A/N: Sorry for the huge delay in updating, but work has just been so crazy and stressful lately and my daughter started Kindergarten. But I am so proud that I was able to get these next two chapters up before the Season 2 Premiere! Now my story does not have to worry about canon in that regard. ;-)
Ichabod came back slowly to the world – hesitant, wobbly and unsure – the way a butterfly emerged from its chrysalis. He was still lost in darkness, but he knew he was not where he had been. Something fundamental had changed and for a few moments, there was nothing before now, but he felt certain that it existed. It was waiting for him…waiting…waiting…something…or was it someone…was waiting for him…waiting for him to come back. But who…and from where? If only he could remember…
He could feel his mind probing outwards carefully, and as it did, little tendrils of the world reached out in return, wrapping around him and pulling him out of the darkness and into the light of knowing.
The light began as just a pinprick in the darkness he had become accustomed to and slowly spread outwards; ink bleeding across paper. Then it crashed down upon him like an avalanche and boulders rained down onto his heart mercilessly until all that was left in the rubble after the dust settled was Abbie's face.
He had left Abbie alone in Purgatory!
She had forced him to abandon her there because she thought he wanted to live out his life with Katrina. She thought she was doing the honorable thing and giving him what he wanted. Ludicrous, really, since he had recently discovered – admitted? – that he was, in fact, in love with Miss Mills herself.
Her beautiful face shimmered into focus in his mind as he slowly, ever so slowly, became aware of the sensation of breathing again. The last thing he remembered, he had been in complete darkness and there had been no air left. He had assumed that was his punishment from God: to forever drift in the dark eddies of Purgatory, his body frozen in the grip of its tragic last breath, while the burden of his sin against Abbie pressed down on him.
But now, amazingly, he was able to breathe again and Ichabod could not understand why or how, and he felt guilty for the ability. He had accepted his fate, so where could he be in Purgatory that air had been returned to him?
A moment later, sounds around Ichabod floated back to him – light as feathers – brushing insistently against his face.
Something squeaking down a distant hallway. A quill scratching against paper? A door closing. And the sound of murmured, worried voices.
But the sounds were unwelcome, and Ichabod turned inwards once again, with a will stronger than he thought he still possessed – and pushed the sounds and sensations away again – especially the voices. It seemed as though he hadn't heard spoken words in forever and hadn't even thought words in an eternity. In those last moments before the air was gone, there had been no time or energy for words or coherent thought. His whole being had been reduced down to brief images and glimpses of emotion as he had resigned himself to the fact that he had died and his soul would spend the rest of its existence in Purgatory, forever separated from Miss Mills.
Ichabod did not want to face whatever new torture Moloch had designed for him. Wherever he was, he did not think himself strong enough to brave it without Abbie by his side. She was his rudder – guiding him where he ought to go; showing him the correct path. Without her, he felt cast adrift on an unknown sea. But even as he railed against this new reality he felt himself moving ever closer to it; powerless against its pull – a slave to its gravity.
Then, suddenly – jarringly – the muddled voices distilled into one clear tone: someone telling him to rest. He could not shake the feeling that the voice was familiar; that it was known to him. But there was nothing in his mind to give him a frame of reference for how he should know the voice. He could almost recall how he knew it, but the memory stayed just beyond his reach. All Ichabod could say for certain was that it was not Abbie's sweet pleasing voice and therefore, was not important. He gasped painfully as he realized that the only voice he wished to hear was hers. He turned inward again, stubbornly focused on her memory and the way she looked when he had declared his love; the way her whole being had seemed to effuse light and happiness. For that moment, at least, he had given her the gift of knowing that she was not alone and that he truly cared for her. The very thought that he should never see her or hold her again filled his heart with a bleak anguish he would not have thought possible before this. It took hold of him, choking, strangling, suffocating.
"Abbie…" he whispered brokenly, his voice thick with tears.
"There, there…just rest now." The voice was soft and tender and familiar and it vexed him because who would speak to him thusly except for his dear Abbie?
And then, with the weight of Vesuvius, it hit him; flames of lava singeing his heart.
Katrina.
His eyes snapped open in shock and then instantly closed again in an attempt to hide from the bright sunlight that filtered in through the shades, slanting across the floor in bright parallelograms. He felt her cold fingers on him then, fluttering across his cheeks and forehead, coming to rest on his shoulder. He steeled himself against her touches and kind entreaties. They were hollow and meaningless to him now. Katrina was no longer the one he wanted touching him and that caused him more guilt and grief, for he wished he had discovered his feelings sooner – if only to spare her needless pain and to have had even a paltry amount of time with Abbie.
Ichabod could not seem to force his mind to understand how his life had changed so drastically in a day. It didn't seem possible. At its core, the world was the same today as it had been yesterday, but everything that made the world his world was now gone and shattered and could not be mended.
Katrina's hand slid down his shoulder to his left hand, but still he kept his eyes clamped tightly shut. If he opened his eyes, then he would have to face the truth. He would have to face the reality that he had somehow escaped the pine coffin while Miss Mills was left alone to endure the horrible pain and torture of Purgatory. He would have to accept the consequence of what she had done – that she had sacrificed her life so that he might survive – and live with that for the rest of his miserable existence.
"Please, Ichabod. Do me the courtesy to at least look at me."
The tone in her voice gave him pause. Hiding just beneath the surface of her concern, there was pain. Slowly, he opened his eyes, bracing himself for what he might see.
Katrina was still wearing the same black gown she had been in Purgatory, but it was ripped in spots and dirt marred its satin expanse. Her flame-red hair looked frazzled and hung unkempt about her face, but it was her expression that most caught Ichabod's attention. He couldn't remember a time when she had ever looked at him the way she did now, with a strange mix of betrayal and agony, eyes rimmed with red.
What had happened? If only he could remember. If only Abbie were here to help him traverse this awful new reality.
"Well, if it isn't Rip Van Winkle."
He turned in the direction of the new voice – so achingly close to Abbie's – and found himself looking at Miss Jenny. She was leaning against the doorframe of what he quickly ascertained was his private room in an infirmary. How he had come to be in a hospital was unknown to him, but he was certain that Jenny had something to do with it.
It was quite peculiar seeing her as an adult again when Ichabod had grown accustomed to her as a child during his time in Purgatory. But the child he had recently seen had fared much better physically than the grown woman who now stood before him. Jenny had a dressing on her head, her bottom lip was split open and her left arm was in a sling. She, too, had a strange expression on her face – but quite different from Katrina's. Ichabod could clearly denote a mixture of emotions: anger, relief, pity and blame.
But it was her very countenance – her similarity to the one he so treasured – that undid him, and the despair clawing at his soul twisted his face into a mask of pain. His eyes swam shut, tears slipping, unheeded, down his cheeks.
Seeing her only brought Abbie's absence to the forefront and the pain of it cut at him like a hot blade. Instantly, he felt the piece of her that resided inside him spark to life, waking from its slumber in the depths of his heart. It unfurled, stretching and growing, and called for her, slicing at his heart and soul, but then, strangely, the presence of it calmed him, as well. It was at once a balm and an astringent and he wondered if the comfort and pain it brought him in equal doses would prove to be the end of him. Abbie had told him that she had given him her mortal strength, but also much more than that. She had given him a part of her soul and because of that he would never be alone. However, if he were pressed to tell the truth at that moment, he had never felt more alone in his entire life. For all he desired in his existence – mortal or otherwise – was Abbie and she was the very person he would be forever denied.
"What is it, Ichabod?"
Katrina's voice had slipped back into timid concern and he felt awful for his thoughts, but he could not control his feelings. He found himself unable to speak from the pain drowning his heart; couldn't even look in her direction. Another tear slipped down his cheek as he opened his eyes and turned to look at Jenny
"How…long?" he asked, knowing she would understand the inference in his question.
Jenny looked from Katrina to him, eyebrows raised, but to her credit, she did not mention his obvious dismissal of Katrina's question.
"You've been out thirty-six hours, give or take," she finally answered. "That's not counting your time in that god-awful box. The doctors think you were probably in there for about twelve. They don't understand how you survived. Neither do I…"
Fear stole Ichabod's breath as he quickly calculated that Abbie has been in Purgatory for two days now; two mortal days. He remembered how she had looked after only being there for a few hours – how it had seemed like weeks for her. What would she look like now? What had Moloch done to her since Ichabod had been parted from her?
"The last thing I can clearly remember is being in the coffin," he said. "I thought it was surely the end. How did I arrive here?"
He looked around at the grey hospital room and the bed he now lay in, and the strange tube snaking out from his hand and up to a pouch of clear liquid hanging above him. Looking down, he found that he wore little more than a strange blue paper shift and every muscle in his body ached as though he had marched for days with no rest.
Jenny took a deep breath and he noticed that it hitched a little at the end. A broken rib, he suspected. "I was on my way to find you guys…to tell you about Parrish…when the Horseman suddenly appeared in the middle of the road. He did his best to stop me…or kill me. Not sure which. Probably both."
She held up her injured arm as evidence. "Anyway, when I came to, I was upside down in the truck. I don't exactly remember getting out, but all of a sudden, I was walking in the woods. I used the GPS on my phone to get to the spot you were trying to find. I had saved it on my phone before you left the Archives. When I got there and saw nothing, I decided to call Abbie's phone one more time. I figured it was worth a shot. That's when I heard the ringing…"
Ichabod looked at her strangely. His mind still felt distorted and jumbled and he was not sure what Jenny was trying to tell him. It seemed as though he were navigating his way through a dense fog of cobwebs and misconceptions.
"Miss Jenny, I am afraid I am at a loss as to your meaning."
Jenny sighed, clearly frustrated. "The ringing was coming from underground…" She prompted, raising her eyebrows and waited.
Ichabod still didn't understand and decided that saying nothing was the best course of action. His head was pounding in a feverish staccato rhythm and he felt dizzy from it.
Jenny exhaled in a huff. "You had Abbie's phone! I heard the ringing and started digging. The doctors said you should have run out of air hours before. They don't know how you were still alive when I found you."
Ichabod knew how he had survived. He had survived because Miss Mills, fearless in her belief that he had to go on, had given him her strength, thereby condemning her eternal soul to Purgatory.
There but for the grace of Abbie went he.
But then Ichabod's mind latched onto Jenny's earlier statement. Abbie's phone? He had Abbie's phone? Slowly, a memory slithered back into his consciousness: Abbie had lent him her "smartphone" because he had complained that his phone was not quite up to his standards. So she had courteously allowed him to use hers and see if it was to his liking.
"Of course. I forgot she had been gracious enough to loan it to me…but I remember now. I was trying to reach it directly after Jeremy pushed me into the coffin, but the space was too confined and I was unable. I felt horrible that I was going to die and Miss Mills would forever think I had abandoned her in Purgatory."
Katrina suddenly sniffled loudly and with a mumbled excuse, slunk from the room.
Jenny watched her go and Ichabod decided it was with little pity or regard. "You might have some explaining to do there, Crane."
"I am afraid I do not understand." Ichabod looked at her simply, waiting for an explanation.
Jenny smirked, but then winced when the expression apparently caused the wound on her temple to ache. "Right before you woke up, you were saying the same thing over and over."
Crane looked away from her and fixed his gaze on the trees outside the hospital window, the tearing and aching feeling returning. Now that his mind was clearing, he found he remembered EVERYTHING about his time in Purgatory with Abbie and it was the first time in his life that he cursed his memory. Strangely though, he could not recall that to which Jenny was referring. He did not remember repeating any mantra of any kind and found that he cared little about whatever it was that he had said. And by association, he realized with an odd detachment, that meant that he cared little that Katrina had been distressed by it. He had never felt more broken or lost – even when he first woke up to his new life.
He sighed. "And what could I have said that would upset Katrina?" he asked, hoping it sounded as though he were concerned. In truth, if Abbie were safe and well and beside him now, her warm hand in his, he would have been able to muster up worry for Katrina. She had been his wife and he owed her that, at least. But with things as they were at present, her minor upset paled in comparison to Abbie's fate.
Jenny furrowed her brow and for the life of him, he did not know why. When she spoke, her voice was sarcastic and clipped, but held a tiny shadow of humor.
"Oh I don't know. I think it was probably you saying 'I love you, Abbie' about ten times that might have set her on edge, but it's hard to say. Maybe you forgot to pick up milk on the way home?"
Ichabod stared at her, dumbfounded, and suddenly it came rushing back to him. He had thought he was dying and trapped in that dark version of Purgatory forever and was certain that God had doled out his punishment for betraying Abbie. It had never occurred to him that he would ever get out of that pine coffin. He had said his heart's most profound truth, almost as a prayer of some kind – a penance – hoping that God would understand that he still had one redeeming quality. He loved a kind, brave and beautiful woman who had given her life for the greater good of Humanity and that should count for something.
Suddenly the pain of being separated from Abbie overwhelmed him and he brought his hands up to cover his eyes, using all of his willpower to bite down a screaming sob. The very idea that he actually had to continue living without her was simply a thought he could not bear.
He looked up at Jenny, his whole body shaking. He could not erase from his mind the image of Abbie being held aloft by Moloch, the scent of Death ever-present. Ichabod could still see Moloch's his claws ripping into her skin, her face the picture of misery as she proclaimed, "I know my destiny: to be alone." It haunted him and he felt the tiny fragment of Abbie inside him tighten around his heart, trying to bolster his spirit.
Tears welled in his bright blue eyes and splashed down onto his cheeks. "I fear I shall not survive without her."
He knew that Jenny would understand that he was not speaking of Katrina, but Abbie.
Jenny pushed away from the doorframe and moved closer to his bedside, looming menacingly above him like a fallen angel. There were a thousand accusations in her dark, brooding eyes.
"You sure as hell ARE going to survive," she said, her voice soft but savage. "At least long enough to help me find her. Where is she, Crane?" she finally asked. "I need to know."