Diary, I must close this entry with a prayer.
May fate be kind to us.
I close the diary, reeling from the sudden turn in events. Perhaps I don’t envy my ancestor as much as I originally thought. There seem to be some odd parallels between us, though, connecting us despite more than two hundred years between us. Although where her life changing events are pushing her out of Sleepy Hollow, mine have pulled me further in.
14
The glow of the streetlamps cast flickering shadows along the cobblestone streets as I make my way to Ichabod’s flat. My breath puffs out as a white cloud before me, but warmth builds in my chest at the thought of seeing him again.
I know better than to fall for the man everyone in town is whispering about, but the warning pales in comparison to how I feel in Ichabod’s presence.
But I have to know.
When I knock, it only takes a moment before the door swings open. Ichabod stands there, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, no belt, his hair slightly tousled, as if he’s just run his fingers through it. When he registers me standing there, his lips curve into a smile, but I can see a hint of worry in his eyes as they scan the street behind me.
“Katrina, what are you doing walking around after sunset? It isn’t safe,” he murmurs, stepping aside to let me in.
“Neither are you, apparently,” I say as the door clicks shut behind me.
I’ve been steeling myself for this moment all day. I’m here for answers. I’d defended him this morning, but I need to hear it from Ichabod. Not from Brom or the whispering town, or even my own spiralling thoughts.
When he’d opened the door, I’d felt bold, but now that I’m here, the conviction I had just a few minutes ago is beginning to unravel. The warmth of the small space wraps around me, the scent of old books and spiced tea filling the air. I turn to face him, my heart hammering against my ribs as he takes a step closer. His fingers trail along my arm, a barely-there touch that sends a shiver through me.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight,” he says.
I realise he’s ignored my remark.
“I needed to see you.” I try to take a step back, to think more clearly. But there’s not much space between Ichabod and the door at my back. “There’s something I need to know.”
“Yes?” His eyes bore into mine. He stays where he is, not moving closer, not backing away.
I have to ask. I have to know.
But what if it’s true?
I thought I hated Sleepy Hollow. Then I met him. Now I don’t know what I hate more, this town or what it’s making me feel. Because what will I do if he confirms my fears?
“Katrina,” he says softly. “What is it?”
I can’t bring myself to ask. Not now, with him here, so close.
“It’s… nothing,” I say, my eyes darting to the fireplace to cover the emotions I know will be warring there.
He takes my chin gently and brings my gaze back to his.
“Katrina, you can ask me anything.”
I meet those piercing grey eyes. My mouth opens and I have to say it quickly before I stop myself again.
“There are rumours,” I whisper.
He doesn’t interrupt and I force myself to continue.
“People in the town, they’re saying… that you…” But I can’t bring myself to say it. Not outright.
His expression is unreadable as he drops his hand from my face.
“Did you come here to ask if I’m the killer, Katrina?”
