Page 69 of Saving Sparrow (Slow Burns & Tragic Beginnings #2)

Now

“I said, get the fuck away from my baby.”

For the second time, I found myself held at gunpoint by one of Elliott’s alters. I raised my hands slowly as flashes of lying in my own pool of blood assailed my mind.

“I-I’m not here to hurt him.” I stepped to the side, putting space between me and the bassinet.

“The hell you ain’t,” she gritted out. My back was still to her, but I could hear the gun rattling in her hand. “Who sent ya?”

“N-no one. P-please… I—”

“Don’t you lie to me!”

Even as I shook in fear for my life, and the phantom taste of blood filled my mouth, I knew I had to keep her calm, too. I needed to keep Sparrow away while saving myself in the process.

“I’m n-not lying. I swear it.”

“Turn around,” she demanded, sounding closer. “I said, turn around!”

“Okay!” I stifled a scream, tucking my chin to my chest and wrapping my arms around my head protectively. The wound at the back of my skull throbbed again, the way it did the first time Sparrow brandished a gun. I wondered how much more trauma I could take before I succumbed to a psychotic break.

“Okay,” I whispered, the word trapped inside the dome I’d created around myself. “Okay.” I squeezed my eyes shut, thinking the word a few more times as I straightened and lifted my hands in the air again.

“I’m turning,” I said, wanting her to know my every move. I’d need to be compliant to get out of this, to not be seen as a threat.

My arms went slack from shock when I faced her, and I shoved them higher over my head when her grip on the handgun tightened. The struggle for air intensified as I took in her appearance, from her French bun to the false lashes and powdery blue makeup framing her eyes.

She wore coral-colored lipstick, and the blush along her cheeks seemed too peachy to be real. The white nurse’s uniform stunned me the most. Elliott’s mother had been a nurse.

She glanced briefly at the bassinet before shifting her grip on the gun. It was clear she thought I was still too close to it. I carefully took another huge step to the side, putting me a few feet away now.

I’d have to get past her to get to the door, and I ran through ways of doing that without losing my life first.

“You a preacher-man?” she asked, her deep Southern accent spot-on. “You taking over for that other one and that woman?”

The preacher-man? She had to have been talking about Elijah.

“No, I’m not a preacher,” I tried to assure her, hunching my shoulders to seem less threatening. “I was on my way to my room. I must have made a wrong turn.”

“Your room?” She sounded skeptical.

“Yeah.” I wondered if I should’ve said more, but I didn’t know where she thought we were, didn’t know what type of construct she believed herself to be existing in, didn’t know what would give me away.

She narrowed her eyes, taking a tiny step toward the bassinet as I took another one away from it. “What’s your name?” Her “your” sounded more like “yo.” She gripped the gun with both hands now.

Do I lie? Would she recognize the truth?

“M-Miguel.” My next sidestep took me to the wall.

“Miguel,” she whispered, and I waited with my heart in my throat for some sort of indication that my name meant something to her. “That don’t sound like no preacher-man’s name. You lying to me?”

“No, I’m not lying. And I’m not a preacher. I don’t even believe in God.”

She grunted, slowly moving closer to her baby, and I slid along the wall. My arms felt heavy, but I kept them up, palms open.

She kept her body angled toward me with each step, both of us circling until we’d switched places.

“It’s okay, baby boy. Don’t cry, momma’s right here.” She removed one hand from the gun long enough to rock the bassinet and whisper more comforting words to her son. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

I was sure those were words Elliott had longed to hear from his mother, and it made me want to know more about this woman, this alter who was formed to help Elliott cope in some way.

“What’s your name?” I asked softly.

“That’s none of your concern, preacher-man.”

I should’ve been worried she still saw me as a threat, as a preacher-man, but my overwhelming love and sadness for my husband, for all of them, got in the way. “I wish he would’ve had you as a mother.” She frowned, glancing at her baby again before widening her stance.

“S-sorry,” I said, unsure of what I was sorry for.

Everything, I supposed. “My husband didn’t have a good mother.

He deserved one like you.” I scanned the open dresser drawers and clothes that had been tossed into the suitcase, unfolded.

She seemed to have been in a rush to leave, even though the black lockbox on the nightstand said leaving would’ve been impossible.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“I’m getting my boy outta here, and I won’t let you stop me.” She readjusted her grip on the gun.

“Because you would do anything for him,” I breathed, nodding. “Because you won’t let anyone h-hurt him.”

“No.” A determined glint sparked in her blue gaze. “They’d have to get through me first.”

My back was to the open door now, and I thought about making a run for it, but her finger was already sliding to the trigger.

“No!” I shouted, screwing my eyes shut and using my hands as a shield.

There was no deafening bang, no shock of pain coupled with an explosive force driving me back, just an incessant clicking as she repeatedly pulled the trigger. The gun wasn’t loaded. It was her turn to scream.

“Don’t touch my baby! Stay away from my baby! I’ll kill ya! I’ll cut ya to pieces!”

Adrenaline made my body quake, and I couldn’t get my limbs to obey my internal order to run.

Run!

Run!

Run!

Fucking run!

She scooped up the doll, its blanket and left leg sliding to the floor as she cradled him to her chest. She held a hand out, warding me off as she backed away, screaming for me to stay away. Her movements became sluggish, and so did her words.

“S-stay… a… way… f-from…” Her eyes went distant.

Sparrow was on his way.

Using the wall for support, I ran for the door, stepping into the hall and slamming it closed behind me. I pulled the key from my pocket, dropping it twice before finally getting it locked.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I muttered, racing into my bedroom and diving onto the bed. I scrambled under the covers, facing away from the bedroom door. Fuck. The door hadn’t been wide open when I woke up.

Sparrow will notice.

I kicked the blankets off, almost tripping as I hurried to set the door back to its slightly ajar position before clambering into bed again.

I counted to fifty, then down from one hundred, even praying to the God I didn’t believe in when counting didn’t work. Still, my heart raced, and my breathing could be heard over the crackling of the fire.

Time was running out. If I were lucky, Sparrow would change and remove the makeup before hunting me down. If not, he’d be here any second.

Desperate for something that would bring my anxiety level down, I pulled the photo of me, Quentin, and Elliott from under my pillow.

I bit down on my fist to hold in my sob after looking at their smiling faces.

I slid it under my shirt, holding it near my heart.

I couldn’t stop the tears, but I didn’t try to.

I had to devote all my energy to getting oxygen.

“Help me,” I whispered. Help me.

By the time the bedroom door creaked open, my nose was stuffy, but I managed to take even breaths through my mouth.

I could feel him watching me from the doorway, and I pressed the photograph tighter against me. Everything from my neck down was hidden beneath the blankets, even my unsteady hands.

I sensed him drawing closer, and I fought not to tense, fought not to react to the predator at my back.

He smelled of her hairspray and alcohol, the kind found in the makeup-removing wipes Elliott used to use.

Sparrow stayed there for a while, likely wondering if I’d been asleep since he left me, probably convincing himself I couldn’t have gotten into her room.

His heat at my back was strangely comforting.

Maybe because I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, not anymore.

Now, I was simply scared of losing his trust, of losing whatever we were to each other, of losing my only connection to Elliott.

It physically hurt to feel him retreat, to open my eyes and watch his shadow disappear from the wall in front of me.

I waited a whole hour to be sure he wasn’t coming back, then I hid the key again before getting into the shower.

I stood under the hot spray until it went cold, letting the water wash away my tears.

My eyes burned. Partly because of the crying, but also because I’d made a bad habit of sleeping with my contacts in. I kept them in now, because of what I was about to do. I wanted to be sure I could see him clearly.

With one last look at the picture hidden under my pillow, I went in search of Sparrow.

The workout room was dark, so I waited quietly at the archway for my eyes to adjust. The moment I stepped a foot inside, the lump on the padded area shifted. I took another step, and Sparrow sprang up from beneath his mountain of blankets.

Now that my eyes had adjusted, the room didn’t seem so dark after all. The dim light from the hall shone in a bit, and the moonlight hovering over his sleeping area helped too. I could clearly make out his leeriness as I drew closer.

I sank to my knees a few feet away from him. He looked so tired, but at least now he smelled warm and minty, and he’d traded the stiff bun for his damp braid.

“I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep,” I said when he just stared at me.

“What woke you?” Suspicion outweighed the curiosity in his tone.

“Bad dream.”

His eyes narrowed, reminding me of how much he and that woman resembled each other. They were both cautious and fiercely protective.