Chapter 17
Breakfast at Van Tassel Manor is tense. The sounds of clinking silverware fill the grand dining room around me, but I can hardly eat a thing.
I keep replaying the scene from last night over and over in my mind.
The Horseman emerging from the mist, nothing but shadows himself, towering over the mayor, his sword slicing through the air.
The unfortunate mayor hitting the ground.
The Horseman is real.
I know that now. I can’t deny it any longer.
Ichabod had been right all along, but I hadn’t wanted to believe it. It still doesn’t make sense. How could ghosts be real? But there’s no refuting what I saw.
Wrapping my head around that is one thing, but what happens now? I can’t tell anyone. Surely no one would believe me. I hadn’t believed Ichabod. But how could anyone in the town be safe while the Headless Horseman is stalking the streets? Why is he back? Why now? And what would make him leave?
The sound of my father drumming his fingers against the heavy table breaks through my thoughts, causing me to look up. His expression is dark.
“I saw him drop you off late last night,” he says, his tone clipped, controlled. “Ichabod Crane.”
I tighten my grip on my empty fork. I don’t have the energy for another fight about Ichabod. “So?”
He exhales sharply. “I had word this morning that there’s been another death in the town.”
I wince, the image of the mayor’s limp form once again at the front of my mind.
“That’s three people dead now, Katrina. Three. And you’re out gallivanting through town with him in the middle of the night?”
I push my untouched plate away. “I know, but —”
My father speaks across me. “People are talking. First the doctor, then the lawyer, and now the town mayor. Ichabod was seen near every one of the crime scenes.”
I stare at my father, unsure if I’ve heard correctly.
I’m surprised Phillip Van Tassel, the man of science and logic, is listening to town gossip.
He can’t think Ichabod has anything to do with this.
Ichabod works at his university, for Christ’s sake.
And what’s this about him being seen? I was there last night.
If Ichabod was seen, then so was I. But there wasn’t anybody else around.
“Ichabod didn’t kill anyone.” I say simply.
“You don’t know that,” my father says. “It’s not safe. I told you before you’re not to see him, and I meant it.”
I start to reply, to point out that I was with Ichabod and I know it wasn’t him, but before I can say anything, Meredith speaks up.
“Philip,” she says gently, leaning across and placing a hand over his. “Ichabod has always seemed like a decent young man. Are you really so sure he could be behind this?”
Father’s mouth tightens. “I won’t take that chance.” He turns back to me, his voice low and firm. “He is no longer welcome here. He won’t be teaching music lessons, and he will most certainly not be seeing you.”
Up until this point, Toby had been picking quietly at his eggs, but now he lifts his head.
“No music lessons? But the winter recital…” He trails off under Father’s stormy expression.
Father sighs. “There will be no more lessons. And there will be consequences, Katrina, if I hear you’ve still been seeing that man.”
I almost want to laugh. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
“But he hasn’t done anything!” I insist. “I know he hasn’t, it’s…” I stop, unable to finish the sentence. How can I sit here at the breakfast table and accuse the Headless Horseman of being behind the attacks? They’d all think I’ve completely lost it.
Meredith sighs, one elbow on the table, her fingertips rubbing her temples. “I just can’t believe it, Philip. There has to be another explanation.” Ever the mediator.
“There isn’t,” my father says flatly. “This is final.”
I can see that I’m fighting a losing battle. I swallow and briefly close my eyes. Am I really going to say this out loud?
“I know it isn’t Ichabod, because as you said yourself, I was with him! I saw the whole thing, and it was… It was the Headless Horseman. He’s the one behind all the attacks.”
I look up in time to see my father’s face turn an unhealthy shade of red. Although I hadn’t really expected them to believe me, I hadn’t anticipated this reaction.
“Katrina Van Tassel, never mention that silly superstition in this household again,” he explodes.
I shove my chair back, cheeks flaming. “This is ridiculous.”
“Katrina,” Meredith reaches for me. “Maybe just stay away from Ichabod for a little while, at least until this is all sorted out.”
I glare at both of them. “You’re making a mistake.”
I push away from the table and storm out of the dining room, my heart pounding. If my father thinks I’m just going to abandon Ichabod, he’s dead wrong.
I pace the length of my bedroom, the drapes pulled back to reveal the moody sky beyond.
Rain patters lightly against the windowpane, running down in rivulets.
My mind is racing. I know my father is only trying to protect me, but he’s wrong about Ichabod, and I don’t know how to convince him otherwise.
He’s always been so academic, only believing what’s firmly rooted in fact.
I should have known there’s no way he’d react well to talk of legend or superstition.
But the Horseman needs to be stopped before Ichabod gets blamed for any more deaths. And I have no idea where to start.
I stop in my pacing. Something has caught my eye. Or rather, the lack of something has. I stare at the wooden dresser top. Empty except for a large oval mirror and my tired-looking hairbrush. Where is the KVT diary? I know I left it there this morning. Now it’s gone.
My gaze sweeps the room, looking for anywhere else I might have put it. But I’m sure I moved it to the dresser just before I left for breakfast. I crouch down to look under the chair, in case I accidently knocked it to the floor. Nope, not there either.
A soft knock at my door startles me. “Katrina?”
It’s Meredith. I hesitate before sighing and pulling the door open. She steps inside, her smile sympathetic.
“I just wanted to check on you,” she says gently.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
She studies me for a second and then sits on the edge of my bed, smoothing the folds of her skirt. “Your father means well, you know.”
I cross my arms. “He doesn’t trust me or my judgement.”
“He doesn’t trust Ichabod,” she corrects. “And honestly, I don’t know what to believe.”
I sink onto the bed beside her. “I know Ichabod hasn’t done anything, Meredith.”
She puts a hand on my knee. “How can you be so sure, love?”
I hesitate, wanting to tell her the whole truth but unsure how to broach it again. It hadn’t gone so well downstairs. “I just am.”
Meredith tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “I know you believe in him. But three people are dead, Katrina. The town is terrified.”
“He’s innocent.” I swallow hard. “And if he gets blamed, then the… real killer will still be out there.”
Meredith stands. “Just be safe, okay?”
I nod, but I know no-one in town is safe. Not with the Headless Horseman back.
Chatting with Meredith has calmed me slightly, but every time I think about my father falsely accusing Ichabod, my stomach clenches — especially after what I saw last night. Needing some air, I leave the manor house, slamming the heavy oak door behind me a bit harder than I intended.
The autumn air is crisp, biting against my heated skin as I march down the gravel path. My father’s words echo in my head, each one striking like a hammer. He’s wrong, and he could ruin an innocent man’s life if he feeds into the town gossip.
Lost in my thoughts, I nearly collide with Brom as he strides up the path. He steps back just in time, hands raised in defence. "Whoa, slow down there, Van Tassel. Where’s the fire?"
I exhale sharply. "I needed to get out of that house."
His expression shifts, a flicker of concern replacing his usual easygoing smirk. "I was actually just coming to see you. Thought you might need some company after... well, everything."
I fold my arms. "Everything what?"
Brom falls into step beside me, and we head towards town, our boots scuffing against the cobblestones. "Come on, Kat. You know what I mean. The rumours around town are getting worse."
I sigh. "Let me guess. You’re here to tell me to stay away from Ichabod too?"
Brom hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I know you don’t want to hear it, but... yeah. I think you should."
I stop walking, throwing my hands up in the air. "Not you as well!"
Brom looks resigned. "Kat…"
I stare into his eyes. Brom was the one who’d first brought the Headless Horseman up to me only those few short days ago. Would he believe me if I told him I knew what was really behind everything in this town?
“Why are you so quick to believe the rumours?” I ask. “A few days ago, you thought it was the Headless Horseman.” I let the sentence hang in the air between us, waiting.
Brom grimaces. "Oh, come on, Kat. I was joking around. You know, with Halloween coming up and everything. But this isn’t some stupid ghost story anymore. Three people are dead. That’s real. And I’ve heard they’re going to arrest him."
"What?" My stomach twists.
Brom nods. "The police chief wouldn’t do that without some solid evidence."
I shake my head. "No. No, they can’t. This is all wrong. Ichabod isn’t the killer, Brom."
Brom exhales through his nose, frustration creeping into his tone. "I know you like him, Kat, but how well do you even know him?"
"Stop asking me that," I snap.
His shoulders sag. "The police chief must have his reasons. We have to trust they know what they’re doing.”
"But I know he’s innocent!" I glare at him. "And if you were really my friend, you’d believe me."
His eyes darken. "I am your friend, Kat. That’s why I’m trying to stop you from getting wrapped up in all this."
I shake my head. "No. You think you know the truth, but you don’t. I can’t let Ichabod take the fall for this."
We stand there for a moment, the tension thick between us. Eventually, he mutters, "Fine. Do whatever you want. But don’t say I didn’t warn you."
Without another word, he turns and walks away, leaving me standing in the middle of the street.
I storm away in the opposite direction, my boots striking against the paving stones with sharp, angry steps. He doesn’t get it. None of them do. But how am I supposed to explain how I know Ichabod is innocent? And why is everyone so quick to believe the worst about him?
I round the corner and find myself on the narrow street where Ichabod lives, my breath still coming in furious bursts. The sight in front of me stops me dead in my tracks.
There’s a dark police car parked outside Ichabod’s flat. The back door of the vehicle is open, and standing beside it are two uniformed officers. Between them is Ichabod, hands cuffed behind his back.
My heart slams against my ribs.
I take a shaky step forward, but I don’t know what to do.
Ichabod’s face is pale, his dark eyes heavy with fear and resignation. As the officers guide him towards the back of the car, he looks around and his gaze finds mine. He shakes his head slightly.
The two officers move him into the backseat, closing the door with a finality that makes my stomach drop. As the car pulls away, I stand frozen, my fingers clenched into fists at my sides.
This can’t be happening.