Page 53 of Diluted Truths
“There is obviously something else going on. Talk to me.”
I sighed. It was terrifying how well Will knew me after just a few short weeks.
After the long conversation with Bec and Sarah, Will declared that I needed a break from the case. He still hadn’t told me where we were going. He thought it would be more exciting for me if it was a surprise.
“What if you’re right? What if I disappear next?” I asked him, in nearly a whisper.
“Then I’ll find you.” Will grabbed my hand as we sat in the backseat of the car.
I looked him in the eyes, trying to find any sign that he was lying or exaggerating. All I saw was the complete truth. Will had begun burrowing into my heart. It was terrifying to let someone in. I had learned to be careful with who I trusted. I was also scared to let someone in fully because I couldn’t handle them leaving the way Nate had.
“How are you so confident that you can?” I began, “we don’t know where I will be or when it will happen, if it does.”
“I’m a stubborn man, Jackie. It’s about time you realize that when it comes to the things I want, I’ll get them one way or another,” he responded, making me wonder if he was alluding to something else.
There was an obvious connection between the two of us. It felt more than just physical, almost as if we were connected on some higher level.
Ugh, I sounded ridiculous.
Will had that effect on me. Everytime he walked into a room, my eyes were drawn to him. In my defense, you can’t look like Will and not draw the attention of every available person in the room. It was truly unfair how… well, how pretty he is. Winnie explained to me that both her and Will’s father were from Romania. I had never been there, or had met anyone from there either, but I was convinced that was why Will was so distractingly attractive.
Slowly we drove down what could only be described as the quintessential fall town from a movie. The tree-lined streets were orange and golden yellow. There were pumpkins, hay bales, and other decor in front of the stores. Families were walking down the streets hand in hand, likely enjoying the fall festivities. The scene before me didn’t seem real, but instead staged for a magazine or movie.
Just as I thought we were going to stop, we continued onward through the small town I still didn’t know. Each house had the old-timey charm of Northern New York. We were just a few weeks from Halloween and the people here really went all out on their decorations. I had grown up in a small farm town where you had to drive quite a ways to see your neighbors and decorations were few and far between.
Here, the houses were close but it gave off a cozy feel to the entire town. People were walking the streets and conversing with their neighbors. There was a sense of community that I used to long for growing up.
I turned to Will only to find him staring right at me. His blue eyes cut deep into my soul, almost like they were searching for something.
“What?” I asked.
In return he only smiled and shook his head.
Damn that smile, it was debilitating. A smile I learned most people didn’t have the pleasure of seeing.
We continued our drive for only about five minutes when we pulled up to a place I would have never expected.
“Are we at a cemetery?” I asked, looking out the window, staring at the many headstones.
“Yep,” Will responded as he got out of the car. I watched as he walked around and waved the driver off from opening my door and did so himself, offering me his hand. “Come on, I have something I want to show you.”
I accepted his hand and we walked into the cemetery, still hand in hand. We had been doing that more and more often. There were small touches, hand holding, lingering looks. Neither of us spoke on it, not wanting to prompt it to stop.
We made our way slowly through the cemeteries, occasionally stopping to look at the headstones. I stopped when I noticed a very popular name.
“William Rockefeller?” I turned to Will. “As intheWilliam Rockefeller?”
He laughed and nodded. “Andrew Carnegie is also buried here, and one more person… Ah, here it is,” Will stated as he stopped in front of a headstone.
I walked up to him and began reading the inscription across it.
“Washington Irving….” I turned to Will, shocked. “Is this the writer of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow? Are we in Sleepy Hollow right now?”
“That we are.”
I smiled and continued to look at the headstone.
The Legend of Sleepy Hollowwas one of my favorite stories growing up. There were not many horror stories, movies, books, or anything like that I was allowed to read. Although I would argue the Bible was scarier than most other books and I read that thing a hundred times over.
