Disclaimer: I still don't own this, no matter how off character some of it is (and I'm sorry about that OCness).
AN: Hope you enjoy this chapter. And please review.
PS the stuff in bold is in purgatory.
Chapter 5
"Are you sure about this, Crane?" Abbie asked, not entirely confident in their plan. It was a good one she supposed, as far as completely insane magical plans went.
Crane, Abbie, and Rachel stood in front of Fredrick's Manor, for a reason only one of them knew.
"Yes, I am."
"I should go with you." She asserted in her most convincing, almost threatening tone.
"No," replied both Rachel and Ichabod in unison.
"I need you here to create and hold the portal." Rachel stated.
Taking one of her hands and turning her aside so that they faced each other, Ichabod made solemn eye contact with her. "Leftenant, this is my family and my duty alone."
Relenting, however reluctantly, she expressed her acceptance of his actions. "Okay, fine. But if anything, anything, happens and you need me, call me."
"Uh… I-" Crane began to voice his doubts but was quickly interrupted.
"I'm sure Purgatory has great reception. Promise?"
"I will."
"Great." Her control over the situation established, Abbie turned on Rachel. "Now would you tell me why we had to come here?" The irritation in her tone explained by Rachel's refusal thus far to explain its necessity.
"Because, while you're getting better, you're not that strong. So we need help from them." The long-lived witch indicated the identity of the pronoun with a thumb jerk over her shoulder toward the manor. In the front window could be seen the watchful figures of Grace Dixon and Lachlan. "Under normal circumstances it takes an entire coven just to send someone into Purgatory; this is opening a portal, tethering someone, and bringing him and two people back. We've got two witches, a warlock, and a fledging; we need all the help we can get. Before we start we have to go inside."
"And we haven't already because..?"
"Because I don't want to. Isn't that obvious? Let's go." As they followed the witch in, Abbie rolled her eyes and gave a low whistle for Crane's benefit.
Once inside the four gathered in a circle, Grace and Rachel eyeing each other with wary distaste, while Ichabod stood aside waiting for the magic to happen and feeling rather useless. There passed a few minutes of mantra chanting in the foreign tongue belonging to such activities as these before the air in the center of their circle began to ripple until it burst open into a ragged edged opening.
"It's ready, Ichabod." Lachlan's reassuring voice came to Crane as he stared into the portal, he nodded and moved forward.
"Good luck, Crane." Abbie wished just before he stepped through.
As he passed into Purgatory he heard the lingering words of Grace. "Stay concentrated, dear, you're his anchor."
Then that world was gone; he stood in a dark foggy clearing troubling noises coming from indiscernible sources all around him. He chose a direction and upon the instant that his foot landed again on the ground his surroundings disintegrated. The sound of distant fire reached his ears, above it came the angered and pained ravings of a man on the ground, Looking up from the pair of dropped blades, lying near the man, he saw the advancing soldiers in red and green he had known were there. The dying man beyond the clump of shielding trees was overtaken by the approaching mob. Fear tugged at him and he turned and ran from the scene, as he had before,
The forest melted around his retreating form into wood paneled walls, the small space in which he had halted populated with figures in scholarly robes. "To my son, as he prepares for a successful career following in his father's footsteps. Everyone in the room raised the glasses in their hands in toast. Suddenly Ichabod became aware of the glass in his own hand. He remembered this place, this time, it was when he had chosen to give up a career as a professor of history at Oxford and instead to join the army and go to America. The glass was the signifier of his decision. Letting it fall from his hand he met the disappointed gaze of his father, the glass shattered much like their relationship at that moment.
The scene fell away to reveal a moonlit clearing. His arm was extended, a pistol in hand, a resolute man standing before him, the freeman known to him only as Cicero. The man's eyes bore into him awaiting his decision, to follow orders or not. Fring into a nearby tree he had set the course of his life and spared the man his own, though not for long as another explosion of pistol fire sounded from the hill's crest where the figure of his commanding officer in his changeling form. Cicero's body struck the ground dead, the surroundings instantly grew blurred in Ichabod's sight.
The blurring took shape once more in the form of a fog shrouded clearing, the muffled echo of confused voices from all sides. And now before Crane again stood the seemingly living person of Cicero. "You are a stranger in a strange land, Ichabod Crane. For good reason I hope."
"I've come to find my wife and daughter."
"Ah. the lovely Katrina Van Horn, a shame about that. Yes, I imagine you long for their return."
For some reason he was incapable of responding perhaps shock or confusion had rendered his tongue utterly useless. Finally his vocal cords untangled, "Why are you here?"
"Think of me as your guide on this unusual journey, I'm here to advise you. The manner of your arrival complicates your predicament. Those sent or waiting hee are faced with the major decisions of their lives, settling on the most life altering. This is where they wait out their term, pondering how their life could have been had they chosen differently. On the rare occasion of a child's arrival they are kept in a place where they are comfortable. Having come here of your own volition, your presence is confusing to Purgatory. This enables your use of certain loopholes." Cicero paused for a moment, allowing this knowledge to sink in. "It is getting hard to think with all these voices, is it not? Think of place you find comfortable." Turning his mind to this task Crane saw the fog take the form of a library at Oxford.
"Why you?"
"I represent your most influential decision, the turning point of your life."
"What would have happened?"
"If you had shot me?" Crane nodded almost imperceptibly, nervous to hear the answer he might receive. "You'll never know."
"I'm sorry."
"No need, I knew the risks."
"So where do I go from here? How do I find them?"
"It would be helpful if you knew what your wife's greatest decision was. But there are only a few places where a small frightened child would feel safe."
"She was at Lachlan's for a long time, yet I've seen her at our home. So that's where she must be. That's where I need to go. How do I trav-" His question was stopped by the sensation of the world moving around him, a feeling known before to him only in an elevator. When he regained his off-set bearings he found his location had changed to the parlor of his own home, nearly as it had looked in 1781. "That was weird."
Without further ado he hastened to where he knew the hatch leading downward would be, opened it and without ceremony or caution dropped to the earthy floor. He was on a mission and nothing was going to slow his progress. Or so he thought until he reached the door. From the other side he could hear the girl's voice humming the comforting melody of what sounded like a lullabye. He was momentarily entranced by this experience of childhood innocence, and perhaps held back by some fear of at long last meeting the daughter he had never known. With a preparatory breath he eased open the door. Abigail was on the floor, playing, but as the door was opened she scurried back onto the bed. She gazed, wide-eyed, at him as though she was wondering if he were real. In fact, he was beginning to wonder the same of her.
"Who..?" She whispered, not needing to finish the question.
"I've come to get you and bring you back to your mother."
She didn't reply, but looked at him curiously before scampering in a toddlerish fashion to a low dresser and retrieved a small portrait which she must have spent much time looking at, a portrait done shortly after his and Katrina's wedding. Returning to face him, she held it up to compare with his own visage. "Daddy?" She said quietly.
The title, unfamiliar against his ears as it was, nothing could have made him happier at that moment than hearing it come from her.
"Yes, Abigail."
"Daddy!" Her excitement was undaunted by the fact that she had doubtless been told that he was dead. Coming to him, she hugged his arm with great affection, the portrait still grasped in her little hand.
Her joy seemed to radiate through the dark room and infected him. He smiled and picked her up awkwardly, she squirmed for a moment until she was held in a proper fashion. "We're going to find your mommy, alright?" Talking with children had never been one of his strong suits and with his own child was no different.
"Becky!" She cried as he began to turn towards the exit, her arm outstretched beseechingly for the doll on the bed.
"Oh." He backtracked to the bed and picked up the figurine. "Here you go, little one." Abigail took it and held it close along with the portrait.
"Thank you, Daddy." She said, bestowing a thankful kiss on his cheek. Ichabod couldn't resist the smile that stretched across his face. He gave the room a final look over, when something glittering on the dresser caught his eye. There he found the simple emerald necklace, presented to Katrina by Abraham and chosen for her by Ichabod himself. Cicero's earlier words suddenly made more sense, '...if you knew what your wife's greatest decision was'. Taking the necklace in hand he stood looking at it for a moment, his daughter in the other arm. "Mommy's necklace."
If there was a bigger decision than what the necklace represented, a choice between life-long security and love, in Katrina's life he didn't know it. "Abigail," she looked at him wide-eyed, hanging on his every word. "I need you to think about your mommy." She closed her eyes and her face scrunched in deep concentration. Keeping his hold on the piece of jewelry he did some concentrating of his own on that fateful evening. Their surroundings blurred once more, and the elevator sensation returned.
Then the walls of the Van Brunt Mansion encased the pair. Abigail's eyes, once opened, lit up in awe of the grand sight. The drawing room was empty, bare of all but the furniture. Crane knew the layout of the large house, however where Katrina might be being kept still eluded him. Wandering somewhat aimlessly through the many corridors. His earlier duel with Abraham and what he had said. Abraham had separated them for the sole purpose of keeping Katrina for himself. So where would he be keeping her? If she had differently she would be Abraham's wife instead of his own. Where else would a wealthy wife be found but her boudoir? He found the private wing and, trying every door, happened upon one which did not open.
"Abigail, stay right here." Ichabod instructed as he placed her on the ground, where she stood watching him curiously. Placing the necklace in his pocket, he faced the problematic door. Again he tried the knob, to no avail, then he resorted to brute force and simply rammed his shoulder against the door in the hope it would budge. After a few blows, and the assurance of a deep ache the next day, the door broke open. He turned to pick up the little girl drawn close by his success before pushing through the wreck into the room.
"Ichabod?!" The somewhat frightened Katrina exclaimed, once she recognised the intruder.
"Mommy!"
"Abigail, my darling!" Katrina came to meet her her family and took Abigail into her own arms, hugging the girl tightly.
"Look, mommy, daddy." She held the little portrait so that her mother could also make the identification.
"Yes, it is." She praised, kissing her girl on the head. It had been so long since she had held the child, and even longer since she had seen the man now before her. Smiling at her husband she ask, "However did you find us?"
"I had some help from old friends. I've missed you so very much." He wrapped his arms around the mother and child.
"And I you." She replied as they broke apart.
"Now let's get out of here and home."
"When exactly is home?"
"2014."
"Alright." She responded in a state of near shock. "Let's." Her next word came a little more confidently. Before leading them out, Crane looked over the room and saw the door that adjoined this room to Abraham's. The sight only fueled his anger at the man responsible.
The trio had not made it even a few steps down the hall when the found their way impeded by the person of Abraham Van Brunt himself. "Ichabod Crane! How dare you!"
"Mommy." At the appearance of the scary man who had taken her from her mother, Abigail curled into Katrina and clutched her doll. It was times like this when she had unknowingly sent herself into the present world through the doll.
"It's alright, sweetie. I'm here." Katrina stroked Abigail's hair comfortingly. "I'm here."
Stepping forward, so that Katrina and Abigail were behind him, Ichabod came to face the object of his swelling ire. "How dare I? How dare you!"
"Katrina is mine."
"She-"
"I most certainly am not!" Katrina interrupted him. She handed Abigail to her husband, who took over the role of comforting protection. "I do not belong to anyone! I am not a prize to be won. I decide to whom I give my heart, and I have chosen. I am Katrina Van Horn Crane. And if you have not gotten that through your thick skull after two-hundred years, it is quite time you do!"
"I love you, Katrina."
"Oh Abraham, that's what you never understood. Love has to go in both directions. You were a good man, but I didn't love you. I might also add that locking a woman in a boudoir and taking her child away is not the way to win her affection!" This scolding left Abraham without response, while Ichabod stood gaping in admiring awe at his wife. "Now we're leaving. If you ever come near my family with such intentions again, I will turn you into a beetle and stamp you like the bug you are." With that she turned from him and walked away in a flustered flutter of skirts, Ichabod following with Abigail. Behind them was left a defeated Abraham Van Brunt, horseman of war.
"Ichabod." He called quietly to the retreating man, who stopped and turned toward his former rival. "You've won. You won all those years ago. My apologies, for everything."
Ichabod went back the short distance down the hall within arms length of Abraham. "I owe you a lot, old friend. I'm sorry it had to be like this."
"As am I." They shook hands and Ichabod returned to his family, as Abraham slowly faded away along with the mansion until the trio stood in the Oxfordian library.
"So if you were trapped there, how did you appear?"
"My favorite flower is…"
"The daisy."
"Yes," she continued, smiling that he had remembered. "And daisies, when burning, enable one to send out their spirit to any place they wish. Which is why I could never stay long, they burn quickly."
"I'm glad you could." He took a step closer to her.
"As am I." She closed the space left between them. Their lips met for the first time in more than two hundred years. They broke apart at a small noise from the toddler in the crook of Ichabod's arm. They looked in unison to find Abigail fast asleep, curled up against her father.
"She's beautiful."
"Indeed, she is."
"Like her mother."
Katrina let out a small chuckle and gave her husband another kiss. "Now, how do we get out of here?"
"I haven't the faintest idea." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. "Perhaps they will."
"What is that?"
"A mobile phone." She gave him a blank look. "It allows one to talk to someone who's somewhere else."
"How does it work?" She asked taking it from his hand and inspecting the strange object.
"I don't know." He took it back and dialed in Abbie's number. "Please let the Leftenant be right." He prayed as he waited for the phone to ring.
"Crane, you okay?"
"Yes Leftentant, we're all fine."
"Mission complete, without issue?"
"Yes. There was a small run in with Abraham, but Katrina handled it nicely. Can one of you tell us how do we get back?"
"So you're to talking to people on the other end. Do they have one of these as well?" Katrina asked.
"She's struggling with the concept of a phone isn't she? So are Lachlan and Grace on this end."
"Is that Rachel?" Katrina asked, incredulously she couldn't quite hear the words but the voice was familiar enough.
"Hello, Katrina." She spoke more loudly to be heard clearly.
Katrina took the mysterious device from her husband and spoke into it as he had done. "I swear, when I-" her threat was low, as not to wake Abigail, but dangerous.
"Chill out, honey. I'm the one helping you get out of there."
Katrina huffed and returned the phone to Crane. "Getting us back, how's that coming?" He was relieved to hear Abbie back in possession of the phone.
"Grace says to join hands and repeat this spell, then walk through a doorway. I'm going to text you a picture of the page. Good luck, Cranes." The call ended.
It wasn't long until the phone rung to signal the arrival of the picture. Opening the message he showed it to Katrina, who looked at it in some awe. "I'll explain photographs afterwards."
They joined hands around the still slumbering Abigail, and began to read. "Táimid ag caillte i dtalamh aisteach. Fill ar ais muid strainséirí ar an ithir ar ár fréamhacha." He then led her through the nearby library door.
They stepped through the doorway into the parlor of Frederick's Manor. 'We're home." Crane breathed out in a relieved sigh. Katrina seemed alright, though she was looking around the decrepit manor with some sadness.
"Welcome back Crane." Abbie greeted, leaving the circle.
"It is good to be back."
"Thank you, for everything: looking after Ichabod and getting us all out of there." Katrina added.
"Call me Abbie. And you're welcome. It's good to finally meet you, Mrs. Crane."
"Please call me Katrina."
"Alright."
"If I may… what you're wearing, is this normal for this time?"
"Ahh umm." Abbie looked down at what she was wearing then scanned Katrina's floor length full skirted gown, understanding where the question was coming from. "Yeah, it is." She looked down at the third escapee who was just starting to stir. "She's so cute!"
"She is quite the dear." Grace appeared beside Abbie in admiration of the little girl.
Abigail's eyes opened and found Grace almost immediately. "Auntie Grace."
"Hello, Abigail. How are you?" Grace asked the toddler.
"Fine. Who?" She asked the trapped spirit while pointing to the lieutenant.
"This is Abbie."
"Auntie Abbie." Katrina corrected.
Abbie looked somewhat shocked at the title bestowed upon her. "It's an honorary title, Leftenant."
"Well then I'm honored. Can I hold her?"
"Of course." Ichabod transferred Abigail to the lieutenant's arms.
"Do I get to be Auntie Rachel?"
"No." Katrina informed to the other witch.
"Ouch. But I get it." Approaching Katrina she turned softer and more genuine. "Listen, I truly am sorry. I was jealous and feeling vengeful. I suppose I don't actually expect you to forgive me…"
"I do." Katrina admitted. "And thank you."
Rachel looked over at Grace, a small smile on her lips. "Can I be free now?"
"Yes, you already are."
"Thank you, Grace."
"So what does that mean?"
"I can die, age, finally. Funny thing is now that's it gone I think I'm going to miss it. You know getting to see flying cars. Still it was starting to be a bit boring."
"Rachel." Lachlan reminded.
"Right." She replied, remembering her own part of the deal.
"Goodbye everyone."
"Farewell."
"What's going on?" Abbie asked.
"Rachel is going to lift her spell on the house and we will no longer be kept here." Lachlan explained. He and Grace shared a glance then he nodded to Rachel.
"Bacainní a sheas uair amháin láidir, scaoileadh an anamacha i do lámh." As soon as she finished the recitation the two began to fade. They appeared fainter and fainter as they waved to those assembled.
"Bye Auntie Grace, Uncle Lachlan." Little Abigail said, waving back.
"Bye." Everyone else echoed, adding their hands to the wave of farewell.