a/n: Ah, that moment when one's plot nicely packs all he owns in the middle of a red blanket, ties red blanket to a stick, slings said stick over his shoulder and wanders out the front door without so much as a 'good-bye'. Holy balls. Thank you to all who have dropped by and for the alerts and reviews! I promise not to leave this hanging so long from now on (I'll lock my plot in the basement if necessary…)
Bleak
Chapter Three
Slowly, Katrina approached the window, narrowing her eyes as though the intense focus would allow her to see through the frosted panes. As she reached the opening, she lifted a hand and pressed her finger against the cold glass, tracing a grey vertical shadow.
"You told me this was a hospital," she said quietly.
"It is," Henry replied.
"It most certainly is not," she remarked, turning quickly to look at him. "These people are expected to live in such a manner? With bars outside the windows and the panes clouded?"
"It is merely protection for those who live here."
"All of these windows," she started, gaze taking in each window along the wall, "and barely a trace of sunlight. Has one not thought simply gazing upon the wonders of the earth around this building, breathing the fresh air, could heal these minds?" She turned back to her son. "And each patient locked in a room." She shook her head. "This is not a hospital, this is a prison."
"An unfortunate set of circumstances," he said, offering an uncaring shrug. "Tell me, Mother, why do you wish to speak with Frank Irving?" She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head slightly to the side. "Mere curiosity, I assure you," he smiled.
"I know that you are in possession of Mr. Irving's soul," she said quietly as she walked towards him. "If he is to work with us, does it not stand to reason that he and I should become acquainted?" He nodded slowly.
"I suppose it does," he agreed.
"Mr. Parish," Irving drawled as he entered the room. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Is that anyway to speak to your lawyer?" Henry asked with a laugh.
"You are not my lawyer." He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "What's so important that you need to bother me on this beautiful Saturday morning in the asylum?" The older man chuckled at the captain's heavy sarcasm.
"I'm sorry. Where are my manners?" He turned towards Katrina and offered his hand. "May I present Katrina Crane," he said, guiding her to his side.
"Mr. Irving," she greeted.
"Katrina…Crane. As in Ichabod Crane." She nodded. "Huh. All right. To what do I owe this visit?"
"Jeremy, would you mind if Mr. Irving and I spoke in private?"
"Not at all," he answered. "I have a few…clients I would be happy to visit." He smiled and left the room.
"May we sit?" Katrina asked.
"Of course." He moved to a table to his right and pulled out a chair for Katrina.
"Thank you," she said as she sat.
"This is not how I envisioned our first meeting," Irving remarked as he sat in a chair across the table from her. He clasped his hands and rested his forearms on the table.
"Nor I. I do not wish to be blunt," she started, "but we haven't much time. Abraham and Henry are plotting anew and I suspect it will not be long before we see the effects."
"Right. The Baby Moloch thing," he nodded.
"I – I beg your pardon?"
"Baby Moloch," he repeated. "Well, that's what Abbie calls it." He dismissively waved his hand. "She said you're working on a way to kill it."
"Yes, well, plans have changed." Irving studied her as she looked away, noticing the odd mixture of regret and anger that played across her face. "That is not the reason I have come today." She shifted her gaze and met his eyes. "I need to relay a message to Ichabod." Nodding slowly, he leaned over the table and lowered his voice.
"You can't kill it?" The anger flashed through her eyes again. "No, that's not it. You won't kill it." He leaned back in his chair, dropping his hands to his lap, and laughed. "Maybe Abbie was right about you." She tipped her head in askance. "Never mind."
"Miss Mills and I may not always agree, but I assure you we are working towards the same goal."
"Like that of saving your son? Good ol' Mr. Parish?" He leaned his arms on the table again. "Yeah, I know about that. Abbie doesn't think it can be done. Neither does your husband."
"The lieutenant knows nothing of my son," she spat. "Nor does Ichabod, for that matter. I am his mother and I know Jeremy, my son, is alive and well beneath Moloch's hold." She took a deep breath. "Mr. Irving, please. Our time is short. I must have a moment of conversation with my husband." He raised his hand, rubbing the pads of his fingers along the early morning stubble across his chin.
"Getting a message to him won't be easy." He tilted his head towards the door. "Your son has seen to that."
"A location and a time," she said. "That is all the message I require." Irving stood and paced a short length of floor in front of the table.
"You know what Parish is capable of doing." He kicked the toe of his shoe at the floor. "And you know what the horseman is capable of doing." He stopped his pacing and looked at her. "What if one of them finds out that I'm a step between you and Crane? I can't protect myself – or my family – from any retribution they may seek." Katrina smiled gently and stood.
"You need not worry about retribution." She stepped in front of him, her green eyes serious. "I know what Henry has taken from you. Your soul is more than a token in this game he plays. He will not harm those important to his cause."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" He huffed a laugh. "As nice as it is to mean something to someone, I don't want to be that kind of important."
"I can free my son, Mr. Irving. When he is liberated, so too shall be your soul."
SH
Jenny stood in the middle of the cabin, a small smile spreading across her face as she released a quiet laugh. She watched through the window as Crane pulled the ax from the old stump and retrieved a log from the pile. She yanked the gloves off her hands and stuffed them into the pockets of her coat, then pulled at the coat's zipper.
"Hey, Jenny." She turned to see Abbie emerging from the kitchen. "Where did Crane go?"
"I shooed him outside," Jenny answered. She moved towards her sister and grabbed her arm. "Frank called me this morning," she started, leading Abbie towards the sofa. "Eight-thirty on a Saturday morning. Can you believe that?" She sat heavily on the cushions. "Who the hell gets up that early on a regular day, let alone a Saturday?"
"People with jobs?" Abbie offered as she sat. "What's going on? Your text…you said it was important."
"Yeah. Listen. Henry and Katrina visited Frank this morning."
"What?" Jenny nodded.
"Katrina wanted Frank to give Crane a message." She frowned. "Uh, he's supposed to be in front of the mirror in the bedroom around seven tonight. Katrina wants to talk to Crane."
"About what?"
"She didn't tell Frank much; just that she believes Henry and Abraham are cooking up another demon." Abbie narrowed her eyes.
"Jenny, why is Crane outside?"
"I was cold," she shrugged. "He's getting some extra firewood."
"Jenny," Abbie warned. "Spill it." She sighed.
"Crane's outside because…because I didn't think he should hear this from me. Frank asked Katrina about Baby Moloch."
"I'm still angry with you for telling Frank about that."
"I know, and for the umpteenth time, I'm sorry. Anyway, Katrina said plans have changed." She shook her head. "He doesn't think she's going to kill it." Abbie stood and began to pace in front of the sofa. "It could just be Frank's first impression," she offered. "I mean, he's never met Katrina, doesn't know her. Maybe she was keeping up appearances, for Henry's sake."
"Maybe." She sighed. "I don't know, Jenny. I want to believe Frank, I really do. But the longer his soul is in Henry's possession…" She turned towards Jenny. "Can we trust him? We thought we could trust Henry and look what a clusterfuck that turned into. How do I know this isn't some kind of trick?"
"You don't," Jenny answered. "But is it a chance you can afford to take?"
"No." Jenny joined her sister's side.
"Maybe it's time he cuts the cord, Abbie." The women looked towards the door as Crane entered the cabin, his arms full of the split logs. "I have to go," Jenny said, squeezing Abbie's hand. "I have a few errands to run." Abbie nodded and Jenny rounded the sofa. "See ya, Crane. Later, Abs." After watching Jenny leave, Crane turned his perplexed eyes towards Abbie.
"That was a rather short visit," he stated.
"It was." He moved to the hearth and kneeled to place the wood by its side while Abbie stared absently at the door. As he stood, he lifted his hands, quickly brushing the loose strands of hair from his face.
"Lieutenant?" She bit her bottom lip.
"Do I have that look about me again?" she asked, meeting his eyes.
"Indeed."
SH
"Is he sleeping?" Henry asked quietly from the doorway of the nursery.
"Almost," Katrina answered with a soft smile. She gently pushed her foot against the floor, rocking the chair back and forth while she cradled the creature in her arms. "He's fighting the urge to close his eyes." Henry crossed the room and stopped at the foot of the crib. The amulet around Katrina's neck glowed whenever she was in the creature's presence. The spell Henry had cast upon the charm allowing her to see Abraham's non-existent head also skewed her perception of the grey-skinned monstrosity. As she tenderly brushed the back of her finger against the small one's cheek, Henry wondered what she saw. What color was its skin? Did it have blue eyes or brown eyes?
"You are quite taken with him, aren't you?" She floated the pads of her fingers over the infant's skin, playing with curls of hair only she could see.
"I have missed this," she admitted softly. "I had so few of these moments with you, Jeremy." She lifted her eyes to meet his, sadness filtering into her features. "Our time was rushed and much too short. For that, I am truly sorry." He nodded slowly. "Keeping you at my side…I would not have been able to protect you from my coven." She looked away. "If I would have known what the future of your childhood was to hold…"
"I…I know now that you did not abandon me." Henry stepped in front of Katrina, resting one knee on the floor as he placed a wrinkled hand over hers. "I know what followed was not in accordance with your wishes, now was it your fault. I do not blame you. You must release this burden from your shoulders; it is undeserved." He lifted his hand and whipped the tears from her cheek. "Mother, do not cry. We are here, together," he whispered. "And that is all that matters now. We shall create a new world, a world in which Captain Crane and Lieutenant Mills will not tear us apart."
"Ichabod…your father…He will come to see things as we have."
"No." He shook his head sadly. "I would love nothing more than to…shape a bond with my father," he lied. "My father, however, has already chosen his side, and it's not the one on which we reside."
"What is your meaning?"
"Have you already forgotten? You have said as much yourself." He looked away. "What did you tell Abraham upon your return?" He met her eyes and smiled. "Oh, yes. Ichabod Crane has found his place, and that place is with Abigail." Katrina dropped her eyes.
"I did not want to believe it was so," she said. "Yet the more I witness, the more I ponder…the more I realize I was mistaken."
"You have also found your place, Mother. Here, with me." He looked at the creature in her arms. "With this little one. An opportunity," he continued, "to regain what was taken from you. We can have the family we were never allowed."
"He truly has no name?" she asked after a moment.
"Not one of which I am aware."
"Then I shall chose one for him," she stated. "I wish to name him Jonathan." Henry nodded.
"Jonathan," he repeated with a smile. "It is perfect." He stood. "I shall give you some peace. No need to keep…Jonathan awake with our talking. Shall I ready some tea?"
SH
Any hopes Leena Reyes had possessed that the impending storm would diminish before reaching Sleepy Hollow had vanished as the crisp break of day slowly transformed into a thick, grey blanket of clouds. She had worked tirelessly throughout the morning, coordinating efforts via text messages with the fire chief, finalizing last minute details of their emergency plan. The snow had started dropping shortly before noon, a quick inch collecting as the flakes touched the ground. The city would be functional until late evening when the heaviest fall was expected, creating whiteout conditions.
Reyes signed her name on the last of the overtime forms, collected the stack of papers and spun her chair towards the filing cabinet. She smiled gently as she stuffed the forms into the appropriate folders, relieved that this part of her Saturday was finished. She wanted nothing more than to head home, slip into a late afternoon, hot bubble bath and enjoy a few glasses of wine. She closed the drawer, turned back to her desk and put a hand to her chest as she gasped, surprised to see a young woman standing in the doorway of her office.
"Jenny Mills," she scolded. "Don't ever scare me like that again."
"I'm sorry." Jenny stepped into the office and closed the door. "Sheriff Reyes, I know I am the last person you want to see today." She paused and tipped her head slightly. "Or ever, really, but I have a friend who needs your help."
"Miss Mills, I don't know what you've heard about me, but I am not in the position of doing favors for those on the wrong side of the law." Jenny offered a short smile.
"I don't hang around that crowd anymore," she said.
"I'm happy to hear that," Reyes said. She watched Jenny carefully as she stepped towards the desk and took a seat in the visitor's chair. "Who is this friend of yours?"
"Frank Irving," she replied. Reyes shook her head slowly.
"I'm not qualified to offer the kind of help Irving needs." Jenny's eyes dropped, absently searching the items on the desk.
"You have no reason to trust me, I realize that. And you have no reason to trust Frank." She lifted her eyes, meeting the older woman's gaze. "I'm asking you for a leap of faith."
"That's a lot to ask."
"Yes. It is," she acknowledged.
"What does this leap of faith require from me?"
"I need you to see Frank, talk to him. Today. He's waiting for you. He'll explain everything."
"Jenny," Reyes started, leaning her arms on her desk, "at the risk of sounding rude, I think your time would be best spent finding a good path for your life instead of buying into the delusions of people like Frank Irving." Jenny shifted to the front of the chair.
"Things are happening in Sleepy Hollow," she said quietly, pointedly. "Scary things," Jenny continued. "And we need your help."
SH
Abbie lifted her eyes from the floor, daring a glance in Crane's direction. He had taken stance in front of the fireplace, his back to her, his posture tall and stiff, as she shared Irving's assessment of Katrina, as well as her own concerns. He had not interrupted, he had not argued. He had simply listened. Subconsciously, she held her breath, waiting for him to speak. His shoulders rose slightly, his hands met behind his back. Abbie removed her elbows from her knees, sitting up straight as curious apprehension pooled in her stomach.
"You have made your feelings about Katrina quiet clear," he started quietly. "On…several occasions. Though I understand your hesitancy to trust her, I do not understand why you are so quick to take the word of Frank Irving." He turned to her. "I have the utmost respect for our captain; however, you and I have agreed he is not to be trusted until his has regained possession of his soul."
"I'm not saying I trust him," she said carefully. "Crane, this is a big deal. If there's a whisper of a possibility that Katrina isn't going to kill the host, we have to take that seriously."
"Very well." He nodded. "If you will excuse me. I need a…a moment." He pulled at the collar of his wool coat, flipping it up around his neck. With a slight bow, he left the cabin.
"Damn it." She grabbed her coat from the back of the sofa as she jogged to the door and ventured out onto the porch. "Crane, wait up!"
SH
Sheriff Reyes had rejected Jenny's insistence that she meet with Irving. She did not need or want to be associated with whatever delusional state he presented, entrenched in his chaos, as the youngest Mills sister appeared to be. Yet here she was, following the security guard through the dimly lit hallways of Tarrytown. It was not where she planned to spend the early part of the evening, but she could not purge the concern she carried over the apprehension on Jenny's face. Something had scared Jenny, of that Reyes was certain. One could not pretend to hold a trepidation that ran so deeply. After a long couple of hours, Reyes had decided she would be remiss in her duties as sheriff if she didn't listen to at least half of what Irving had to say, if nothing else but to admonish him for pulling Jenny into his web.
The security guard knocked twice and opened Irving's door. Nodding her gratitude, Reyes stepped into the room and closed the door. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and pursed her lips as she regarded the former captain. He lay on the bed, eyes closed, hands clasped over his stomach.
"Jenny said you wouldn't come," he said quietly. "But I knew she was wrong." Reyes nodded slowly.
"What made you so sure?" He sat up and slowly swung his legs over the edge of the mattress.
"You have dots," he started, "and those dots need a connection." He offered a relieved and genuine smile. "Thank you for agreeing to see me."
"Don't think this is a favor, Frank." She moved across the room and wrapped her hand around the back of the desk chair. "You have five minutes," she stated, turning the chair so she could sit and face him. "Use them wisely."
SH
Crane sat on the corner of the bed, intently watching the mirror. It was old, clouded in several places and missing many soft circles of silver backing. Encompassing its two-foot dimensions was a wooden frame, its edges chipped, its rich dark color dull and faded. It hung on the wall, suspended above the small dresser, an undemanding addition to the simplicity of the cabin's décor. Yet in all of the mirror's shortcomings, it would prove to be a powerful link to the world beyond the log wall, yielding a line of communication with Katrina. Whatever she had to say, her words would no doubt aid in his and Abbie's fight against Moloch.
Looking around the room, Crane sighed. Abbie was not in the bedroom, waiting with him. She was in the living room, sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, surrounded by a collection of books from the archives. Abbie had followed Crane into the snow, stood by his side as he situated himself on the dock. His stare into the wooded area across the lake had not wavered as she tried unsuccessfully to express her empathy, to rationalize their choices. When she had finally given up on words, she sighed heavily. Only then had he acknowledged her presence at his side. He had turned to her, his blue eyes as cold as the wind that shifted around them, and callously asked her to leave. She had given him the space he wanted, ignoring him even as he returned to the cabin and took a turn stuttering through an apology. The rest of their afternoon wandered by in awkward silence.
Crane admonished himself for the brashness of his words. Though his expression of regret would have to wait until Abbie was willing to listen to what he had to say, he believed he had a way to break the ice that had formed between them. He stood and marched into the living room. As he dropped to his knees beside Abbie, he pushed aside a couple piles of books that rested between them.
"Lieutenant, come with me," he said. She remained in her position, legs crossed, elbows resting on her knees, reading the book cradled across her ankles. "Lieutenant?" He anxiously flexed his fingers and reached for her book. Gently tossing it aside, he repeated his words. "Come with me." She lifted her eyes to the fire and then slowly turned her gaze towards him.
"What are you doing?" she asked coolly.
"The time is near for Katrina to make contact."
"So?" Pinning her with an exasperated look, he wound his slender fingers around her wrists. As he stood, he pulled her to her feet. "I don't have time for this," she argued, trying to free herself form his grip.
"Nonsense. Katrina may have information." He released one of her wrists and held his index finger in the air. "Information both of us should hear." Abbie sighed as he quickly caught her wrist again.
"Crane, stop it." He walked backwards, tugging gently in her arm, urging her to follow as she half-heartedly countered his actions.
"One way or another, Lieutenant, you are joining me in the bedroom." She eyed him carefully, but said nothing. "I am disappointed, Miss Mills," he smiled. Crane continued moving backwards, pulling Abbie over the threshold of the room. "I thought I rather nicely set up one of your unseemly quips."
SH
Reyes slowly rolled her wrist, swirling the last ounce of wine around the bottom of the glass. She settled back into the plushness of the sofa and drew her legs on top of the cushions. Her proposed five-minute conversation with Irving turned into a two-hour horror telling of a perverse horror story. She mentally tried to dispel the theories he placed before her, but the farther he travelled into the story, the more curious she became. "Look it up," he had told her. "Know thine enemy."
"Ancitif," she said quietly. Staring across the room at the laptop on her desk, she ticked her fingers along the side of the glass. She ran her free hand through her hair. She downed the last of her wine, set the empty glass on the coffee table and moved to her desk.
SH
"Katrina." Crane approached the mirror, fingers dancing at his sides, the only outward sign of his tension.
"Ichabod," she greeted through the foggy mist. "Miss Mills." Abbie offered a nod as she moved to Crane's side.
"How are you?" she asked. "Any trouble from Henry?"
"No," Katrina replied. "He and Abraham have made my stay here…quite comfortable. You need not worry about my wellbeing. I have news, though I am afraid I haven't many details. I fear Henry and Abraham are plotting to raise another demon."
"What type of demon?" Crane asked.
"I am not certain."
"When?"
"Possibly this evening?"
"This evening?" he asked incredulously. "Had you no sooner warning?"
"I have heard whispers of conversations, nothing substantial. They took leave of Frederick's Manor not long ago, secretive in their reasons." Crane dropped his eyes to the floor as he nodded.
"Then we must wait for signs of their misdeeds." He glanced at the mirror again. "This may cost lives," he said with a stern edge to his voice.
"I am not fully in their trust, Ichabod. It has been only a week. I would have divulged this information sooner had I known what was occurring."
"Katrina, where do you stand on killing the host?" Crane quickly shot his gaze at Abbie. She looked at him and shrugged a non-apology.
"I cannot take his life."
"Is it that powerful already?" Crane asked.
"No." She shook her head. "You misunderstand. I will not take his life." Abbie controlled her breathing, every muscle in her body clenching as Katrina's words locked in on her fear.
"This was…this was your plan, Katrina," Crane stated. "Your reason for returning to Abraham."
"It was. Now that I am here and I fully know the situation…Ichabod, this boy…he is an innocent."
"An innocent," he scoffed. He shook his head and walked away.
"Yes, an innocent," she adamantly defended. "He is merely a child. A child that knows neither right and wrong nor good and evil. He is—"
"It is not a child!" he yelled as he turned back to the mirror, startling Abbie with his outburst. "It is a vessel. As you were to bear it, so it is to house Moloch's soul!"
"No! He is a child!"
"You have to destroy the host, Katrina." Katrina's jaw clenched as she listened to Abbie's words, terse and cold.
"Miss Mills is correct," Crane agreed. "You cannot deviate from this plan of action."
"Do not do this," she bit. "Do not make me choose between you and my child. Again." Her eyes narrowed as she scowled. "I promise you will not see the favorable side of that decision."
"Katrina—" Crane and Abbie lifted their hands, covering their ears against the sound of a high-pitched shriek. As Katrina turned, looking towards the doorway behind her, the amulet around her neck glowed a bright green.
"Can you not hear his cries, Ichabod?" she asked, turning back to the mirror. "He is simply an infant." He shook his head. He heard no cries; he heard only unholy screeching.
"That is not the cry of an infant," Abbie said. "Not a human infant, at least."
"You are petty, Miss Mills. Unable to see past your mission to save the life of a blameless child. Just as you have with Jeremy, Ichabod."
"Jeremy is no longer," he said, emphasizing his seriousness by slamming his palms on the dresser. "He is Henry. Henry has made the decisions that put him in his current circumstance. He put himself on that path, not I." Katrina shook her head.
"You accuse a child that was lost, one that had no choice. Moreover, you impugn a child that has not yet made a choice. I would never have thought that such a carelessness resided within you." Her eyes focused on Abbie. "Perhaps he has spent too much time in your world." Crane settled his hands on the dresser, curling his finger over the edge.
"Katrina, I beg of you, listen to—" The host's screaming started again.
"In the short days I have been here in Frederick's Manor, I have made great strides in connecting with Jeremy. He is on the path of understanding and forgiveness. I hope someday soon you will see him for the good he bears. I must go. Jonathan needs me." As Katrina stood and turned away from the mirror, the image shuddered, leaving Crane staring dumbfounded at his own reflection.
"Jonathan?" he whispered. His fingers tightened their hold on the edge of the dresser, his head dropped. Abbie moved to stand beside him, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Crane, you have not been careless," she said quietly. He nodded gently, slowly, and then moved to sit on the bed. "Did you see Katrina's necklace? It started glowing as soon as that…thing started screaming."
"Katrina told me the amulet allowed her to view the horseman in his human form, allowed her to see him as Abraham." Abbie sat next to Crane. "Perhaps it too twists her assessment of the host."
"That's why she heard crying and we heard screaming." He nodded. "We have to kill that thing. We have to find a way into Frederick's Manor, kill the host and break whatever connection Katrina has—" He held up a finger, stopping her words.
"You do not trust Katrina, yet you have fought for her, put yourself in danger's path to save her life. At the risk of sounding conceited, I believe you have done so simply in my favor, simply because she is my wife. If that is indeed the reason, I must ask you to end that manner of thinking."
"I don't understand."
"Whether or not you believe it to be the case, I have nothing but doubts and reservations where Katrina is concerned. Especially now that she is physically in Henry's presence." He took a deep breath, eyes searching the wall across the room. "We will find a way to kill the host. From this moment forward, however, Katrina is no longer our concern." Crane looked at Abbie. "Duty above all else, Lieutenant. There is no other way."
SH
The first time his eyes had opened, he was certain he was dreaming, wandering through a whiskey-induced slumber. In the illusion, the moonlight radiated through the clear night sky, bathing the barren field before him in an eerie blue glow. To his left, he saw a white horse, a mighty steed with brilliant red eyes. He marveled at the sight of the beast, strong and prominent against the backdrop of darkness. A second figure entered his vision, a tall man wearing a red, outdated military coat. He squinted as he studied the tall man, wondering what part of his subconscious would cause the vision to have no head.
The second time his eyes had opened, the sobering reality of his situation descended slowly but heavily on his shoulders. The soft pink hues of the sunrise settled over the field and as they shifted through the spectrum, they allowed him a clear view of his predicament. He found himself immobile, secured to a tree with a long rope that pressed into his chest and stomach, dented the muscles of his arms and legs. Another chaffed the skin of his wrists. He leaned his head back, indifferent as the tree bark pulled his hair and sliced into his scalp, and watched the rising sun. He knew he was destined to die, cold and alone on the forest's edge.
The third time his eyes opened, he cried uncontrollably. Bursts of icy air whipped around him, biting at the tears as they rolled down his cheeks. Large snowflakes floated slowly to the ground, adding to the several inches of snow already piled on top of his worn and tattered shoes. He no longer had feeling in his feet and his legs were becoming numb to the wetness of the snow. His fingers were stiff and swollen, his skin seared by the freezing temperatures. He prayed, begged for mercy, asked God to send an angel to save him. He repeated his plea until his eyes, nearly frozen over with tears, caught a white, glowing figure hovering over the middle of the field, slowly gliding towards him.
"Praise God," he whispered in a hoarse voice as the figure stopped before him. "Praise God." Everything about her was glorious and intense; more striking than any vision of an angel his imagination could conjure. Her long black hair and elegant white garments floated around her, as though she was suspended under water. Her features were perfect, her smile soft and comforting. Her green eyes were dark and dazzled like emeralds. "Are you here to save me?" he asked. She nodded and shifted closer to him, mere inches separating their bodies. She placed her hand along his cheek and he gasped at the cold emitted by her touch. Her eyes widened as their green color turned to a crisp white. She pursed her lips, forming an 'o' and blew softly in his face.
Henry and Abraham watched from behind a nearby tree as the man's features froze in an expression of confusion and terror. The figure inhaled deeply through her mouth, pulling a misty white layer from between his lips. His skin turned purple and a layer of ice coated his body as she moved away. Slowly she turned to face the horsemen. Henry stepped forward and smiled.
"I hope you enjoyed my offering," he said, bowing slightly in greeting. The figure nodded once in return. "There is more to be had. Much more." His smile grew wider. "I can help you gather what you want, if you can help me collect what I need."