Hello, Little Sparrow by Jordan Jones (the reading list .TXT) 📕

the glass and looked slightly agitated. If he only knew the orange dinner recipes Brooks had for him…

“Can I help you?” William asked, clearly irritable. “Why don’t you come around front?”

“This will not take long at all,” Brooks replied. He looked down to his reference sheet…it was him.

William opened the door slowly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear…”

Brooks looked down to the reference sheet to make sure William still looked the same, but saw his buck knife plunged deep into William’s abdomen. William fell backwards onto his kitchen tile floor, blood creating a slippery mess throughout. He then tried pulling himself backwards, away from Brooks.

But, it was Brooks who should be pulling himself away from this monster.

“Please!” The blood pumping in Brooks’ ears muffled William’s cries from the floor. He couldn’t hear him, but it wouldn’t have mattered.

William lost the strength to pull himself anymore, as the wound pulsated blood out and only weakened him more each time he struggled.

Brooks knelt down beside him as he started choking. His fainted cries for help filled Brooks with something he’d never felt before…

…Meaning.

“I came here to talk this through with you, but you couldn’t even do that.” Brooks looked William’s body up and down as he struggled to breath. He clasped his hands around William’s jaw and forced their eyes to meet. “I want you to look at me. Look into my eyes. Remember it was I that ended your life and I would’ve done it again a thousand times over.”

William’s eyes looked of pure fear, as his face grew more and more pale.

“There is nothing you could’ve ever done to prevent this. You are what you are. You were always going to be what you are. I hope you take solace in that.”

Brooks then pulled the knife from his gut and finished it.

Chapter Six

Coffee couldn’t reach my clutches fast enough.

Detective Harlow was something else. She came in early with everyone’s favorite roast from everyone’s favorite quaint little coffee shop, but got sidetracked while talking on her cell phone in the parking lot. She gestured a polite wave as we all made our way inside the police headquarters.

The coffee shop was a little drive away, so she had made a special trip. They didn’t even have a drive-thru, so she made it a mission to go in and spend an exorbitant amount of money on different ways of manipulating a coffee bean.

The flavors varied to fit each of our taste buds perfectly, making the trek all the more difficult.

Mine especially would’ve been a tough pill to swallow if she’d seen my thermos, though I quickly poured it out in the office sink when I saw her struggling through the glass double doors.

The often-combative vestibule nullified her usual grace, and we all knew better than to help. Graceful as she is, her fighting spirit kept her independent. That, coupled with her tenacity, made her a foe for any hardened criminal to cross.

Her two years as a detective only intensified the fire within, while the rest of us more tenured cops barely turned to watch the match of the century.

“Harlow,” Abraham called from his seat directly behind mine. “Nice little scene. I hope you brought a sleeve this time. I’m not about to burn my hand again.” His smiles at her were good intentioned, but rarely reciprocated.

“They’re here,” Harlow said after setting them near the sink. The freshly poured coffee in the drain still hung in the air.

“Thank you,” Welker replied from his desk. He was a chiseled, stone-faced man that did his best impersonation of someone being polite.

I grabbed my Americano and went back to my desk while the other detectives made a dash for theirs. Harlow sat at her desk across from mine and turned on her computer.

“So, where are we going with this thing?” Abraham said.

“The Maise case?” I asked. “I have my theories, but I’m reluctant to run it by anyone yet. Just a thought, nothing more.”

“I am wondering about something myself,” he said. He swiveled his chair around to face my back. “What if she was afraid of her dad for some reason? She referred to him as a phoenix.”

The picture on my computer from her room depicted a fiery white bird, chasing down villagers below.

“We don’t know that,” I said. “We just know she wrote a note, but we don’t know who it’s addressed to.”

“I’ll do some research on him to see what the deal is.” Abraham swung back around.

LT Anderson came out of his corner office with coffee mug in hand and made eyes at everyone, then looked directly at me. “Trotter, I need to see you for a minute.”

Harlow gave me a look of sarcastic fright as I stood up. Anderson’s office was draped with his usual war ribbons and Marine Corps slogans. He had a copy of The Declaration of Independence framed on his wall, along with medals of valor.

He rarely talked about his time in the 2003 invasion of Iraq, but it was something that was evident in every square inch of his office.

“Please, take a seat.” He shut the door behind him and walked around his large solid oak desk. The command he held in the room with just the two of us was unquestionable.

It must’ve been what his men experienced in war.

“I have Dr. Allen here and she’ll be talking to you,” he said, matter-of-factly. He saw the disdain on my face and said: “I know what you’re thinking, all right? It doesn’t matter. It’s agency protocol, so you’re going to do it.”

“I won’t object,” I said. “But, this Maise thing isn’t over yet. I would rather focus on this.”

“You can and you will. Give her five minutes and then you’ll be cleared. Just make sure you don’t discuss