“Not much. Vic is okay, just a little beaten up, which is so heartbreaking to hear,” Crane chuckles. “But there wasn’t much they could do. The director—who’s a dick by the way—asked if I started this, and I said no. They can’t prove otherwise.” He shrugs, trailing a finger down my cheek.
“Hmm, but you did, somehow,” I whisper, looking up at him. I have so many questions and don’t know how to ask them. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“No one here can hurt me, Princess. Or you. I won’t let them.”
I suck in a breath and turn my face into his large, warm palm. No one had ever said anything more attractive than that. We stand there like that for a moment, surrounded by the glitchy lights and what’s left of the cobweb decorations. My eyes flit to the corner where the skeleton used to stand: He’s headless, slumped over in a pile and missing at least one arm that I can tell. I snort and Crane follows my line of sight.
“Oh shit,” he laughs, taking me by the hand. “Want to go for a walk?”
“We can’t go outside after dark, genius.” I smile and squeeze his hand, beginning to tug him toward one of the couches. I doubt we will get left alone in here for long, but we can enjoy it while we have the moment to ourselves at least. Crane pulls me to a stop, and I turn to look at him, his dark eyebrows riding low on his face.
“The fuck are they going to do?” He looks serious. And honestly, in that moment, I realize he’s right. What can they do to us? They could lock us up in our rooms, but that’s never stopped me from getting out if I wanted. Crane and H can do pretty much whatever they please if tonight is any indication. A huge grin breaks out across my face, and I nod.
“I’d love to go for a walk with you.”
Crane smiles shyly at me, and I laugh as he pulls me toward the exit. We dash through the door and down the steps, slowing down as we walk along the concrete path. We’re both quiet, taking in the crisp autumn night. I haven’t been outside at night since . . . I can’t even remember the last time it happened. I snuck out a few times when I was younger, but it’s been a really long time, I’m sure. Glancing up at the moon, I take in a deep breath. “It’s beautiful out here.”
“You’re beautiful,” Crane whispers, sliding his fingertips down the back of my neck to my back. Even through my hoodie I can feel the heat from his touch. A shiver that has nothing to do with the cold courses through my body, and I step closer into his side. He thinks I’m beautiful, and that floors me. I’m not stupid, I know I’m attractive, but hearing someone say it so genuinely. So vulnerably. That’s perfection. A happy sigh slips past my lips as we pass under the orange and yellow leaves of the trees. The oranges glow almost red in the moonlight, giving the trees an ethereal beauty.
“The moon is almost full,” I sigh. “It really is gorgeous out here, thank you.”
“Come on,” Crane whispers, tugging me toward an empty spot in the grass, free from trees. He lays down on the ground, propping one arm behind his head and gestures for me to join him.
I glance around, waiting for an orderly to pop out and chastise us at any moment, but no one comes. Biting my lip, I plop down on the ground beside him and lean my head back on his outstretched arm. The night sky is beautiful; hardly any clouds dot the sky, and it’s filled with bright, blinking stars. The moon is large and heavy in the sky, not quite full yet, but almost. Only the tiniest piece is still missing.
“Tell me about you growing up.” Something about laying under the stars with a boy makes me nostalgic, makes me wish this was a normal date. But we’re still in Whisperwood. Talking about things that happened elsewhere might help me forget, though.
“Well, you know I’m a pathologist,” he laughs. “Or was, I guess that’s kind of out the window now.” His hand strokes the top of my shoulder, and I snuggle against his, smiling up at the sky. “I’ve never really been in love before now.” His voice sounds somber, serious, like he’s looking back at his past while he speaks to me.
“Oh?” I ask, my heart thudding in my chest at a ridiculous rate.
“I’ve had lovers, of course,” he says, his voice going deep enough to let me know it’s H that speaks rather than Crane. “Ladies and whores, both, but nothing has ever sparked my interest the way you do, Poppet. Everything has always been about punishing them, taking my vengeance from those who have wronged me, those who have wronged others. You—You are different, love,” he whispers, his voice deepening even more as he speaks.
“What was it like, growing up?” I lace my fingers through his, trying to pay attention. Sometimes it’s hard to follow the conversation when Crane and H are both speaking at the same time.
“I loved school,” he begins. “I had straight A’s all through college, too. I never had to study much—” he coughs, and his body jumps beneath mine. “One school maid always taunted me. She would try to make me out to be less bright than I was, I have always been rather clever, Poppet.”
H’s deep voice catches my attention, and I find myself picturing an old-timey schoolhouse with tiny wooden desks. A blonde woman, her hair piled high on her head in some sort of bun stands at a chalkboard, glaring at me.
“Who are you?” I ask suddenly, jerking to an upright position. Glancing down at Crane—or H—I see the wicked smile on his face. He trails a finger across the back of my hand before bringing my fingers to lips.
“I’m the Horseman,” he answers without hesitation. In this light, I swear I can see that green fire in his normally blue eyes. I blink and shake my head, trying to refocus my vision. Whatever I thought I saw, it’s gone now.
“What does that mean, the Horseman? H is an equestrian?” I screw my nose up when he outright laughs at me, a booming sound that has me looking for an orderly to run up and interrupt us any moment.
“Not quite,” he chuckles, catching his breath. “Have you heard of the Headless Horseman? The punisher? I am the devil that slayed every guilty soul in Sleepy Hollow, Poppet.” My eyes rake down his face, searching for any clue that he might be lying, or playing. He looks serious, other than the easy smile playing at his lips. He’s the Headless Horseman.
Pictures race through my mind. There was a movie I remember seeing as a child with my parents called Sleepy Hollow. That had been about the Headless Horseman. I’d even read the book, Sleepy Hollow, here at Whisperwood. I swallow, running my fingers through my hair as I try to process everything.
“Do I scare you?”
My eyes snap back to his, and I shake my head. “No.” I mean it. Nothing about Crane or H scares me. I’ve never felt safer than I do in his arms. Their arms? It’s becoming clear that this isn’t a delusional second personality of Crane’s.
“Come, let me show you,” he whispers, holding his arms out. I lay my head on his chest, situating myself until I’m comfortable again. He begins running his fingers through my hair, brushing his nails against my scalp while he speaks.
“Tomorrow, on All Hallows’ Eve, I will once again be at my full glory. These plebeians who torture you and insult you, they will no longer be a problem. And then,” he brushes his lips across my forehead. “And then we will leave this place behind.”
“Where will we go?” My heart hammers against my chest, and I’m sure he can feel it beating against his own. I take a deep breath, trying to settle my nerves. “How did you become this . . . Horseman?”
H takes a deep breath, his hand stilling in my hair. “I was not born the Horseman. A Horseman is chosen by some greater power—who, I do not know—but as far as I have ever found, I am the only one. When one body dies, or fades, I search for another. That is how Crane and I came to be. But to understand my story, it starts as a child, when I was a small, helpless thing that knew nothing but poverty and struggle.”
“Were you born in Sleepy Hollow?”
“This place, this town, has always been my home. That much I know. I have just been here for far longer than I had hoped.” He smiles at me. “I used to despise who I am. Now, I am happy I found you.”
/> Smiling up at him, I cuddle close and run my hand along his chest. “So, how old are we talking?”
“I was born in the year 1770.”
I gasp and move to jerk away, but Crane’s arm clenches around me to hold me still. “Do not worry, Poppet. I do not act as old as I am.”
With a snort, I relax again. “You’re old, I’ll give you that, but you certainly don’t fuck like it.” He circles his fingers against the tender skin of my neck and hums, as if he’s remembering those times. I can’t say I blame him. I think about them often, too. “So, how did you become the Horseman if you weren’t born as one?”
“When I was the ripe age of twenty, penniless, starving, I sat down on the edge of the creek to die. It was All Hallows’ Eve, but we did not call it that, then. It was an evil day, but I had other worries rather than evil. I was dying.” I gasp but don’t interrupt. “I remember closing my eyes, certain I would perish that night, before I was surrounded by bright green flames, and a voice spoke to me. It said that I would not be passing that day, or ever, and that I was meant to be something more. Much how Crane struggled with the change, I did the same, the change coming all at once rather than gradually. I walked into the town, powers flickering through my fingers, and I punished every single person who deserved it. I slaughtered, and maimed, and took their heads, and when my black stallion came to me, I rode away from the massacre until the next All Hallows’ Eve.”
“What’s it like?” I whisper in awe. “To be the Horseman?” I hope it isn’t painful for him, that it’s not a struggle.
“Let me show you,” he breathes against my forehead, his fingers brushing over my scalp in the most rhythmic, hypnotic way I’ve ever experienced. A slight jolt of electricity buzzes against my skin, slowly spreading from my scalp down the rest of my body.
“It tingles?” I can’t help but pose it as a question. Everything about tonight has been strange, but I love this man, I have no choice but to trust him. Right?
“Close your eyes.”
I do. I close my eyes, trying to focus on the black screen behind my lids and to ignore the faint white light of the moon bleeding through the thin skin. My breathing deepens as the sensation seeps further into my body. Colors swirl against the darkness behind my eyes, and a picture slowly begins to come into focus.
* * *
There’s so much red. No, I squint, trying to make the picture clearer. Blood. There’s so much blood. I’ve never been squeamish—growing up in an insane asylum will harden the soft parts of you I guess, or maybe I’d always been drawn to the dark.
In front of me, an axe swings, severing a man’s head from his shoulders. Warm blood sprays against my face, and I can feel it. I gasp, but a slight tug on my hair focuses my attention back on the vision.
A man lunges at me with a butcher’s knife. His apron is soaked in blood, but all I can think is that it should be dyed red by the time I’m through. I slice his throat and watch him fall to the ground. A maniacal laugh bubbles out of my throat as he lays on the floor of the tavern, grasping his throat, choking on his own blood. I bend down and something jingles as I move, a sweet tinkling sound amid the chaos and screams. I feel my head can’t to the side—I’m not in control here—and I stare into his eyes. They widen, the panic of death coming over him in one sweet wave before his eyes go still and his hand falls away from his throat. Blood seeps from the wound, and I slam my axe down into the same cut, slicing through tendons and bones.
A hot jolt shoots through my core as I bend down and twine my fingers through the man’s hair and wrench the head up. I toss it over my shoulder and march out of the tavern, past a screaming barmaid, clutching a cross to her over-exposed breasts.
I pause, my eyes roaming over her curvy body for a moment. She’s terrified. Her hands shake as she prays.
“Be gone, demon!” She holds the cross up as if it’s a weapon and closes her eyes, twisting her head away and to the side.
“Call me what you want, wench. How many lovers will you have left after the night is done?” I chuckle as I stomp past her, shouldering through the door.
* * *
My eyes fly open as I’m pulled from the vision. My fingers are still curled as if holding the head in my hand. My pussy quivers from the excitement. “Oh, my God,” I whisper, turning my head to look up at H.
“That is what’s going to happen tomorrow, Poppet.” He doesn’t sound apologetic at all, or wary in the least. No, he sounds . . . excited.
“Start with Vic,” I purr, trailing a finger down his jawline.
“Anything for you, Princess.”
The use of Crane’s nickname for me draws me up short, and I prop myself up on my elbow, meeting his gaze. “You’re both in there right now, right? If you change tomorrow—If this is real, and I haven’t finally lost my fucking mind—what will happen to Crane?”
His smile is slow and easy as his hand slides from my scalp down to the back of my neck. The pressure there is so domineering but comforting as he pulls me down and plants a firm kiss on my mouth. “I’ll be restored to my full glory for All Hallows’ Eve until Crane is old and frail and then I’ll move on to a new host. The Horseman is eternal, Poppet. Your Crane will still be here the other days of the year. But tomorrow . . .” H brushes a strand of hair from my face, and for a second, I swear I can see those green flames in his eyes again. “Tomorrow, he’ll be the voice in my head.”
I nod, leaning my forehead against his. All this talk about leaving Whisperwood. Getting my revenge on the orderlies, on Dr. Yoon, on anyone who has ever hurt or wronged me . . . it’s enticing.
“Come on, Princess,” Crane whispers, patting me on the bottom.
I sit up slowly with a pout, then stand and dust off my sides where grass clings to my clothes. We’re a dirty mess, but this has been the best night. I cast one more look up at the moon before we make our way back to Whisperwood.
For the last time, I tell myself. This is the last time I’ll walk in those doors.
H—Or Crane? God that’s going to confuse me—opens the door and holds it as I walk through. Just as we step into the flickering light of the community room, a chubby, redheaded orderly rounds the corner with an armful of lightbulbs.
“What in the fucking hell are you two doing?” His eyes quickly pass over us to the door still swinging shut behind us.
“Just planning how to kill you all,” I laugh, tossing my hair over my shoulder as I walk around him. I don’t look back, but I can feel his shocked gaze tracking me down the hall. Beside me, Crane chuckles as we make our way to my room.
My days of pretending to follow the rules of Whisperwood Sanitorium are over.
Chapter 21
H
The sun rises in the sky early the next day, far more quickly than I imagined. The bones within my body no longer ache as they did when I joined Crane. Instead, they feel powerful, intense, perfect.
What is this shit?
“My apologies, Crane,” I hum, cricking my neck and cracking my knuckles. “Today, I will be in control. It is an unfortunate side effect of sharing your body.”
Am I able to talk through you as you have me? he asks, his voice just as strong in my mind as mine always is. I may be controlling his limbs this day, but that does not mean he is powerless. We are still equals, but Crane does not possess the traits needed to complete our job this evening. For that reason, I will be the lead.
“You will have as much control as you like. I will not steal your voice.”
There’s an obvious feeling of relief that fills me, and I realize that Crane thought I would no longer play nice when I am in control, but that is not how being the Horseman works. We are partners, and I refuse to be a parasite on my host, especially one as compatible as Crane.
The calm of the times spreads through my body, an unusual juxtaposition. You would imagine that my full powers spreading would cause an anxiousness to take over, but it does not. Instead, I feel as if everything is relaxed, my heart rate beating a
steady rhythm inside my chest.
Is this what it’s like for you? Like a back-seat driver? Crane chuckles in my mind, and I smile.
“Sometimes. I do not mind the feeling, however, especially when we can so easily trade places during intimate moments.”
I bet, he snorts. Are you done admiring how pretty we are yet? We should find Kenzie.
“I agree.” I look away from the mirror I had been studying my reflection in and tug on my clothing. I would prefer to go without the shirt, but I am not ready to act yet. Putting my chest on display would draw too much attention. “Kenzie will be expecting us.”
Do you mean it?
“Mean what, Crane?” I slide the shoes Crane favors onto my feet and frown. I much prefer my riding boots. Tonight, I will be happy when they return.
That we’ll take Kenzie away from here? That we’ll spare her friends?
“I never lie.” I scrape my hand through Crane’s hair and take a deep breath. “Do not worry, Crane. I do not go back on my word.”
Good.
I leave the small room and head in the direction of the feeding area, searching for the blonde head of our woman. I spot her sitting with Mitzy, carefully picking apart a muffin. For the first time, I realize that the muffin is burnt, an oddity for Kenzie. She never gets inedible food.
“What ails you?” I ask, taking a seat next to her. I do not bother with food. If Kenzie is getting such filth, my food will be atrocious.
“They’re cracking down on the workers,” Kenzie mumbles. “Apparently, too many play favorites, and they’ve been told that if any favoritism is seen, they’ll be punished.”
I bristle at the obvious distress in her voice and glance around. The orderly that treats Kenzie as a daughter, Danny, stands against the wall, his eyes on us. There are lines around his mouth, displeasure written across his face, but for once, I do not think it is directed at me. No, those in charge have thrown down the gauntlet. Pity it is far too late.
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