Turning, I see him silhouetted by the moonlight.
The Headless Horseman.
The Hessian soldier.
Katrina’s lover.
His massive figure fills the doorway. His broad shoulders rise and fall heavily. The sword is tucked into its scabbard at his hip. He swings one leg over the horse, dismounting and landing forcefully on the cold stone floor.
My heart sinks. What does this mean for Ichabod and Brom, if he is here?
Are they dead?
I can’t think about that now. If they are, I may be joining them shortly. I swallow down the panic rising in my throat.
He moves towards me stiffly, and it’s strange to see him walk. I’d never thought about whether he could leave his horse or not. Bizarrely, he seems less threatening now, and it helps my courage.
I lift my chin, standing my ground in front of Katrina’s tomb.
“I know who you are.” My voice is steady, despite the fear rolling in my stomach. “Who you really were. I think I know what you want.”
The Horseman stops.
The air between us feels charged. Even without a face, without eyes, I can feel him watching me.
“You’re looking for her, aren’t you?” I step to the side, placing one hand on the tomb. “Katrina Van Tassel. The woman you loved. The woman who loved you.”
His hand twitches at his side, and I feel a stab of panic that he’s reaching for his sword. But he doesn’t, not yet.
“You never got to move on. You stayed, trapped here, because you never got to find her again.”
I don’t know what I’m expecting. It’s not as if he can reply, but the silence is unnerving all the same. The space where his head should be seems to throb with energy.
“She kept a diary. I’ve read it. About your relationship, your plans for a life together. Until you were unfairly executed. I know you want revenge. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? You were looking for her.”
Still the Horseman doesn’t move.
“There’s more.” My voice is thick with tears. “I know she was pregnant, that you were going to have a child together. You’ve been looking for both of them.” I pause. “I don’t know what happened to the baby, but I do know the Van Tassel line survived. I’m living proof. I’m a descendant of Katrina VanTassel, I even bear her name. I’m your descendant. That means your child survived, and they had a life and love of their own.”
I stare at him, breath frozen in my chest. Waiting.
He tremors ever so slightly, that I wonder if I’m imagining it.
The weight of my words hangs, tangible, between us.
Then he moves. He takes one slow step. Then another, faster, closing the distance between us. Fear seizes me. I’ve misjudged it. Again. This isn’t going to save me, or him, or the town. I was wrong.
Panic rises within me.
I’m still holding the wooden box containing his earthly remains, and I reach out, placing it down on top of the tomb.
The Horseman is running, quickly closing the distance, heading straight for me. I thought I could set him free. I thought this was the answer.
I lift my hands protectively, twisting to the side and bracing.
The Horseman reaches me, doesn’t slow down. He continues running. I don’t even have time to cry out.
He runs straight into me.
