Even though it was late spring, Ichabod felt chilled enough to wrap the blanket around himself as he curled up on his bed. Just having it on him helped a little, physically and mentally. It made him feel slightly more secure, which was something he desperately needed.
It'd been a long, painful day, and he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and get away from the world for a while.
He pulled the blanket up to his nose and pulled his knees up to his chest, at least as far as he could, what with his belly being so large. Feeling the child inside kick, he sighed and rested a hand on his stomach, willing the baby to calm so that he could get some sleep.
00
The dream started out, as it often did, in his childhood home. This time, however, he wasn't a child. He was in his adult body.
He watched as his mother danced in the sunlight, and then as his father dragged her away. Being older and somewhat stronger, he tried to fight him for once. He did his best to save his mother's life, but it was to no avail. The preacher was far larger and stronger than he was, and it didn't take much for him to push Ichabod away, shouting a threat that he'd pay for his allegiance to his mother.
He began to hyperventilate. Sure, he wasn't a child, but his father was so powerful, so angry! He was going to torture him and make him wish he'd never attempted to help.
Ichabod was cowering in the church pews when he heard his father's footsteps return. He clenched his eyes shut, his breathing coming heavily as he trembled. A hand touched him, gripping his shoulder. He forced himself to look, only to see that it wasn't his father standing there, but the horseman. This time, with his head. He bared his sharp, pointed teeth in a grin.
The constable tried to shrink out of his grasp and get away, but the horseman overpowered him. In one swoop, he had Ichabod over his shoulder, carrying him away, not even flinching as Ichabod tried to hit and kick him.
00
The next thing Ichabod knew, he was inside the Tree of the Dead. He could tell by the darkness, the smell, and the rotting flesh all around him. The stink made him nauseous - not too difficult of a feat, lately - and he held a hand over his nose and mouth, trying not to gag.
Then, something touched his leg. He gasped, feeling something else latch onto his ankle. Then something on his arm, another on the back of his neck, and another snaking its way around his waist. Frantically, he tried to shake off whatever was gripping him, but it seemed impossible. He could see a few inches in front of him but not much else, and it was difficult to tell what was happening.
A second later, something was on his chest, slowly making its way up, onto his shoulder, onto the side of his neck. A brief glance in his peripheral vision saw what looked like a disembodied hand, and Ichabod screamed.
The light around him brightened and looking down he realized that the things touching him were in fact hands. The dead hands of all the corpses within that tree. One slithered up his trouser leg, its cold digits making his hair stand on edge.
"No, no, no!" He shouted, trying again to shake them off. Of course, they wouldn't budge.
And then he saw it - another hand, this time, wearing a gold signet ring with a ruby in it. The same ring that his rapist wore the night he'd been attacked.
Slowly, it made its way up his body, before settling on his mouth and holding it shut. He couldn't scream. Another hand, which he was sure also belonged to his attacker, laid on his stomach, almost petting him.
He couldn't take it. He was either going to be sick or faint, he wasn't sure which. His heart was beating too fast, and his vision started to blur before black spots appeared.
A second later, something furry touched his nose.
00
Ichabod's eyes fluttered open to see Fletcher, the kitten he'd recently taken in, sitting in front of him, its paw on his cheek. The kitten looked concerned, or at least as concerned as a cat could look, and was staring at him.
"Fletcher," Ichabod panted, forcing himself to sit up. "Thank you… I think you woke me just in time."
The kitten tilted its head and let out a shrill 'mew!' in response before crawling onto Ichabod's lap.
Ichabod sighed and laid down again, this time on his back. The kitten crawled up his belly, settling on the top of his chest near his collarbone, where the constable could easily see and reach him.
"It was terrible, Fletcher…" He whispered, petting the cat gently. Hearing the kitten begin to purr soothed his nerves a bit.
"Everything was terrible. The dream… there were hands everywhere, including…," Ichabod grimaced. "Including his hands. I was terrified, both for me, and for the child. And of course, I had to have this dream today, of all days!" He felt his eyes welling up with tears and he tried to compose himself before continuing.
Fletcher reached a paw out towards his chin.
"Today Chief Jameson told me to leave. Said that I… I couldn't be an effective constable, not while I'm with child," He felt himself beginning to tear up again. "Said I could re-apply for my position once they're born." Tears began to fall down his face. "What am I to do, Fletcher? This… this baby. How can I care for them? I can barely care for myself, never mind another person…"
When Fletcher didn't respond beyond purring louder, Ichabod continued.
"I'm scared," He whispered, his voice cracking. "I don't know what to do. I wish I had someone to turn to, someone who could help. I thought perhaps Katrina would've been the one, but how could she accept me as I am?" He sniffled. "Perhaps I should have been truthful with her. I could've told her about my pregnancy and let her decide for herself, but it seemed like such a burden to place on her, being so young."
Fletcher moved up and nuzzled Ichabod's chin with his forehead, causing him to smile slightly through the tears.
"The… The others laughed at me," He went on. "They've been laughing for a while now, but today, when I was dismissed… I heard them. Ten years there, and I've not got one friend." Another tear fell, and he wiped it away. "I have you, though. That counts for something, I suppose."
For a few minutes, Ichabod laid there silently, gently petting Fletcher, thinking everything through. He still had three months before the baby was due. And he did have one mate in school, who'd apparently been fairly successful. Perhaps he could call on him for help.
Ichabod sniffled. It had felt good to cry, and it had relieved some of his stress, but he still worried. What if his friend refused to help him? It wasn't as if he had family to turn to.
A knock at the door caught his attention. Ichabod sighed as he gently removed Fletcher from his belly and placed him on the bed before pushing himself up. It was getting harder and harder to get up these days.
He rubbed his lower back for a second before walking to the door, wondering who it might be. He opened it to see none other than his landlady, an older woman with a kind smile, standing before him.
Mrs. Bailey had been visiting more frequently lately, though it still surprised Ichabod each time she showed up. Usually, she brought something with her - this time, she held a tray with a pot of tea and a plate of food on it.
"Hello!" She said, smiling up at him. "I thought you might have had a hard day, so I took it upon myself to bring you some food. I know you're not much interested in cooking."
Mrs. Bailey placed the tray on Ichabod's small kitchen table.
"Thank you," He replied, doing his best to wipe his eyes. It was clear to anyone with functioning eyes that he had been upset, but he didn't want to alarm Mrs. Bailey.
"Aw, you've not got to hide from me," She told him, patting a seat at the table. "I'll not judge you. Remember, I raised Roslyn all alone after Mr. Bailey passed. I know what it's like. Now take a seat and have some dinner, you need to keep your strength up."
Ichabod forced a smile and sat down, motioning for Mrs. Bailey to sit near him.
She sat quietly and watched as he ate. He tried to slow down, but in the chaos of the day, he'd forgotten to eat and was now very hungry. Not only that, but Mrs. Bailey was an amazing cook. It only took him ten minutes to clear his plate.
"Sorry," He mumbled, wiping his mouth with the small cloth she'd brought up. "Suppose I was hungrier than I thought."
Mrs. Bailey smiled again, but her eyes were sad.
"I never liked cooking for one," She admitted. "It'd be good for me to cook for you as well. It would make me feel useful. Perhaps I could do that?"
"Oh, but surely you must have to cook for Roslyn too?" Ichabod asked, not wanting to take advantage of her.
"She rarely visits. Too wrapped up with her new husband. I can understand that, but still it leaves me with not much to look forward to. Perhaps we could take some meals together."
At that moment, Fletcher appeared. He scurried over to Mrs. Bailey and sniffed her shoe, before clawing his way up Ichabod's leg.
"Sorry about him," Ichabod said, placing him back on the floor. "I'm not sure if you like cats, but he was abandoned and starving and I couldn't just leave him-"
He stopped when he noticed that Mrs. Bailey was smiling as she stroked Fletcher's head and scratched his ears.
"It's all right, dear. I love cats. I've got two of my own. You'll meet them if you visit."
Ichabod nodded.
"If. If you're sure I won't be an imposition, it… it would be nice to have a friend," He said softly. He could feel himself starting to get flustered again and did his best to tamp down the feeling.
Mrs. Bailey nodded sympathetically.
"I know it's hard," She told him. "But you'll be alright. You're not alone. You've got me, and you know you could always send for that Masbath boy. I'm sure he'd love to help. For now, you look tired. Perhaps you should get some more rest."
Ichabod closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to push away the last images of the nightmare that he'd had.
"I'm not sleeping so well as of late," He answered. "It's going to be difficult…" he trailed off.
"Hmm. Well, if I were to stay for a few minutes, just until you drift off, it might help."
Ichabod nodded in agreement and slowly stood up. He'd clean the dish later, he decided. Mrs. Bailey was right; he was still quite tired.
The older woman followed him to his bedroom and pulled back the covers for him, tucking him in as if he were a child. She reminded him of what he imagined a kind grandmother would be like. He'd never known his, but perhaps she would have been similar.
"Close your eyes and think of happy thoughts. Imagine… Imagine Fletcher, there, catching a mouse, or how he cuddles with you." She motioned at the small cat, who was now once again sitting on Ichabod's belly.
Ichabod gave them both a small smile. He felt Mrs. Bailey take his hand, warming it with her own. He was asleep within minutes, with no more nightmares that evening.