Sparrow Man

by M. R. Pritchard

  “Ah, Meg,” he whispers on my lips as his fingers dip lower, unbuttoning my jeans and pushing them down my hips to the floor. “I’ve dreamed of you like this.” My hands move to his chest and around his neck, gripping onto him. “Dear God,” Sparrow breathes, his mouth moving to my neck and down my chest.

  “Jesus,” I pant as his mouth moves lower, nipping at the thin bra covering my breasts.

  “I thought you didn’t believe?” Sparrow stops, looking at me with a wicked grin.

  “I don’t. You’re just going too fucking slow.” I unclasp my hands from his neck, run them down his chest and abdomen, relishing the feel of his smooth skin over tight muscle. I reach for his jeans, flick the button and begin to push at them. Sparrow’s eyes open, heavy and dark with desire. Now he moves at a faster pace, sweeping his fingers across my bra and unhooks it before crushing our bodies together and dragging me to the floor with him.

  “You’re so perfect,” he whispers between searing kisses, his hand moving from my face to my neck, lower.

  “Sparrow…” I whisper between breaths, running my hands over his body in frantic movement. “I want to feel you.”

  “You will,” he promises.

  My back arches, my hips tilt, wanting more. He inhales through his teeth as my hands graze his unbuttoned groin. I try to press my hand into his jeans so I can feel him but he shifts his body so he’s covering me, his elbows positioned on each side of my head, my arms trapped at my sides. He dips his head, kissing me, his tongue spreading the seam of my lips, dipping into my mouth. Sweet Jesus, he even tastes like all those things; Christmas and cake batter and I can’t even remember what else I thought in that dream. I press myself to him, trying to feel him on me. Sparrow lowers his body onto mine and I wiggle to move my arms.

  “Sparrow, I want to touch you.”

  “Slow down,” he whispers as he nips at my ear and grabs both of my hands, holding them up by my head. “I’ve waited so long for this.” He nips my shoulder. “For you.” He nips my collarbone, then moves lower, kissing and nipping his way across my body. I tilt my head back and try to move, pressing myself closer to him.

  “Patience, Meg,” he whispers as he trails down my abdomen, stopping to lick a circle around my belly button before moving lower, pressing his mouth to the skin in the hollow of my hip. Pulling my hands down, he grasps them across my stomach with one hand, securing them in place. Using his free hand, he runs it up my leg, stopping just before I want him to. “Open your legs,” he instructs me and I do it, trying to press my hips up at the same time, but he holds me down with his hand on my abdomen.

  His mouth is on me and my blood feels like it’s boiling, like fire in my veins, like I’ve never felt before with anyone. Stars and lights burst behind my closed eyes and I grit my teeth trying not to scream. When I open my eyes and look down Sparrow is watching me with a satisfied grin.

  “Sparrow,” I breathe his name.

  “Tell me what you need.”

  “You,” I breathe out, panting. “I just want you. Now. Like I’ve never wanted anyone ever in my entire life.”

  His green eyes brighten as he pulls away. I lay there boneless. I hear him taking off his pants and then his hands are on me, searing my skin everywhere he touches me. “This is how you should be loved. You should be pleased over and over and over again.”

  He presses his lips to mine before I can say anything; before I can tell him that all my one night stands and middle of the night trysts were never like this. Sparrow’s eyes graze over my body before locking with mine. He gives a little grin before he covers my body with his. It’s not long before we are both coated in a thin sheen of sweat. He whispers things in my ear, sweet words and compliments, so much like what he said to that snowy owl, things that have never been spoken to me before.

  My head swims, my body aches for more of him and just before I don’t think I can take another second of this, Sparrow twists his hips, targeting in on some sensitive area inside my body I never knew I had. The effect is explosive. I arch my back, tighten my legs around him, throw my head back and call his name.

  Sparrow collapses onto me, his face buried in my neck. I can feel him panting like he ran five miles and he can’t catch his breath. And I know I’m breathing the same way as the vibrations continue to run through my body. He rolls, pulling me with him into an embrace, pressing his lips to my forehead. I lay there, my head on his shoulder, one of his arms wrapped tight around me, and for the first time in my life I am without words.

  Sparrow turns, shifting me in his arms. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asks, his eyes heavy with concern as he brushes a thumb across my cheek.

  My throat tightens and something beats heavy in my chest. “No, not even close,” I manage to get out, not telling him that sex was never like that, not with anyone, not at any time, ever.

  He looks down at me, his eyes focused on my tattoos and I suddenly feel self-conscious again.

  “You don’t like them?” I ask.

  His eyes move to mine and he leans towards me, pressing his lips to mine. “They’re perfect. Just like you.” He bends, pressing his lips to the feather across my collarbone. “This one.” He rolls me to the side, pressing his lips to the stars on my shoulder. “These.” He bends, pressing his lips to the heart on my hip and the anchor on my ribcage. I notice his eyes move lower. “And this one, I didn’t notice before.” His fingers graze the inside of my thigh, up high, almost to where my leg meets my hip, but low enough for it to show when wearing a pair of short shorts.

  I look down to see his eyes focused on the mark on my upper thigh. “That’s not a tattoo,” I tell him, my voice sounding thick and abnormal.

  “It’s not?” He sounds distracted, kissing and touching, his fingertips running across my legs, sending a sharp tingle to my lower stomach.

  “No. It’s a birthmark. Daddy always said it was my mark of the devil.”

  “Are you sure that’s a birthmark?” he dips his head to inspect the patch of skin that looks like nothing more than an uneven-edged circle.

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Because… I think that changes everything.” He presses his left thumb to the mark on my thigh, hard, mumbling words in a language I’ve never heard.

  A bright white light erupts behind my eyes and a noise that sounds like an air horn fills my ears.

  ……

  I wake, no longer feeling the hard stone of the church floor under me or Sparrow’s body wrapped around mine. I sit up straight.

  “Sparrow?”

  My eyes focus on the pastel colors and white sheets of a hospital room. Dread fills me. He’s gone.

  “Sparrow!” I scream at the top of my lungs.

  This brings a flurry of activity.

  First it is a nurse, a middle aged woman with dark hair and glasses. “Oh my,” are her words as she walks into the room and sees me sitting up straight, screaming for Sparrow. She rushes towards me, her arm extended, ready to give comfort.

  I flinch away. “Don’t touch me!”

  She stops in her tracks and eases herself onto the edge of my bed.

  “You’re awake,” she says, eyes wide as though she didn’t expect it.

  “No shit, lady.” The alarms behind my bed scream and blink as I reach for the leads attached to my chest, ready to pull them off. “Where’s Sparrow?”

  “There’s no one here by that name.” She frowns and looks me over “Do you know where you are?”

  “No.” I look around. “Where the hell am I?”

  “Gouverneur County Hospital.” She stands and pulls a chart from the foot of my bed.

  “What the fu-” I run my hands over my face and hair, feeling its length as it covers the back of my neck as though I never cut it. I pull the plaid hospital gown away from my body and I am relieved to see the tattoos that I remember are supposed to be there. It seems that this is my body, and I am very much alive.

  “Let me go get the doctor.” She pauses at the door. �
�You woke at a bad time. The docs are doing their rounds. Your room is about to become very full,” she warns me.

  The nurse leaves the room, carrying the chart with her. I hear footsteps in the hall and the chatter of voices, both young and old. The room seems to shrink as they all walk inside. Fresh faces stare down at me, twelve of them as they write on their notepads. A plain looking man in a wheelchair rolls in behind them and up to the side of my bed. I look at the tag hanging off of his white coat and see in bold print that it says Doctor.

  “So what we have here is a twenty-four year old female who has just woken from a-” He pauses as he reads my chart, then turns it, his finger on the paper for everyone else to see.

  I’m sure I know what it says in there: rape, stillborn, hysterectomy. I’m sure there’s more too, strange medical terms I don’t understand that mean nothing good. The looks start, faces drawn, eyebrows tilted, concerned furrows appear as they look between me and my papers.

  I hate being looked at like this, like a pitiful case study for these people. Their stares and looks of pity inflame an anger inside of me. I would rather have them look at me like I was nothing but trash than submit to this.

  “Get the fuck out of my room,” I tell them, glaring at the doctor in the wheelchair.

  The doctor swallows hard, the students all look up from their notepads. “Please miss, these walls aren’t soundproof-”

  “No shit. And I see you don’t need legs to be a genius or a doctor. Get the hell out of here, all of you!”

  Wheels glares at me as he ushers everyone out of my room. The nurse steps in just after they’re all gone.

  “It will be okay,” she assures me as she holds out a thermometer to take my temperature.

  “I’m not apologizing for that,” I warn her.

  “Don’t need to.” She writes something down on a piece of paper. “It’s about time someone brought them down from their pedestals, even if it’s only for five minutes.”

  “I’m looking for a friend. His name is Sparrow. Has he been here?”

  The nurse shakes her head. “No one has been here to see you but your father.”

  I tense at the use of that word.

  “Let me just listen to you quick and then I’ll see if the docs will let you eat something.”

  …

  My first real visitor is a trooper, I can tell by the way he walks down the hallway, the way the people out there stop talking, and I recognize the jingle of the handcuffs that are attached to his belt. I recognize him as soon as he walks in the door.

  “Noah,” I whisper as I see him walk around the curtain. When his head lifts, I sink back into the bed.

  “Haven’t heard his name in quite a while,” the trooper smiles. No, this isn’t Noah, it is his older brother, Jack. “Hey, Meg.” He flashes me his lady-killer smile, something this family seems to have in common. White teeth, handsome face, just like Noah.

  “Shit, Jack.” I stare at him with wide eyes, feeling my fingers tremble as I grip the quilt that covers my bed. “I thought you were him.”

  He sighs. “I’m sure no one told you but he passed, not too long ago after this happened.” He swoops a finger in the air across the hospital bed.

  “I thought he was supposed to be in the state pen?”

  “Wrong again.” He pulls a chair across the room and sits next to me. “There was an accident on the drive to Auburn. Noah didn’t make it.”

  “Oh, Jesus…”

  Jack gives a sad smile. “I just need to get your statement.” Jack pulls a notebook out of his back pocket.

  “I already gave one.”

  “Meg,” his eyes sweep over me. “You’ve been in a coma for weeks, you didn’t tell anyone nothin’.”

  “I don’t understand.” I had a bedside hearing. I went to County lockup already. I don’t get how I’m back in a hospital bed.

  He smiles and looks so much like Noah that I almost forget to breathe.

  “You’ve been in a coma,” he repeats as he flips the pages on his notebook. “After what happened to you, this will be hard, so just start at the beginning.”

  I blink hard and stare at his notebook, remembering how difficult it was to say those words to Sparrow. “No. I can’t. Not right now. I’m sorry.” My heart seems to sink a little in my chest. I know it’s not for the shame of being unable to repeat all of that crap, it’s because he’s gone. Sparrow’s gone.

  Jack folds his notebook and tucks the pen into his pocket. He reaches out with his hand as though he’s going to say something but the motion is interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the hall. These ones are swift, angry, and I recognize them right away: they are the footsteps of my father.

  He bursts into the room. Muddy work boots, worn pants, grease stained tank top. If he isn’t the epitome of trailer, I’m not sure what is.

  Jack stands. “I’ll give you two some privacy. Just push that red button there if you need anything.” I look to Jack’s hand and see the call button next to my fingers. When I look up at his face, he winks before turning and walking out of the room.

  My father doesn’t say anything. He just paces the floor at the foot of my bed, rubs his scruffy beard. I guess he’s searching for the right words. I just never expect him to say what he finally does. Maybe I was hoping for something nicer, something that led me to believe he actually loved me as a father does a daughter.

  “You used to have quite the mouth on ya. Guess Jim boy finally beat that outta you, ‘bout time.” He stops at the foot of my bed and places his hands on the plastic footboard.

  “Go away,” I tell him.

  He laughs that same wicked laugh he did when I was a kid, when I knew a beating was coming. Moving away, he picks up a spare pillow from the windowsill and squishes it between his hands as though he’s testing its fluffiness.

  “The state took that pretty little house you bought. Confiscated it to pay for your medical bills since you had no insurance. They were about to use your trust money too.”

  “I already got the trust money,” I remind him, whispering. “I spent it on the house.”

  He laughs and squeezes the pillow tighter. “You are a little trashy idiot. If you had kept your mouth shut, I could have finished what I was about to say.”

  My mouth snaps shut.

  “Your mother was a very rich woman. Don’t know why she was slumming in around this redneck town. Actually, I do. She was nothing but trash deep down, just like her daughter. There was more money, a lot more money and no man wants a baby around when there’s that much money involved. When I found out how much she was worth…” He pauses and looks down at the pillow gripped in his hands. Then walks towards the door and closes it gently.

  Unease fills me and I hold the call button down with my finger.

  “Let’s just say, falling down the stairs isn’t the best way to get rid of a baby during the end of a pregnancy.”

  “What did you do to her?” I ask.

  “Found her papers from the lawyer. Found out how much she was worth. Found out that she signed it all over to her unborn child.” He takes a step towards me. “You know the clause she put in there? Of course you don’t, cause you’re dumb. Full payment on the child’s twenty-fifth birthday. All we had was two more weeks.”

  “We?”

  “Oh, forgot, Jimmy boy’s dead now. Thanks to you. Fine with me. More for myself. He was going to waste it on a bunker in the woods, near that stupid cabin you bought in Canada. What a waste of money. Don’t know where you found that boy, but he was paranoid as shit, kept talking about putting a bunker in the ground to prepare for the apocalypse. Looks like he didn’t want no stupid woman or a baby to drag around with him.” He looks at the pillow again. “Thought about doin’ this all those times you were knocked out in that coma, with a tube down your throat. Woulda’ been easier then. They said you weren’t going to make it anyways. The money was going to be mine, it was always mine. I put up with the bullshit from your trashy mother, jumping from bed
to bed in this town, and I’ll go to hell before your scrawny ass gets any of it. Guess now is as good a time as any.”

  My father moves faster than I’ve ever seen him move before, crossing the room and pressing the pillow down onto my face. I try to scream, but the sound is only muffled. I let go of the call button and try to push him away. I try to grasp at the pillow but he crushes my chest with a knee and presses harder.

  I hear the door slam against the wall and the sound of footsteps running, bodies struggling. Pressing the call button must have worked. The pressure is released from my face; the pillow falls just as I see Jack kick my father to the ground. With one knee pressed to his back, Jack handcuffs him.

  My father spits at me as Jack lifts him by his elbows to his feet, “You shoulda died a long time ago!”

  …

  They keep me for a week with a trooper outside the door, some overweight man on the edge of retirement. He chats with the nursing staff yet says no words to me. At night, his relief plays on his smartphone, the beeps and clicks not as soothing as listening to Sparrow’s voice each night singing Bon Jovi tunes.

  On my twenty-fifth birthday, my nurse brings a gift, a set of sea-green scrubs. A new outfit to walk out of this place in since they had to cut the clothes off of my back the day they brought me in and the state sold everything at my house. There’s nothing like starting over, with nothing to call your own.

  I call the bank and check my account. Just like Daddy said, there is enough money to last the rest of my life. Now this is a strange feeling, never having nothin’ and now my bank account is bursting at the seams. Still, I feel emptier than ever. I blame it on the memories; the coma dreams that I’m having a hard time convincing myself weren’t real.

  On my day of discharge, Jack shows up to walk me out. And as I sit in the front seat of his cruiser I realize how this must look, me leaving the hospital in scrubs with a trooper. I probably look crazy. We drive around town, over the bridges, past his grandmother’s house. I can’t stop the image of Sparrow cutting off Noah’s head in the basement from running through my head.