Page 193 of Saving Sparrow
“Whose things are these?” Elliott asked from behind me. I turned to see him holding a pair of Sparrow’s boots.
“I… Um…” I didn’t know where to start.
Elliott walked over to the open chest. “How did my bag get here?” He dropped the boots, stepping back when he spotted the keys.
“Please,” I begged, sliding a palm along his neck. “Don’t get worked up.”
He closed his eyes, relaxing in increments as I rubbed at the pulsing vein in his neck. “Tell me,” he whispered. I opened my mouth to say the words, then closed it, terrified. “Tell me,” he insisted.
“I believe you have something called dissociative identity disorder.” I more than believed, but I’d let a doctor officially diagnose him.
“What?”
“Calm,” I reminded him. “I believe the gaps in your memories are due to your not having been present in those moments.” I didn’t run down the list of alters or mention how I’d spent my time here. I explained the basics of what DID entailed, and I let him know one of his protectors saved him from his parents.
“They took me to the basement.” His gaze went vacant. “I saw a hole in the ground. I remember being scared.”
“Do you want to go to the basement?” I asked. “Do you want to see their grave?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I believe you. I-I don’t need proof. I don’t want to see it.”
“Okay, let’s go then.”
“Wait.” He grabbed my arm. “I want… I…” His grip on me tightened.
“What is it? What do you want, Ellie?”
A million things played out in his gaze, and I didn’t care what it was, what he wanted. I’d give it to him. I’d give him anything. He licked his lips. “I want to burn this place down.”
I squeezed his hand, a sense of rightness coursing through me. “I can help you with that.”
Elliott changed, and we strode from the bedroom with purpose. I grabbed my bags from the reading room, zipping the gifts Sparrow gave me inside.
“Where’d you get those?”
“I promise I’ll tell you later.” I led him to the foyer closet.
Elliott hesitated when I held Sparrow’s coat open for him to slip into. I let him wear mine instead, while I wore Sparrow’s. It smelled like him, and the sense of grief that hit me was unexpected.
“Are you okay?” Elliott asked, searching my pain-filled gaze.
“Yeah. Ready?”
He released a heavy exhale. “Let’s do it.”
I found cans of gasoline in the garage. We grabbed them after backing the car down the plowed driveway. “Are you sure?”
“Besides you and Quentin, I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
“I’ll take the upstairs,” I said as we headed back inside. “If it becomes toomuch—”
“It won’t. Leaving it standing is what would be too much. I-I have to destroy this place once and for all. I have to let it go.” We kissed hard before I raced up the stairs.
I unlocked each door, doused it with gasoline, and grabbed the jewelry box from Joshua’s room. I slipped it into the coat pocket, pausing at Sparrow’s bedroom, feeling an odd desire to preserve it. I approached the bed, letting my head hang as I remembered everything that took place in that room, good and bad. Bittersweet emotions left me short of breath.
“Guelly?” Elliott’s voice shook me from my thoughts, the sadness in his eyes splitting me open. “I saw the rooms.”
“I hadn’t meant for you to.” How long had I been standing here?
