Page 1 of Saving Sparrow
“You never have to come back; I promise. I can come back by myself, okay?”
“You gotta get the keys!” he exclaimed, his young voice frantic as he stared down at the lock on the basement door.
“What’s down there?” I whispered, heart pounding in my throat. Both lock and door were made of thick steel. My instincts told me that whatever was down there wasn’t good.
“Y-you gotta get the—” His breath hitched, his watery blue gaze darting over my shoulder. I glanced back but couldn’t see anyone down the gloomy hallway.
“Oh no…” He fisted his fire truck pajama top, the color draining from his face.
“What’s wrong?” My fear made me sound impatient. “What’s happening?”
The world around us froze when he breathed, “Someone’s coming,” before taking off.
“Wait!” I shouted, giving chase.
“Someone’s coming!” he shouted back, arms pumping as he ran. “Someone’s coming!”
We rounded corner after corner, ran down hall after hall. The house was a dark labyrinth, making it difficult to see more than a few feet ahead of us at a time.
“W-who…” I couldn’t speak, couldn’t catch my breath as the rickety chandelier above the foyer came into view. “Who else is… here with us?” I stole glances over my shoulder as my legs pushed harder, but only darkness and a sense of dread followed me.
He reached the grand staircase, grabbing the creaky banister to keep from falling when his body twitched. He charged up the steps with me trailing behind him, my injuries slowing me down. “Someone’s coming,” he repeated, words slurred this time.
We passed locked door after locked door, and I realized he was headed for the open one across from mine. I stretched my arm toward him as if that would help me pick up speed. I couldn’t lose him. I still had so many questions.
“Please wait,” I tried again. He stopped without warning, and my ankle twisted as I skidded to a halt to keep from crashing into him.
His shoulders stiffened, his breathing evening out before he turned to me. I stared into the cruel eyes of the man in front of me and realized thatsomeonewas here.
Miguel
Now
Winters tended to wreak havoc on my psyche, but the addition of the polar night’s perpetual darkness would make surviving the Alaskan winter even more challenging.
I hadn’t considered that before boarding a flight out here. I hadn’t considered anything aside from finding my husband.
Arriving today hadn’t been the original plan. A few more days to get my story together would’ve helped, but I had to beat the storm. I barely made it in time.
Just as the car rental agent warned, the storm knocked out the cell signal. He urged me not to make the trek out here, but I ignored him, writing the directions down as a backup plan in case the GPS went out.
Adjusting my glasses, I triple-checked the handwritten notes to confirm I was still on the right path. I’d left civilization in my rearview a dozen or so miles ago, and with the heavy snowfall increasing in speed and density, I couldn’t afford to get lost or stranded. Not until I reached my destination.
After what felt like an eternity of navigating the snow and sleet-covered terrain surrounding the old estate, the eerie, palatial home perched at the top of a slope came into view. A chill crept up my spine as I thought about what lay ahead, but I couldn’t turn back now. Not when I could feel his presence after being empty without it for so long.
The windshield wipers did little to help with visibility. I could make out the home, but it was still a good distance away. I debated getting closer before enacting my plan, but it felt more realistic to get things started from here.
I exhaled a shaky breath before cutting the engine and plunging myself into near darkness other than the interior light. I stared down at the Swiss Army knife in my gloved hand, wondering if it would get the job done. It was all I could find in the airport gift shop. “You can do this,” I told myself, the knife trembling in my grasp.
After a few more words of self-encouragement, I zipped my heavy coat to my chin, secured my hood over my head, and exited the truck. The wind almost knocked me to the ground, but I grabbed onto the door just in time.
Circling to the front of the rental and lifting the icy hood, I used my phone’s flashlight to find the correct wires and began the task of fraying them. They needed to appear as if they’d suffered normal wear and tear. A clean cut would’ve screamed sabotage.
A small spark ignited before dying out, sending me back a few steps. The acrid scent of burnt rubber filled the air.
Next, I cut a hole between the rear tire tread, hoping it would hide the source of the flat if it came to it. Then I began to panic, wondering if adding the flat was overkill. What were the chances that the engine diedanda tire went out? My hands shook so badly I lost my grip on the knife, my breathing ragged as I felt around in the snow for it.
Carrying my duffel bag might have come off as suspicious and presumptuous, so I left it in the truck and took my backpack instead. I’d come back for the rest of my stuff if things went according to plan.
