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

by Gleaves, Richard

  The two worlds met, and the result was happiness.

  The ghost of David Rittermeyer stepped into the Old Dutch Church and found his little boy asleep in a pew. “You can open your eyes now, kiddo,” he whispered. “Scary part’s over.”

  Buddy yawned. He rubbed his face and whispered, “I beat him, Daddy.”

  “Already? That was fast. What an awesome kid you are!” David gathered his energies and lifted his son, as if carrying him to bed at the end of a double-feature movie night. “You’re going to be a superhero someday, aren’t you? I’m proud of you, Buddy.”

  Buddy smiled big, still drowsing. David carried him outside, down the steps of the church, and left him in the arms of his weeping and confused mother. David kissed his speechless widow. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll have his bones back on in no time.” He took a deep breath, and in a ridiculous vampire accent whispered into Buddy’s little ear, “And now, I must avay to my coffin, young vun. But I vill rise again. Vatch for me at ze rising uff the moon!”

  Buddy giggled sleepily. “You’re silly, Daddy. Night night.”

  “Night night, son.”

  David kissed Buddy’s forehead. Then he winked at Jill. “That guy with the bent ear was checking you out. Be happy, baby.” He waggled fingers, and disappeared.

  Everyone in Sleepy Hollow believed in ghosts now. But not just the frightening sort. Not just the Heer of Dunderberg and the White Lady and the galloping Horseman. They believed in the ghosts of their grandparents, too, in the spirits of their lost friends and fallen classmates. They believed in lingering ancestors, in love and connections and family. They believed in reunions and healing and homecomings and…

  … and the Persistence of Good.

  All the ghosts began to disappear, whispering their final goodbyes. Their little window was closing. They left behind faces filled with hope and epic confusion. Valerie walked against the current of ghosts as they drifted up the hill, returning to Sleepy Hollow Cemetery.

  “Oh, spirits of the dead,” she whispered. “We come to you—with reverence and love. Be at peace. Be at peace. Be at peace.”

  When the last had gone, she resumed her humming, wandering through the burying ground, trailing fingers down the rows of headstones, like fins on the back of a beast: grey headstones, red headstones, baby headstones, broken headstones, tilted headstones, fallen headstones, headstones and headstones and headstones all marching down the hill.

  Zig, zig zig. What a saraband!

  They all hold hands and dance in circles.

  Zig, zig, zig. You can see in the crowd

  The king dancing among the peasants.

  But hist! All of a sudden, they

  Leave the danse,

  They push forward, they fly;

  The cock has crowed.

  Oh, what a beautiful night for the poor world!

  She hummed and danced among the graves, feeling wonderful, light and unafraid. But as she reached the south cemetery gate she saw her dented and cracked BMW sitting in the parking lot, and she muttered curses to herself.

  “I’m going to kill that kid.”

  Even after the last of the many injured and unconscious had been taken from the scene, no one went home. Tarrytowners wandered through the ashes of the pumpkin blaze, bewildered and confused, standing in little knots, talking things out. No one understood exactly what had happened. They whispered that the policeman’s son, Eddie Martinez, had been spirited away by an ambulance with a bullet between his eyes. Had the Horseman Killer been caught, finally? Eddie’d always been a bad seed. Fireman Mike was innocent, then. That was good. They always knew he didn’t do it. Nice man. Always with a ready smile. Only a fool would think him a murderer.

  But those were minor matters.

  Mostly they spoke of the things they’d seen. Those brief minutes when the dead had walked among them. Some crossed themselves and whispered prayers. Some cried, some jumped up and down with excitement. They’d seen ghosts! Ghosts were real! Everything had changed! The still burning jack-o’-lanterns in the trees felt like a host of attendant spirits. The orange faces nipping at their heels had never seemed more frightening, or more jolly.

  Jessica picked up a stranger’s fallen purse and took out a makeup kit. She sat at one of the picnic tables, did her face, and, satisfied, leaned back and lit a cigarette. She saw a man climb out of a black sedan, gaping at the scene. She raised a hand and caught his eye. He hurried down to her. He wore a long camel hair coat and a business suit.

  “Is Kate okay?” said Paul Usher.

  “She’s fine,” said Jessica, blowing smoke.

  “How do you know?”

  Jessica tapped her temple. “I just had a long conversation with Zef.”

  “So where is she?”

  “He wouldn’t say.”

  “Why not?”

  “Relax, Paul. I’m sure she’s in… safe hands.”

  “Oh, God,” groaned Usher. He collapsed to her side on the bench, watching the giddy crowd of new believers. “I can’t believe this is happening. How many were cursed?”

  “Hopefully none. They don’t remember what happened when they were under. I don’t think any witches were filmed either. That’s a blessing.” Jessica waved the glowing tip of the cigarette across the night sky, as if to underline the moment with a trail of smoke. “So! How are we going to cover this up?”

  “I don’t know.” Usher pressed a handkerchief to his face. “But if you want to keep sleeping with me you need to quit that nasty habit.”

  She flicked the lipstick-tipped butt into the half-empty millpond. “Is that a proposal?”

  A woman pushed through the crowd. Jennifer the waitress, founder of the Hoofprint Society. She put a sensible shoe on the bench between Jessica and Paul and heaved herself onto the picnic table, the wood groaning beneath her weight. She put two fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing whistle, so that the whole crowd turned to look up at her.

  “So!” she cried, planting a fist on each hip. “Who’s crazy now?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

  “Jason Loses”

  The wrought iron fence read, “O.C.A.”

  Gunsmoke ambled off the aqueduct trail and onto Gory Brook Road. Jason held the reins. Kate rode behind, her cheek against his shoulder and one arm around his waist. The empty reliquary dangled from her free hand. They rode in silent moonfall, minds exhausted, hearts full, listening to the three-note song of the crickets. The streetlights were dark, the power still out. Jason had never seen the stars so bright. The world was on hold. Everything was on hold. Tomorrow would come, with a blaze of electric bulbs and car horns and traffic sounds, but for now it might have been 1799 again, and Jason and Kate might have been Ichabod and Katrina, riding home after a frolic.

  Number 417 sat dark and silent. The mailbox lay broken in the grass. Zef’s cruiser was parked in the road.

  “Are we sure about this?” said Jason.

  “Let’s have a look.”

  Jason tugged Gunsmoke’s reins and the horse clopped down the drive, coming to a stop next to the detached garage. Kate climbed down, took the reins, and tied them to the fallen log at the bottom of the property. She raised the golden reliquary. “Where do we put this?”

  Jason dropped to the ground and took the thing from her. He dropped it into one of the recycling bins. “Good a place as any for now. I wish we’d found the skull.”

  “It still might turn up.”

  “That’s what scares me.” He crossed the lawn and climbed the thirteen steps. The house was dark, and he could see nothing through the breakfast room window. He tried the knob. Locked. That was fine. He had no intention of going inside. He just wanted to be sure.

  “Nobody home,” he said, climbing back down.

  “Good.” Kate patted Gunsmoke’s neck. “Let’s see this famous RV.”

  They went into the garage. Jason climbed into the RV and thumbed a switch. The fluorescents fluttered to life. The old camper was exactly as
he’d left it. The apple-shaped cookie jar sat in its place of pride. A red Scrabble box poked out from beneath the bunk. The magnetic poetry on the mini fridge whispered:

  LOVE

  YOU

  “I like it,” said Kate. “I like it a lot.”

  So did Jason. The RV still felt like home, still safe, still protected. The Gatewood Guide to Genealogy lay on the blankets of the bottom bunk. He frowned at the writing in red across the cover. Sie sterben an der Brücke. He pressed his palm to the book, and with a flash, the writing vanished. Jason checked inside the cover, worried, but Eliza’s spidery notes still remained. He kissed the book and laid it down again.

  “Your Gift still working?” said Kate, handing him a warm soda.

  “It’s a little sluggish, but…” He concentrated. Another flash. “Yeah.” He handed the soda back to her, now cold. “Thank God my hands stopped glowing. I can join the human race without cursing anyone. What about you?”

  “Oh, definitely,” said Kate. “And it’s stronger than it was. I can really feel the difference. I’m… buzzing.” She grinned. “Where are the towels?”

  Jason pointed. “Under there.”

  “Thanks.”

  They were whispering, he noticed, as if they were in church. Kate found a blue towel and began drying her hair. Jason sat on the bottom bunk, drawing a blanket around himself. He felt none of the usual nervousness around Kate. No fear of making a fool of himself or saying the wrong thing. Only happiness as he watched her towel her hair dry.

  “We did it,” he whispered, but she didn’t hear.

  She found the first aid kit, wet the towel in the sink, knelt in front of Jason and tended his wounds like a professional. She wiped his face with the towel. The water felt good and the nearness of her was intoxicating.

  “What did you see?” he asked.

  “When?”

  “When we coupled. You borrowed my Gift. Did you see the past?”

  Kate frowned. “I… don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…” She found peroxide and washed his scratched arms and hands. “I might have seen something I shouldn’t have. Something that nobody’s seen before, not remembered, anyway. I saw… the Spirit World.”

  “What?”

  “I saw you and me in the Spirit World. I saw… Him.”

  “What was he?”

  “I said I don’t want to talk about it. It’s… creeping me out. I saw… the face of… death.”

  “He’s death?”

  “I don’t know… Just drop it.” She pulled the wet towel up and down his forearms. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because I saw something too.”

  “Through my Gift?”

  “Yeah. I know something now. About the future.”

  “Do I want to hear?”

  “You tell me.” He leaned down, meeting her eye, and spoke very slowly and gently. “I know why you saw Zef at the altar and not me.”

  She rose onto her knees. “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah. But—I don’t know if I should tell you. I—really want this future to come true.”

  She rested her hands on his knees. “Nothing is set in stone. Good or bad. Tell me… and we’ll figure it out.” She took up some antibiotic gel and continued nursing his injuries.

  Jason kissed her forehead and took a deep breath.

  “You were fighting off Agathe, and then… you kissed me, and we coupled. It was just like the Spirit Dance. Golden energy.”

  “Yeah.” She smiled a little.

  “I saw your future. I was you. I was wearing a white dress and a veil, and I heard the organ playing inside the Old Dutch Church. I thought I was late, that I’d missed my cue, so I went running inside. I rushed around to the left side and I was standing at the head of the aisle. The pews were filled. There were flowers. And at the far end, at the altar… was Zef.”

  “Wearing…”

  “A blue suit and a grey tie. Just like you said.”

  “But I would never marry Zef! Not now. He’s—”

  “Let me finish. So I’m standing in the aisle, I’ve got flowers in my hand, and Zef, like, rolls his eyes and points. Somebody tugs at my elbow. It’s Joey. He says… ‘Wait your turn, lady, you’re ruining my entrance.’ I pull up the veil and he’s standing there, wearing a blue suit just like Zef’s, but he’s got this green carnation in the lapel. He grinned, real big, said, ‘Showtime,’ and walked up the aisle himself.”

  “To Zef?”

  “Yeah. His dad gave him away.”

  “So, why was I there?”

  “You’d just made a mistake. You stepped into Joey’s aisle by accident. But… the Old Dutch Church has…”

  “It has two aisles,” she whispered.

  “Should I tell you the rest?”

  “I think I know.”

  “You… backed up, went around to the other aisle. And… ‘Here Comes the Bride.’ On the organ. Right over your head. I was waiting at the altar, Kate, next to Zef and Joey. I guess I could only see you. You put the veil down and… the vision ended. You saw Zef because…”

  “He’s my best friend.”

  “And Joey’s mine. So, of course…”

  Her eyes were bright. “Of course we’d have a double wedding.” She and Jason laughed through a sudden rush of tears.

  “Should we tell them?” Jason said.

  She rose, thinking. “No. Let it happen naturally.”

  “Are you sorry I told you?”

  She blinked with surprise. “No. I’m relieved. It’s… perfect.”

  “Then…” Jason went down on one knee. “How about…”

  “Oh, no,” she said. “Get up. Not now.”

  Jason rose hurriedly and returned to the bunk, feeling stupid. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. But what did you tell me when I thought Zef was going to propose on New Year’s? We’re too young, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  She put the first aid kit away. “Do you have some clothes I can borrow?”

  “Oh, uh… sure. In the little dresser there.”

  “Thanks.” She explored Jason’s shirts and sweatpants. She began pulling off her wet things—discarding the wedding dress. Jason averted his gaze, staring at his muddy feet. After a minute, he hazarded a glance. Kate had changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt of his. The one with the piñata on it.

  “Besides,” she said. “We haven’t even slept together yet.” She bounded up the ladder, disappearing, falling with a soft thump on the bunk above his head.

  Jason sat on the bottom bunk, feeling miserable. He took his shoes off and set them aside. He stripped off his wet socks. Does anything make you feel worse than a marriage proposal that gets shot down? Twice now he’d gone to one knee, and twice he’d made a hash of it. He’d probably set their relationship back a hundred—

  “Eyes up here, mister.” Kate hung from the bunk above, her hair dangling, backlit and golden. “You okay?”

  “Sure. I was just going to bed.”

  “Down there?”

  “Sure. Where… else?”

  She kissed him, upside down like Spider-Man. Passionate and hot and inviting. “I did say… ‘yet.’”

  She gave a mischievous smile and disappeared.

  The kiss lingered on Jason’s lips. He’d been exhausted a second ago, drained by so many battles and tests. But now… he had all the energy in the world. He shot to his feet, hitting his head on the top bunk. “Ow!” He stood, rubbing the bump, and turned around. “So you’re saying…”

  Kate hid beneath her pillow. “I’m not saying anything,” came the muffled voice.

  “Can I… climb up?”

  She peeked out. “Free country.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She flipped the pillow aside. “No, I’m not sure. We’ve been through so much. But… tomorrow, the second my dad sees me, he’s going to drag me off to Boston. Maybe for good. You know he will. Another chance migh
t not come around again.” She kissed him, one hand firm on the back of his neck. “We need something good to happen.”

  He put one foot on the ladder, but stopped. “One second.” He pulled the green felt dragon from his pocket and put it on the lower bunk. Three photos hung taped to the wall there. Carl Sagan, scientist and skeptic; Howard Carter, discoverer of King Tut’s tomb; and Eliza, in her pilot’s jacket, posing next to her Cessna. Eliza’s advice came to him, but in his own voice: The body is a temple. When the time comes, be choosy where you worship. He took a deep breath and turned Eliza’s picture around to face the wall.

  He turned the lights off and shed his wet things as he climbed the ladder to Kate. He took his time—rung by rung, hand over hand. He slipped in next to her, kissing her reverently, skin to skin. They linked fingers, the magic began, and they made of their narrow bunk… an altar.

  Joey sat in the office chair next to his computer, studying his collection of Broadway Playbills. They were all out of order. They needed alphabetizing. Or maybe he would arrange them by year. Chronological by opening night. He needed to get on that. He’d been very careless, letting them get all jumbled. How the hell did Peter Pan get sandwiched between Billy Elliot and The Lion King?

  He hugged his stuffed koala to his chest. His knees bobbed. He couldn’t concentrate on the Playbills. There were too many distractions. He kept thinking about the situation, how his mom was still at the hospital, how the house was empty, how Zef was… staying over. He and Zef in an empty house. He and Zef in the same room. His room. His bedroom. You know, a room with a… bed.

  He kept looking at the bathroom door. Zef was in there. He’d be out in a minute, trailing a cloud of steam. Was the room hot? Was it cold? Why was he sweating?

  Joey’s house still had power, but the only light burning was the one over Booger’s habitat—the infrared bulb that kept the turtle warm at night—a little purple moon that reflected off the water of Booger’s pond, casting ripples across the ceiling. Romantic and soft…