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

It comforted him watching his metaphorical father squirm like a fish out of water to keep the gap in his neck closed.

The doorway brightened back up as the sun refused to fall behind the horizon.

Through it, his parents’ bedroom was largely untouched from the days of his youth. It was almost as if the construction crew refused to touch it…like they knew the sentimental value it held in Brooks’ heart.

The outline of the bed frame was still present on the floor, caught in the web of time and marking the death place of Brooks’ mother.

He remembered that morning very well. He had brought her breakfast in bed and was first to see her ashy white skin in a mass on her skull, sunken into the pillow.

Something was off about that entire morning. Garret was already gone, and his sister wasn’t in her room where she spent much of her mornings.

It was the first time Brooks had seen a dead body, and it was the first time he recognized a potential devastating event having absolutely no emotional effect on him.

He knew fear.

He knew pain.

He knew the possibility that he should feel sad.

But, he wasn’t.

What he also knew was anger.

It came back to him as he stood with both feet beneath him on the floor. The ember faded once more and he was overtaken by a complete lack of empathy.

The phoenix was once again at the forefront, and Madison was in the corner of the room.

“This is where she died…isn’t it, Brooks?”

He nodded, not wanting to turn around. The outline of the bed was more pronounced on the side closest to the door, which his mom slept on.

“This is where she wrote you.”

He nodded again. A bird chirped from outside and he looked up. The back yard was more inviting in his older age than in his youth. He stepped back into the living room, then the kitchen.

“She would watch you through that window, wouldn’t she?”

He nodded yet again and stepped out into the backyard.

“You and your sister used to play out here.”

Tears streamed down his face as his legs involuntarily took him farther into the back yard into a dilapidated shed. He stopped and couldn’t control his movements.

“This is where they hurt those girls.”

Brooks couldn’t move, he could only recollect what his father and uncle did night after night as his ailing mother lie motionless in her bed.

Aching from head to toe.

The shed itself was badly damaged after years of heavy winds and neglect, but inside looked relatively undisturbed by nature. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but he could see the setup like it used to be. The bed was in the middle and several pieces of foam were glued to the walls to muffle screams.

Not one death in all the abuse, but many girls lost their lives.

Much like Madison.

The hatred fueled inside of Brooks again as he broke down in front of the shed. The soggy ground gave way to his knees as he wept. He was filled with such rage for the men and such agony for the girls that he began to slip into unconsciousness on the ground.

As he looked to the sky, he saw Madison’s outline kneeling over him.

“And this is where you get your revenge.”

Chapter Fifty

My foot pressed the brake pedal to the floor and the tires screeched with agonizing pain.

“The front door is open,” Harlow yelped from the passenger seat. Detective Morelli unfastened his seatbelt and hopped out from the back.

Other squad cars followed suit, and several officers left their vehicles and drew their weapons.

The house was a standard one and a half story home. A modest yard and a single car garage. The red sedan in the driveway sat idling, but no one was in sight.

“Hey! Officers!” A man yelled from directly behind us. “Hey, I think my car’s been stolen!”

I turned to face him, though he was still several feet away.

“What kind of car?” I asked.

“It is a white Chevy Impala,” he answered. “I left it running when I went inside really quick, but I came out a few minutes ago, and it was gone.”

I turned back around and faced the house. Curtains hung up in each of the windows helped keep the place a low profile, along with the inexplicable blandness of its overall appearance.

“Excuse me…are you going to look into it? I need to file a report.”

I waved my hand behind me towards him. “There will be more than just a report on this,” I said.

Harlow motioned to a group of uniformed officers to approach the house. The front door was open, so getting in was going to be easy; we were just unsure what we’d find inside.

The first officer opened the door and three followed behind. They shouted in shock and awe fashion as they swept from room to room, eventually coming out and claiming, “All clear!”

Other officers went to the back yard and into the garage, but Morelli, Harlow, and I went inside the front door.

The opening was a hallway leading to a modest kitchen to the left, and stairs on the right. An end table in the entrance was knocked over. We took several more steps in before we found a large living room with a computer desk. On the floor, a computer was smashed to bits.

I knelt down beside it.

“This looks like it just happened.” I picked up a piece of plastic in the wreckage. “These parts are warm. The fan is still winding around.”

The items that once sat on top of the mantel were scattered all over the floor.

“I knew it,” Morelli said under his breath. “I knew there was something off about