“Kat…”
“It was my plan. I was supposed to stop this. I said I would find a way. And now look where we are.” I want to sound angry, but I just sound defeated.
“Kat, you’ve never faced anything like this before. How would you have any way of knowing what would happen? Yes, you had a plan. You tried, and that’s what counts. We all did our best.”
“Well, it wasn’t good enough, was it?”
Ichabod doesn’t argue, doesn’t tell me that I’m wrong.
“I’ve lost everything. Mum. Dad. I wouldn’t be surprised if Toby and Meredith hate me now.”
“Nobody hates you, Kat.”
“They should. All I’ve known here is loss,” I say quietly, tears leaking from my eyes again.
He takes my tearstained hand with his uninjured one and kisses it. “Let me be the one thing you don’t have to lose.”
We sit quietly for a moment, heads bowed, and hands intertwined. I sigh. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”
“I know that you won’t give up,” he says firmly.
“I hate to break it to you, but we’re way past that point. There’s nothing left to give up on.” I finally turn to face him.
His face is still pale from the loss of blood, his dark hair is mussed, and I can tell he’s hiding the pain from his shoulder. He leans in, raising his good hand to my cheek.
“You’ve lost a lot, and I’m so, so sorry. But the Horseman is out there. He’s not going to stop. If we don’t stop him, then everyone in this town is going to suffer.” His grey eyes search mine.
I have to look away. My immediate reaction is to shut the doors to Van Tassel Manor and hide in here with my ruined family for as long as possible.
I swallow.
But I know he’s right.
His hand is warm and firm on mine. “You can sit up here and wallow in unwarranted guilt,” he continues, “or you can do what you’ve always done, and you can fight.”
My breath catches in my throat.
He squeezes my hand. “We can’t change the past, Kat. But we can save Sleepy Hollow’s future.”
This time, I hold his gaze.
I don’t even know where to begin again. I don’t have any idea how to stop the Horseman.
But I know I’m not done yet.
He killed my father, and I will find a way to send him back to Hell.
When I return downstairs, the house is silent once more.
It’s not a peaceful silence, but a heavy and suffocating kind, as if the manor is in mourning.
I move through the darkened hallways, the wooden floors creaking slightly beneath my feet. The moon is still high and bright, and light filters in, making shadows stretch across the walls.
The house feels bigger somehow.
Maybe because I know that he’s gone.
I realise my feet have carried me to my father’s study. The door is closed, heavy and imposing. I’ve passed this door many times over the last week, but never gone inside, never even been tempted. He had made it clear that his study was his space, off-limits, and I had no reason to challenge that.
