And the town is doomed.
I force myself to move.
Across the room, Ichabod groans, clutching his shoulder. His face is pale, jaw clenched tight against the pain. I move to him quickly, pressing my hands to the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood.
“W-we need to get you upstairs, or to a couch,” I stammer. “You need help. You’re bleeding.”
“Better me than you,” he says weakly.
Meredith takes shaky steps towards my father’s body. She drops to her knees beside him, her hands fluttering over him, but it’s too late. She’s taking short, desperate breaths, finally pressing a hand over her mouth, her shoulders heaving.
I don’t know what to do.
It’s all gone wrong, and now the Horseman is out there, coming for everyone. How did I ever think we could trap him? That we had a chance? He’s surely out there now, rampaging through the town, killing everyone in sight.
I don’t have time to make it right.
I don’t have time to grieve.
Meredith now kneels beside Ichabod, her face streaked with tears. She sniffs heavily, but even through her grief, she reaches out and gently pulls his hand away to assess the damage. The wound isn’t as deep as I’d feared. Ichabod’s breathing is laboured but steady, his face pale but alert. He’s in pain, but he’s not dying.
“It’s not fatal,” Meredith murmurs, confirming what I’d thought. “But we need to stop the bleeding.”
She reaches down, ripping a strip from the hem of her dress and tying it around Ichabod’s shoulder. He winces but doesn’t pull away.
“Thank you.” His voice is thin. “I’m so sorry about Philip.”
It’s Meredith’s turn to flinch. Her fingers tremble as she ties the makeshift bandage so that it stays in place. Her eyes are dull, and she nods wordlessly. She sniffs and wipes the back of her hand across her cheeks.
“We should move you.” Her breath hitches. “We… need to get out of this room.”
She’s right. The ballroom smells of blood and burning wax, and now that I’ve become aware of it, it’s overwhelming. The broken French doors hang off their hinges, shattered glass coating the floor, curtains twisted and torn. My father’s body lies off to one side, surrounded by the scattered remnants of what was supposed to be our plan to buy us more time. There’s a pool of dark crimson around him, soaking into the ruined marble.
I can’t look at it any longer.
A small whimper makes me glance up.
None of us had noticed Toby walking in, and now he’s standing in the middle of the ballroom, looking lost. He’s staring at our father, eyes wide in fear.
“Dad?” His voice is small, barely above a whisper.
Meredith quickly gets to her feet, rushing to him.
Toby’s gaze is flickering around the room. He looks at Ichabod propped up against the wall, still bleeding. At me, blood coating my hands. At the destruction. And finally, back to our father.
“No,” he whispers, shaking his head furiously.
Meredith wipes her hands down the front of her dress, which makes everything look worse, before taking his hands in hers.
“Toby…” she starts, but her voice breaks.
His shoulders start to shake.
From behind, I see Meredith take a deep breath.
“Sweetheart, look at me.” I can hear the strain in her voice. “I’m so sorry, baby, but your father… he’s gone.”
Toby shakes his head again and starts to walk backwards, as if he can get away from this nightmare. Meredith clasps his face in her hands.
