lips, for she looked so dejected as I said it.

"Will you take nothing from Sleepy Hollow that was worth the coming here?"

My heart swelled with admiration, and yes, I will admit it, love, as I answered. "No, not nothing. A kiss from a lovely young woman, before she saw my face or knew my name." I hoped she wouldn't take offense at my bluntness. But she didn't.

"Yes," she said, "without sense or reason."

My heart sank again as she said this, remembering the events of the previous evening. "Forgive me," I said, "Here I speak of kisses, and you have lost your brave man, Brom."

She looked at me for a moment, thoughtful. Then she answered slowly. "I have shed my tears for Brom, and yet, my heart is not broken. Do you think me wicked?" She asked this with such sincerity that I hadn't the heart to laugh at her childishness.

"No," I answered, "But I think there is a bit of the witch in you Katrina."

"Why do you say that?" she asked, worried.

"Because you have bewitched me." I should have been embarrassed to admit such a thing to her, but strangely I was not, and she only smiled, the smile that lit my whole world with its radiance, and drew me into her arms once again. And I felt safe, truly safe, for the first time since before my mother died.