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

to make out the Buick parked less than a foot in front of him, its bumper resting against the garage door.

Brooks walked around back and into the shattered glass where the sliding-glass door once stood. The temperature inside matched the forty degrees outside, and Brooks turned on his flashlight, turning left down the dark hallway.

The stench bit his nose as he opened the last door on the right, so he grabbed the handkerchief and placed it over his face, squeezing his nostrils together. The power was turned off due to nonpayment last time Brooks was here, so he came prepared with a small battery powered lantern he took out of his coat.

He placed the lantern on the nightstand, and the light hummed on, revealing the corpse on the bed, nearly covered up from head to toe.

It was completely undisturbed, but the scene was very disturbing.

Brooks saw the knife marks penetrated through the comforter and the dark, almost black, blood that escaped. Brooks was quite sure he remembered the fatal blow, because Isaac James stopped fighting back. Isaac was a special kind of predator in Brooks’ eyes.

He spent nearly three years in a federal prison for kidnapping a five year old from a hotel and driving her across state lines from Ohio to Indiana in an attempt to evade police. His van was found parked at a rural rest stop in Indiana; both he and the disheveled girl were eating pancakes. She was wearing a wig and sunglasses, which tipped off the waitress and cook, and they called the local police.

Before he could get in his car again, he was arrested and the poor traumatized girl was sent back home with her parents with only memories of the unthinkable.

Brooks had stabbed him nineteen times; once for every hour he was on the run. He still wondered if the punishment fit the crime, as he was sure Isaac didn’t feel the last five.

Madison guided Brooks to Isaac’s address after Brooks returned home from visiting his cousin. He was looking through the registry and cross-referencing profiles with people caught in sting operations. Brooks thought this only solidified his cases against them, making them as expendable as they could possibly be.

Isaac’s name came up multiple times, and after reading the story about the Amber alert, Brooks drove right over. The scene was loud and messy, but even in the quiet neighborhood, no one heard.

I should’ve brought the gun, he thought to himself. The body on the bed was in bad shape, which only helped his cause, but it was somehow tainted now. Every detail was laid out for the police to find the body quickly and begin processing the scene.

Brooks picked up the pictures from the dresser of the girl Isaac abused, no other identifying information other than a fourteen year old walking into a psychiatric facility, no doubt getting help from the trauma the dead man caused.

The display was for Isaac James to finally own up to what he did, though Brooks couldn’t wait to end his miserable life. The display was for the police; it was Brooks’ plea that what he was doing was truly and morally right.

They didn’t seem to care. Isaac’s body was unclaimed by the coroner after all.

The news had stopped reporting on Brooks as “The Sparrow,” and now reported on local spring sports and how they were about to start up.

No one cared about the vile walking the earth. Everyone else let them walk around like nothing was the matter.

Isaac’s body was supposed to be a message like the others, but it was a wasted attempt at punishing the unredeemable. The world was supposed to see it and understand it, but they didn’t.

Angela didn’t and she lived it.

Brooks turned up the lamp and stood next to the body. The colder temperatures slowed decomposition, but it was still in bad shape.

It was a waste.

Brooks ripped off the note he stapled to Isaac’s chest and crumpled it up, putting it in his coat pocket. He grabbed a fresh copy he Xeroxed from his office and re-stapled it.

He wanted it to be fresh for the police when they finally did arrive. Peering through the window, Brooks saw the fog begin to lift again, making his car more visible. He glanced once more at the body and made his way back down the hall, much like he did the first time at the home.

Outside, Brooks pulled out of the driveway and turned down the road the way he came.

The cars on both sides of the street were easier for Brooks to see, but that didn’t make it any less annoying.

He turned down the onramp to the interstate, which was normally a direct route back to his house, but he felt a jerk at the wheel.

“This isn’t part of it,” Brooks said out loud. His wheel jerked again to the right, forcing him to take a different interstate heading due north. “It doesn’t fit. It has to make sense!”

The large green sign said:

Brimsburg - 134 miles

 

Angela was unaware her cousin was driving her way. She was unaware he had killed before.

She was unaware he would kill again.

Brooks grinned as his hands gripped the steering wheel tighter.

He was losing it and it felt perfectly fine.

Chapter Twenty-Three

It was nearly nine-thirty when my phone buzzed, imitating a jackhammer gnawing at the oak coffee table. Katherine had made breakfast for the both of us and was cleaning up the dishes in the kitchen.

“Trotter,” I said answering the phone.

“Hey, how you feeling today,” Abraham’s voice rang through.

“Good. What’s going on? You sound out of breath.”

“Good? As in ‘I’m-ready-to-get-to-work’ good or something else?”

“I said I was good. What’s going on?”

“We have a body on Fairview Lane. I don’t know any specifics, but it