Page 45 of Saving Sparrow
“I never got to play in the snow,” I whispered to myself. Quentin rubbed his hand over my heart, bringing me back from where I’d gone in my head. I couldn’t do this anymore, not even for them.
“I want to start over.” I placed a hand on Quentin’s forearm, so he knew I was talking to him too. “No more before.” I was crying now. “No more before.”
“Okay,” Miguel said, gently wiping my tears.
“No more before,” Quentin promised.
I fell asleep surrounded by their protection, feeling like life might just be worth living. The next day, I swore to my aunt that I’d sign over my inheritance to her as soon as I was legally able to. I didn’t know if she believed me, but she stayed gone more often than not and no longer forced me to go to therapy.
The three of us grew even closer as the weeks went by. Quentin and I played in a way I never got to as a kid, while Miguel and I raided the local library and talked about books for hours at a time. I still enjoyed my solitude, but I loved spending nights with them too. And although my nightmares hadn’t vanished completely, I now had someone to hold my hand through them. Better yet, two hands. Two best friends.
There was still a darkness living inside me, but Quentin and Miguel didn’t need to know that.
Miguel
Now
“It broke. Fix it, please.”
I accepted the two ends of the fire truck, stunned by how childlike he sounded. He didn’t sound anything like Sparrow or Elliott and didn’t seem to realize he’d been trapped in here, or that a stranger had just walked in. His sole focus was on the damaged toy.
The truck wasn’t broken; the two plastic parts just needed to be snapped back into place. I did so, handing it back. “What’s your name?”
“Joshua.” He snatched the truck from me, smiling from ear to ear. He had Elliott’s smile, young and innocent, and my grief sharpened.
“Thank you!” He crawled over to his toy box for another action figure. He sat the caped crusader in the truck’s jump seat before starting up the sirens and giggling with excitement.
“You’re welcome,” I whispered, scanning the room for answers I couldn’t even form questions to. How did he get here?Whywas he here? And how did Sparrow ensure he didn’t get out?
A combination lockbox rested on the dresser. I struggled to my feet before heading over to it. It was dented on the side, like maybe someone had tried to break into it before. I shook it, hearing the keys bang around on the inside.
I frantically tried every combination of numbers I could think of. Elliott’s birthday, my birthday, Quentin’s, and even the entry code we’d used for my stepfather’s house. Nothing worked. Why would it, though? This was Sparrow, not Elliott. The same things didn’t matter to him.
Joshua continued playing as if I weren’t even there. “Fire! Fire!”
I sucked in a sharp breath at seeing the jewelry box at the other end of the dresser. The ballerina no longer spun, and the music no longer played. I twisted the metal winding key until the twinkling notes of the lullaby it played filled the room. I gripped the dresser for support.
“She loved this the most,”I’d said to Elliott one day.“It doesn’t work, but I’ll never get rid of it.”
I’d kept it hidden from everyone, along with the secret it contained. I dug a finger into the corner, lifting the velvet padding to reveal the secret compartment. The letter, folded into a tiny square, was still inside.
I didn’t remove it, didn’t unfold it, and read it for the hundredth time. I hurried to fix the padding before hugging the ornate box to my heaving chest.
How had it ended up here? And who fixed it? I couldn’t even guess because nothing I came up with made sense.
My gaze sought Joshua, running his truck back and forth on the faded carpet. Exactly how many people did I need to go through to get to Elliott?
“I’m too much work,”Elliott once said to me and Quentin.
“You’re worth it,” I whispered, repeating my response to him. I knelt in front of Joshua. He kept playing, crashing his truck into my kneecap like he hadn’t seen it there. I winced, rubbing the spot as he swapped the action figure out for another.
A coughing fit hit me out of nowhere, taking over my whole body until my stomach and lungs burned, leaving me gasping for air. Still, Joshua played.
“My name’s Miguel,” I said once I was able to.
Joshua turned the truck over, flipping a switch that made the sirens wail louder. The red lights flashed brighter now, and he lifted the ladder before pushing the truck back and forth again.
“How old are you?”
