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

behind them. They were out of sight now, and apparently didn’t see the one straggler left behind.

“I’m here for you,” he lipped back to her.

She turned and pushed the glass door leading to outside. No alarm sounded although the door’s sign described as much.

“Brooks, what are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to better understand you.”

She wrapped her arms around her. The cold air returned more forceful than before. The fog had completely dissipated, so Brooks knew he had to act fast.

“I’m fine here, Brooks. Please. I’m fine. If you want to visit and talk about what happened, I’m fine with that, but you can’t show up like this. Now they’re going to shakedown all my stuff and strip-search me.”

“I just need to know one thing, that’s all,” he said. His eyes were dark and soulless. There was nothing behind them.

“What? What is it that cannot wait until visiting hours?”

Brooks looked down at Angela’s arm and back up to her eyes. “What exactly do you want said at your eulogy?”

***

An Aerosmith song came on the radio as Brooks dug into a bag of Fritos. He was cruising at a respectable sixty-eight on the interstate back towards Lincolnshire, and the traffic was much lighter.

In fact, the traffic didn’t stand a chance. It was such a non-factor.

The bloodied knife sat in its sheath under his passenger seat, but he could smell the blood. It was a comforting reminder that he was still in control. Madison made the way, but Brooks did the deed. He was not only fine with it, but he preferred it.

No one had seen him do it, which was key. It also wasn’t his most foolproof work, either, as many impulsive, non-plan-having situations often weren’t.

The picture of Madison was attached to his dashboard, her smile as infectious as it was disheartened.

Brooks turned down the radio and folded up the Fritos before licking his fingers crumb-free. He adjusted the rearview mirror and saw Madison’s reflection giving him an approving grin.

“Hey, Kiddo,” Brooks told her.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Kay Maise didn’t answer when I knocked later that night. My curiosity struck me hard as I descended her front porch steps and returned to the Charger. It was a newer model than what I drove before, because they tore the other apart in search for clues.

I placed my hand on the key inside the ignition and leaned back against my seat. A stress-induced sigh left my lips as I reclined the seat back. The rearview mirror was on the floorboard of the backseat.

I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing those eyes again.

In the back seat.

Peering through me.

It pained me to think a part of me was left in that parking garage as his knife pierced through me. The nightmares were frequent and violent.

The hyper-vigilance kept my nerves on edge day and night. The mirror on the floorboard only acted as a metaphorical manifestation of fear.

Fear wasn’t always bad…but it was.

It had kept me from being me, and The Sparrow owned me. The psychosomatic symptoms I experienced were so fear driven and debilitating that I was unable to move at times.

My thought patterns seemed out of whack, even when I was certain I was thinking most clearly.

My eyes clinched shut and I placed my fedora on the dash.

“Are we going to wait here for her?” Abraham asked from the passenger seat. He had undeniably seen the glue from the windshield, which once held the mirror in place, but didn’t say anything about it.

His curiosity panned over his face, but not a word was spoken about it.

“I guess so,” I responded. “It’s only five-thirty or so. She might be working or staying at her sisters like she was right after — “

“Yeah, I know.” Abraham turned up the scanner and listened as a patrol officer made a traffic stop for a possible DUI. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, man. What’s the deal with this Maise girl anyway? She’s gone. The case needs to end. We have The Sparrow now.”

I planned to make the big reveal to Abraham while talking with Kay, but I pulled out The Sparrow’s file. “This picture right here.”

“Is that the Maise girl’s necklace? That’s the same one, isn’t it?”

I nodded as I pulled out the Maise file to compare.

“How did you know? Did you find this weeks ago and not tell me about it?”

“No, not at all. Harlow told me about how he sat in my car for hours before I got out there. I saw it on the trunk and blew it up.”

“This is creepy, dude,” Abraham said, eyes widened. “How does this Sparrow guy know about this Maise girl, anyway?”

“Could be a relative,” I answered. “I know the dad went to prison for soliciting a minor. The Sparrow seems to be targeting these types of guys. Maybe it’s someone close to Philip Maise?”

“I don’t know man,” Abraham said, chomping into a stick of beef jerky. “How did he get that necklace, anyway?”

“That’s what we’re here for.”

Silence overcame the car from both inside and out, though the wind intermittently interrupted the solace of the moment. Rain started to fall, followed by the unrelenting pelts of sleet, splashing indiscriminately at the windshield.

The wipers were swiping and unfazed at the sleet, knocking it all to the ground. The minutes turned to hours, until a blue minivan pulled into the driveway of the mobile home.

The memorial at the end of the driveway was all but forgotten; leaving trace amounts of sticks shaped into crosses, and rocks with words etched into them.

Kay stepped out of the car with a few bags, and made her way up the stairs.

“Mrs. Maise, John Trotter of Lincolnshire PD. This is my partner, Deangelo Abraham. If you don’t mind, we’d