CHAPTER FIVE

LOCKING HEARTS

Startled, Ichabod Crane glanced up from a table covered with instruments, gadgets, beakers, and other objects I could not identify.

"Pardon me, I did not mean to disturb you. I was just about to make my departure," I quickly explained.

"You are of no disturbance," Ichabod assured me. "Do you still feel ill?"

"I've much improved," I said. "I apologize about earlier. I'm… I'm not normally like that." Ichabod stared at me baffled. "Well, I don't drink often. I just…I…"

" Of course, but you are in no need to explain yourself," Ichabod said softly and smiled. He seemed to understand to some degree the awkwardness and embarrassment I felt. His smile told me that everything was all right and I felt as if lightness swept over me.

"What is it that you doing?" I curiously asked. Ichabod walked from behind the steel table, with his hands behind his back.

"In order to detect the guilty, we must gather evidence; narrow down the suspected to one individual- confirming the suspect committed to the crime. The piece of evidence must be something that we all acquire, and yet all substantiallydifferent from every other. Shall I show you?"

"Yes, I'd like that," I answered eagerly. He led me over to the steel table, where many different assortments of liquids, experimental devices, and everyday objects such as candlesticks and dinner forks lay scattered about.

"May I see your hand?" he asked holding out his palm. I could hardly keep my hand from trembling as I gently laid my hand in his. He took my hand and carefully dipped the inside of my thumb in a small metal container filled with black ink. Hurriedly, he took my blacked thumb and firmly pressed it momentarily onto a piece of paper that rested by the ink container. When he gradually lifted my thumb from the paper, the result was a perfect thumbprint.

"observe," he said and handed me a cloth and repeated the process with his own thumb, until an exact replica of his thumbprint accompanied mine on the paper. I attempted to wipe the excess ink from my thumb, but had little success. "At first glance the two prints appear identical. But if you look closer, you notice they are completely different." Ichabod continued and put a magnifying glass to the paper. "See how the rings on your print are closer together, and mine spread further apart? And here, the inner ring on mine is longer than the one on yours?" I nodded, comparing the two prints. "No two prints are exactly the same. They resemble signatures; each one slightly or totally different from the next. Fingerprints like…" But for some reason he stopped and looked up from the table straight into my eyes.

All time seized as his dark, secretive eyes danced and locked with mine; filled with anticipation and apprehension. An inexplicable force drew me nearer to him until I could feel the softness of his breath brush across my cheek. My heart began to pump more rapidly then ever, as if at any moment it would burst from the captivity of my chest. In the next instant, his mouth was hard against mine enveloping my lips in the tenderness of his kiss. I kissed him back with fire and passion not thinking of anything except the intensity of the moment – everything else in the world vanished, leaving Ichabod and I in the depths of a kiss that made all the world seem worthless.

He slowly pulled his lips from mine, leaving me with my eyes shut and a smile of complete bliss painted my face. "Melanie, I cannot consent to this," he whispered in my ear. I gradually opened my eyes as he affectionately took my hands in his. They were quivering.

"I cannot… I can't do this." He said unsteadily. I looked down at my bare feet desperately attempting to hold back the tears that wanted to erupt from my eyes. I knew what he was going to tell me, I knew every word. "Look at me, Melanie," he put a finger under my chin and raised my head until our eyes met. "You know as well I as I do, that we can't do this. It's wicked, and, and I vowed my heart to Katrina. You understand, don't you?" he asked me with searching eyes.

I gravely nodded my head. "But how can something be so wrong, if it seems so right?" I asked tears accumulating at the corners of my eyes.

"You have no idea," he answered in a murmur, as if not only answering my query, but answering himself as well.

Neither one of us spoke for several seconds. The room was silent, save for the ticking of the clock that hung on the wall. I inhaled deeply as I collected my thoughts. "I think it best if I were to leave," I finally said. Ichabod did not speak, but only nodded his head in agreement.

With one last gaze into his dark eyes, I turned around to depart.

"Melanie," he said as I opened the door. I turned to look at him. "Take this," he took a lengthy and heavy black coat from a hook that hung by the door and draped the it from my shoulders. "It's cold out." I turned my head and stared into his face, but his eyes told me not to speak.