Closure: Chapter Four

Chapter Four

The pain was dull, but persistent as Brom struggled to open his eyes. He tried to speak, but only managed a low groan.

"Brom?" It was his mother's voice.

He groaned again.

"His fever has broken," came Will's exhausted voice, from somewhere above him.

"Thank God," Griet replied, her voice thick with emotion, as though she'd been crying for some time.

Brom's eyes opened at last. He was in his own bedroom, covered to the neck in warm blankets, with a few candles lit. His mother was seated next to him on the bed, and Will was leaning against the doorframe. It was night, though Brom could not tell if it was still the same night or not. How long had he been asleep?

"Will..." He did not even recognize his own voice, and his throat was unbearably dry.

His brother was at his side in an instant. "Brom?"

"I've had...my dreams have..." Brom broke off, coughing.

Suddenly a cup of water was pressed to his lips, and with Griet's help, Brom managed to sit up and drink some of it. The cool drink helped to clear his mind considerably.

"I've had the strangest dreams," he murmured. "The Horseman got away...I couldn't stop him..."

"Shh, Brom, it's all right," his mother said soothingly. "We know you tried."

"Crane..."

"He's fine, or will be soon," Will said. "You were lucky, Brom. If Glen and Theodore hadn't seen you fall and pulled you out of the river-"

"No, there's...I need to talk to Crane..." Brom said, trying to clarify.

"There will be time for that later," Griet said firmly, her eyes glittering strangely in the dim light. "Go to sleep, Brom. We'll send word to Constable Crane...just rest, my love. You've been so brave...now let us do the fighting, hmm?"

He smiled at her as she reached for a cloth, dipping it in a bowl of cook water on the table by his bed. Dabbing it on his face, he was reminded of her doing the same thing to him when he was a child, sick and helpless...

Will was turning to leave, his fair hair catching the light from the hallway candles.

"Will...thank you," Brom said quietly. He was too tired to articulate further, but he wanted so much to convey that he knew what Will had done for him--for them all--and that he was intensely grateful for it.

Will looked at him curiously, but made no reply. He was obviously surprised and puzzled. For her part, Griet did not seem to notice, her eyes on her eldest son. "Go back to sleep, sweetheart. Don't fight it."

Brom let his head rest back against the pillow, his eyes closing as he surrendered to his exhaustion.


********************************************


By the next morning, Brom was feeling a good deal better, though not quite his usual self. Griet and Will, however, were adamant in refusing to let him leave his bed. He had sulked initially, until Will had pointed out that the Horseman was still on the loose, and that Brom wouldn't be any help against him if he injured himself further. As usual, his younger brother was right.

Griet brought him hot porridge for breakfast. He dug in gratefully, surprised at how hungry he was. His mother watched him, scrutinizing how much he took with each mouthful.

"Want some?" he offered, holding out the dripping spoon. Even injured, he couldn't resist the opportunity to tease his mother. She claimed to hate women who fussed and fretted—and here she was, doing precisely that.

His mother jumped back. "Don't you dare get that on the bedspread, Brom Van Brunt, or I'll hang you out to dry!"

Before he could respond, a knock sounded at the door.

"Brom, you have a visitor!" Will called from the other side.

Polishing off the last of the porridge, Brom set the bowl down on his bedside table. "Who—"

The door opened, revealing Ichabod Crane, with Will at his heels.

Crane looked pale, but that was nothing new. What struck Brom was that the shadows under his eyes seemed deeper, the only outward sign of distress. Everything else was concealed behind the mask of his stoic expression and immaculate clothing.

"I don't believe we've met. You must be Constable Crane," Griet said, standing up to greet the new arrival. "I'm Griet Van Brunt, Brom's mother. I am told that if it was not for you, I would be mourning the loss of a son."

Ichabod bowed slightly, going rather pink about the ears. He colored even more when Griet embraced him fully, as though he were a savior from heaven. "Thank you," she murmured hoarsely into the surprised constable's coat.

Crane threw Brom a panicked look, clearly at a loss for what to do. Brom, for his part, stifled a laugh.

"You're...welcome," Crane replied, awkwardly patting her on the back. "It was...I..." He cleared his throat, and Griet released him, dabbing at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"I have come to speak with Brom," Crane said, taking the opportunity to regain his composure. "I hope he is well?"

"I'm right here, Crane," Brom said, not bothering to conceal his annoyance. "So you can ask me yourself, you know."

Griet finished drying her eyes, and glanced at Will, who was still standing in the doorway. "Come on, dear," she said to her younger son. "We'll just be in the way."

"But Mother—"

Griet's back was to Brom, but he knew the look she was giving Will. (He was often on the receiving end of it.) Will sighed, and followed her down the hall and out of sight.

Brom's blue eyes rose to meet Ichabod's deep black ones. "You're alive." he stated simply.

"So it would seem."

There was an awkward silence as the two men contemplated each other. Brom was well aware of Ichabod's true mettle, though not quite sure how to admit that he might have been mistaken. He had no idea what Crane could be thinking—probably what a stupid oaf Brom was to have nearly gotten himself killed going after a murdering ghost.

But there was something deeper. Both had witnessed something strange and terrible, a supernatural being that did not belong in their world. No human was meant to see what they had seen. Now they were joined by this common bond. And Brom, for one, was not sure he liked it.

Crane was brave, certainly. He was, however, the object of Katrina's fascination. Brom had no desire to like him, let alone admire his courage...and yet the feeling was ever present.

"How are you feeling?" Ichabod asked.

"Better," Brom replied. "After I woke, that is. When I was asleep...my dreams were strange. I can't describe them."

"I also had nightmares, though I don't know if mine were related to the Horseman." Ichabod remarked. Suddenly his voice became harsh as he stepped closer to the bed.

"There is something important you must know. The Horseman does not kill at random," he said tightly. "His victims are chosen, by someone with control over him."

Brom paused, his thoughts racing to catch up with Ichabod's. "Someone human?"

"I believe so."

"That's madness! Who would do such a thing?" Brom exploded.

"Someone with the skill for treachery at his disposal—Baltus Van Tassel," Ichabod replied.

"You are mad," Brom said at last. "Baltus van Tassel, pillar of the community, an evil witch? Why on earth would he do such a thing?"

Crane's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What makes you say witch?"

In an instant, Brom realized he had almost betrayed his own brother. Will would never harm anyone, but Crane didn't know that.

"I can't imagine that the Hessian Horseman comes back from the grave just because someone asks politely," Brom replied, trying to cover his slip of the tongue with sarcasm. "Anyway, what if you're wrong? What if I'm the one controlling the Horseman? You could be digging your own grave by telling me this."

Crane rolled his eyes. "First, you were nearly killed by the Horseman yourself. Second, given what has been said about you in the village, and by Miss Van Tassel, it does not seem to be your style. Third, I very much doubt you have the patience or concentration that spellwork would likely entail."

Brom's temper flared, and he felt the overwhelming desire to hit Ichabod Crane square in the face. The constable was very lucky that Brom's full strength had not yet returned. When he had managed to regain his composure, he raised his eyes to Ichabod's again.

"I think you're wrong about Baltus Van Tassel. To do this sort of thing, you would need power...unnatural power." Brom said at last.

"For the record, I agree with you," Ichabod said quietly. "At least about power. But I have discovered at Notary Hardenbrook's that Baltus Van Tassel was next to inherit Van Garrett's estate."

"He woke the dead to kill Van Garrett, just to inherit some land?" Brom was puzzled. "But then why kill the widow, and Mr. Masbath? And the Killians—how did they stand in Van Tassel's way, assuming for one second that this mad theory of yours is right?"

"The widow was secretly married to Old Man Van Garrett. His son knew, as did Mrs. Killian, and presumably her husband as well, as the Widow Winship was carrying Van Garrett's child. Who would have threatened Van Tassel's chance at a fortune irrevocably."

"Irreva-what?"

"Forever."

"Oh," Brom said. His brow furrowed in thought. "But why hide the marriage? That doesn't make any sense."

"Because he had something to hide," Ichabod replied soberly. "From one person, someone he knew and feared. The marriage was a secret for that reason—he was trying to protect his wife and child."

"They were discovered," Brom said, catching on. "But how? And by who? I still can't believe it was Baltus Van Tassel, of all people."

"You have known him for a long time?" Ichabod asked.

"All my life," Brom responded. "Since they came to Sleepy Hollow years ago. That was back when they lived in the cottage. My father used to talk about the people that lived in the cottage before them...I don't remember what they were called. They left town, anyway."

"When was that?"

"Around the winter of '78." Brom said. "That's just a guess, mind you."

"I see." Ichabod stood up to leave. "Thank you, Mr. Van Brunt. You have been very helpful."

"Just a moment, Crane!"

Ichabod stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "Yes?"

"I heard about you going into the Western Woods with young Masbath. Next time you'd best call on me first. I'd like another shot at the Hessian, if it's all the same to you."

"Your first wasn't so successful," Ichabod said, a rare smile playing around his lips. "Very well. I will call on you. It would be good to have another ally in this place. Young Masbath's waiting downstairs. I'd best leave."

"Good luck, Crane."

Ichabod opened the door and stepped out. His footsteps barely sounded on the wooden floor, and caused only the barest of creaks on the stairs as he made his way down.


********************************************************


An hour later, Will entered, brandishing a cup of some strange liquid. Brom regarded the odd smell coming from the liquid warily.

"What's that?" he asked, not sure he wanted to know.

Will handed Brom the cup. "Drink," he ordered.

"You sound like Mother," Brom groaned, accepting the cup but holding it at an arm's length. "What is this, anyway?"

"It's a mixture to help with the pain," Will replied. "I didn't put anything in it you couldn't identify, so drink up."

Brom drank, although the liquid did not taste as bad as it smelled—tart and spicy at the same time.

"It will take some time to work, but with luck, you should be up and moving in a day or so," Will said.

"Good," Brom responded. "Someone's got to help Crane, since..."

He stopped short. Had Will been the one to summon the Horseman? He wouldn't have done so on purpose, but...if it was an accident, perhaps they could still mend it before anyone else was hurt.

"What do you know about the Hessian, Will?" he demanded. Brom had never been subtle, and had no wish to learn to be.

Will swallowed hard. "Only what everyone else knows, Brom. Why are you asking me this?"

"You're a witch," Brom said, his gaze meeting that of his brother's. "Don't ask me how I know—I do. Did you summon the Hessian?"

Will turned white, and looked around wildly, like a cornered animal trying to find an escape. "How can you think I would do such a thing? People have died, Brom!"

"It might have been an accident—"

"You cannot," Will snapped derisively, "raise the dead by accident. There are particular rituals that have to be performed, and power that has to go into those rituals. It's impossible to do something of this nature without pure intent."

He paused, catching his breath. "How did you know I'm a witch? I never told you, or even Mother."

"I saw it in one of the strange dreams I had last night," Brom said. "I'm starting to wonder if it really was a dream...it felt so real."

Will's expression softened, and he looked at Brom with a newfound respect.

"I'm not the marksman you are Brom, nor the fighter," Will confessed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I suppose that's why I wanted to learn magic...I wanted to be able to defend myself, and my family, in my own way. I'm sorry I couldn't. She wouldn't tell me how to stop him."

"The Western Woods Crone?" Brom asked.

Will promptly fell off the bed with a loud crash.

Throwing back the blankets, Brom reached down to help his brother back up. "Are you all right?"

"You saw that in your dream, too?" Will asked, ignoring the question and getting back to his feet, with Brom's help.

"Yes. You called her Mab."

Will smiled. "When I first met her, I thought she was a fairy. That's why I called her Mab, after the fairy queen in the stories that Katrina used to tell. She rescued me last winter—don't you remember that day when I rode into the Western Woods and didn't come back until almost nightfall?"

"You fell from your horse," Brom said, remembering the dream. "And she helped you."

"She cleaned my wounds and cared for me—even cared for my horse," Will replied, still smiling. "I started coming back, bringing her food and supplies. She didn't often need it, but she accepted my help and taught me magic, to heal and protect. I don't know anything else about her, though—not her real name, or where she comes from...she always wears that veil of hers, even in front of me."

"You don't believe that she raised the Hessian?" Brom asked, and regretted the question immediately.

"I know she didn't!" Will exploded. "I know what Reverend Steenwyck says about witches, but he's wrong. Mab wasn't evil, just strange. I can't imagine why she would raise the dead when she knows perfectly well that she'd be blamed for it!"

Brom sighed. "I'm sorry, Will."

Will sighed, too. "I know. I shouldn't have lost my head like that. I'm sorry, too. Just—don't tell Mother. Not yet."

Brom nodded, feeling as though a new closeness had grown between himself and his brother. They wished for the same thing—to protect what was dear to them. Will had gone about it in a different way, but that did not change his intentions. He had meant well.

Then he remembered his conversation with Crane, and blanched. Will took notice, and immediately began to rearrange the blankets that Brom had thrown back earlier.

"Crane thinks it's Baltus Van Tassel that summoned the Hessian," he said, waving his brother off.

"That's madness!" Will exclaimed. "Are you sure that's what he meant?"

"Plain as day," Brom agreed. "Is he a witch?"

"If he is, he's quite the actor," Will remarked, his eyebrows arching. "I can't imagine Baltus summoning evil spirits for any reason."

"Neither can I," Brom replied. "But someone is—and it's someone from the town. It has to be. Someone that we know."

Will's brow furrowed in thought. "That would mean that someone in this village, that we see every day, harbors a hatred so deep that they resorted to dark magic to terrorize—and we never knew!"

"That's not all, " Brom interrupted, feeling sick at Will's revelation. "Crane believes the victims are chosen beforehand. Their deaths are no accident."

His brother's eyes widened. "Do you mean that if Crane hadn't found you in time, the Hessian would have—"

"No," Brom replied, shaking his head. "I think I understand now. He was sent out to murder the Killians that night—Crane and I were in the way. Mostly me, I think."

"This is madness!" Will cried, running a hand through his hair, which was already standing on end. "Good God! You could have been killed! Any innocent person might have been!"

"Exactly," Brom conceded. "That's why I asked Crane to let me help him. I saw him that night...he fought bravely, even though he was afraid."

Will rested one hand on Brom's shoulder. "Are you telling me you weren't?"

"No, I wasn't afraid." Brom succeeded in keeping a straight face for all ten seconds. "I was terrified, but I didn't have a choice."

"You'll be fit for action again soon," Will promised. "We'll stop him, Brom. Whoever is controlling the Hessian, we'll find him."

Brom found himself nodding. "We will."


********************************************************


By the next day, Will's elixir had done the trick. Brom was feeling a thousand times better—well enough to get out of bed, wash, and dress. Dr. Lancaster had proclaimed it nothing short of a miracle when he had come to see how Brom was faring that morning.

The cuts inflicted by the Hessian's sword seemed to be healing quickly, and for that, Brom was grateful. Sitting still for long periods of time was not something he excelled at. His leg still hurt, but Will's poultices and potions took the edge off the pain.

His mother had exhibited some initial concern, but eventually Will had helped to persuade her that Brom was well enough to assist in the investigation.

This was why Brom was on his way to the Van Tassel house that morning. It occurred to him suddenly that Katrina had not come to see him. Even stranger was the fact that, since his encounter with the Hessian, Brom had not thought about her before now.

But I love Katrina. Don't I?

If you have to ask, that's probably not a good sign, he thought.

He loved the picture that Griet Van Brunt and Elizabeth Van Tassel had painted so long ago, imagining their children happily married. The women had meant no harm, of course...the only danger being that one of their children might not feel the same about the other. It was sinking in that Katrina did not love him...if she had, she would have been at his side.

"Brom?" a man's voice interrupted his thoughts. He stopped at the gate, waiting for the other man to catch up.

"Good morning," Brom said, as Baltus Van Tassel reached the gate.

"Glad to see you're all right, boy," said Baltus with a warm smile. "We were all worried about you."

Except Katrina, Brom thought dourly. Out loud he said, "I'm fine now. Is Constable Crane around?"

For some reason, this caused Baltus to look around. He turned back to Brom, his face pale.

"What?" Brom asked.

"Don't mention his name. I didn't tell Reverend Steenwyck that he was still here, otherwise—"

"What's happened?" Brom demanded.

"Inside," Baltus ordered. "I'll tell you there."

Baltus lead him through the vast yard, and through the kitchen door.

Brom had entered the Van Tassel kitchen many times. As children, he and Katrina used to sit by the hearth and listen to Elizabeth Van Tassel read them tales of romance and adventure. When they were a little older, Brom had kissed her for the first time in this room.

However, when he stepped inside, Katrina was nowhere to be seen. Only Lady Van Tassel and Ichabod Crane occupied the room at present, involved in a whispered conversation, which was promptly cut off when Baltus spoke.

"The town is in ferment," he announced, apparently not noticing the whispers. "Notary Hardenbrook has been killed—hanged himself in the night."

"That harmless old man?" Lady Van Tassel cried, her eyes wide with horror.

Baltus nodded. "I found out when I went into town this morning—it was on my way back that I ran into Brom here."

"I came to see Constable Crane," Brom said by way of explanation, bowing politely to Lady Van Tassel, and gesturing to Ichabod. He turned back to Baltus. "Why didn't you want me to mention his name outside?"

Ichabod's dark eyes narrowed as he glanced at Brom and Baltus in turn. "What do you mean?"

"Reverend Steenwyck's called a meeting tonight in the church—every man, woman and child. He's going to speak out against you, Constable. If you're wise, you'll leave while you have the chance. The people are afraid, and they'll be willing to follow Steenwyck when he gives the word—and I believe that he will."

Ichabod's jaw tightened. "I will go when I have done what I came here to do," he said firmly.

Brom shook his head. "You really are mad," he commented.

The corners of Ichabod's mouth twitched into something resembling a smile. "At least I am in good company."

While Brom was trying to work out whether or not that was an insult, Lady Van Tassel had gone to put a comforting hand on her husband's shoulder.

"What's this?" Baltus asked, and Brom's eyes flickered to a long, nasty gash on Lady Van Tassel's palm.

"I was careless with the kitchen knife," she replied airily.

Brom did not hear what else was said, because his focus was on Ichabod. His entire body was tense, and his gaze was fixed on Lady Van Tassel's wound.

"Outside," Ichabod said in Brom's ear. "Hurry."

Without interrupting the couple's conversation, Brom and Ichabod slipped out into the corridor. Ichabod did not stop walking until they reached the parlor, where he closed the door and bolted it.

"Crane, is there a reason you're doing this?"

Ichabod turned back to him, ignoring the question. "Tell me, Brom, what do you know about Lady Van Tassel?"

Brom regarded Ichabod suspiciously. "Why do you ask?"

"What I'm asking is...does she have romantic liaisons?"

Brom let out a guffaw of laughter. He couldn't help it.

"Stop that, you'll bring the whole house in here!" Ichabod snapped. With a good deal of effort, Brom managed to stifle his laughter. "The point is that I saw her with a lover last night."

"Are you sure?"

"As sure as I am seeing you," Ichabod responded. "That's how she got the cut on her hand. It was with a knife, but not of the variety usually found in kitchens. Apparently, her lover has a lust for blood."

"And who is her lover?" Brom asked, choking back another laugh.

"Reverend Steenwyck," Ichabod informed him.

"You can't be serious. Are you sure it wasn't Dr. Lancaster? He'll flirt with anything in a petticoat, you know." Brom remarked.

"I am positive," Ichabod replied. "And keep your voice down. Lady Van Tassel made me promise not to tell her husband. She said that she was in Reverend Steenwyck's power...he knows something about Baltus, and what I witnessed, according to her, was the price of his silence. I am assuming, from your reaction, that Lady Van Tassel's doings were not known?"

"Not those doings," Brom replied, his eyebrows raised. "Lady Van Tassel and Reverend Steenwyck...all I know is, I'll never be able to listen to his 'sinful lust' sermon with a straight face ever again!"

"Villainy wears many masks, none so dangerous as the mask of virtue," Ichabod said, as though reciting something memorized long ago.

Brom was about to ask him what the devil that meant, but just as he opened his mouth, someone knocked at the door, pounding frantically. Ichabod opened it, and young Masbath stood on the other side, out of breath from running.

"Constable! Miss Katrina's just left, and I went up to your room—all your papers are gone!"

Ichabod raced out the door, young Masbath and Brom at his heels. He stopped at the front door.

"No, I will go alone. Brom, you and young Masbath stay here. Keep an eye on Lady Van Tassel."

Brom would have liked to argue, but the look on Crane's face would brook no argument. It astounded Brom that one person could have such two very different sides to their personality. In any case, they were wasting time. Whatever Katrina was doing, it wouldn't bode well for Crane's investigation. And like it or not, Brom was involved now. Crane was the only hope left for Sleepy Hollow. He wasn't much of a hope, but he was all they had. And Brom was going to do everything he could to get rid of the Horseman once and for all.

He saved your life, an irritating voice piped up from the back of his mind. There's still a debt to settle, Bones!He sighed. If Crane asked him to stay, then he would stay.

Damn.

"You would serve us all better here," Ichabod said, catching his breath. "Brom...please."

"Very well," Brom said reluctantly. "Just try not to faint this time."