SLEEPY HOLLOW: General of the Dead (Jason Crane Book 3)

by Gleaves, Richard

  “So that’s it,” said Andrew. “See you when we get back. Uh, see him. You know what I mean.”

  “Give me your cheek!” said Dianne, her lips searching the air.

  “You know he can’t move.”

  “Well, wherever your cheek is, I’m giving it a kiss. Mwah. Mwah. Mwah!”

  Jason exploded into tears, like the breaking of a dam. He strained toward her, to catch one of those kisses, but he was immobilized. She missed his cheek by an inch. He could smell her perfume.

  Oh, just a little closer, Mama. One more kiss before you go.

  “Be a good boy!” said Andrew, brightly. “This is Mom and Dad, signing off.” He gave a little salute with his free hand and lifted the other.

  The vision broke. The house on Three-Cornered Pond vanished.

  Jason felt a rising sensation, even as his heart sank. He was in the lighthouse again. Alone again. Imprisoned again. He sat hunched over his copy of Giant-Size X-Men #1 for a long time, rocking back and forth. When he came back to himself, he cried out and damned his tears.

  He had ruined his comic book after all.

  It had water damage.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  “The Hoofprint Society”

  Zef shielded his eyes from the morning sun and followed Jessica through the red double doors of Christ Episcopal Church. People milled about in the chapel, noshing morosely on sandwiches and sodas supplied by the Horseman Restaurant. Ichabod’s, he corrected himself. Jennifer the waitress puttered among the crowd, passing out flyers and patting shoulders. For the first time in Zef’s memory, her hair was sedately colored. But when she turned, he noticed a curler dangling in back. He hoped someone would work up the nerve to tell her.

  He broke away from his mom and strode through the crowd. Most of the people wore formal clothes. They’d come directly from even more funerals that morning. It hurt his heart to see their haunted faces. The air inside the church felt thinned by their grief. They were asphyxiating together, running out of oxygen as the chapel gathered their exhaled sobs and moans and prayers.

  Jessica took Zef’s elbow and led him to Washington Irving’s pew. A small bronze plaque marked it. If Irving had prayed here, no doubt Brom and Dylan had joined him. Father and son and the Legend author… Oh, this town had so many ghosts.

  Jessica tugged his sleeve and he sat, reluctantly, at her side.

  You okay? she asked, telepathically.

  Why are we even here?

  She patted his knee and held a finger to her lips. Training. I told you.

  Everyone took their seats, filling the pews. The mood in the chapel grew edgy, expectant. These people were fragile but holding their shards together, like the stained glass saints all around them. Except the saints wore colorful robes, and this crowd wore black.

  Jennifer strode to the podium. “Thanks for coming, everybody. Wow. Lots of you. I hope I made enough lemon bars.” The attempt at a joke fell flat. The crowd shifted uncomfortably. “Well, we know why we’re here. We all know what happened to our friends and… children, and who was to blame.”

  “Do we?” said a woman whose mascara had run. “Are we really… believing in…?”

  “He’s real. I saw him,” Jennifer said. “Who else is a witness?”

  About a dozen hands went up.

  “We know what we saw, right?”

  “The Headless Horseman,” whispered someone brave. A man in dark grey. He cringed, as if waiting for an explosion of laughter. It didn’t come.

  “The Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow,” said Jennifer. “Let’s just lay it out. There’s a real ghost in our town. Or something that looks like him. Something we can’t explain in normal reality. I know we’re all scared and… freaked out, but the Hoofprint Society is a safe place where we can talk about what we’ve seen. Anyone who laughs gets a kick in the rear. Got it? So… I’ll go first. I saw the Horseman for the first time ten years ago. I was working at my daddy’s Applebee’s franchise over to Saw Mill River road one night. End of October. We’d had a lot of kids in, a birthday party, and I was in a bad mood. I was out in the parking lot, lighting a cigarette, when I—”

  Jennifer froze, mid-sentence. Her arms lowered, as if she’d just… wound down. The whole crowd became motionless and blank. Zef turned in his seat, wondering why everyone was… lost in thought. Were they possessed? He braced himself for an attack.

  You with me, baby? Jessica asked, telepathically. I didn’t get you too, did I? Her eyes were pressed shut, her knuckles white.

  “You’re doing this?”

  Her eyes fluttered open and she winced. “I think I got them all, but I can’t hold them forever.” She rose and walked up the aisle, locking the big red doors. “Let’s get to work.”

  Zef frowned at her as she returned. “What work? Let these people go.”

  “You know what has to happen. What did you think we were doing here?”

  “You said ‘training,’ but…”

  “Look around. This outbreak is running wild. Paul’s team is scrambling to stay ahead of it, but they can’t be everywhere at once. They can’t stop people from sharing stories. But you and I can. It’s up to us to put this right.”

  “How?”

  “I’m going to show you. It’s a perfect opportunity.”

  Zef’s face screwed up. He didn’t like this. He waved a hand before the eyes of a woman in green. “I thought you had to touch people.”

  “Only to plant new thoughts,” said Jessica. “You can prime them remotely—that’s what I call it, like paint primer—if they’re not on guard. You have to catch them when they’re distracted, though. They can’t be looking at you. It doesn’t last long, and there’s a price: I’ll have a massive headache tomorrow. Remind me to grab some Tylenol at Rite Aid after?”

  “After what?”

  She touched the temple of the first society member, an elderly woman in widow’s weeds, and whispered, very deliberately, “You don’t believe in the Headless Horseman.” The woman relaxed, as if this news was a great relief. Satisfied, Jessica moved on to the next in line, a square-faced brute of a guy. “Neither do you, handsome.”

  “Neither do I,” the man announced, at once.

  “Ohh,” Jessica said, looking up. “He’s a susceptible one. Remember him.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Looks like a fun date.”

  “Stop.” Zef reached for her. “Why are you doing this? It’s not like they’re cursed.”

  “Trust your mother.” Jessica stepped sideways and touched the hands of two little girls, both at once. “You don’t believe in the Horseman, do you, girls?”

  They shook their heads in unison.

  Jessica continued her work. Zef watched the door, feeling miserable, expecting someone to catch them, hoping someone would. “You didn’t answer my question. Why is this even necessary?”

  Jessica finished the row and looked up. “What are we supposed to do? You’re right. They’re not cursed. But one thing leads to another. If they can believe in the Horseman, they can believe in us. If they believe in us, they’ll die. If they start dying, then others will start believing. It’s a chain reaction. The Appointed have seen it all before. This town is a nuclear reactor going critical. We can stop it.”

  “But if they know about the Horseman, they can fight him! They can defend themselves. If you make them forget, they’re sitting ducks.”

  “All right.” She straightened. “Say we let these people go on preaching that the Horseman exists. They put their videos on the internet. Blah blah. What do you think happens?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Exactly. We don’t know. It could be fine. Plenty of people believe in ghosts and the world keeps turning. But these people have proof. Not anecdotes, not ghost stories. Proof. They took pictures—though we’ve confiscated most of ’em—they corroborate each other. They’re convincing. They may not be cursed, but they can change the whole game.”

  “It’s not a game!” Zef spread his hands, ge
tting pissed off now. Anger beyond mere disagreement. Anger he couldn’t explain. “You haven’t lived here. I have. These are my neighbors. The kids that died were my friends. And now—what? They go through life not knowing what happened to their children?”

  “There’s no good options, baby.” Jessica started on the second pew, whispering into helpless ears, “You don’t believe in the Horseman. You don’t believe in the Horseman. The Horseman’s not real. You don’t believe in—”

  “Who are you to tell them what they believe?” Zef understood now why he was so pissed. Why do adults always think they can… climb inside your head and tell you what to think? Tell you who to be? Why can’t you have your own mind and feelings and… love who you love and believe what you believe and just be left the hell alone? He caught Jessica’s wrist. “Stop it!”

  She tore away, raised a palm, and barked, “Back. If you break my concentration I’ll lose these people.”

  “Good.”

  Jessica touched the head of a little boy with chocolate on his hands. “You don’t believe in the Headless Horseman.” The kid sucked his fingers and nodded. Zef sat in an open pew, tears rising. Jessica beckoned. “Don’t sulk, kiddo. Come here. I’ll show you how.”

  “No way.”

  “Then I’ll show you why.”

  “Why what?”

  “Why they need us.” Jessica took the hand of a middle-aged woman. “Did you see the Horseman, dear?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “How do you feel about that?”

  “I’m scared.” Tears rose in her vacant eyes. Her shoulders heaved as she made quick little gasps, a sound like the soft gritting of a hacksaw. “He—He—He—He—He’s going to kill us all. He’s out there. Oh, God. He’s out there.”

  “How are you sleeping?”

  “I don’t sleep. I see what he did. Over and over.”

  “What did he do?”

  Her hacksaw breathing slowed. “He—He—He—He chopped my little girl’s head off.”

  Zef covered his face. “Stop it, Mom.”

  Jessica pressed on. “What’s your name, dear?”

  “Margaret.”

  “And your little girl?”

  “Ellie.”

  “How old was Ellie?”

  “Fourteen.”

  “And what happened to her?”

  “We were at the game. She was… running from him. I called ‘Ellie! Ellie!’ but… he—he—he slit her throat. Her—her—her head flipped back like on a hi—hinge.”

  “Stop it,” said Zef.

  “Let her finish.”

  Margaret’s face went red and shiny and still. “I got it all over me. The blood. Hot, hot blood. I hid her in the back seat. But he’d taken her—her—her—head. He has it. He has her head. That’s why… closed… closed… closed casket.” Her voice became an axe, chopping, “Closed casket! Closed casket! Casket! Casket! Casket!”

  “That’s enough!” said Zef, standing.

  Jessica patted the woman’s hand. “Settle down, Margaret.” The woman went still, all chopped out.

  Jessica looked up at Zef. “Is she better off with these memories or without them?”

  “But she’ll remember her daughter?”

  “Of course. She’ll remember the daughter but forget the monster. Then she can sleep again.”

  Zef wiped his cheek. “How do I…”

  “Take her hand.”

  Zef obeyed. His index finger found the woman’s pulse. Her heart beat hysterically. Jessica released Margaret’s mind to him. He felt a psychic link forming, but tentatively.

  Jessica rubbed his back. “Imagine that you’re her. Step out of yourself, like you’re—”

  “Possessing her?” Zef stiffened.

  “No. Empathizing. Step into her shoes.”

  Zef concentrated, studying Margaret. A tiny safety pin glittered on her shoulder, holding the strap of her black mourning dress. Her nails were torn. She’d been chewing them. Her eyes were bloodshot. A flash of memory. She lay in the back of a parked car, soaked in blood, protecting her daughter’s body with her own.

  Zef began gasping, “He—He—He—He—”

  “Shh,” Jessica said. “Not so deep.”

  Zef pulled back a little, as if he were on the woman’s shoulder. Her guardian angel. Margaret stood at graveside. A red, bloody, desperate graveside. Closed casket. Closed casket. Burying just a part of her girl. The lesser part. She’d always know that, somewhere out there, a monster kept the head. A monster kept Ellie’s head. My baby’s hea—head. Green eyes. Freckled nose. The monster has my little girl. The thought would haunt her, haunt her forever, unless…

  “You don’t believe in the Headless Horseman,” he whispered.

  “I don’t?” Margaret asked, hopefully.

  “No.”

  She sighed. He felt her fear trickle away. Ellie’s screams grew distant, then faded altogether. The memory of the funeral turned sepia-toned. Sad, but not red and ghastly anymore. The horror of the homecoming game lessened. A bad thing had happened. A bad man had attacked them. Not a monster. Just a crazy person. He would pay for it in time. The back seat was forgotten. He saw Ellie as she’d been on the morning of the game, modeling her homecoming dress, happy and excited. That was a good memory.

  “I don’t believe in the Headless Horseman,” Margaret whispered.

  Zef let go of her hand.

  “Good job,” said Jessica, kissing his cheek. “You get it?”

  “I get it.”

  “Good. Now, let’s be quick with the rest.”

  They moved from person to person. Zef found the work growing easier after the fourth or fifth person he “nudged,” as Jessica called it. Almost perfunctory. “You don’t believe in the Headless Horseman. You don’t believe in the Headless Horseman. You don’t believe in the Headless Horseman.”

  Once they’d finished the whole group, Jessica said, “I’m so proud of you. You’re a natural. Wait until I tell Paul.”

  “What’s it to him?”

  “You kidding? Look how much he needs us. You and I might be the only telepaths left in the whole country, since all the other Pyncheons are gone. We’re a godsend to him. If I hadn’t wiped the crowd at Stone Barns, the elders might have cut him loose last spring.”

  “Wait. Stone Barns?”

  She made herself a hot tea from the concession table, fishing Advil from her pocket. “That was a tough job. Thirty witnesses. I was hurting for weeks. And you, you made a real impression on Paul.”

  “When?”

  “When you picked up that pistol to defend him.”

  “When I did what?”

  “When you shot at the Horseman. The Ice-Horseman, remember? That was a real act of loyalty.”

  Zef’s voice became slow and deliberate. “I never saw the Horseman before homecoming.”

  Jessica froze. She stirred her tea, turning her back to him. “Sorry. You’re right. Forget it.”

  Zef walked to her. “Did I? Did I forget it?” He could feel himself beginning to seethe, his hands balling into fists. “Did you wipe my memory?”

  “I would never do that.”

  “Jason said the Horseman attacked us. I called him a liar. I took him out of there, quick like a bunny. Was he telling the truth? That night’s always been… really blurry.”

  “I… We had to.”

  Zef whirled away and white-knuckled a pew, fighting an impulse to start punching the crowd. “We?”

  “Paul and I. You’d seen too much.”

  “So you wiped my brain. Like a… magnet to a hard drive.”

  “You were hysterical.”

  “I was inconvenient,” Zef snapped. “Like the rest of these people.” He spat curses, unable to stop himself even though he stood in a church. “And you had me thinking we were helping them!”

  “We are helping them.”

  “Like you ‘helped’ me?”

  “Yes. You weren’t ready for this. You’re my son. I did what I
thought was best.”

  “Best for you! How could you know what was best for me? You hadn’t seen me in ten years!” Zef paced back and forth up the aisle. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? If I’d seen the Horseman that night, I… I would have listened to Jason, for one thing. I wouldn’t have thrown him to Eddie Martinez. He wouldn’t have been in the hospital. We might—we might have become friends. Joey wouldn’t have been mad at me for so long. I might have… God… I might have suspected my dad sooner. Jason said he was a killer, but I thought he was making that Horseman shit up. I might have been able to stop Dad. Stop him before things went any further. You kept me in the dark when I was the only person he might have listened to. The one person he knew loved him.”

  “You can’t still love that—”

  “He’s my dad! And it was my job to save him. Mine. You stole that. You kept me from knowing. From knowing what he was. What if I did stop him? Back in January? Then what? Huh?” He pointed. “Margaret’s daughter would be alive. Ellie would be alive, not decapitated in her closed casket. All these people’s children would be alive. Your outbreak would never have happened. None of this would have happened!” He snatched up his jacket. “But you… knew… best.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “The hell away from you.”

  “Fine. I’ll see you at Lyndhurst tonight.”

  “I’m not coming.”

  “You know what happens if you don’t. I’ll see you at nine.”

  He opened the big red doors and scowled back at her. “You’re just as bad as he is.”

  Bang!

  The slam of the doors broke Jessica’s concentration.

  “And there he was!” cried Jennifer, awakening at the podium. “Coming over the top of the ridge, galloping fast as the Devil late to church!” She stopped. “Something wrong, dear?”

  The crowd had broken from its trance and had turned to stare at Jessica.

  “Sorry. Go on.” Jessica sat. She’d screwed up badly with Zef, as always. But he would come around. She was his mom. She was allowed a few… tiny mistakes.

  “And whoosh!” Jennifer continued. “He came galloping down the hill! Like a whirlwind! The dumpsters almost rolled away when he rode past.”