Page 88 of Saving Sparrow
I thought about all those things as I unlocked the door adjacent to the room I slept in. I flipped on the light, and what I saw made me see red.
The window had been boarded up, the nails rusted from age. A dirty, thin mattress was shoved against a wall in the cold, dark room. I knew before spotting the small school desk facing the darkest corner that this was Elliott’s old bedroom.
“One’s empty. Pointless.”
Something told me this was the room Sparrow spoke about, and like I’d guessed, it was anything but pointless.
I moved over to the boarded window, running my hands over the gouges in the wood. Had he tried to claw his way out? Had Sparrow?
I lowered onto the mattress next, needing to experience what it must have been like for Elliott to sleep in here. I stayed clear of the yellow stains on the right side, biting the inside of my cheek to hold in my yelp when the springs bit into my bruised body.
The hinges of the desk creaked when I lifted the lid. Math and reading textbooks were stored inside. A Bible, too. I had to wonder why his parents even bothered homeschooling him. Why did they care about his education if they hadn’t cared about him in any other way?
“Toward the end, it became more about keeping the devil inside Elliott, rather than casting out the demons.”
I mulled over Sparrow’s words, trying to piece more of the puzzle together.Toward the end…Did he mean the end of their lives? Thathad to be it. They hadn’t given up on saving Elliott at first, but then something made them believe he couldn’t be saved. Something that led to their deaths.
Did that make them good people? Good, misguided people?
No, they were monsters, even if they believed their intentions were pure. Sparrow was proof of that. Joshua too. Their entire existence—and the existence of the others I hadn’t met—was proof of that.Gideonwas proof of it, too.
Of all the rooms I’d seen throughout the house, this one was in the worst condition, as if it had been neglected long before Elliott escaped this place.
The jingle of keys in the hall made my breath hitch. I hurried to the door, closing it quietly as I turned the light off.
The volume of my breathing threatened to give me away. What if he was headed to find me, and I wasn’t there?
It was fine, I told myself. He hadn’t locked me in. He’d likely think I was being nosy and go hunt me down. I’d slip from this room and go to the kitchen for something to drink, hoping I didn’t bump into him beforehand. My pulse evened out, and I flattened my ear against the door.
I couldn’t hear anything, so I cracked the door open, peeking through the slit.
Sparrow stood facing the door across the hall, holding the lockbox, the fingers of his free hand digging into the doorframe. He seemed to be struggling to stay upright.
Eventually, he pulled the ring of keys from his pocket, unlocking the door before stumbling in.
The walls were painted black, and the bed frame was made out of matching leather. That was all I was able to glimpse before the door clicked shut and the lock slid into place. A sense of foreboding washed over me as I wondered who and what awaited him inside.
I managed to get some sleep before showering and dressing for the day. My ribs felt much better, but if I moved too fast, my body reminded me it was still in the healing process. The burning in my lungs had improved, and so had my cough, especially after taking another dose of antibiotics.
I slipped my contacts in, then combed my overgrown hair, hiding the small bald spot Sparrow had caused. I couldn’t say why, but I didn’t want him to see it and feel bad for what he’d done. Maybe because I suspected his actions were mostly fear-based, instead of coming from a place of anger and cruelty. He was still both of those things—angry and cruel—but he was also a man trying to protect the people he cared about. A man trying to make amends for failing those people. Sparrow and I weren’t that different from one another.
Exiting the bathroom, I noted the time on the clock as I headed for the bedroom door. It had been six hours since I’d watched Sparrow enter the third bedroom along my side of the hall. Was he still in there? Had he gotten any sleep? If so, how much?
The house was still. That same watchful stillness that made my skin crawl. It felt like the walls had eyes, and they were all trained on me.
There were no signs of Sparrow downstairs, although I’d only checked the common areas. I considered the hallway Sparrow had gone down last night after our conversation, but didn’t want to be caught creeping up on him as he slept, showered, or dressed.
I thought about the delicious meals he’d made for me since deciding he wanted to keep me alive—for the time being. Had anyone ever done anything nice for him? I was positive the answer was no, considering Sparrow lived a solitary life, with no one to stand guard while he took time to even rest. With that thought in mind, I made my way back to the kitchen.
The refrigerator and pantry were fully stocked with enough food to last through the winter. I could barely open the freezer with all the poultry and meat stuffed inside. There were a few things missing in order to make the Dominican breakfast I had in mind, but I’d work with what I had. I got started on the comfort dish my mother used to cook for me and hoped Sparrow wouldn’t take my head off for it.
I’d just finished setting the dining room table when Sparrow’s voice cut through the air.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
He stood in the kitchen, inches from the archway that separated the two rooms. He wore his signature armor, his long braid damp. He looked only marginally less tired than he had the last time we’d faced each other.
“I made breakfast. You didn’t eat your dinner last night. I figured you’d wake up hungry.”
