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Pumpkinpuss – My dear friend, it's such an honor for you to be reading this piece once again. It seems that you can keep my head above all this emotional writing goop. I always look forward to your reviews. Your writing has inspired me and I can only hope I will honor the Constable as you have.

MJ – I am so glad you are reading this. Your reviews me so much to me. I hope you enjoy the rest. Glad you like it.

DI Friends – You guys are best. I am so pleased that you are reading this story. Please, let me know if you have any suggestions.

Thanks all! Now on with the story!

Devils Drink

"I'd like a whiskey, please," I requested from the bartender as I tossed a few coins on the counter. He nodded, retrieved the coins, and went wordlessly to fetch me my drink. A few moments later, a shot glass sat before me filled with sinister, auburn liquid. I gently picked up the glass and before putting it to my lips, I inhaled the unique aroma of the alcoholic beverage. "Here goes nothing," I thought to myself and I immediately poured the warm contents into my mouth. I could feel the whiskey pass through my throat; setting it ablaze, relieving my burdens.

As I asked for another drink, I noticed a disapproving stare from a gentleman next to me. His eyes were bitter and cold, as if he could see right through me. "Go to Hell," I sneered at him as I swigged my second drink. He grumbled something at me, meaningless words, slammed his fee onto the counter and departed the tavern.

The second drink turned into a third, and then a fourth. The fourth soon became the eighth. No longer did my taste buds demur the balmy, vigorous taste, nor loathe the cutting sensation as the snifter swathed my throat. Instead the whiskey served as my savior, my liberator. Salvaging me from reality and taking me to a world where nothing mattered.

I began to feel faint as the world revolved around and around me, as if I were its axis. The situation I found myself in was so hysterical I could not contain myself any longer and finally ruptured with laughter. I had fallen in love with a married man and upon learning the fact; I resorted to the devil's drink to wash my devastation away.

My fingertips ran across the smooth silk of the bottom of my coin purse as I searched for one last coin. Nothing. Cursing at myself, I gradually stood up. My legs wobbled and I relied on the barstool to steady myself. Little by little, I made my way to the entrance doors; wandering every which way, tripping over my own feet. I giggled frenziedly at myself, for I was in such a state I could scarcely walk. Sinuously, the giggles transformed into sobs; sobs because I could not forget…sobs of a broken heart. Emotions were departing my body like the teardrops were flowing from my eyes. I jostled the door open and staggered into the street. The warm night's air kissed my cheeks as perspiration formed in tiny droplets on my forehead. My stomach churned and roiled, my head twirled and twisted. The streets were foreign to me and my vision blurred, slowly converting every color, every hue, black. Alas, I could carry myself upright no longer. I sunk to the earth beneath me and everything went black.

My eyelids fluttered open as I drifted out of my deep slumber. My temple pounded unbearably and I massaged my head as I examined my surroundings in hope to relieve the pressure that felt like it would burst at any moment. I had utterly no idea where I was. From the looks of things, I resided in a small and vacant bedroom with aged wooden floors and walls that seemed to hold no emotion. There were no decors and no furnishings except the bed where I lay, a chest in the corner, and a splintered chair near the head of my bed. My eyes wandered back to the chest. Neatly draped over it was my mother's blood red gown, torn and soiled. I gasped at the sight of my cherished belonging, which was accompanied by a thrust of pain in my head. My mind was completely uncomprehending. How had I gotten here? And more importantly, where was here?

At that instant, the door squeaked open and a man walked in. At the sight of him, I sprung into a sitting position. The sudden movement caused a thousand knives to stab themselves into my temple, and a nauseating sensation cut my breath short. Rubbing my forehead, I delicately laid my head back into the feathered softness of the pillow. "Constable?" I moaned in pain and puzzlement, still massaging my head.

"None other, I am pleased to see that you are wakeful. Do you mind if I sit down?" He asked motioning to the chair.

"Not at all," I spoke with difficulty as the more I talked, the more intense my nausea became.

"How are you feeling this afternoon?" Ichabod gently inquired. "You have had some rather difficult days."

"Besides my head's horrendous throbbing, and my stomach's…" But before I could complete my sentence, my stomach could not repress itself any longer. I desperately wanted to contain myself, but that proved impossible. Ichabod, seeing my exertion, reached for the chamber pot that rested at the bedside, and got it to my mouth in moment's time. Violently, my stomach emptied itself into the lead tinted chamber, burning my esophagus with every suppress. With one free hand, Ichabod gathered my hair and held it away from my face as I finished vomiting. "T-T-Thank you," I muttered. My muscles scorched, and I and coughed in order to recuperate.

Ichabod was silent as he obtained a handkerchief from his vest pocket. I looked up at him, and bringing the handkerchief to my mouth, he delicately wiped my face, as if I were a sickly child dependent on his care. I wanted to object, for I was very well capable of caring for myself, but for some reason I did not.

Feeling better, I inhaled a breath that expanded my lungs. "What do you mean I've had some difficult days?" I asked, my voice still trembling from my prior episode."

"Well, today's Monday," he replied. "You've been latent for approximately two days." Baffled, I didn't answer him. "I'll go tend to this," he said motioning to the tainted chamber, a look of disgust on his face. "And I'll summon Katrina to fetch something for your head and stomach." I took one last gaze into the dark sea of his eyes before he rose to his feet and left me once again. I emitted a sigh, and let my eyelids fell carelessly shut.

I occupied a dark room, detained by four vast walls. There was not a window; not a beam light, except for a thin white ray that crept under the crack of an immense iron door. The walls seemed to enclose around my body and I desperately wanted to be free of its unnerving clutch. I pounded the door until my fists went numb; bleeding and bruised. I screamed and shrieked at the top of my lungs until my throat turned raw, yet not a sound rang out; there was only silence.

"Melanie?" A hand gently shook my shoulder. "Melanie?" My eyelids drifted open to gaze into the slate eyes of Katrina. "Drink this," she said holding a tin cup to my parched lips. "It will ease your pain." Eager for the pain in my head to cease, I gulped down the thick, tart liquid. I did not remember my bleak hatred for this woman until later - The hatred that made me resort to drinking. In fact, I could scarcely remember this woman at all. However, in a way, I knew who she was… she the wife of Ichabod Crane, and in a way, I knew how much I loathed her.

"What… how… what happened?" I asked stumbling on my words after I finished the drink.

"After the festivity Ichabod and I found you unconscious in a ditch. Fearing the worse, we took you back to our abode, and well, here we are." Katrina explained. I tried to recall how I ended up unconscious in the ditch, but I vaguely remembered anything from that night – except I had a few drinks.

"I do hope that nightdress suits you?" Katrina continually questioned. I just stared at her, trying to resister what she had said. I then remembered my soiled gown draped over the chest and instantaneously examined my clothing. Replacing my gown was an ordinary manila nightdress.

"Oh, yes the nightdress suits just fine, thank you," I replied and politely grinned. "I cannot even find the words to describe my gratitude for your obliging services." These words were of sheer truth. I was eternally grateful to Katrina and Constable Crane, more than I could clarify. If they hadn't taken me under their wing… I recoiled from the thought of what could have become of me. "Furthermore, I do not like to burden others and feel I should return to my barrings as soon as possible," I said matter-of-factly. I wasn't entirely comfortable with depending on others for my care. I had been alone for three years and managed just fine in worse conditions than I was in now.

"As do I," Katrina agreed. "But now isn't possible. You need your rest and be in an environment where you can be constantly monitored. Your staying here is no burden to us."

"I appreciate your concern, but you and your husband have done so much for me already. I can assure you I am fine and quite capable of taking care of myself," I protested whilst preparing to depart the small bed's snug coverlet. "I'll just gather up my possessions and if you'll just show me out, I'll…" But I could not continue, for as quickly as I stood up, my head felt buoyant and my knees buckled as they could not support my weight. I fell back on to the bed.

"I insist," Katrina smiled. Heaving a great sigh, I laid back beneath the blankets. I was not going to return home today.

"I think I'll close my eyes for a little while," I mumbled. Katrina nodded in approval and left the room.

I awoke to the soft blush of sunlight tingling my cheek, as the evening's sunset cast through the small window. Groggily, I sat up and rubbed my eyes accustoming to the new tones of light. Running my fingers through a mass of oily hair, I realized I was feeling rather well. My stomach felt content and my head invigorated. I casually shook my head from side to side, inquisitively attempting to trigger a jolt of a massive headache. "If I knew what it was that Katrina gave me, I wouldn't question getting drunk as often," I whispered to myself, satisfied when not a twinge occurred.

I sat on the edge of the bed while I yawned and stretched. Using the bedpost for balance, I slowly stood up and my legs quivered as I began to support my weight on them.

A few moments later, I scuffled over to the small window and stood there admiring the view of the ethereal village which occupied persons of no individuality.

Realizing the evident, my mood dampened. I was an outcast – still a stranger to the place I had no choice but to call home. I seemed to attract eyes of cold and judgement, and no matter how hard I tried to assimilate, the expressions stayed consistent. Only Ichabod Crane, and I hated to admit it, but Katrina also, were the only ones who took to me with hospitality and liberalism. Granted, I had been acquainted with people who were most polite, but their eyes still held resentment and an unexplained gleam that made my skin crawl. Would I ever feel a sense of belonging here? A sense of importance?

"Oh stop it, Melanie. Just stop it," I told myself while turning from the window. "Stop being irrational and sympathetic. Go downstairs, find Katrina and tell her you are fit enough to return home. Or better yet, just find the door and leave. Katrina is not your mother. It is not her place to tell you what you can and cannot do." With the decision made, I opened the door and proceeded down an extensive hallway.

I glided down an oak staircase that led to what appeared to be a kitchen that opened up to a sitting room on the left. The house appeared to be empty, and I took a glimpse about the rooms searching for a door that might lead outside. The only one I noticed was at my right and I confidently walked toward it, placed my hand on the cold brass of the knob, and slowly opened the door. However, the setting sun and mauve sky did not greet my senses.