Edward Scissorhands—in progress, editing some chapters, and finishing up the rough draft for the upcoming one.

TT&FS—Am doing the outline for the next chapter…The chapter's name is "Girl's Can't Play Cricket" (I'll prove that wrong, hehehe…)

P.S (To Cathy) This is the chapter I took off...And, yes, thanks to you, I saved it...:)

Random fact...in circa the late 18th century, New York City was actually called (or written like) New-York City...

The Carriage Ride To New-York
(As told in the Voice of One Constable Ichabod Crane)

OOOOOOOOoooo0ooooOOOOOOOO

The sun had dimmed down to a slim line across the vegetated horizon, and it spread a silvery veneer over the bumps and knots along the Hudson Hills. Through the carriage window, I watched as the day's dying flame gently licked the mountains, the gnarled trees, the overgrown plants, the forests that were speeding past our trail. The air, even in the isolated carriage, seemed cold, and was sharp against my cheek like a knife.

The carriage jostled up and down, and down and up again, in the manner you would expect a small ship upon violent waters. The village of Sleepy Hollow, that cursed and blood-drenched borough, was now far behind the carriage, and I could neither no longer detect the pungent, choking smell of the Windmill's fire…nor could I hear the tolling of the Old Dutch Church's bells, which were tolling oh-so-solemnly for the newly dead. I savored my freedom from that hellish place, in the way a starved and thirstful man relishes his first taste of bread and water.

Yet I did not leave this place barren. No, indeed, I am returning with more than I bargained for and more than I believe, at present, that I will be able to rightly handle. I must admit that I am nervous about it. 'It', of course, being Katrina and Young Masbath. I do not know what I did to deserve Miss Katrina, I fear that she feels a certain...a certain...obligation to be my wife after I avenged her father and rescued her from certain death... and, perhaps, I will disappoint the young lady. We certainly are awkward together; she, being most graceful and charming, a wealthy heiress, and a devout sophisticate of the preternatural arts, and I being dirt poor (I mean this almost literally, since have I barely a penny to my name and have been threatened eviction from my landlords countess times from my failure to pay the rent) and stoic, heartless, calculating Man of Science...with ideas and notions nobody cares to listen to.

My mind it split in two, with one half fearing that she and I will not mix well, and the other half completely disregarding the former with an other-worldly reassurance that all is well, and all will be well. It is my reason battling my sentimentality, I know this, but I do hope earnestly for the best. I would like for everything to turn out well.

"Ichabod?"

Katrina's voice sent a strong shudder down my spine, for I was always easily startled when in contemplation. I pulled myself together, and twisted my head away from the jostling window and rested it on the lovely girl sitting next to me.

I replied, but my throat was paper dry. "Yes, Katrina?"

"How much farther to the City?" She asked, as her wide brown eyes looked up to me.

I shook my head, sighed, and cleared my throat, "A night's journey, at the least… we passed Newburgh not but a mile ago, I am sure, and the City is at the ending of the Hudson River," I quickly estimated the distance between our current location and New-York City, "Yes, I would say a night's journey is about how much farther we have."

Gingerly, Katrina nodded her head. Her eyelids were lowering slightly and her head wilted downwards, and, betweenwhiles, her breathing was becoming very lax. She had been so brave, thusfar, so much braver than I ever could have been if I was in her position. Katrina has lost so very much lately; so many of those things...rather, people...were dear to her. She has every reason to be tired, the poor girl, and she has every reason to be weary.

"Tell me about the City, Ichabod." She sighed, hollowly. I could tell she was on the verge of sleep. "What shall I expect to see there?"

I hesitated for a moment, for I had almost forgotten. I had been in the countryside for so long and it had had such a hypnotic and mind-clearing effect that I had nearly lost my memory of a now hazy, misshapen and warped recollection of the City. "Katrina, you know I—"

"Yes, I know," She replied, smiling, "You are not accustomed to society, so I shall forgive your manner."

I smiled back, as I caught the tease. The night she came into my chamber room was speedily refreshed in my mind, like a field of wheat after a heavy rain. I mentally laughed at myself, as I remembered how pompous and pretentious I had been with her, when she was only trying to be a civilized hostess and apologize for Brom Van Brunt's behavoir.

"But, do indulge me," She persisted, "Surely, you must not have walked the streets blind, Ichabod? You must have something to impress me with, or to shock me with?"

"Very well," I said, my voice being tinged by the sudden jumping of the carriage— "You will see cobblestone streets…"

"Oh! I thought as much…" She said, in such a serious way that made me want to laugh… at some points I truly found Katrina Van Tassel just too adorable for words.

I tried to press my memory backwards, "And women with plumed hats—"

Her eyes brightened like two little stars, "Are they Parisian?"

My mind went blank. "I am not completely sure, but they are plumed hats, all the same. Either French or English hats. I would not know, Katrina, you would know better than I about style… I honestly do have a feeling that you shall settle in nicely."

"Do you believe so?" She smiled, very pleased. I could also see a little tint of relief in her dark eyes.

"I do believe so." I said, nodding my head.

"And," She was a bit worried, "How do you think Young Masbath will fare?"

I, too, had been a little concerned on how the boy would 'settle'.

"Well. We shall see." I said, "I do wish he can find his bearings in such a foreign place. He is a capable lad, no doubt, and if he can face a demonic manifestation I believe he shall fare quite well in the, comparatively mild, streets of New-York."

"I hope so, Ichabod." Katrina said, sighing. I could see she was hoping for many things, and, truely, so was I.

The last glimmer of fading sunset extinguished over the looming presence of the western mountains. The outside world was black as a glossy raven's wing, and it had not the illumination of the candle-like stars or the pleasant moon. The forests' branches curled around our path like lion's claws, ready to sink into our flesh and tear it open. Such a foreboding night, I thought, and I found myself praying that it was not a bad omen—a bad omen, oh, I could hardly believe that I was actually considering such destructive nonsense! But this Sleepy Hollow, no matter how horrible and how horrific it was, had forced me, violently, to realize that nothing is just as impossible as it seems; magick, evil eyes, ghosts and goblins, apparitions and visions, bewitching witches, and even omens—they were as real as any scientific method.

Katrina sank down in the sleek leather carriage seat, and her silken black-and-white striped dress ruffled out, filling the inside of the carriage with the rich, flounced material. Her muslin bow, plump soft ivory skin, and golden-spun hair almost shone with their own angelic light in the bible-black darkness of the night.

I was perplexed about what course were ours to take—were we going to be, in fact, married? The matter had never been discussed, but was, every day, implied. I definitely would not offer any objections to matrimony. But, in a sense, I had already proposed, had I not? My offer of bringing her to the City. A respectable lady like Katrina deserves to be a wife and not a mistress… and I think that her father, Baltus Van Tassel, would have wanted a home for his daughter. But—one does not just…walk into a chapel, sign papers, and walk out without some sort of…discussion, perhaps? Of course, I'm no expert in the world of women, either, and this hinders me only but further in understanding what to do.

Katrina was starting to doze off, slowly, like the waning of a candle at the end of its wick. She was so very beautiful.

I was tempted to slide a bit closer to her, and encircle her in my arms. Of course, as always, I hesitated. I was afraid of her rejection, but I knew Katrina would not be so cruel. Or would she? No, she would not. And still, there is the doubt that she might…! Perhaps I do not have a heart, perhaps I cannot be a good husband, perhaps I am a failure altogether.

A warmth interrupted my thoughts…

It came directly from my shoulder, and I looked down to see Katrina's head resting there, limply. A smile broke out on my lips, and I could not, for the life of me, stop smiling—The smile turned to a soft snicker as I heard her snore. Katrina, a prim and proper young lady, snoring as loudly and coarsely as one of my fellow constables…? It was too darling, too precious for words...!

I carefully nudged Katrina over, so gently as not to wake her, and took off my jacket. I waved the jacket out a little, to smoothen and straighten it, so it might be used as a blanket for her. I laid the jacket over her front, and tucked in whatever areas were loose.

I allowed myself to kiss her lightly on the forehead, but I did not dare do more than that. I also allowed my arms to hold onto her, letting her sleeping head nuzzle in my chest. I had never been this straightforward with a woman before, not even with a sleeping one, and I found my palms beginning to perspire.

The young lady smelled of honeysuckle, pumpkin and lavender, which tingled the senses delightfully.

I hardly knew her, but it seemed like I had known her since… well, possibly, since the very creation of the universe, which is completely ridiculous, but it was my impression, nonetheless. I had seen her without seeing her, talked with her without ever having met her—it was not exactly like that, for it is hard to explain. It was most similar to…as if I had sensed herbefore knowing she existed, like one feels the wind's breath but never actually sees it.

I shook my head, greatly disappointed with myself. I was being far too chimerical; this was not how I usually was. No, indeed, I was a different man altogether now, and was not Ichabod Crane at all anymore—Ichabod Crane had wandered off somewhere, in the hills, or in the forest, and he got lost and left his body and me (whatever I was) behind—me and my wild fancies about contradictory things like knowing people, and yet not knowing them, at the exact same time!

I tried to keep my mind steady, but it was as jumpy and incommoding as this carriage I was sitting in. My mind insisted on thinking about Katrina and me, and I consented without much choice.

A constable and a witch are not exactly a fairy story couple, are they? The two seem so...oddly mismatched. Oh, and I, being a man of realities, a man of strictly facts and calculations, a man who proceeds upon the principal that two and two are four, and not one digit over—being presumably engaged to a star-gazing, romantic and sentimental, cauldron stirring witch. To me, the irony was overwhelming.

And now, my reason called for my reserve. I knew the cheerless world all too well to believe this sudden happiness. What dog would lick the hand of a master who had beaten him? No. The world was no light fairytale fancy, but a god-hunted, plague-breeding, rotting, and tyrannous world. I had seen it. I was not ignorant of it. And, neither, was I ignorant of how fickle Life sweetly kisses you before jabbing a dagger in your side.

Even Katrina's love, I told myself, must have a motive, a specific purpose, to it. Indeed, yes, half of me trusted her and wished desperately to give her my heart, my hand, and all else—but, too, a jaded, darkened, burnt half hissed out a sour warning, 'Be watchful, Ichabod, of yourself. Keep high barriers over and around the perimeter of your soft and foolish heart. Women lure imbeciles. Her temptation eyes shall only distract you, whilst her elegant hands rip out your heart and tear it in-two.'

But, sweet Katrina? It was not possible; the Katrina who was leaning next to me, in such innocent, adorable slumber? That lovely young lady who comforted me and, of course, put me in place when I began my insufferable egotism? Surely, I am not so hardened as to distrust such a person... Doubt poured into my mind like water being poured into a cup. I doubted my instincts, my principles, my motives, my character... everything that I was composed of, I doubted it...

I saw my mind was in civil war; two equally strong sides fighting, and the halves could never fit together. I could almost hear the gunshots and cannons blow inside my soul. I knew that one side would be defeated and then would decay away forever, leaving the winner to thrive, flourish, and surge about me in victory.

But I did love Katrina dearly—hold a moment, hold—Well, actually, yes… yes, I could…I could definitely say this. As baffling as it was, and as stale my heart was, I could feel such overpowering things for the young lady. It was as if I were a man of ice, and she were the blazing sun—I had slowly began to melt from her presence. Drip, drip, drip, drip; then the drips turned to tickles, and then large puddles. Perhaps, someday the ice shall be completely thawed…

The carriage gave a sharp jolt, tossing us upward for a moment. Katrina grumbled and babbled, softly, but she promptly fell asleep once we had maintained smooth ground.

A lime-green booklet with delicate gold lettering fell out of Katrina's hands and landed on her lap. Curiously, I raised my eyebrow, reached for it, examined it carefully, and then tried to read the title in the carriage's dim butter yellow-orange light. I squinted my eyes and eventually ciphered out … "The Application of Moonwort, Myrtle, & Hawkweed: A Collective of Charms and Spells, Concerning."

A Tome of Spells... What else had I expected? My glance over to her bags, revealed a clutter other romance novels and sonnets… some of which I had allowed myself read. Knight's of the Round Table was, to my eternal and everlasting shock, actually rather good and I found myself, dare I say it, actually enjoying a tale of romance. Even as a child, I had not bothered with Shakespeare or Defoe, I stuck plainly with Aristotle, Euclid, and Plato, and I had drowned my mind with mathematics and memorization. Now that I remember those times, I see what a miracle it was that I did not go outright mad.

Not as though my unsettling experience in the Hudson Highlands has at all caused me to abandon either Science, or Reason—and never shall I let go of them. They have formed a mind I am proud to harbor, and the rules and methods of my learned obsessions, to me, are not broken—they are only bent, slightly, in the way of a supple-jack. New knowledge, too; knowledge of sacred superstitions, unnatural necromancy, the never-dying lust for blood, and preserving prophecy … white and black magic (and all other colors of magic, true), and the tragic recollections of my times with my Mother. I had learned much, and gained much, and lost much …and, oh God, how I wish that so much raw, cross-grained ruthlessness had not reached Katrina's pure ears and eyes. I have seen violence enough in my time, it does not matter about what my eyes see, but this young girl, who has wronged no one, does not merit such grievous sorrow and suffering...

I sat corpse-still in my seat, while keeping an inflexible grip on Katrina. Glaring up to the ink-black sky, I emptied my mind's thoughts; yet the dark heavens offered no means of warm consolation to my bewildered eyes. The dark as death night was scant of its jewels, the stars, and wanting of its crown, the moon.

My sudden realization of my loss of jacket, instantly made the night cold. A few giddy shivers skipped down my freezing back, and my nostrils stung with the inhaling of night frost. I gave a nervously envious glance over to Katrina, who was snuggled tightly in my jacket. My heart melted, and my limbs weakened. How could I regret giving her the jacket? I was not so cold, after all... nothing that a good, spluttering fire in my small hearth back in New-York couldn't fix.

And, to think ofthe dutiful Masbath—who was outside, on the rider's seat, and doubtlessly miserable with the weather. I am uncertain if he will manage to get a wink of rest, in these rough conditions. I must see to it that the boy is given an opportunity to drink something warm and a dry place to sleep, when we make our arrival in the City. He will deserve it for braving such harshness, and for keeping hold of our luggage.

My eyes started to flutter, my vision softened in a drunken blur, and my eyelids felt as heavy as led. The coldness, my extinguishing strength, and the stillness of the night made a solemn, silent, midnight lullaby. I lost myself somewhere between bending down to kiss Katrina and my last conscious gush of the chilled, harsh night air…

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Awakening, to a blazing white light, and the feel of Katrina's thermal kiss on my frigid skin... Soon, I was aware of the rowdy yells and commands of merchants, selling their wares, and the clip-clop of horses' hooves drawing their phaeton carriages. Thesolemn murmur of businessmen consulting other fellows, while they rushed and checked bank notes in the polished marble establishment of the Bank of New-York, mixed awkwardly with the invigorated chirp of gossip between the ladies and gentlemen having their morning walk through town.

My vision grew less and less clouded, my mind sobered a little from sleep, and I peered out the window to see the very familiar gray and untidy cobbtlestones of New- York City.

I straightened my posture,when Irealized Katrina was already quite awake and that Masbath was patiently standing outside the carriage and being weighed down by the our heavy luggage . Frankly, the boy looked like the sight of the City shocked the breath out of him.Yet Katrina was looking at me, instead of the City. And, what was more, she was concerned, and was waiting patiently for me to awake.

"Ah," I said, half-sighing. The warm awakening was sinking down to my throat, "Just in time for a new century…"

I sprung to open the door, and my chest soaked up my first breath of city fog in weeks, the smell of stale fish and meat, smoke from the apartment chimneys,spices from the East... What a different world this was from Sleepy Hollow; so much so, that even the air smelled different. I offered out my hand to the young lady in the carriage, and she promptly grasped it. Katrina picked up her huge skirts and climbed down the footing of the carriage. Quickly, the carriage galloped off down the bustling crowd of New Yorkers and the slick cobbltestoned streets, leaving us three in the vastness of the City.

Katrinabrought me forward, showing no coyness to her new surroundings. Her eyes widened to the size of tea-saucers as she gazed at everything in wonder. My chest swelled as she weaved her arm into mine, and yet I felt no embarrassment about it. The two of usholding hand-in-hand seemed to be the most natural thing in the universe.

Feeling the first flakes of winter snow, melt on my face caused my skin to smart, slightly, but this did not prevent me from smiling...Even if the sky had rained down burning coals, I doubt that would have quelled my drunken grin. My doltish grin still plastered on my face, I glanced over to an excited Katrina. For a moment, she stared at me with an expression of shock blended strangely with amusement. I then realized that Katrina has never seen me grin… nor had I actually grinned in years, I believe. I cannot even recall the last time I laughed out-loud.

She tightened her grip on my arm, and proudly led me forward. I knew it! I knew it from the start, there was no denying it.Katrina was a New Yorker at heart, these streets would fast become her home, and she would fare better than I ever will, or would have, fared here.

Suddenly, her grip on me loosened and the bright enthusiasm for the City dulled in her eyes. I frowned and looked to her, and she was staring back at the shrinking boy behind us, Young Masbath. I knew without looking, that the boy was frightened. I could feel the fear radiate from behind me, and inside myself I had pity for the child. The City was a place of wonder and, also indeed, great fear.

We had a wordless understanding, she and I. And I knew, I must say something.

"You'll soon get your bearings, Young Masbath," I said, addressing the timidboy behind us, "The Bronx is up, the Battery is down—and home, is this way."

The rapid flow of people hustled to and fro, making the three of us almost lost in the crowd.

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Another preview for 'Afterthought', the prequel to 'Number 31'…A little dialogue that occurs between the witch and the constable.

A smile blossomed on her lips, "I never would have suspected you to take pleasure in Shakespeare."

He lowered his head and nodded it, making the ridiculous mop of black hair rustle up and down, "I have put myself to learning the plays of Shakespeare by heart—it tests and trains the capacity of my memory to process large amounts of information. Memorization, a vital task to any scientist and, if you will, an amateur lawman."

"Ah, I see…I would believe you to have found them foolish and sentimental. Which," She grinned, in momentary mischief, and the slyness rather surprised Crane. In a shocking second, the girl even resembled the pale Glenn Van Twiller and his scheming countenance all over, "Does make one wonder: Is it the want of procuring a more elastic memory your only purpose for studying such prose? For surely you could have just as easily memorized the long passages of logical facts from your scientific tomes. Or, perhaps, does the eminently practical Man of Reason have a weakness for tales of romance, I do wonder?"

U U U U U

Hahaha…cheesy, I know…yet, I've been told that that scene is pretty 'cuddly'. Plenty of room for debate.