Page 43 of Saving Sparrow (Slow Burns & Tragic Beginnings #2)

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“They were tortured to death.”

Those five words haunted me as I dragged my battered body upstairs. I sat on the edge of Sparrow’s bed watching the minutes tick by.

“Good question. Maybe Sparrow can give you the answer to that.”

Amelia had made it seem like she didn’t know how Elliott’s parents died. I’d assumed she was lying, and now Sparrow’s answer proved that. Or did it?

Was it possible she knew they died, but not how they died? I didn’t think so. As Elliott’s only living relative, she’d somehow been contacted to take custody of him. Wouldn’t the police, or whoever reached out, have told her how they died? Wouldn’t it have been in a report or something?

Maybe I should’ve dug into all this before coming here, but I’d had so little to go off, and I just wanted to get here.

What had she murmured that day? What did she say under her breath before ordering me to get the hell out of her house?

“Think, Miguel, think,” I berated myself. It was right on the fringes of my mind, so close I could touch it. I put myself back in her living room, right across from her cold gaze. I could see her lips moving, and I held my breath, trying to read them.

“Shit.” I screwed my eyes shut, trying harder, getting closer until I heard what she’d said.

“Blood. So much blood.”

Was that really what she’d said? If I hadn’t heard her then, in real time, then how could I trust my memory of what she’d said now? And what did her supposed words even mean? I decided to let it go. Picking through Amelia’s lies wasn’t important right now.

I dropped my head back, exhausted but knowing my overactive brain wouldn’t allow me to go to sleep anytime soon. A bad idea came to me, and I ambled over to the nightstand containing the skeleton key.

Sparrow wasn’t in any of the rooms on this floor, and he’d likely fallen asleep by now. He looked tired enough to sleep for several days straight. I could enter the rooms along the hall, and he wouldn’t know.

As fast as my aching body could move, I pulled the drawer out and removed the taped key from the bottom.

It felt like a waste of time going into Joshua’s room, but as strange as it sounded, I was worried about him.

I wanted to make sure he had everything he needed in there, that his truck was still working, for when he returned.

I grabbed a mini Snickers bar from my duffel bag before venturing across the hall.

I went through Joshua’s drawers, smiling at his fire truck pajama sets. They were all Sparrow’s size. I thought about placing the chocolate on top of them but figured the chances of Sparrow seeing it there before Joshua were high. He probably changed clothes before he switched.

Instead, I stashed the miniature candy bar into a slot on his fire truck after confirming the toy still worked.

Belatedly, I realized the wailing siren might have drawn Sparrow’s attention, but I shrugged off the paranoia.

He wouldn’t have heard it from downstairs, and if he was upstairs for whatever reason, the toy was the least of my concerns.

Seeing all the creature comforts Sparrow filled the room with made me both happy and sad. I was glad Joshua had this safe space, but I found it devastatingly sad that this was all he had, and sad that Elliott needed him.

Stuffed animals filled the crib that was entirely too small to fit him inside—or any other four-year-old, for that matter. I looked at the red beanbag bed in the corner and figured he slept there, if he ever slept at all.

I walked over to the jewelry box on the dresser. No one but Elliott knew how much it meant to me; no one else understood the importance of its existence.

“How did you get here?” I whispered, turning it over in my hand. My heart skipped a beat as I read the five words engraved at the bottom. It’s just us here. Forever.

I held it against my chest, letting those words sink in before setting it down and leaving. I made a mental note to ask Sparrow about its being here.

My mouth went dry as I considered the other doors along the hall. Another reason I started with Joshua’s room was that I knew what to expect. I’d be entering unknown territory from here on out, and I worried I wasn’t emotionally strong enough to handle it.

What if one of these rooms belonged to his parents? How would I feel about seeing their things? About knowing they’d rested peacefully in there while Elliott suffered somewhere else in this house?

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? That had 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. Gideon was 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.