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

I would find answers for Madison; I just wanted to be able to tell her.

“I may have had some second thoughts, that much is true,” I said. “But, I know there’s no walking away from what I’ve started…from what’s happened. I’m in too deep now, and there’s no way I’m going to stop this fight.”

LT Anderson nodded without as much as a grin or expression of any sort. “Good.”

“I have one tiny condition,” I replied. “There’s something that I absolutely need before I can fully dedicate myself again.”

“What have you got in mind?”

“I want the Madison Maise case opened again,” I said, sternly. “Just for a couple of weeks. I’ll work on both cases simultaneously.” I interlocked my fingers in my lap as I sat there, waiting for any semblance of an answer.

LT Anderson took one puff of his cigar and gave a light shrug. “Ah, you have yourself a deal, Detective.” He reached his hand out to meet mine and stood up to leave. “I want to tell you, I still don’t see the significance of the Maise case, but if you do not find any different ending than there is right now, you’ll have some explaining to do to me and the Commissioner.”

I nodded and gave him a pat on the shoulder as he walked out the door.

I was certain Madison Maise would have the justice she deserved.

***

The rain was heavy in my dreams that night. It fell from the sky and hit the ground with such force and shook the trees that surrounded me. All the nature around me peered through the brush to find me…standing alone in a field.

I would finally have my say in my own life. The control was once again mine after it was taken away from me hundreds of times before. I was used to it, though I didn’t despise it any less. The heavy raindrops were difficult to avoid, but I still tried my best. Getting hit with one was lethal to anyone that understood them like I did.

Once hit, you were doomed forever. You were stuck in place, staring at the same four corners and a roof for eternity.

Eternity was forever, and the rain knew that. Their goal was to trap you into a continuous vortex of complacency and failure until you finally had enough and either expired or saw yourself out. The landing spots for the bigger raindrops were basically craters, though they weren’t the same type of crater we all knew from the real world. They weren’t just holes in the ground, but holes in our lives.

Suffocating us and snuffing out any existence we think we might have. Looking up, a raindrop fell from the biggest and darkest cloud from right above me. The winds died down to allow for maximum accuracy straight down. The moment before it hit the top of my head, I screamed and sat up on the couch.

I felt a sharp pain in my shoulders where the tender muscles were still healing. I looked through the open doorway and Katherine readjusted a little, but was largely unbothered by my whimper.

My face was covered in sweat as if I had broken a fever. I took a deep breath and slowly lied down, nuzzling my head comfortably on my pillow.

Rain, Rain, go away. Come again another day.

My head was throbbing and I was sick of the nightmares. Talking with LT Anderson helped me cope with decision-making, but did nothing to circumvent subconscious thoughts.

The clock showed 1:57 a.m., and I was wide-awake. I dare not fall asleep again…because I was afraid of rain. I shook my head out of personal embarrassment, and sat up. The letter The Sparrow left me was still tucked in a book on the coffee table to easy access.

I turned on the lamp, yawned and pulled the letter out, unfolding it gently as I did. My eyes searched through the letter long enough for me to catch a glimpse of something I may have missed before:

What has the ground done to you, Little One? You are dirty, yes, but what more has the moldy ground done?

The ground seemed significant to the author of the letter, but it was the first reference. The letters were all filled with metaphors making my job so much harder. I wasn’t an expert on deciphering cryptic writings, but I wanted to know more about what the ground represented.

Or, who the ground represented.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The neighborhoods were more lively than usual on a Monday morning at 10:00 a.m. The dense fog had lifted and Brooks could finally see more than three feet in front of his sedan as he pulled down Fairfield Lane, slowly maneuvering through parked cars on both sides of the road.

Brooks was confused as to why people didn’t park in their garages or driveways. Fairfield was a posh part of town, and there were plenty of garages to go around. They weren’t hurting for money.

And, it was annoying to Brooks. He called in sick, telling Dr. Leggons that his head was throbbing so bad he was puking.

There was no headache. If there were, Brooks wouldn’t be driving around in thick fog for thirty minutes, trying to find his way across town. That didn’t make sense to Brooks. Dr. Leggons was fine with Brooks calling in because he had built up over five hundred hours of sick time, breaking a record for consecutive days working without an illness.

It was something he used to care about, until he found his calling. The fog returned again the farther down the road he drove.

This was good, Brooks thought. This allowed him to pull into the driveway at 4558 Fairfield Lane in Lincolnshire, a house he’s visited before.

He shut off the car and stepped out. The fog became so thick it was difficult for Brooks