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

Evan responded. The logs were laid out plainly on the website for anyone to see.

Brooks read through each line and it took well over thirty minutes before he couldn’t anymore. Doctor James Montgomery was another member of the vile; his face was shown well on the screen.

Tingling sensations crept up both of Brooks’ arms and left the hairs on the back of his neck standing straight up. The emotion drained from his face and his eyes became jet black once more.

He could once again feel nothing.

“So…let me ask this again,” Madison said from behind him. “Are you ready now?”

Brooks turned his computer off and leaned back in his chair, letting out a nice, over exaggerated stretch.

“Point me to where he lives.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

My seat at Humble Barry’s fast food restaurant was warm, as if someone had just gotten up seconds before I arrived. I was alone, though everyone who passed by my seat piqued my interest.

“I’m whoever you want me to be,” The Sparrow told me from the backseat of my car.

I wanted him to be anyone and everyone that walked by. His presence was coveted more than he’d ever know, but he wouldn’t come out of hiding on his own…he’d have to be provoked somehow.

Plans circulated in my head to catch him, though it seemed impossible to bring him out of hiding. It’d already been over a week and we haven’t gotten any more leads. He was gone once again.

Into the abyss that was Lincolnshire, probably scoping out his next victim among the poor saps walking the streets.

He’d won many battles over the months of frozen Maine, even though the morning dew began to thaw, giving me hope that a change in season would lead to a change in fortune.

Harlow was ready to take on the extra responsibility, but her past as a “Google expert” on the force had given her quite the reputation around the precinct.

However unfair to her it was, she’d taken it lightly and played it off cool. She was often on the front lines, but rarely in the thick of it.

Now, she’d been assigned to the highest profile case Maine had ever known, and one of the most prolific cases in New England’s history.

A woman rushed in with a little boy and took a seat in the booth across from mine. I sipped my hot coffee as they downgraded their heavy coats for a more modest jacket, better suited for the heated fast food joint.

They both appeared disheveled with both jackets and coats appearing unwashed and unkempt. Their clothes and shoes looked like they were worn out long ago.

Anxiety crept across her face, though the boy looked unfazed. He was used to it. His mom struggled to provide and they wondered to open business to open business looking for heat on an unseasonably cold early-spring day.

She looked around nervously for their next move, though nothing in sight caught her eye. It was only a matter of time until restaurant staff would make them either order or leave so I stood to my feet and made my way to the counter, leaving my coat and fedora on the table.

I ordered several food items off the menu and told them to deliver it anonymously to the booth numbered eleven as quickly as they could.

I took my seat again across from the woman and waited for the staff to bring out the tray loaded for bear. The woman looked cautiously at the tray and back at the worker, though no amount of confusion would cause the worker to take the tray back.

The boy dug in his portion long before the worker saw herself off and back into the kitchen. The woman looked around and made quick eye contact with me, but I forced myself to read irrelevant news clippings of happenings from the day before.

I felt her eyes on me for several agonizing seconds before she was satisfied.

Her reluctance to eat only solidified my decision to help them out. She was a proud mom, but stubborn. She wanted to take care of her son on her own without any help, though after watching the boy paw indiscriminately at the breakfast sandwiches and hash browns on the tray, she couldn’t help but to feel a bit humbled.

I nursed my coffee for several more minutes until they were done eating, and the mom stood up and wrapped herself with her scarf again, using it to cover her mouth and most of her face. It wasn’t cold enough to warrant such a tight squeeze from a scarf so I could only draw that she was ashamed at their situation.

As she turned to walk towards the side door they entered, I reached out and tugged her coat.

“Ma’am?” I asked.

“Y-y-yes?” she responded, visibly shaken to be talking to a stranger.

“Someone left two hundred dollars for you,” I said reaching out two crisp bills in her direction. “They said this should keep you off the street for the next week or so at the Cantaloupe Inn on Chester Drive. Take this twenty for cab fare to get there…here’s an extra fifty to get some more food.”

She couldn’t speak, but the smile on her face brightened the entire room. I spoke in a low volume so as not to bring embarrassment upon her.

“You don’t know what this means to us!” She exclaimed, gladly excepting the money. I wrote down my phone number on a napkin and handed it to her.

“Call this number if you need anything else. I work for the Lincolnshire PD and I may know of some resources that can help you out.”

She held the napkin close to her heart and a tear fell from her eye.

“You are a great person. We will seriously never forget you. Thank you so much for this!”

I