The Sparrow (The Returned) by Jason Mott Page B

each one adding their own characters, their own twists, their own touches. Her mother’s stories were usually happy tales about princesses and love. And while the stories Tatiana created with her father often involved love, as well, they were different—the love always harder to keep.
    Their latest tale was about a woman—raised by a family of sparrows—who fell in love with a man born in the boughs of an acacia tree. The two of them grew up together—the girl flitting from branch to branch, the boy giving chase. Sometimes she promised to fly away, taking flight and disappearing into the horizon. But then the boy would climb to the top of the acacia and sing, not unlike a sparrow, to bring her back to him.
    Each night when Tatiana’s father tucked her into bed, they would add another scene, another detail. But now it had been four days since Tatiana and her father had worked on their story. It was his turn and, each night that he was not there, Tatiana feared the adventure would end.
    Tatiana’s mother reached across the table and pinched her ear playfully. The child grinned, but still she hesitated. “I promise to tell the story as your father would,” she said. “How does it begin?”
    Tatiana looked down at her breakfast plate in silence. After a moment, she said softly, “You would tell it well, but not the way he did.”
    “No,” her mother replied. “I suppose I wouldn’t.” She then began a soft, slow weeping. “He will return to us,” Tatiana’s mother eventually said. “And when he does, I will never let him go. I promise you.”
    * * *
    They had managed to keep her secret for nearly a week. Heather was missing days from work, and Matt spent most of his workday scouring the internet for news of the Returned. All the while, the child slept nights on the couch in front of the television, wrapped in the Disney princesses sleeping bag Heather had picked up from the store. Heather had also bought several weeks’ worth of clothes, doing a surprisingly good job of guessing the child’s sizes. Seeing the mountain of shopping bags piled near the front door, Matt asked her how long Heather expected the child to be with them, but Heather only replied, “Until she’s gone.”
    The internet was as inundated with speculation as it ever was, but no one was able to explain what the Returned were, where they were coming from or what should be done with them. But one thing was certain: people were confused and afraid. The churches were filled to capacity each Sunday. More people were taking confession. Charity donations and volunteering skyrocketed. People sought answers wherever they could.
    Matt came home from work one evening to find Heather and Tatiana sitting in the living room, entranced by the television. Tatiana was seated on the floor between Heather’s legs as Heather combed the child’s hair, never taking her attention away from the TV screen. There was a report on the news about a facility being built in a small town in North Carolina called Arcadia. These facilities were cropping up around the country, serving as regional points of processing for the Returned. It was still unclear exactly what was happening inside the facilities—what the government was doing with the Returned, how long they were holding them, what the conditions were like—but it gave people comfort knowing that at least something was being done, however false that comfort was.
    When the news report was over, Matt took Heather into the bedroom and sat with her on the bed.
    “I’ve got an idea,” he said, his voice in a whisper. “What’s say we start a blog about all of this? I was poking around the internet today, and there are people telling stories about their encounters with the Returned. But it’s all just stories of sightings and what not. There’s nothing about anyone actually living with one, actually having one in their house like we do.”
    Heather could see the eagerness and excitement in Matt’s eyes, but