Chapter eighteen
It had been too long. The Horseman paced back and forth, carving a path in the fallen leaves as he waited. He should have convinced Katrina to stay. What if the witch harmed her? How could he live with himself if Katrina never returned?
His stomach lurched at the thought. Minutes turned into an hour, and the longer he paced, the more his thoughts raced with the worst possibilities.
He attempted to follow the path to the witch’s abode, but something prevented him from crossing.
Slamming his fist against it, his hand collided with an invisible barrier as solid as stone.
Inferno snorted as if laughing at him when he winced and snatched his bruised fist away. He could only helplessly wait.
Soft footsteps crunched over fallen leaves.
The Horseman straightened, straining to lean as far as he could against the barrier to see if it was Katrina.
As soon as she emerged around the bend, the Horseman wished to race to her side, but the wall forced him to halt.
When she approached, a vacant look in her eyes made him pause, and dread squeezed his gut like a vise clamp.
“Are you well?” he asked, his eyes darting over her face to check for injuries. “Did she hurt you?”
She shook her head. “She didn’t hurt me. I am well,” she said, but her gaze fell to the ground.
“What happened?” he asked, his heart beating with panic. Perhaps the witch had cast a spell on her, or… she could have revealed a horrible truth he didn’t know he could stomach.
Katrina looked up at him, her expression uncertain. She opened and shut her mouth a few times as though weighing her words. The longer she hesitated, the more his nerves began to crawl under his skin.
“She said that you are Willem Van den Broek,” she whispered at last.
An icy hand gripped his heart, stealing his breath.
Deep down, he’d known, yet to have it confirmed by another source was a different matter.
The name clung to him like a shadow, familiar but unrecognizable.
After living as a headless specter for fourteen years, he grappled with the new identity, unsure if he deserved the name.
“How does she know this?” he asked.
Katrina expelled a long breath. “Because she cursed you,” she whispered.
Time stilled around him. His chest tightened as he stared at Katrina’s frown. Despite sensing this truth all along, the old sense of dread raced through his beating heart. “What have I done to deserve such punishment?”
She scoffed, and the sound made him flinch. Had the witch’s words changed Katrina’s view of him?
“She said she cursed you because she was driven by her grief—a mother’s grief,” Katrina explained.
The Horseman’s mind spun. “What does that mean?” He suddenly felt he was teetering on the precipice, anticipating the pain when he inevitably fell into the void.
Katrina fidgeted with a curl, and he placed a hand on her arm, hoping to reassure her that, no matter what, he wouldn’t be upset with her. But he could not promise he wouldn’t be upset with himself.
“Please tell me,” he said.
Katrina bit her lip, avoiding his gaze. “I’m afraid of what will happen if I tell you.”
His heart drummed louder. “What manner of thing did I do that was so terrible you’re afraid to speak of it?”
After another beat, she let out another sigh.
“Hildegard said you were tromping around her property and smashed one of her pumpkins. That was when she found you, alone and scared. She saw your horse and surmised you had stolen it from someone of a higher rank in the war. She then realized you had abandoned your post. You had deserted the army, and her son had passed recently in battle. In her wrath, she cursed you so you might live as the specter you are now. But you’re not a ghost,” she said, her breath catching.
Her crystal eyes peered up at him. “You’re still alive. ”
Shock jolted through him, spreading dread through every crevice of his body.
At first, his mind couldn’t grasp her words, seeming to shield him from the truth.
Then, the memories surged into him: growing up as a sickly boy, his father’s disappointment, and his desire to prove himself once he finally gained strength at fourteen and ran off to be a soldier.
A gap of darkness obscured the rest, and he could not recall the moment he deserted the battle.
A part of him was relieved. He did not wish to remember how pathetic he must have been, abandoning his comrades in their fight for independence—everything he’d hoped to achieve was undone by one cowardly act.
A hand on his cheek startled him from the reeling memories. He gasped at the foreign touch.
How was this possible? He had no face to speak of. But her chilled fingers against his skin were not a figment of his imagination. He looked down, finding the hazy shape of a nose in his sight, and he jerked away in shock.
His gaze flew up to hers, where a frown sat on her lips. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice dipped with pity—the sound ground against his heart. Her hand retreated. “Your face is disappearing again. I thought it might remain once your memory returned.”
A tremor ran down his arms. “I still have some recollections of the past, but I… I do not remember it all.”
Katrina’s eyes flashed up in surprise. “You don’t?”
“No, I don’t. I don’t wish to remember this.”
“But…” she said, taking a step toward him. He backed away, unable to bear the weight of shame slamming down on him. Her eyes rounded with sadness… and more pity.
He could not bear the look. He imagined he could handle her hatred, her disgust, but pity? It drove through his stomach, eating every inch of dignity he had left. He did not want her pity. He wanted more—so much more…
She’d never look at him the same. His body screamed to run—to be the coward he had always been.
“Sleepy Hollow is that way,” he said, his voice as hollow as his neck. He pointed to a different path. “You should find the church within half an hour.”
Without another word, he strode toward Inferno and mounted him.
“Wait,” she said, her voice inclining in panic. “Where are you going?”
He gripped the reins and snapped them. Inferno mirrored his panic, rearing back on his hind legs before he broke into a run.
“Willem!”
The foreign yet familiar name chased him like a haunting echo. But he couldn’t look back. He fled into the dark forest, wishing it would swallow him whole.