Page 17 of Little Sparrow

A small silver bell chimes at my entry in the diner, drawing a waitress’s attention from another table. The tall brunette walks over with a smile. Jenny. The same style name tag as Rose’s.

“Table for one, sir?” she asks, noting that I’m alone as her eyes flicker behind me. I consider my answer. I only came here to ask questions about Rose and don’t need a table. My eyes scan the diner, and I notice there is a bar with light blue stools along it, the same as in the dream. Simple, easy, and quick. My head nods towards the bar. “I need to ask some questions. Sit with me?” she pulls in her lips and looks around as if contemplating whether she should. I stride over without waiting for her. It’s not busy here, or I would have waited.

As I sit, she stands beside me. “I can’t sit, but I can talk if you’re quick and make an order.” She pulls out her little notepad and pen, ready to write what I want. I sigh and ask her to choose for me. I can’t waste my time sitting here deciding. She scribbles words on the notepad and stares back at me. “What did you want to ask?”

“Is Rose here?” I’m desperate to see her in person, to touch her for real. Jenny has to know her if they both work in the same place.

Her smile falters, and my eyes narrow in on her. Her face pales before she clears her throat. “A Rose did work here.” She tells me, still avoiding eye contact, but I could see her eyes shining with a threat of tears.

“Did?” I push for answers, not liking this feeling settling in my stomach.

The waitress averts her eyes to the floor and bites her lip. Something deep in my gut told me something was wrong, very wrong.

“Where is she?” I demand, my fingers gripping the edge of the chrome bar.

She looks back up at me, her eyes glistening with tears. One escapes. “No one knows,” she murmurs, a slight tremble in her voice. I just about hear her. A pain I don’t understand burns in my chest.

My legs push me to stand, and I tower over her. “Are the police involved?” Of course they would be, but they might have pushed her file aside. I’m making Jenny cry, but something happened. As she wipes away the stray tears, she finally answers. “Rose disappeared a few nights ago. Someone broke in, killed her dad, and now Rose is gone without a trace- an abduction, they are saying. Police won’t share details. We only know what has been on the news.”

The girl breaks down, so I sit her on my abandoned stool and pass her the napkin sitting on the side. She takes it gently from me and holds it against her face, catching another tear before it can stain her cheek. I hate seeing women cry.

“I’m going to look for her,” I promise. Hoping she’s not dead. With no dreams together since she vanished, it’s possible. I just know she would have found me and told me.

“You’re him aren’t you?” She says as I turn to storm out of the diner, I freeze in my tracks, “What are you talking about?” I ask, needing to know. I turn my head over my shoulder. All eyes are on me.

“The guy she was talking to the last few weeks? It’s you, isn’t it?” I’m not sure what to say, so I leave and return to the busy streets. There are no flyers anywhere with her face. I grab a newspaper from a stand and flick through just to see if there was anything; much to everyone's annoyance, already waiting. Missing persons. Rose Thompson. It’s her.

My feet carry me through the busy streets of London, I don’t know where to start, but I’m letting instinct guide me. I knew she lived in a small apartment and not a house, so I search there first. Tall buildings with basic square windows are in a row, and I look up at them. Squinting as the sun is high in the sky. I walk closer to one of them, and yellow police tape is still half hanging on the door. A tall man stands nearby, looking up at one of the windows, he turns to me. We make eye contact, he turns and walks away. I follow, but he disappears around one of the buildings. Somehow I need to get into this building, the doors have sensor keys to get inside so it’s impossible to pick the lock. I keep waiting until the door opens, and a couple walks out. Before the door completely closes, I grab the edge of the door before rushing through to look around.

I'm not sure how high the man outside had been looking up, but it looked around the fifth or sixth floor on my right side. He gave me a bad vibe, if Rose was already gone then it couldn’t be anyone looking for her. Maybe he was a private investigator. I let these thoughts go through my mind as I ascend the concrete stairs, my shoes echoing with every step. It matches my heartbeat. I stand at the end of a row of apartments, the doors all in a line. Everything seems eerie, a place locked in time. It’s so quiet and almost as though no one lives here. It’s full of ghosts.

That's when I noticed the police tape covering a door on the far corner. I just know it’s where she was. Sweat beads on my temple, and I’m outside her door. The tape has not been touched until I ripped it off. No one must have entered since she disappeared. I wipe my clammy hands against my trousers, I know I shouldn’t be leaving fingerprints, but surely the crime scene investigators would have taken them by now.

The door handle is cold beneath my touch, I push down, and the door opens except for the creak of the hinges. Silence greets me.

I walk through the small space. Everything looks normal, her bookcase was still the way it had been in our dream, the carpets are clean, and nothing out of the ordinary. Until I feel the cold breeze come from a slightly open bedroom door. I drag my feet toward it. Not wanting to go in, I hesitate. I know she isn’t in there, but the thought of what I could find. Lifting my shaky hand, I push the door. The groan of the hinges echoing in the empty space sounds sinister. The first thing I notice is the smell, I use the crook of my elbow to cover my mouth and nose. The curtains are ripped down from the window, and a large bloodstain on the floor next to the overturned mattress. I stare at it. There is so much blood. Bile fills my mouth and burns my throat. It can’t be from Rose. They never found her body. This is her father's. She must be heartbroken.

I search the room for clues, but most things had been taken to forensics. As someone who grew up in organised crime, I might know what to look for. How would someone have gotten Rose out? There would be more struggle throughout the front room if they had dragged her through, but no claw marks. They must have knocked her out or drugged her. I hope they did it before they killed her father, but I doubt it. In my world, we would use it as a warning. A punishment.

Could it be someone from my world? Would someone from the mafia take her, and why? We have no deals with any from the UK or Dublin. What could they possibly want from a teenage girl? Her father seemed like a normal guy. He wasn’t rich, they lived in a small apartment, and his career only paid enough to keep them afloat. She worked too. None of this makes sense.

Then I remember the man outside. He might know something, who is he and why is he here? If he has nothing to hide, then why did he leave?

I wish I had gotten to know Rose better to know what I’m searching for. Instead of chasing the man outside, he had disappeared anyway, I just had to hope I bumped into him again on my own search.

Fuck, this is frustrating. The only thing I do find is a drawing in a sketchpad of me. Her talent at capturing me, I just know that this is from the first night we saw each other. There is something that gives it away, she must have spent hours on this. I flick through more pages and the faceless demons are on them. I shudder from the memory and slam the sketchbook closed. Needing to get out of here I tuck it under my arm. A dark feeling passes over me, and I don’t know what it is. But my mind is screaming at me, begging me to find her fast, because she is the best thing that happened to me. I can’t let her go.

I fight myself in my mind, I need to find Rose, but the weapon is also important. I can only concentrate on one at a time. I pinch my nose and take a deep breath.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out, frustrated at the decision I'm faced with. It’s my uncle. No word from my mother yet or new information about the weapon. Not surprising, as people already thought he had it.

“Bonjourno,” I answer as I step out to the door. Tomasso’s deep rumbling voice travels down the phone. “Have you found your mother yet?” He asks, sounding impatient. I almost forgot that I’m supposedly here to search for her, I clench my jaw. “Haven’t seen her. I’ll be searching elsewhere soon.” I lie, but quickly change the subject before he can ask anything else.

“Any news on the Sparrow?” I open the door in front of me and step out, taking a look around the apartment complex from the inside and waiting to see if anyone suspicious wanders around.

“Nothing yet. No one is really sure if he has it. Things have gone quiet.” He says. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad, I chew on the inside of my cheek in thought.

“You know what you have to do when it’s found, don't you?” He interrupts before I say anything.

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