Chapter 68

As Sparrow quickly dashed back to the pub to complete her shift, she felt something.  A presence?  Was she being stared at?  She looked all around the street but couldn't see anyone watching her.  Goose bumped raked over her back, but not creepy ones.  She was flooded with warmth and comfort, as if someone she couldn't see was sending her good thoughts.  Maybe, there's something to this angel business... She stepped back into the bar, allowing the noise and mindless activity of work to drown out her snarled thoughts, like an alternative form of meditation. *** "The way I see it, if you lined up every drug dealer in the country and shot 'em all like dogs, problem solved.  I'm telling you, boys, these other countries have got the right idea."  It was late on a Friday, and things were winding down.  At a booth beside the bar, a bunch of blokes in work clothes were drinking light beers, all of them what Sparrow thought of as "professor drunk" - when they'd had just enough to be completely knowledgeable about everything in the universe, not enough to be violent.  As drunk stages went, it was preferable to "hold my hair back" drunk or "I'm gonna punch this pot-plant" drunk. She'd been listening to them talk about the upcoming executions of two Aussie drug smugglers overseas while she cleaned and served behind the bar.  Their banter was interesting enough as she tuned and out, thinking about her own crappy situation and trying to deny herself the urge to hurtle from the bar and email Thomas. All week, she'd been feeling her heart forcing her out of her bolt-hole.  Thomas' face swam under her eyelids every night, and his presence filled her days.  Whether they were together or not, she couldn't seem to purge him from her soul. So many of her reasons for leaving were peeling away, like dead flakes of skin.  She acknowledged that she needed money, and that she wasn't controlled by cash, but was an older, wiser person who could make the right choices.  Thomas was a man, one who could clearly deal with her crazy, and was supporting her through her fears. And she loved him, and he loved her.  Sparrow couldn't say if there was such a thing as soul mates, but she knew she'd been lucky enough to experience love twice in her life, and the second time was even sweeter, more solid.  Her life was a gift, and she didn't want to waste the time she'd been given living without him. But holding her back was the same old terror; what if once he knows, he doesn't love me anymore?  And darker still; how can I forgive myself? "Bob, they've been in prison for ten years," said one of the men loudly, intruding on Sparrow's circular thoughts.  "Apparently, they're rehabilitated and stuff.  What's the point of killing 'em now?" Bob puffed up a bit, happy to provide the answer.  "To send a message, that's why!  To let the other knobs thinking about drug smuggling that it's not on.  If people know they might die, they'll think twice, yeah?" "I dunno."  Another bloke in the corner piped up.  "I used to speed in me car, all the time, even though I knew I might kill meself.  Never stopped me.  Young blokes don't think death can happen to them." "Well, what about families who've had someone die because of drugs?"  Bob was back on firm ground.  "You tell them why you reckon those guys should get off scot-free." "Not scot-free.  There should be consequences, but taking away their lives isn't going to fix the hurting families.  And it was years ago!  Bob, didn't you do a bunch of stupid shit when you were twenty?  Don't deny it, I reckon we all know some of the stuff you got up to in your misspent youth." Bob laughed.  "Yeah, yeah, alright, no stories, thanks.  I'm not that bloke anymore." The loud man pointed a fat finger at Bob.  "That's me point, mate!  Who you are now isn't who you were years ago.  I reckon we ought to give people a break, yeah?  Pay their dues, then let 'em move on." "Ali?" Her boss's voice caught her by surprise.  Sparrow had been deeply involved in the conversation of the men, her brain caught on the sentence, Who you are now isn't who you were.  Trying to look alert, she said, "Yes, Hank?" "I think you can sign off now, love."  He grinned at her, then noticed her pale face.  "Are you alright?" "I'm fine," she said, her tone trembling.  I'm fine, I'm just having an epiphany, you see, and I'm not sure if I'm going to throw up or dance on the bar. "Well, get some sleep, yeah?  Tomorrow's a big night, with that Caldwell band playing."  He clapped a friendly hand on her shoulder.  "I need you here about noon - it's gonna be crazy." "I won't let you down.  Hey, Hank?"  Sparrow needed a favour, needed to do something right that second before her courage failed her forever.  "Can I use the computer out the back to check my email before I head home?" "Sure, love.  Anytime you like.  Hell, most of the staff don't even ask - I found Nina and Whitney watching cat videos on there the other day..." "Thanks, boss."  Racing for the back office, Sparrow had to remind herself to breathe.  Don't overthink it - just write to him!  You can sort the rest out later. And just like that, a calm fell over her.  For the first time since leaving Thomas' side, Sparrow experienced clarity; this is right.  Her every decision from the moment she'd fled Haven had been uncertain and unclear.  Where to go, how to live, who to be.  She didn't have all the answers, but she wanted to search for them with Thomas, who was providing answers to questions she had been plagued by for years. Swiftly, Sparrow let her fingers find the keyboard, which seemed to hum happily beneath her hands.  Logging in, she typed her reply to Thomas: I'm ready to be found. Sent.  Warmth blew over her, as if the elements themselves approved.  She knew he would find her; all he was waiting for was permission.  It might take a few weeks, or perhaps a month, but he would come to her, and by that stage, she would be ready. On much lighter feet, Sparrow skipped back out into the bar.  "Good night, Hank," she called. He glanced up at her happy tone.  "Night.  Good to see you smile, love.  You should do it more often." "Thanks!"  Buoyant, she grabbed her lime green sweater and walked out into the night. As she reached the sidewalk, her happy buzz turned to a cool breeze of anticipation.  There was that presence again.  Turning around, Sparrow's gaze fell on a dark shadow leaning against the wall of the pub. Angel, was her first thought, then the shadow spoke.  "I got your email." He stepped forward, and Sparrow's legs buckled, as if the ground beneath her had shifted again.  "Thomas."