A/N: Each scene is separated by ...

The original title for this chapter was an Arthur Conan Doyle quote. Unfortunately stupid ffn only allows a certain amount of characters for a chapter title. So, I paraphrased. The original quote is: "...when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

Enjoy!

Summary: For Myka Bering and Helena Wells, somewhere between fact and fantasy, lies the truth.

...

"So, what do you think? Lady Cuckoo, or Lady Axe Wielding Maniac?"

"Neither," came out of Myka's mouth before she could stop it as she strode towards the cell which housed Wells.

Pete raised an eyebrow. "What else could it be, Mykes?" Tired of having to hoof it in order to keep up, Pete grabbed her arm, bringing Myka to an abrupt stop.

"What the hell, Pete?"

Boy, was she irritated. But he was on the way to being irritated himself. Myka could be tricky to deal with when she was in this kind of mood.

"Come on, Mykes. You must have some ideas. Not only are you my bestie, but we've worked as partners in the field, and I know how your mind works."

Myka was silent, rubbing the back of her neck, and Pete recognized the gesture.

"Either you have an idea but are reluctant to share...or you're still processing. Which is it, Myka?" Pete hated to push her after what happened, but they needed all hands on deck for this one. He was an ex-marine, and saw plenty of action in Iraq before joining Sleepy Hollow PD but when he saw the grisly sight at Schroeder's farm, it made even him sick.

Pete was aware of the relationship between Myka and Sheriff Nielsen. He and Myka may be best friends, but she kept him at arm's length about her troubled youth. However, Pete did know Artie was there for her in a way her parents, especially her father, had not been, or ever could be. Artie Nielsen's death must be destroying his best friend inside, but Myka reverted to her usual modus operandi.

Myka's entire focus was on solving the case to the exclusion of everything else so she could bury her emotions. At some point however the emotions would surface, but Pete would be there, ready to ground her. Now he couldn't get through if he tried.

Myka glanced at him in annoyance, but then admitted, "I don't know...I have some thoughts..." His face lit up, but she interrupted, "Nothing concrete, and nothing I wish to share right now."

This time Pete let it go, deciding he had pushed her far enough at the moment. Instead he commented, "Well, she's about to be grilled by Price. Maybe we'll get some answers from that."

Myka rolled her eyes. "Lie detectors are notoriously unreliable, but at the moment, I will take any extra info we can get. But Pete...she's not the killer."

"How do you know, Myka?"

"The killer was an approximately 6'2" bulky male dressed as a redcoat." She tapped the side of her head. "Eidetic memory, remember? There is no way that slight woman could swing a broad, heavy axe with such ease...or do such a quick costume change between the time of the murder and the time Sam arrested her. Other than that..." Myka shrugged. "I just know. It's as simple as that."

While Pete was dubious this woman's outlandish claims from last night were true, he trusted Myka. If she thought there was any chance this woman was the killer, Myka would be merciless in pursuing conviction.

She brushed past him, and while Pete's skepticism remained, his belief in his vibes was certain.

And right now, they were screaming loud and clear: "Danger, Will Robinson, danger!"

...

"You have no need to be so rough."

Helena had been unceremoniously shoved into a chair in some sort of enclosed room, and wondered about the civility in this time period. "Is this how a citizen is treated today? Your manners are simply appalling."

"Officer, you may leave the room." A standing nondescript blading man dismissed, and despite her unfamiliarity with this time, his attire and attitude suggested one in authority.

The blond officer paused, staring down at her. His expression wore some type of conflict which she could not interpret. He certainly bore no liking for Helena, that much was obvious.

"Clearly I am incapable of hurting your colleague," Helena paused in annoyance, and then lifted her shackles to emphasize her point. "These manacles have made certain of that."

The officer finally nodded, and left, leaving her alone with the nondescript man. To her displeasure, he began to attach some sort of wires to her. After a moment, he seemed satisfied, and sat down across from Helena, fiddling with some sort of apparatus on the tabletop.

Despite the severity of the situation, Helena was curious. "What sort of machine is this?"

"This machine will test if you are telling the truth."

"The truth? In which I had nothing whatsoever to do with the murders of those two men? It should be quite obvious I did not. I was nowhere near the vicinity!" Helena protested, then added, "Are you perhaps a magistrate?"

Disregarding her inquiry, the man stated, "Miss Wells, you have a much better chance of leaving here if you just relax, and answer the following questions."

Unfortunately the situation provided no other recourse, so she acquiesced. Helena was surprised at the less than extensive interrogation of the previous night. The noticeable skepticism by each law enforcement officer grew as the more she revealed, the more mentally incompetent she appeared.

The man finished his preparation and began his interrogation. "What is your name?"

"Helena G. Wells. I am a captain in the colonial army under General George Washington."

"How is it a woman is a captain in George Washington's army?"

Helena bristled. "How is it, sir, that you have women wearing trousers and performing the duties of law enforcement?"

Paying no heed to Helena's outburst, the man asked, "How did you come to be in Washington's army?"

"My husband died fighting in the King's regiment at the Battle of Lexington." Helena smiled wistfully upon remembering Woolly. "He was a good man, but naive in a way. Woolly believed the monarchy had the best interest at heart for the colonists, and was a keen loyalist. I however was not. The weight of tyranny took a heavy toll on my conscious. After Woolly died, I was anxious to aid the colonists in gaining their independence, but was unsure how to go about it.

"Roughly four months after Woolly was killed in battle, I grew acquainted with a gentleman, who to my surprise, acknowledged my intellect. He eventually revealed he had great disdain for the oppressive power of the English government as well.

"After six months, he trusted me enough to warrant an introduction to George Washington. He considered Washington to be a man of free thinking, who was open to granting me the chance to utilize my skills in order to serve a higher purpose.

"You see, men often do not hold their tongue with a woman. They feel women lack the understanding and knowledge of anything beyond what is considered appropriate for the female sex, as in activities such as sewing, perhaps playing a musical instrument, how to dress and act in society, and the rearing of children. If a woman knows how to manipulate, a man will reveal all sorts of information, including military secrets, which he believes will impress her.

"Thus, becoming a spy was easy enough. Woolly had come from a wealthy family, and had a disguised military record. Before he had been assigned to the colonies, he was knighted. As a lady in high society, I knew a great many influential gentlemen, including nobility of both sexes.

"Among ladies of nobility, I was also privy to any information they were aware of. Because of Woolly's stature, I never came under suspect.

"As time went by, General Washington asked me to perform extensive missions for him, some required me to pretend to be a man. I had possessed a great proficiency in the art of fencing, a crack shot with a pistol, and the style of fighting I learned from a friend of my husband's known as kenpo. These skills, along with my high intellect, had persuaded Washington. However, I had to be careful as some female attributes were very difficult to hide, especially in speaking and my slighter stature.

"I relished those missions. Being a man afforded the freedom I was denied as a woman."

It was not lost on Helena that in this brave new world, women appeared to finally be able to enjoy the exclusive male privileges so prevelant in her time period. And she had certainly appreciated the results illustrated in the form of the beautiful curly haired female officer interrogating her last night.

"You say you are from the year 1781?"

"Yes," Helena affirmed.

"How did you wind up here then?"

"I don't know. I was wounded in battle, and woke up in some sort of cave outside of your village," Helena paused at the memory of the events of the last day and night. "Everything is so very odd here..." she mumbled.

"You speak of a 'headless horseman' who apparently followed you into this time period?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, I am unable to discern how or why."

"Did you behead this...'headless horseman', as you put it?"

It was evident the man did not believe her, and she glared at his insinuation.

"He was no ordinary man, I assure you. He is Death itself, and it was my mission to stop this ungodly creature.

"And no I did not behead him," she stressed. "I shot him first, but he rose back up. I was cut by his blade. Fortunately, I captured his axe as he fell to the ground. It was then I dispatched the fiend by cutting off his head. Although it now appears I was unsuccessful, as he has arrived in this time period along with myself."

"You speak of being cut and you were certain death was imminent, yet you have no appearance of even BEING cut," the man persisted. "Why is this?"

"If I knew, I would tell you. Alas, I do not." Helena's patience was wearing thin, and she wanted answers of her own. "Where am I?"

"It's not where, Miss Wells. It's when." The man held up some sort of promissory note, and in the very center was a small drawing bearing the likeness of General Washington.

"What is this?" Helena peered intently.

"This is a one dollar bill. Two hundred and fifty years have passed. Welcome to the year 2013, Miss Wells."

"I want a psych eval immediately. And Lieutenant Bering, I want you off this case."

...

Captain Irene Frederic closed the file she had been writing in, and handed it to Pete. "Sergeant Lattimer, I want you to escort Miss Wells over to St. Gregory's Hospital. The paperwork is inside to present to the staff once you arrive."

"Yes, ma'am." Myka noticed Pete's worried glance, but simply disregarded it.

Myka had been awake most of the previous night. She had paced the floor, mumbling to herself as she chewed on twizzler after twizzler. Myka went over every possible angle from her own memory, to Wells's statements, to the evidence found at the scene, and even from past police files she just "happened to come across" while filing her report of the horrific scene forever etched in her mind.

But Myka needed facts, answers. They provided stability (always had) amid chaos. Her mind understood facts. Her mind did not understand the illogical, the undefinable of what she had witnessed last night.

"Captain, I know you're aware of my record. I would be indispensable to this investigation. I have the best analytical mind here, not to mention my eidetic memory-"

"Lieutenant Bering," Captain Frederic interrupted, "I have made my decision."

"Captain, let me at least interrogate Wells before Pete drives her to St. Gregory's. Wells described details perfectly. I don't believe she is the killer, but I believe she has some connection. We need to know what that connection is, so we can find the actual killer."

Captain Frederic stopped, and turned around, disclosing, "I am aware Wells is not the killer, Lieutenant. As far as some connection, I hold little credence to that theory. At least not at the moment. Wells failed the lie detector test, and her answers speak of someone mentally imbalanced which is why I want a psych evaluation." The captain's expression softened. "I understand the need to find Sheriff Nielsen's killer. Arthur and I had known each other for a long time, and I am just as anxious to solve his murder."

Before Myka could interrupt, the older woman continued, "Myka, I know you were close to Sheriff Nielsen, which is exactly the reason I want you off this case."

"Let me drive Wells over then," Myka pressed. "At least I can interrogate her on the way."

"Lieutenant-"

"Please, Captain." Myka was begging at this point, and hated herself for it. "I may not have Pete's vibes, but my gut feeling tells me Wells may be the key."

The captain stared at Myka over the top of her glasses, and Myka had the sense she and her argument were being scrutinized.

Captain Frederic was a formidable woman who easily inspired compliance among her officers. By the book Myka Bering, whose obsessive need to follow rules and respect authority had never before questioned her captain's orders. They both knew how difficult it was for Myka to go against her own code of ethics.

"All right, Lieutenant, you may take Wells to St. Gregory's," Captain Frederic finally relented. "However," she emphasized, "rest assured, you will be removed from this case as soon as she is checked in."

...

"The very fact you wish for my help suggests no other options exist."

Myka squinted in the glare of the afternoon sun, and slipped her ray bans on. "Look, Wells, I am the closest you will come to someone actually believing your fiction."

"If it is really fiction as you say, then why have you neglected to inform your colleagues you witnessed a Headless Horseman, Lieutenant?" Myka said nothing. "Ah, I see. While it matters not that YOU have withheld knowledge, it matters if I do so. It appears hypocrisy still exists."

Myka's jaw worked. Wells had rightfully called her out on that one. Instead of any acknowledgment, Myka opened the shotgun door, and motioned to the interior of the car. "Get in."

"It is rather difficult when I have these damned manacles on my wrists." Wells held up her handcuffs, giving them a little shake.

After a moment, deciding the threat from the other woman was minimal, Myka unlocked the cuffs, securing them onto her belt. However, she pointedly placed her hand on her holster. "See this gun, Wells? I am authorized to use this any time. Now, sit in the car."

Wells raised an eyebrow, and rubbed her wrists. Myka walked around the police cruiser, wondering why it bothered her to see those soft wrists sport red marks from the handcuffs.

"I cannot believe it a mere coincidence that the Headless Horseman and I have arrived at the same moment in time and in this very village."

Myka opened the driver side door. "Whatever you believe makes no difference...facts do."

"And here I believed, Lieutenant, I had awakened in the future with my daughter dead for over 250 years. I'm glad to know whatever I see and hear is impossible because then it isn't truly happening."

The bitter sarcasm brought Myka up short. If this woman's story was true (which she had a nagging suspicion it was), Myka felt a measure of guilt for not considering any family this woman left behind.

But at this moment, Myka needed to focus on the here and now, which meant interrogating Wells for answers in order to solve Artie's murder.

"I have orders to take you to a mental institution, and that's the end of it. Now, Wells, this is the last time I will say this: Get into the car or I will not hesitate to shoot you where you stand."

Wells rolled her eyes. "Wonderful. This day continues to bring the most unwelcome gifts."