Chapter 27
Isit on the edge of my bed, staring at the floor but not really seeing it. My mind is empty.
It’s too much to take in, everything that has happened in the last few weeks. My mother’s sudden death, being sent to this town, a stranger in my own father’s house. Everything I’d learned about him, the good and the bad, and now this.
He’s gone.
A week ago, I wonder if I would have grieved for him.
We were never close, but now I know he had no other choice.
He wasn’t a good man, but I can see now that he wasn’t entirely bad either.
He did terrible things in the name of protecting this town, his home that he was bound to and couldn’t leave.
He was willing to sacrifice an innocent man to keep us all safe.
And in the end, he died taking one last stance against the evil that haunts Sleepy Hollow.
I tried to save him.
I thought I could. I thought I could buy us more time.
I wipe at my face with trembling fingers. My cheeks are hot and sticky from the tears that stopped a while ago, but I still feel raw and empty inside.
None of it matters anymore.
He’s gone and the Horseman is free.
And it’s my fault.
I squeeze my eyes shut, gripping the bedsheets, and try to listen for any noise outside. The town is silent outside my window, but it’s only a matter of time.
The past week plays behind my eyes like a movie on a loop. Arriving, Brom and I rekindling our friendship. Another person I had lost along the way after our fight. My father keeping his distance, as he always has. Meredith, poor Meredith, being so open and welcoming. The deaths. The Horseman.
And of course, Ichabod.
There’s a soft knock at the door. I can’t bring myself to answer it, but the door opens slowly anyway.
“I thought you might be up here.” Ichabod’s voice is quiet.
I don’t look up. I can’t.
A moment later, the bed dips as he sits beside me. He doesn’t speak straight away, he just sits there, a silent but comforting presence. He bumps my shoulder with his uninjured one.
“So, I finally get to see your room. I like what you’ve done with the place.” He motions at the bundle of clothes I have piling up in the corner.
The corner of my mouth lifts, but my eyes remain glued to the floor.
“Meredith and Toby are in his room, down the hall,” he continues. “She’s trying to keep him calm but… it can’t be easy.”
My throat aches as I swallow around a hard lump.
He shifts his weight, and I can tell he’s turned to look at me. “You can’t blame yourself for this. Any of it.”
I let out a short, bitter laugh. “Can’t I?”
“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.
But now, I’m filled with an overwhelming urge to know him better. I want to barge inside, pull open all the drawers, pore over all the papers inside.
My hand hovers over the brass doorknob. For a moment I hesitate. It feels wrong, like his presence is still here, ready to scold me for breaking this boundary.
I think of all the secrets and lies.
I push the door open and step inside.
The heavy drapes are tied back, framing the window.
Floor-to-ceiling bookcases line the walls, stuffed full, spines gleaming in the moonlight.
There’s another great fireplace on the far wall.
It hasn’t been cleaned recently and ash from the last fire my father warmed himself with spills onto the hearth.
A large mahogany desk takes up most of the floor space.
The tabletop is neat and orderly, waiting to be used again. But it never will be.
I take a deep breath and move inside the room, circling the desk. My fingers trail over the ornate detail of the wood.
And then I see the photographs.
There’s a large one on the desk, more scattered along the shelves.
Pictures of me.
A lump forms in my throat as I pick up the large frame. It’s a black and white photo of me as a toddler, sitting in my mother’s lap. We’re both smiling widely at the camera.
He kept this sitting on his desk every day?
On the mantelpiece there are more, large and small, some with frames, some without. I recognise my grandparents in one. All the people seem familiar, look a little bit alike. It feels like a shrine to the Van Tassel family.
I sink into the large office chair and put my head in my hands. Generations of Van Tassels have kept Sleepy Hollow safe. Now it’s up to me.
I spin myself around to face the desk and sit up straight, trying to channel Philip Van Tassel. He was always so assured, so knowledgeable.
Tears prick the backs of my eyes, and I wipe the back of my hand under my nose.
I freeze when I spot the small leather journal sitting in the middle of my father’s desk. The diary of the original Katrina Van Tassel. I’d been so engrossed in her tale, I’d been reading it for days. Until it had simply vanished from my room. What’s it doing in here?
I huff a laugh through my nose. Philp Van Tassel. Of course he had taken it, I should have known.
I pick the diary up, turning it over in my hands. I fan through the pages. Why did he take it from me? What is in here that he didn’t want me to see?
Despite the chaos around me, curiosity gets the better of me.
I have to know what else is in here. In the last entry I had managed to read, Katrina’s soldier had been taken from her, and her father was demanding she go through with her marriage to a total stranger.
I need to know how her story ends. I flip to the entry dated 4 November 1819 and pick up where I left off.