Journey Home (fic_variations May 2008 challenge, Part 1)

Title: Journey Home (Part 1)
Author: occhi_bella
Rating: T
fic_variations Prompt/Claim: Love/Hate, Time
Word Count: 736
Warnings: Spoilers
Note: Based on an alternate universe in which Ichabod left the book that Katrina gave him behind.
Disclaimer: Sleepy Hollow and its characters do not belong to me. I make no money from this.

“It was an evil spirit possessed you. I pray God that it is satisfied and that you find peace. The evil eye has done its work. My life is over, spared for a lifetime of horrors in my sleep, waking each day to grief. Goodbye, Katrina.”

These were the last words he spoke to her, pressing her hand with his own as he bid her goodbye. Ichabod had never credited the existence of spirits until he came to Sleepy Hollow; and it was the only explanation for Katrina’s behavior, now that he’d concluded that she was the one who had been controlling the Headless Horseman, manipulating him to kill. He could not believe that she was evil herself; he would never believe that.

She wasn’t conscious and did not hear him, nor was she aware of his presence. With a heavy heart he turned and left her bedroom.

The Burgomaster had sent him to Sleepy Hollow to discover and apprehend the assassin who was beheading the residents of the town. Ichabod didn’t know what he was going to say to his superior upon his return; but he was determined to never utter a word to a soul about Katrina’s guilt. Standing in the parlor before the fire now, he threw his ledger containing the notes related to the case into the flames. As he stared into the hearth, watching the flames consume the book, he became aware of the weight of his vest pocket. He reached in and removed the book that he’d kept close to his heart since he’d received it from Katrina’s hand. A Compendium of Spells, Charms and Devices of the Spirit World. It was a gift from her and he had cherished it despite the fact that he didn’t believe in such nonsense. It was proper to return it to her, since he had no use for it now. He set it down on the table just as the coach pulled up before the house to take him back to the city.

Young Masbath met him at the front door. They stood together on the porch as Van Ripper took his bags to load onto the coach.

“You think it was Katrina, don’t you.” The boy’s voice was laced with subtle accusation.

Ichabod rounded on him quickly. “That can never be uttered.”

“A strange sort of witch, with a kind and loving heart. How can you think so?”

“I have good reason.”

“Then you are bewitched by reason,” he retorted.

“And beaten down by it!” Ichabod cried angrily.

The boy looked stricken and Ichabod took a deep breath, regaining his composure. Masbath was still young and had not learned many of life’s harshest lessons yet.

“It is a hard lesson for a hard world, Young Masbath, and you had better learn it. Villainy wears many masks. None so dangerous as the mask of virtue.”

Young Masbath’s eyes were glassy with tears and Ichabod placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing it.

“Farewell.”

He climbed into the carriage and shut the door. As the coach pulled away, he looked out of the window and glimpsed Young Masbath standing on the porch watching. Ichabod craned his neck to look up at the window of Katrina’s bedroom; one last glance. A part of him hoped to find her standing in the window; to see her one more time. But she wasn’t there.

As they rode through town he saw a coffin cart pulling up in front of Doctor Lancaster’s office. Lady Van Tassel’s arm protruded from underneath the blanket and the cut on the palm of her hand was plainly visible. He had seen her inflict the wound on herself the night he followed her and discovered her fornicating with Reverend Steenwyck. There were so many illicit goings-on, so many secrets, so much fear in this small town. It would be a relief to return to the city and its anonymity.

Ichabod sighed and leaned back in his seat, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing the thaumatrope that his mother had given him as a little boy. He began to twirl it back and forth absently as the coach ascended the road leading out of the town of Sleepy Hollow.

The grief over the loss of what he thought had been happiness gained would never leave him. He couldn’t leave the painful memories of Sleepy Hollow behind, no matter how far away he went.

(continue to part 2)