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

the pseudonym ‘The Sparrow.’ We had much more in common than I’d like to admit.

He would continue to strike down as many abusers as he could, and who was I to stop him?

I was nobody.

Chapter Eighteen

The physical therapist was at the cabin by eight o’clock sharp.

Although the wound was still healing, the doctor wanted me to get to work on rehabbing it as soon as I could. If it stays stagnant, you might experience atrophy, he told me. The last thing I needed was loss of movement or more muscle loss. Years of drinking caused enough of that.

The therapist made me stretch my arm above my head and swing it around just a little to ensure movement. Katherine was busy in the kitchen cooking up nearly everything in the fridge for breakfast. She’d even offered some to the PT, but she declined.

The pain wasn’t as intense as I was used to, and I was less angry about having to move around than before. She contorted and bowed my arm in ways I couldn’t explain and then Abraham knocked on the door.

“Hey, John…m’lady,” he said, tipping his fedora to the PT. He waved at Katherine in the kitchen and she resumed working. “I thought I’d stop by to see the progress.”

I laughed. “It’s been one day.”

“I know, I know.” He took a sip of the coffee he brought from the office. “I just want to get you back in your chair. I’m sick of Welker already. It’s been one day.”

I looked at the clock. “It’s been ten minutes.”

“Whatever,” he said. “I just want you to come back, man. I can’t bounce things off him like I can you. There’s no back and forth. No Socratic questioning. There’s nothing.”

Welker was known for having very little personality, but had decent instincts as a detective. His claim to fame was his propensity to find evidence at scenes no one else could. He helped out the DA and assistant DA more times than not, and it makes LT Anderson and the Commissioner look like they know what they’re doing in the public eye.

“Look,” he continued. “All I’m saying is that I need you to still be available to me. I don’t care if I have to meet you here. I need to be able to go over stuff with you. That’s all.”

I looked down at the coffee table, my hand raised straight up in the air. I wanted to change the subject because the crossroads of my life were becoming more and more present, and each direction would only cause more regret than the others.

“Was LT mad? About the crime scene?” I took a breath and exhaled.

“What? No, not really. I think you puking on live television made him feel sympathetic to you for the embarrassment and getting stabbed, and sympathetic for me for having to work with you.”

“Shut up,” I said, giving a smile at the PT. She was well aware of the incident at Burnley’s house. I’m sure everyone in town was. “He didn’t reprimand us or anything?”

“You saw him in the hospital. He’s good, man. But, I think you probably know; we can’t be getting drunk on work nights anymore…especially with this psycho on the loose.”

“You got that right.”

The PT looked uncomfortable and gently let down my arm. She packed up her kit and left the cabin without saying much. My shoulder throbbed a bit, so I took half a Vicodin.

“I’ll buy one for five bucks,” Abraham said.

“This was an undercover sting operation,” I said in a sarcastic monotone voice. “You’ve entered a sting cabin. Put your hands where I can see them.”

“Here you go, Daddy,” Katherine said, setting a plate in front of me. I nodded and continued with Abraham.

“I’m at a point in my life after this incident where I’m not sure what I want my next step to be,” I said. “I mean, I just got stabbed through the shoulder while investigating a case about this guy. I have a lot to think through.”

“That’s good!” he exclaimed. “You should be motivated to find this guy. Let’s get you involved a little bit with the case now so you’re still fresh when you come back.”

“You’re not listening to me, Deangelo,” I said, raising my voice a little. “I don’t know if I want to go back.”

“What are we talking about here, man? Are we talking about police work? Or, are we talking about something completely different?”

The blood pulsated through my veins. I couldn’t make some of the wrongs right; I knew that, but I could at least try. Vivian would never take me back, but I could at least show her I was a good man. Katherine may never love me like she once did, but I can still show her I was a good father.

“You have to go back,” he said. “We were short on resources as it was.” He stood up from the chair and stepped towards the door. “Besides, I’m afraid if you don’t come back, we’ll never catch this guy.”

He fished out a folded up piece of paper from his coat pocket and tossed it onto the couch.

“This was another letter from our boy,” he said, wrapping his scarf around his neck. “It was left under the placemat of your car. LT Anderson wanted me to make a copy and bring it up here for you to see. Let me know what you think.” He stepped out of the cabin and walked briskly to his unmarked car.

“What is that?” Katherine said. A look of worry and confusion crossed her face as she stepped into the living area. The piece of paper sat still next to me on the couch. I was almost waiting for it to come alive and read itself.

“This is evidence,” I said. “It’s still