"No." Crane resolutely shook his head. "Absolutely not."

"Are you kidding me right now?" Jenny leaned on her good leg and raised both eyebrows in disbelief. "It's the only course of action that we have!"

"If I were to bring you to the black gates myself in exchange for your sister, I can tell you with absolute certainty that she would not come willingly."

Ichabod leaned forward as he spoke, clearly incensed. "The last thing in this world that she would desire would be you in harm's way."

Jenny snorted and held up a hand. "I can take care of myself."

"I am aware, as is Miss Mills, that you can." Ichabod agreed immediately. "But…" He continued, entreating, "…in the case of the lieutenant, the heart is not often so easily reasoned with."

Jenny scowled. He had her there, and they both knew it.

"Your sister loves you." He added after a pause.

"Then screw her!" Jenny suddenly lashed out. She kicked viciously at the ground and raked long-nailed fingers through her riotous curls. It felt like her sister's impregnable pride was, even now, trying to rule her decisions from across the realms of the afterlife. That, and a certain person's very inconvenient sense of honor. Damn Ichabod Crane. He knew Abbie too well for either of their own good.

Well, she'd had enough of this honorable shit. I mean, really – it didn't matter if she and Ichabod had to drag Abbie out of purgatory by her hair. There was a higher cause at hand, and the greater danger of the horseman loomed with the waning sun. Both of the two witnesses were needed here – amongst the living – if they wanted even a shot at taking him down. Those were the facts.

"Look." Jenny addressed him again. "We both know that you can't take her place because you're also a witness."

"And it would seem that we are now both needed." Ichabod commented, quietly affirming her thoughts on the matter.

She pointed to herself. "But I'm not important to him, get it? Show me the way to purgatory, and I can make the switch myself. Then you and Abbie can go search for Katrina, and take this fucker down."

Crane seemed momentarily confused by her choice of words, but quickly countered her argument nonetheless.

"If I bring you to substitute for your sister's soul," he emphasized, "it will not matter who is a witness and who is not. She will not allow you to remain in her stead." He straightened his spine and stared rigidly down at her. "Nor, for that matter, will I."

Jenny craned her neck up at him. Was this guy for real? Arguing with him was beginning to feel creepily like she was arguing with Abbie. She snapped her teeth together and ground the molars.

"Huh." She offered after a moment. "You really do know my sister, don't you?"

"Sometimes." Crane's blue eyes glinted with stark honesty. "She is, and always will be, the dearest and truest friend that I've ever had the good fortune of knowing."

Whoa…

Jenny eyed him quizzically. The fondness, as well as the conviction in his words were impossible to miss.

This guy's in deep.

"Do not mistake my reluctance for opposition to freeing the lieutenant from purgatory." He added after a pause. His voice rang with quiet determination as he spoke.

"I promised that I would return for her, and I intend to keep my word. But we cannot simply remove her from that hell – not without ripping the very seams of reality apart."

Even as he said the words, the fingers of Crane's right hand drummed impatiently against his military coat, and after a second's pause he paced away from her. The agitation rolled off of him in waves.

"Well, what if there was a way to do it without ripping reality apart?" Jenny tried desperately.

Ichabod spun. "Without a witch?" The sentence sounded almost like he was being sarcastic.

Before he could get a full jab in, she interrupted him with another question.

"Have you ever heard of 'the Holy Bridge'?"

Ichabod's fingers froze where they were grasping his chin. "P–" he began, then stopped abruptly, before trying again. "Pardon me?"

Suddenly, his eyes filled with recognition. That recognition immediately kindled with determination into something very much approaching hope. He dropped his hands, his gaze locked on hers, and he immediately followed his first question with, "… The what?"

Abbie was dreaming. She knew it, but she didn't care. Unconsciousness had been her constant companion in purgatory thus far, and for once, she was not complaining. The blissful ignorance of dreams was a more-than-welcome repose from the inescapable horror that was her current reality. Since she couldn't help herself – God knew, she'd tried – the least she could do was try to enjoy herself. And this dream was enjoyable.

She was warm. That, in itself, was a luxury. Purgatory weather tended to lean towards the ice cold and dark. Here, sunlight and shadow danced above her. She could see the silhouettes of both as they swayed beneath her closed eyelids, to the soft rhythm of a tropical breeze. Neither the wind nor the spots of shade did anything to affect the baking heat that warmed her to the bone.

A salty breath of air tucked her overgrown bangs behind her ear. Keeping her eyes closed, she shifted her head slightly to the left. She instantly felt the ground sink and adjust beneath her scalp, like soft, pliable clay. Curious, she tremulously reached out – and sunk her fingers into fine, smooth sand. The gentle lapping of waves whispered in the distance, and she reluctantly cracked an eye open. She was lying, fully dressed except for her shoes, on a pale beach. A palm tree shivered in the breeze a few yards to her right, and a frothy ocean shore swished calmly over the sand a couple of yards from her toes. A cloudless blue horizon stretched endlessly in front of her, marred only by the white-hot sun blazing directly overhead.

It was paradise, plain and simple. The view was the stuff of touristy postcards and national geographic magazines, and she could vaguely recall seeing a similar desktop wallpaper on her laptop; though even that hadn't looked half this inviting. God, and that water. It was so blue, it took her breath away. Made her think of every travel magazine she'd ever opened, and made her nostalgic and excited all at once.

The baking heat was becoming stifling; it reflected off of the perfectly smooth granules of sand and encircled her like an oven the longer she lay where she was.

Rising up to a sitting position, Abbie struggled with her tight, nylon winter top. The fabric stuck to her back and shoulders with sweat, forcing her to awkwardly wriggle out of it. Beneath her shirt was a simple black tank, which she kept on. She struggled even more so with her incredibly tight skinny jeans, managing to cuff them twice at her ankles before they refused to budge farther up her calf. She grunted in frustration. Why on earth had she dressed for winter when coming to the beach?

"Nice lookin' out, Mills." she panted to herself – already out of breath from that little exertion.

She stared broodingly at her jeans and swiped a bead of sweat off of her left temple. A fly buzzed near her ear and she swatted at it, annoyed that the paradise her mind had obviously invented to keep her sane was quickly beginning to lose its charm. The heat was so intense, it was getting even harder to breathe. She tried to swallow, but her dry mouth wasn't having it.

I need to go to the water.

The soft, internal voice was so gentle and unexpected, that she wasn't sure for a second whether it was hers. I need to go to the water… She thought silently to herself, testing the pitch. Yep, that was her alright. Her subconscious must also be sweating itself to death. Compulsively trying (and failing) to swallow again, she couldn't help but agree with it.

Her eyes shifted to the cool, tropical blue waves that sloshed and slithered along the shoreline. The tide was coming in, and shiny black and brown shells glistened pleasingly as the waves swept in and out, just a few small feet from her petite, painted toenails. Like a woman in a trance, Abbie slowly gained her feet – her gaze never leaving the water. She took a step, staggered, righted herself, then took another. The surrealism of the impeccable dreamscape seemed to be screwing with her equilibrium. The sand seemed to swing and lurch lazily beneath her feet, like a ship on calm waters. She had to focus to keep from falling face-first into the foam.

Finally, four faltering steps later, Abbie managed to reach a place where the water was thigh-deep. When she attempted one more step, her knees unexpectedly buckled beneath her, and she only just managed to twist around so that she landed on her back rather than pitching forward. The current caught her and carried her, and she let it. The temperature was cool but not freezing, and the rush of water felt so good on her hot skin that she wanted nothing more than to float forever. Every ounce of fight seemed to drain out of her, and there was nothing but the motion of the dark blue water to keep her from drifting down beneath the surface.

As she floated, face up on the waves, she slowly became aware of the current becoming gentler and gentler; even faltering in some places. The waves that had buoyed her easily at first were fast becoming fewer and farther between. During a particularly long stretch of stillness, her body sank suddenly up to her chin, before a swish of the current raised her up again. This happened again moments later, only this time she sank up to the bridge of her nose before she was brought, sputtering, back to the surface. Faint strains of alarm slowly began to penetrate the numb calm that swaddled Abbie's brain. She needed to kick, she realized dimly. She needed to move her arms and legs, or she was going to drown. She tried to focus through the haze – to move something; anything. Her limbs refused to respond to her commands. The current dipped again, and she was dunked up to her hairline. After what felt like an eternity, she finally resurfaced, coughing and shaking violently. Genuine panic sliced through the drugging calm and into her chest like a knife. She was paralyzed; at the mercy of the current. Adrenaline shot through her veins with a vengeance, but her atrophied muscles gave the chemical no outlet for release. She sucked in gulps of air as she began to sink, bobbing up only scant inches for air before being dragged lower. The current that had once kept her afloat now just listlessly spun her in the water; barely enough to hold her up. She was drowning. The darkness was closing in.

She sucked in a huge breath seconds before her head dropped beneath the surface. Instead of being pushed up, the current dropped her. As if weights were attached to her feet, she sank quickly. Nearly suffocating with fear, Abbie glanced at her splayed limbs – begging them to move. Nothing. The world went black and cold. So very, very cold. Though she knew it was pointless, Abbie screamed.

By slow, sluggish degrees, Abbie became aware of a deep, droning sound echoing in her ears. The noise would drop to a low tenor and soften nearly to the point of silence, before suddenly rising to a high-pitched keening, like some kind of wounded animal. As she strained to hear, the noise stopped, then abruptly started up again. Then it hit her. Oh. The noise was her.

On some level she became aware of horrible, anguished groans pouring out of her. These were accented by fearful whimpers, like those of a terrified child. Hard solid wood was smashed against her left cheek, and her lower back was on fire – suggesting that she had been slumped over in an uncomfortable position for a long time. Her left arm was crushed awkwardly beneath her stomach, but the fingers of her free hand twitched anxiously. She didn't know where she was, and her drowning fear still clawed at her, making her thoughts nearly incoherent. A long, low moan erupted from her again, and she could hear her lungs whining at the effort to inhale after the sound had run out.

"Abbie!"

Far off, somewhere beyond her realm, she heard a young woman's voice screech her name. She was too far gone to recognize the speaker, and the name soon faded. It was replaced, however, by the sound of heavy boots pounding on a wooden floor. Stairs, maybe? The wooden panels resting beneath her numb cheek vibrated lightly with every loud step.

"Lieutenant!"

This time it was a man's voice – much closer to her than the last. The tone rang with authority, and the volume of the call implied some kind of desperate urgency. At the sound, Abbie felt her heart begin to thud fast and heavy against her ribs. A door creaked open. The heavy steps faltered to a stop, then picked up again, double-time. The floor now jarred against her skull with each step, and the panic nearly choked her as the footsteps seemed to immediately zone in on her location. She whimpered helplessly when they stopped, mere inches from her. If she'd been able to, she might have curled up tightly to avoid being spotted. But she guessed it was too late for that now. She began to shake as she waited for something – anything – to happen.

"Abigail." The voice was softer; gentler. And impeccably familiar.

A cold, long-fingered hand cupped her jaw; Abbie recognized the action immediately as someone feeling for a pulse. At the exquisitely tender touch, she exhaled shakily, so filled with relief that she felt almost sick. Clearly this person didn't mean to hurt her just yet. As she inhaled a deeply, she caught the scents of musty leather, soil, and wool. Her eyelids strained to open. Surely it wasn't…

"Easy, now."

Ichabod Crane's voice spoke quietly near her ear, and she felt his hands on her shoulders, slowly dragging her up into a sitting position. She willed her muscles to hold her up, and surprisingly, they cooperated. She felt him adjust so that he was crouched beneath her right arm.

"On your feet, soldier." He urged, and after wrapping his other arm around her waist, hauled them both to their feet. As she struggled to find her legs, Abbie suddenly found her lips instead.

"Crane…" She mumbled, and managed to force her lids apart. Blearily she registered his pale features, inches from her own, as well as his arm supporting her. She glanced around, seeing the attic of her childhood dollhouse all around them. She swiveled her head back to him. Her wobbly knees straightened to hold her weight, and she stiffened as grim reality set in.

"You're not here." She muttered, her voice gathering power. "This is just another dream." Through now-clear eyes, she saw his concern give way to confusion, then light amusement.

"And yet, you don't appear very pleased to see me." He made a show of looking offended. "Dream or no, I should have thought us closer than that."

When she only stared at him in confusion, he raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"Lieutenant?"

His gaze traveled from her bugging eyes to her slack jaw, and then back, his brow furrowing in concern.

"I don't recall you being nearly this dense in the land of the living, Miss Mills."

That finally broke her, and Abbie exhaled in a shaky laugh. Incredulous, she shook her head in disbelief.

"You can't be here, Crane. There's no way."

At her words, his expression turned worried, while his eyes seemed to soften infinitesimally.

"Never mind that." He spoke quietly, measuring each word carefully, like he was speaking to a small child. He straightened, and adjusted her arm so that it was pulled more firmly across his shoulders. "Right now, I simply need you to walk. Can you do that for me?"

Abbie was suddenly confused. Walk? He wanted her to walk?

She reared back, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Where?"

He looked like he was about to respond, when the loud banging of the attic door suddenly broke the silence. Both of their heads turned towards the sharp noise, and Abbie's eyes widened as her sister burst into the room.

"I heard voices." Jenny panted, looking at them both. She braced a hand on her hip as the rickety wooden door swung shut behind her with a weak groan.

Abbie only stared at her younger sister in shock, before whipping her head around to gape at Crane. He returned her stare, and she could see every emotion that passed across her face reflected starkly in his eyes. Every ounce of alarm, confusion, panic, and, ultimately, anger that rose erratically to the surface, as her conscious mind struggled to accept that what was happening was not a hallucination, but very, very real.

Her baby sister was in purgatory.

Abbie felt all of the blood drain from her face and, oddly, she began to shake. Crane watched her with a measured, almost wary expression. However, his long fingers strongly gripping her elbows communicated his concern loudly.

"No." Abbie tried to say. Her voice came out as little more than a whistle of air. She tried again, this time managing a greater volume.

"No, no, no, no, no…" She shook her head, for a moment completely beyond words.

"Lieutenant…"

"You brought her here?" Abbie rasped in horrified disbelief. How could he be so stupid? So irresponsible? It was bad enough that one of them was trapped in purgatory, but now…

Crane exhaled in exasperation, but his gaze remained steady.

"There was no time–"

"I brought myself here." Jenny all but shouted from behind her. Her tone was sharp enough to cut ice. Abbie turned back to face her sister, leaning as far away from Ichabod as she could, while still keeping her hand braced on his outstretched arm. It stung her pride not being able stand alone, but she figured it would scar it for life if she collapsed in front of them.

"Excuse me?" She leveled a hard look at Jenny, eyebrows raised; daring her to repeat herself.

Jenny glared back at her for a moment, before suddenly rushing forward. Before Abbie knew it, Jenny had caught her in a fierce hug, pulling her away from Crane's support completely.

"Geez, I thought I'd really lost you this time."

The words were muffled against Abbie's jacket collar, but she could hear Jenny's voice crack at the end of them. Abbie hugged her back tightly, and gave her wild curls a few gentle strokes as tears pooled in her own eyes.

"I thought I'd lost you too, for a minute there." She whispered thickly.

They both pulled away awkwardly after a few seconds, but Jenny kept her hands on Abbie's shoulders as she studied her. She sniffed and wiped her nose against the back of one wrist, her eyes never leaving Abbie.

"You look like shit."

Hey y'all! I hope you liked the small update. Stay tuned for Ch. 11! :) Huzzah!