Page 5 of Saving Sparrow
A woodpile stacked near the hand-carved fireplace caught my eye. I crossed over to the sitting area, searching along the mantel for something to light a fire with, but came up empty.
I had to get out of here or at least try to make a way for myself to get out later if need be. The window was my best option.
The nightstand drawers were empty; not even a layer of dust waited inside. Underneath the bed was spotless too.
The bathroom.I hurried there but was met with only a leaky faucet and my weary expression in the mirror above the sink. I drew closer, removing my glasses and staring into the brown eyes that were once my husband’s favorite feature of mine. Grief had weighed them down. They weren’t as large and vibrant as they used to be.
My cheeks were hollow, and even my dark hair lacked its usual luster. I’d aged so much in such a short time.
Finding him hadn’t ended my agony. I thought I’d be holding him in my arms right now, promising everything would be okay.
“You’re in over your head.”
Amelia was right. I understood now that I would need to suffer more, to endure more than I’d ever had to before. I dropped my head, gripping the sink, preparing to do just that to get my husband back.
Back in the bedroom, I rushed for the closet, being met with racks of the same dark pants and top Sparrow had on. They were all starched, pressed, and neatly hung. With the set of keys at his waist, the outfit gave him a janitorial look. Maybe even a prison guard with the addition of the gun.
I ran shaky fingers over the toes of every black boot along the lower shelves. I knew without checking they were a size ten. They were all buffed to perfection, and for some reason, that made my heart hurt. Who was this man, and why did he need to be so disciplined? I took a deep breath. The scent of cleaning products wasn’t as strong in here.
I went through the dresser drawers, smiling sadly at the organized rows of folded underwear. The T-shirts were tucked in on their sides, each pair of socks folded together.
Looking around for anything I might have missed, I spotted a well-loved wooden chest in the back corner. Lowering to my knees in front of it, I carefully opened the lid. My breath caught in my throat.
An overnight bag rested open in the center of the chest. The last place I’d seen it was in the back seat of the truck as we raced to catch a red-eye to Charlotte. I reached inside for the loose-collared sweater my husband had been wearing that night, remembering how the matching silk skirt pooled at his feet. I reached for that next, the shade of blue almost as pale as his irises.
I brought it to my nose, breathing in deeply. The outfit had been cleaned, the bloodstains now gone, but somehow it still smelled like him. I pulled the T-shirt and jeans from the bag next, a navy-blue wallet falling from the folded stack.
I went through the contents inside, staring at the photo and name on the identification card. Curling onto my side, I read the name—first and last—over and over again. It was hard to see past the tears spilling from my eyes, but I kept my gaze on the photo until I fell asleep.
I woke with a panicked gasp, my sweat-soaked shirt clinging to my chest. I felt disoriented, groggy as I tried to recall whose bed I was in and how I’d gotten here. It all came back to me in a rush, and my gaze shot to the open closet door. Had I left everything the way I’d found it before dragging myself over to the bed?
The sound of a crackling fire drew my attention to the sitting area. Sparrow waited there, watching me from the armchair near the roaring fireplace. His hair was pulled back in a damp braid, but he wore the same uniform-style outfit he had last night. Was that last night? My bone-deep tiredness said I might have only been asleep for minutes.
“What time is it?” The moon shone brightly outside, but during the polar night that wasn’t necessarily an indication of time of day. If I were going to live through ceaseless cold and darkness, I at least needed to be oriented with the time. The clock on the wall was useless to me. The second hand ticked, but the hour hand never moved.
“Is it morning?” The threads in my mind began unraveling the longer he stayed silent. “Please—” I stopped myself from begging.Something told me he’d only use my weakness against me. “You gave me your room,” I said instead. “Why?”
After an excruciating extended silence, he addressed my surprise. “The other bedrooms are all spoken for.”
All spoken for? Did other people live here? I tried to remember how many rooms I’d counted along the hall before reaching this one.
“Who are you?”
“I told you; my name is Adam. I’m in town visiting family. I…”
My voice trailed off, ice freezing my veins when Sparrow reached for the shotgun propped against the side of the chair. He draped it across his lap, giving me a pointed look. The echo of a gunshot went off in my head.
“I-I flew in from California.” That much was true. “You s-saw the address on my license. Just let me call my aunt. She’ll confirm everything.” I had no one to call. I’d either lost or pushed away anyone who ever cared about me, but I had to at least pretend to be telling the truth.
“I’m not here to hurt you.” I raised my hands unprompted. “I—”
Sparrow’s impatient exhale interrupted me. He closed his eyes and cracked his neck, one hand resting on the barrel of the shotgun, the other on the butt of it.
“You can leave me locked in here until the roads open. I won’t cause any trouble.” I considered giving up the ruse, but worried that would only get me killed a lot sooner.
“How do you see this playing out? Do you think he’ll want to bond with a stranger who appears out of thin air?”
I shook Amelia’s rational questions from my head. It was partly her fault we were in this situation to begin with.
