Chapter Text
Brom watched Matilda disappear into her apartment building. He took a deep breath as he turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. He swallowed the lump in his throat that had been lodged there all day as he’d kept a watchful eye on Matilda, not daring to leave her unless she was in good hands.
Not that he had any right to. She was her own woman, regardless of their marital status, and he couldn’t pretend to know what she was struggling with.
The storm that had shadowed him for the last week since Kat’s death had finally broken, a grief that crested in an angry wave as he held Matilda in his arms in his small car. Her body shook with a fury that stoked a blistering heat within him, as if the chaos of their emotions had fused together in a torrent that showed no sign of relief.
As Matilda’s tears had slowed, Brom’s blood pounded with increasing strength. He blinked to clear his vision as he drove the familiar roads through Sleepy Hollow, his eyes and chest burning. It had been ages since he’d felt this rage that blinded him to everything else, and yet, he was glad for it. Maybe, just maybe, he’d been able to take the despair that threatened to drown Matilda on to himself, transforming that dark and wild ocean into a violent boil that seethed white-hot in his veins.
Brom fought to control his breathing for a little while longer as he pulled into the Van Brunt drive. The gravel crunched under the tires as he maneuvered towards the garage of the Georgian-style manor. The house was dark, save for the beams from his headlights and the faint moonlight, and he pressed the button on the visor to swing the wide door upwards.
Brom mindlessly parked the car and turned it off. He pressed the button again, filling the garage with the whirring sound of the door lowering itself shut. There was just enough light to see his path to the door, though he was barely aware as his legs carried him inside, as his hand flicked on the lights. All he could feel was his blood beating at him from within.
He continued his path to the basement, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it on the bannister. He tugged at his tie to loosen it without breaking his stride. He slipped it off his neck and let it fall to the stairs. He unbuttoned his collar, desperate to drag more air into his lungs as he reached his destination.
He squinted at the bright lights that illuminated the home gym with the touch of the switch. He blinked to adjust his vision, still blurred with tears that threatened to spill. Every fibre in his body felt white-hot, his muscles coiled tight and ready to unleash on the punching bag that hung from the ceiling.
He unbuttoned the sleeves of his shirt and rolled them up. He took the familiar stance, not caring in the least about his attire. His white shirt strained against his arms, but there was enough give to suit his purpose. With his fists raised before him, he noticed the glint of gold on his left hand that only fueled the fire under his ribs.
His fist met the vinyl in a satisfying thwack , with just enough resistance. Again and again, Brom pounded on the bag, his motions precise, his breaths sharp as he focused his anger towards the object in front of him.
That’s for Kat , he thought as his hand connected with the bag, for asking too much of Matilda. How dare she take advantage of their friendship that meant so much to one, and so little to the other.
Thwack!
That’s for Baltus. How dare the mayor of Sleepy Hollow and father figure demand that Matilda sustain the impossible, and be so willing to sacrifice his friends.
Thwack, thwack!
That’s for me. How dare he follow Kat around like a puppy-dog for so long. How dare he not realize it was Matilda he’d been drawn to, not the blonde homecoming queen who’d been quick to drop him when it no longer suited her. How dare he not realize how much he’d fallen into the chase of the perfect domestic life his father insisted on, even after all his hard work.
“Always Tassels and Brunts getting married,” chimed his father in the thinly-veiled demand Brom had heard since he’d been old enough to nurse a crush.
Brom let out a series of punches in quick succession, as if he could purge the anger that continued to rise and spurt like magma until he couldn’t distinguish between pain and relief. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Matilda had to bear the weight of everyone else’s decisions. It wasn’t fair that he was so mad at Kat and devastated that she was gone. It wasn’t fair that he wanted some time to figure out what he wanted from his relationship with Matilda when he also wanted to take her in his arms and hold her there forever. It wasn’t fair that he wanted to protect her from ever being hurt again when he knew that it was impossible—and that she might not want him to. It wasn’t fair that he’d finally found something that felt right for it to completely crumble around them.
Brom realized he was panting, his muscles aching in a bittersweet release of tension, the proof of exertion. He let his arms fall as he stood motionless, his forehead and temples slick with sweat that dripped down his face, his shirt soaked through. His thoughts blurred together, and he focused on the rush of blood in his ears and the air that passed through his lungs. In and out, in and out.
Finally, he turned and made his way out of the room and up the stairs. He ignored the tie on the ground but he picked up his jacket that had slipped to the floor. He fished out his phone and pressed the button to light up the home screen.
“Hey, Champ. Just wanted to let you know I’ve extended my trip for a couple more weeks. I should be home by the end of the month. Dad.”
Brom let out a sigh and ran his fingers through his hair, annoyed that he was disappointed at the text from his father. He should be grateful to have some more time to himself.
And of course, his dad’s text hadn’t even asked about the funeral.
Brom dragged himself up to his bedroom and stripped out of his clothes, careful to leave the suit jacket and pants on the bed rather than in a heap on the floor. He continued to the bathroom and tensed as the cold water of the shower hit his back and slowly eased his muscles. He took a deep breath and relished the feeling of nothing between him and the water, save for the gold ring on his fourth finger. He was determined to wash away the bad until only the good remained.
Matilda found herself in the graveyard in the dead of night. She looked around, expecting Brom or Ichabod at her side. Her heart sank when she was alone without even the hum of crickets—or the ghostly appearance of Verla—to keep her company. She also realized she had a shovel in her hand—had that always been there? The rough wooden handle felt heavier than it should in her grip.
The clouds covered the moon, and an other-wordly fog rose up around her. Just as suddenly, it cleared, and the full moon pierced the clouds in a supernatural beam that landed on a single headstone.
KATRINA ELIZABETH VAN TASSEL.
“No, no, no, no, no,” Matilda whimpered. Her heart began to race as she stepped backwards, her hands clammy as the shovel slipped to the floor with a clang.
She backed into a hard surface, waist-high. Now she was in The Drugstore, but it wasn’t quite The Drugstore. The edges were foggy, like things that should be there weren’t, but she couldn’t tell exactly what was wrong. Unease turned to fear as it slithered within her, choking the breath from her lungs.
A solid object appeared in Matilda’s hands, and she fought the urge to recoil in fear should she smash the thing to a thousand pieces. It was a skull, dark and polished, and Matilda’s stomach lurched.
Headless was before her, sitting on a stool in front of her, awaiting this final step. The figure couldn’t speak, but there was something menacing about her form. Matilda wished she could run away, and her eyes darted around, desperate to find Brom, or Ichabod, or anyone else, to come to her aid. Her body was fixed in place, and her arms reached toward the body to place the skull on its neck, much as she willed herself to stop.
Despite the lack of dust, the skull merged with the neck in a golden glow to reveal Kat herself sitting in front of Matilda. Matilda gasped.
“So, you chose that nerd over me?” Kat spat out as she crossed her arms. “And, what’s worse, you’re still married to that airhead?! ” The spectre nodded towards Matilda’s hand, and Matilda clasped her hands behind her back.
“Kat, I’m sorry, I couldn’t—and you, you were—” Matilda choked on her words as all explanations slipped through her grasp, as unsubstantial as the figure before her, despite appearances.
Kat’s frown deepened and she jumped out of her seat. Matilda willed herself to move backwards, but she was pinned in place. Sweat collected on her brow, and she clenched her fists together, her nails digging into her palms. Kat closed the distance and jabbed a finger at Matilda’s chest.
“You were supposed to be my best friend! And then you went and MURDERED ME! ” Kat was shrieking, and Matilda winced as she leaned back as far as she was able. Her blood felt ice-cold in her veins, and yet there was a heat bubbling in her chest.
She furrowed her brow at Kat. “And you were supposed to be my best friend!” she yelled back. The phantom Kat stepped back, a flicker of surprise on her face. Matilda felt a stab of guilt, wishing she could take advantage of these last moments with her friend, however unreal this reunion actually was. And yet, here they stood, hurling insults.
Matilda took a deep breath. “I. Did not. Murder. You!”
Matilda’s eyes shot open and she blinked as her bedroom materialized around her. She realized her cell phone was ringing and she rolled over to grab it from her bedside table.
Mom.
“Hello?” she asked, her words shaky.
“Hi, Sweetheart, it’s just me,” a warm voice answered. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”
Matilda didn’t bother to lie. “Yeah, but it’s fine.” A quick glance to the window told her it had to be late morning. Shit . She should be at The Drugstore by now. “I guess I slept in.” She tried to calm her heart that still raced, the remnant of her nightmare.
“I just wanted to let you know that we should get back to town around three. Did you want us to pick you up?”
Matilda absentmindedly traced patterns on her comforter with her free hand. “No, that’s fine. I’ll come by after work.”
A pause settled between them before her mom continued. “I know this has been a hard week for you.” Matilda squeezed her eyes shut as tears welled up and her nose began to sting. She pinched her nose, begging her mind to keep to benign subjects.
“I’m fine,” she said in as calm a voice as she could manage. She didn’t want to fall apart when she was already late for work and needed to get through her shift. She also knew she would be a mess as soon as she saw her parents. “I will be fine.”
The line was quiet, and Matilda could feel the weight of everything strain against her thin lie that both she and her mother could see through, like cheap fabric stretched taut. Much as she wanted to see her parents, she knew that their reunion would make everything even more real.
A world without Kat.
Her mom put her dad on the line for a quick hello, and Matilda absentmindedly answered his questions. As her hand ran along the stitching of her comforter, the gold band on her finger caught the light from the window. Matilda clenched her fist as she said her goodbyes before she threw aside the blankets and raced to get ready for the day.
It was late evening by the time Matilda was finished at Colonial Drugs ‘N’ Stuff. The November chill nipped at her cheeks and lungs as she walked the familiar route to her house—her parent’s house—though Matilda found it a welcome change after spending the day indoors. Her breath clouded before her in the light from the streetlamps overhead, and she drank in the atmosphere of the sleepy town preparing for its winter hibernation. The vibrant colours of fall had died out, and the first blanket of snow was still weeks away, leaving the landscape in a haunting palette of muted browns, not yet touched by the sparkle of frost. She shoved her hands in her coat pockets as she shuffled up the steps to the grand covered porch of the Bishop house, the bleakness of the season a perfect match to her own mood.
She paused before reaching for the doorknob, her heart beginning to race in anticipation of all that would have to be said once she crossed the threshold. Her thumb instinctively rubbed the ring on her fourth finger, and Matilda wrenched her hands free and wiggled the ring off her finger. She managed to shove the gold band into her pocket just as the door swung open.
“Hey, Kiddo,” a deep voice said in a subdued greeting, and Matilda could feel herself dissolve as she fell into his embrace.
“Daddy,” she whimpered as she squeezed her father tightly, his arms around her as they stood on the porch. The wool blend of his sweater was soft against her cheek, and he smelled like lemony laundry detergent and woodsmoke. The smell of home, the pressure of his embrace unlocked that last part of her heart that had been hidden away, and she felt another torrent of tears escape. These tears, however, lacked the violence of previous breakdowns, and instead came in a quiet rush, a gentle purge that ended in relief.
They stayed like that for a few minutes, neither making a sound, neither caring about the chill that threatened to seep into their bones. Instead, their embrace seemed to create a warmth, an extension of the house, the home, the healing that was always waiting for Matilda should she need it.
And right now she needed it more than ever.
Finally, when Matilda’s tears had dried, she pulled back and noticed her mother standing in the doorway, her arms crossed to wrap her cardigan around her.
“Mom,” Matilda said as she made her way into the house and hugged her mother, surrounding her with the same lemony-clean scent.
“Hey, Baby,” her mother murmured as she stroked Matilda’s hair.
Soon, Matilda found herself being lead through the grand foyer of the Victorian house to the kitchen. She climbed up on a stool on one side of the counter while her mother made her way to the modern stove where the kettle rumbled, working its way up to a boil. The old wood stove was warm behind her, and Matilda felt her muscles relax as the warmth seeped under her skin, the same warmth that had soothed a scraped knee or a bruised ego through her childhood and teenage years. It would be harder to heal the broken heart that still bled within her now, but there was a comfort in the familiar—and a peace in the knowledge of being loved.
“Is chamomile okay?” her mother asked as she brought the old china teapot down from the shelf. Its hand-painted blue and white pattern spoke of a time before the Bishops had crossed the Atlantic, and its porcelain held a few chips, but that made it all the more beautiful to Matilda. She could still remember watching her grandmother carefully measure out the tea leaves into the pot before pouring the water in. Sometimes, Matilda would lean over and see the leaves swirl around in the hot water that coaxed out the rich browns or greens, the scent of jasmine or bergamot rising up in the steam to fill her nostrils.
Today, it was the golden chamomile that streamed from the spout as Matilda’s mother poured the liquid into three large mugs, holding the strainer over each cup to catch any leaves that escaped. The herbal tea smelled earthy-sweet, with the lemon balm and rose that her mother added. Matilda wrapped her hands around the mug her mother gave her—though Granny would have insisted on teacups—and inhaled the herbal aroma. Despite all reason, she was sure she could breathe in its healing essence, swirling in lazy tendrils into the nooks and crannies of her innermost being and easing the hurt that had been nestled there since even before Kat’s death.
“How was Grandma?” Matilda finally broke the silence and glanced between her parents whose gazes she could feel fixed on her. She knew they must have a million questions, but she wasn’t ready to dive straight into everything. Better to stick to the shallow subjects, like their trip.
“She’s good,” Matilda’s father replied, placing a hand on her back. “She misses you and was sad you couldn’t come, but she understands.”
Ever since her grandfather had passed away a few years ago, Matilda’s parents had visited her dad’s family in the midwest on the date of her paternal grandparents’ anniversary. Matilda had always stayed in Sleepy Hollow with Kat since Halloween—or Samhain, as it was known to the Bishops—was a big deal in town. And since Kat’s accident last year, the date was more important than ever.
And now it would always remind Matilda of….
Matilda wondered if her mother really knew what she had done. She also wondered if she should have come to her mother for help, but she knew what the current matriarch of the Bishop family would say. It seemed foolish now, to think she could conquer death, but at the time, it felt like her only option. When the person you were closest to in all the world was drowning, how could you not grasp at the one thing that could save her?
Matilda stared into the golden liquid in her mug and blew on the surface before she took a sip. She couldn’t look into her mother’s eyes for more than a moment for fear of what she might read there.
And yet, her mom hadn’t said anything. Not on the phone, not at the doorway, and not as they sat around the kitchen counter with their tea in a routine that had seen the family through countless celebrations, tragedies, and ordinary days alike.
“Everyone sends their love,” her mother said as she leaned on the counter, nursing her own mug. “They were sorry to hear about Kat.”
Matilda nodded, her gaze lowered as her eyes and nose began to sting, a sensation that she was both tired of and painfully accustomed to.
“We’re so sorry we couldn’t get back in time for the funeral, Sweetheart,” her dad added beside her. “But you said you had your friends to help?”
Matilda nodded again. She parted her lips and chose her words carefully, and she prayed the gold ring wasn’t burning a hole in her pocket. “Brom Van Brunt was there, and the new guy in town, Ichabod. Judy was also a huge help—she basically organized everything.”
Her parents nodded at the familiar names of Judy and Brom, but they paused at the mention of the newest resident of Sleepy Hollow. “Ichabod? That’s an old name.”
Matilda nodded again, a faint smile tugging at her lips at the memory of their first meeting at The Drugstore. Damn, he was fun to scare—and he made such an easy target. “Yeah. His family is from here originally but they moved away years ago. His parents died so he was living with his grandmother. And then when she passed away, he came back here to be the new middle school science teacher.” Matilda gulped down some tea as she finished, desperate to keep away from the subject of science teachers, especially of the older variety.
“His family was from here? What was their name?” her father asked.
Matilda swallowed her tea. “Crane. But, uh, we actually found out they were originally the ‘Storms’ family, from Anneke Storms.”
“Really.” Matilda’s dad sat back on his stool, his eyes alight at the new information. Though he hadn’t grown up in town, Paul Bishop had a deep-seated interest in the town’s history. He’d get along well with Ichabod, Matilda thought as she took another sip.
Or Brom.
She shook her head, willing herself to keep the conversation as far away from Abraham Van Brunt as possible. She had told her parents most of what had happened—or at least the SparkNotes version—but she did not have the energy to bring up the fact that they technically had a son-in-law now.
“We’ll have to meet Ichabod soon,” her mother said, and Matilda felt the tension in her chest ease slightly as her mom kept the conversation light. Maybe she’d be able to get through the rest of the evening without having to explain more.
As the three Bishops finished their mugs, Matilda’s mother offered to make another pot. “I could read your leaves, if you’d like,” she offered, her brown eyes dark with meaning.
Matilda was quick to shake her head. “Maybe later,” she added. “I’m, uh—I think I’m ready to head to bed.”
Luckily, her parents didn’t press her further, and instead gave her reassuring nods and hugs before they sent her up the old wooden staircase to her childhood bedroom. Matilda barely noticed the floral wallpaper of the hallway, or the black-and-red damask pattern she’d insisted on when she was thirteen, though she smiled at the aroma of recently-burned sage that hung in the air. She rushed through her bedtime routine with a splash of water and soap to her face and a quick brush of her teeth. She threw on a pair of flannel pajamas she found in the drawer and hopped into bed, grateful for the soft pillows and her grandmother’s quilt. Before she closed her eyes, she heard her phone buzz from her purse, now strewn over her armchair. She fished her phone out of the side pocket and realized she’d missed some texts.
Hey, I’m at your place with Chinese. Are you hungry?
Matilda bit her lip. It was Brom.
His next text he’d just sent read, Guess I missed you. I hope you have a good night. He finished it with a smile emoji.
Matilda climbed into bed and sat up against the headboard with her blanket tucked up around her.
I’m so sorry! I didn’t see your message. I’m at my parents’. Hope you didn’t wait long.
She hit send before she could think about it for too long. She tapped the side of her phone absentmindedly, knowing she should put it aside and get some sleep.
Before she could do so, however, the phone buzzed in her fingers. The screen flashed and Matilda eagerly read the message.
No worries! I found Ichabod and we had a feast. So you’re at mom and dad’s now huh?
Matilda took a deep breath as she read the last words. Mom and Dad’s . She guessed that was technically true, but what did he mean by that?! She chewed on her lip, her mind blank at what she should say. Then, she saw the three little dots appear, and she furrowed her brow, dying to know what was going through Brom’s head.
After what felt like forever, his next text popped up.
Sorry. Bad joke.
Matilda let out a sigh and relaxed into her pillows. Still, she wasn’t quite sure what to say back as her fingers hovered over her phone’s keyboard.
Another message appeared. Hopefully I’ll see you at the drugstore tomorrow. Sweet dreams!
Matilda smiled as the emojis of a crescent moon and a star popped up. She punched in her own message in reply.
Thanks. And sorry that I missed you. Have a good night. She finished with the snoring emoji and hit send before she could stop herself. She ignored the buzzing in her veins as she placed her phone on her bedside table and sunk down into her bed, pulling her covers over her.