Sleepy Hollow: Rise Headless and Ride

by Richard Gleaves

  The doctor paused to let that sink in.

  Kate noticed that Hadewych was staring downwards – at Eliza’s purse, which lay by Jason’s leg.

  “I want to see her,” said Jason.

  “You should,” said Hadewych, his head snapping up.

  The doctor considered, shrugged. “Maybe you can calm her down.”

  “Is she violent?” said Zef.

  “Oh, no,” said Tamper. “Whatever she’s fighting, it’s in here.” He tapped his temple.

  Jason shot to his feet and turned back to the group.

  “She needs me,” he said. He looked at Kate, and silently mouthed “Thank you.”

  She nodded. Jason and Doctor Tamper hurried away. Hadewych pivoted and took Jason’s chair. He patted Kate’s left knee. “You can go now,” he said. “Zef will take you home.” Her boyfriend stood near the door, trying to get the candy machine to accept a wadded bill. The machine refused and stuck his dollar out like a taunting tongue. Zef punched it in the glass.

  “You’ve been a good friend to Jason,” said Hadewych. “You are just friends?” He leaned in, raising eyebrows.

  “Of course,” she said.

  “Of course. You’re a good girl,” Hadewych said. “I tell Zef all the time ‘Kate is a keeper.’ If he’s smart, I hope to have a daughter-in-law just like you.”

  “That’s not Zef’s call,” she said. But she smiled.

  “I know. But it is my most fervent wish,” said Hadewych. He kissed her cheek. “Give your father my best?” Hadewych said.

  Kate nodded.

  Zef returned with a handful of kisses. He took Kate’s arm. She glanced back at the door. Hadewych was perusing a green folder that he had slipped from Eliza’s purse.

  Poor Jason, Kate thought on their way out. He does seem like a nice boy.

  #

  Jason badgered Doctor Tamper into letting him sit with Eliza through the night. The doctor agreed, noting that Jason’s presence did seem to calm her. Eliza’s breathing became regular. Jason brushed her hair with his fingers, bringing it into some semblance of order. He talked to her, about nothing much except his love. Her lips moved endlessly, silently. Around dawn, her mouth opened in surprise, and that is how she remained through the morning. The nurse warned that Eliza’s throat might dry out. Jason was given a sponge on a plastic stick. He wet her tongue and the insides of her cheeks every ten minutes. Her eyes opened, staring fixedly. They were drying out, too, but he could not force her to blink. They brought saline at his request. Hadewych came in around ten a.m., bringing Jason caffeine pills and an Egg McMuffin. Jason dozed sporadically throughout Sunday, his head on the bed by her knee. He woke in the late afternoon to find her gripping his hand painfully. Her eyes were bright with triumph.

  “I beat him,” she croaked.

  “Who?” Jason said.

  She nodded and grinned.

  “I kicked his sorry – ” But her head fell back on the pillow, exhausted. “Oh. I beat him.” She sighed and smiled. “I didn’t go – easy. I beat him.”

  “Who did you beat?”

  She whispered something he couldn’t make out. A name? It sounded like “Head” something.

  Hadewych?

  She stared at the ceiling.

  “Did someone attack you?”

  She raised her other hand and patted Jason’s head.

  “Good boy,” she said.

  “Can you hear me?” Jason said.

  The heart monitor skipped a beat. He stabbed the button to call the nurse.

  “Eliza? Eliza?”

  He laid both his hands on hers.

  Jason stood in the attic of the old house in Augusta, Maine. Late afternoon sunlight shone through the dormer windows, and dust motes leapt through shafts of light like children playing in a lawn sprinkler. He glanced down and saw little legs and feet and red shoes badly tied. They stepped from beam to beam, over air conditioner ducts and cotton-candy tufts of insulation.

  Careful, kid. Don’t fall through the sheetrock.

  At the end of the attic, under the beautiful rose window that so many visitors admired from the lawn, Grandpa John had laid sheets of particleboard to make storage space. Jason watched his stubby fingers opening boxes, discovering old flower arrangements and Christmas tree ornaments and warped LP records that had been foolishly stored. One box contained a trove of titillating paperbacks from the sixties: Passion Carnival… Hospital of Sin… The Flesh Peddlers. He remembered sneaking some of these downstairs when he was older, but in this vision he tossed them aside, not yet old enough to know that a boob was a boob.

  He fought the vision.

  Stop this. I’m in the hospital room. Eliza needs me!

  The afternoon sun and skipping dust overpowered everything else.

  He moved on to a trunk of clothes – an army uniform (Whose had that been?) – a box of porcelain cups. Picture albums.

  What is this vision? What object am I reading? How am I seeing this?

  “Oh, we’ve got a little prowler,” said Eliza.

  She had been watching him the whole time, from the top of the pull-down attic stairs.

  This is a memory of hers. A memory of me. I’m reading her – she’s struggling for life and I’m reading her memories. Is her life flashing before her eyes? Why this, why this day?

  “I’s just lookin’,” said Jason.

  Eliza gasped dramatically. “At what?”

  She climbed up. She wore jeans (which Jason hadn’t seen her wear in ages), red sneakers, and a bandanna around her neck. She was suntanned from gardening. Her hands were bare, he noticed. She was either between husbands or had taken the ring off to keep it clean.

  “Who’s that?” said Jason, pointing at a picture. A grey woman in grey dungarees stood by a grey Packard. She held her grey head proudly against a grey sky and blew a kiss with black lips.

  “My aunt Tab,” she said.

  “And him?”

  A bald man grinned from a scalloped photo, his colorized cheeks strangely peach and rouged.

  “Uncle Joe.”

  In the next one a pretty blonde raised arms in triumph. The scoreboard above registered a strike.

  “Is this Mama?”

  “No. That’s your cousin Regina.”

  “I want a picture of my mama and daddy. Where are they?”

  “On my dresser, of course.”

  He found loose sheaves of photos in a shoebox. He scattered the pictures across the particleboard. Some fell face down, just scribbled names and dates. Others were obscured, a raised hand or an eye peering from behind the others. Yet a hundred faces looked up at the little boy and the old woman – a dozen Bicycle decks of kings and queens and one-eyed jacks and jokers. And, even now, Jason couldn’t recognize one quarter of them.

  “These are my people,” said Eliza. “They won’t matter to you, Honey. And when I’m gone…” She gazed off, patted her knees to get his attention. “You know what? I’m going to write it all down. So you’ll know. See – here’s your daddy’s box. Your daddy and his daddy and his daddy too.”

  Andrew Crane smiled from the deck of a fishing boat.

  Adam Crane posed with his young bride.

  Jack Crane posed stiffly in a hard-backed chair.

  And all three wore gloves.

  Jason stopped breathing. No – he was breathing fine. Wasn’t he? Something felt wrong. What did it mean? Did his father and grandfather and even great-grandfather all possess the same ability he did? And, if so, why did she never tell him? Was she trying to tell him now?

  “All these people,” said Eliza, putting a palm to his chest, “are in you, Honey. Your daddy and his daddy and his daddy and your mama and my Arthur. All of them are in you. And a little of me, too. At least a little bit? Huh?” She put the other hand around his back and pushed her palm tight against his heart. He looked down. She tweaked his nose. “Gotcha!” She laughed.

  Eliza swept the photos into the box and lifted it.

  “Let’s
look at these downstairs! It’s time I did something with them. Maybe I’ll start a new hobby.”

  Little Jason sneezed.

  “God bless you,” she said, laughing. “Get out of this dust or you’ll catch asthma, Honey. And tie those shoes. You’ll break your neck.”

  He fumbled with his laces. She kissed his head with an enormous “mwah” sound and walked away. She turned back and stepped onto the ladder, grabbing the rail with one strong hand and cradling a box of memories under her arm.

  He watched as she backed down into the square of light.

  #

  “I said move,” said Dr. Tamper, pushing Jason aside. Jason’s hands were ripped from Eliza’s. A nurse pulled him over to the bathroom door. Someone dropped a plastic cup over Eliza’s face, squeezing a bulb. Machinery rolled about like bumper cars.

  Jason staggered into the hall and cried.

  His hand went to his chest, where her palm had lain on his heart.

  He slipped to the floor.

  There would be no miracles. He knew that.

  He had felt her last kiss; heard her last “God bless you.”

  And he had watched her go.

  28 THE LEGACY

  Bad memories flooded over Valerie. This was the hospital where they had installed her valve, ten years ago. Oh, how they came back, those bad, rotten, no-good, ugly memories. All those feelings. Shame at being attacked by her own mother. Pain, of course, and also fear – fear that she would never be loved again, that no man would want to hear pillow talk from a woman who sounded as she did. The endless hours of rehab and counseling. Hadewych had stood by her through all of that. She had come to depend on him. What if she couldn’t depend on him any longer? Impossible. They were a team.

  She roamed the corridors, searching. She could still hear the sound of that ventilator – filling her up until she would burst.

  She dreaded seeing Hadewych. The tarot reading had made her feel that Hadewych had been deceiving them all somehow. And her mother had taught her that the cards must be given their due.

  “There you are.” Hadewych waved from the end of a corridor. They walked to each other and met in the middle.

  “Zef – told me,” Valerie said. “How – is Eliza?”

  “Dead,” said Hadewych.

  Valerie backed away, clattering into a gurney. Her hand found a pillow there and clutched it for support.

  Hadewych had announced it with a smile.

  “What… what did you do?” she said.

  She saw no shock in Hadewych’s face, only a flash of annoyance.

  “Do?”

  “You’re smiling.”

  Hadewych pulled his face into an unconvincing semblance of grief. “She’s out of pain,” he sighed. “How can we not be grateful for that?”

  “Grateful? This is our – friend!” She hit him with the pillow. His eyes darkened.

  “Acquaintance. And collaborator,” he corrected.

  Valerie gaped at him.

  “And a very sweet old woman,” he concluded. He sniffed a bit and held up a hand. He turned away and collected himself. But when he turned back the smile had returned. He couldn’t help himself.

  Valerie dropped the pillow. She threw herself at him and beat at his shoulders with her fists. He grabbed her arms and cursed.

  “What is this?” he spat. He pushed her back into an alcove next to an ice machine. She stumbled against a mop bucket and grey water splashed her stocking.

  He waited, holding her by the wrists, until she quit struggling. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t engage her valve.

  “I will not be struck for no good reason,” he said coldly. “I’ve done nothing. Nothing but indulge you. I brought Eliza here because you wanted me to. You wanted the tomb opened more than I did. I knew we wouldn’t find anything. I knew it was a waste of time. But we did it, and now this woman is dead.”

  He loosened his grip, brought her hands down and held them at her side.

  “I don’t blame you,” he added. “It was an accident. No one is to blame. But it’s your fault she came here. Don’t put this on me.”

  Valerie’s mouth opened and she made a feeble attempt at words.

  “Don’t say anything. I don’t want to hear it.”

  He let her hands go. Her fingers went to her valve and he slapped them away.

  “Please,” he said. “Spare me the noise.”

  “Noise?”

  “Yes, noise.” He imitated her, brutally. “Hadewych. Hadewych. Hadewych. It’s like thumbtacks in my ears.”

  “Hade – ”

  “Shut up,” he said. “Shut up shut up shut up! I can’t listen to that right now. I’m too upset.”

  She hesitated, but engaged her valve. He winced before she even spoke. “She – adored you.”

  “I don’t need adoration,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’m tired of all you adoring women. You strangle me. Do you know that?” He wrapped hands around an invisible neck. “You strangle me. You’re paranoid and superstitious and you have these ridiculous fantasies that I try to – I’m the one that should have the locks on my door. To protect me from the crazy woman who imagines I’m her boyfriend.”

  “You’re – not?”

  He shook his head, like a pet owner who has discovered yet another mess on the rug. “Valerie. It’s time we were frank with each other. Our supposed ‘relationship’ – it’s just another fantasy rolling around in your head.”

  She pulled to the right, batting the handle of the mop away as she tried to escape him. She got around him. She held her hands up, warding off emotional blows. He followed as she stumbled into the hall.

  “What, then – ” she said, bleakly, “were the past ten years?”

  Hadewych looked at her with infinite regret and kindness.

  “Pity,” he said.

  Valerie ran down the hall, through two sets of double doors. She ran through Radiation, through Emergency, and didn’t stop until she staggered into a rainy twilight parking lot.

  #

  Jason stared out the window of the Mercedes. Night had fallen again. He had been awake for over twenty-four hours. His energy ebbed away with the fall of rain, disappearing into the gutters – into the little river, into the Hudson and out to sea.

  “I’m so sorry,” said Hadewych, turning out of the hospital drive and right onto Broadway.

  “What do I do now?” said Jason, after a minute of silence.

  “Nothing. Let me handle things. The… arrangements.”

  Jason turned to look at him. Beyond Hadewych’s shoulder, Sleepy Hollow Cemetery drifted past.

  Her funeral. He’s talking about her funeral.

  “Don’t I have to?”

  “No,” Hadewych said. “That’s the executor’s job.”

  “You?”

  “She asked it of me. She didn’t know anyone in Sleepy Hollow.” Hadewych sighed and shook his head. “I never dreamed this would happen.”

  The Old Dutch Church looked solemn and sad as they drove past.

  “I’ll want to confirm that,” Jason said.

  “Of course,” said Hadewych. “I have the will. We’ll see the lawyer in the morning.”

  “I can’t even think about it,” said Jason.

  Philipsburg Manor looked like a haunted dollhouse. They crossed the Headless Horseman Bridge and stopped at the light.

  “I called McCaffrey…”

  “No,” Jason cut him off. “Not him.”

  “He’s a friend. He adored Eliza.”

  Jason rose in his seat and slapped the dashboard. “No. No. No. Anyone but.” He could not permit Eliza to be taken to that room.

  “It’s done, I’m afraid. And it is my decision.”

  Jason wanted to jump out of the car and run, to find anyone – a policeman, Fireman Mike – anyone who could stop this abomination.

  “But – ” Hadewych said, seeing his expression, “ – I don’t want you to be upset. Don’t worry. I’ll find someone else.”

&
nbsp; Jason went limp with gratitude. He fell back into the passenger seat, more exhausted than ever. The light changed and they rolled forward.

  “When?” Jason said.

  “The twenty-ninth?”

  “No. Not that day.” The twenty-ninth of October? The tenth anniversary of his parents’ death?

  Hadewych frowned. “I already called the cemetery.”

  “Not that day.”

  “The thirtieth, then.”

  Jason nodded. They turned towards Gory Brook Road.

  “I’m surprised you’re being this difficult,” said Hadewych.

  #

  Justin Piebald, attorney-at-law, smiled benevolently from across the wide cherry-wood desk of his conference room.

  “Shall I begin?” he said, putting on his glasses.

  Jason nodded. Hadewych straightened his coat jacket and took a drink of water.

  “I, Elizabeth Jane Merrick,” read the lawyer, “being of sound mind and desiring to make my last wishes known in the event of my demise, do make this my Last Will and Testament.

  “I currently reside at 417 Gory Brook Road, Sleepy Hollow, NY, 10591. I am a widow and divorcée; I have been married seven times, to Gerald Logan, William Ferrer, John Dawes, August Beringer, David Puck, Roger Fellowes, and Arthur Pyncheon. Arthur Pyncheon was my first husband, the love of my life, and father to my only child Dianne Elizabeth Pyncheon.

  Arthur Pyncheon died after twelve years of marriage. My other marriages ended in divorce. None of my former husbands have any claim upon this estate. If any of the aforementioned assert such rights they are to be given one dollar and sent on their merry way.”

  Piebald looked up, amused, and wiped his forehead.

  “I had one beautiful daughter by my first husband: Dianne Elizabeth Pyncheon. Dianne married Andrew Crane, and that marriage produced one extraordinary child – my grandson Jason Crane.”

  Jason swallowed and looked at his hands.

  “Both Andrew and Dianne Crane are now deceased. Jason Crane, as my sole family and heir, is to inherit everything I own. My house at 417 Gory Brook will go to Jason Crane. My stock accounts, 401(k), checking and all other accounts shall go to Jason Crane. In short, all real property and financial accounts shall go to Jason Crane.