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

his mouth and kneeled in the front yard. The rush of air from the house filled the front yard and soon our nostrils filled with the stench of iron.

We approached the house and stepped in. The floors were unkempt and the kitchen in the back was filled with trash and unclaimed food boxes. The body of Titus was leaning against the bookshelf with wounds to his back.

“I haven’t even been in here yet,” Benjamin said from behind us. “But, it’s safe to say he tried getting away.”

“We have one in the back yard!” An officer called from the kitchen.

Mr. Wellpock was already back there as we walked through the house. He was hunched over crying and officers were trying to shield him from the body.

“Oh God…” he cried. “That’s Joseph. That’s his watch.”

The body was unrecognizable facedown, but the blood under him gave the impression that we did not want to see what was on the other side.

“There should be a couple more upstairs,” Wellpock instructed. “Jack and Drew. They roomed together. I was too scared to check it out, but they didn’t answer when I called.”

Upstairs, the bodies of two men were lying on the floor with their hands tied behind their backs. I couldn’t see the cause of death, but Benjamin examined them.

“Gunshots,” he said. “Looks like just one apiece. He would’ve probably stood about where you are now. Got both of them right in the head.”

“What is that?” I pointed to the far side wall, on the other side of the beds. “There’s something smeared.”

We walked closer and made out what it said:

Look inside the dresser. It might be important.

“That one?” Harlow pointed by the door. There was a short, three-drawer dresser and without warning, LT Anderson opened it.

We all jumped back a little bit, but he had no reaction.

“Benjamin, we’re going to need your guys to bag this,” he said.

Inside the dresser was my Glock 19 and something taped around the grip.

“Is that another letter?” I asked. Benjamin unfolded it and two members of his team bagged the gun.

I held it up for all to see.

Hello, Detective.

I am The Sparrow.

I’ve fought this for several years, but now that I see what I’m able to see…it’s gotten easier to become what I am. You have failed twelve times now, detective. You have failed twelve times to stop me and although you know my identity, you’re no closer to catching me now than you were when I sliced William Henson on his kitchen floor over three months ago.

You are failure.

You drink too much.

You are a coward and I’m ashamed to say I ever respected you.

Those who are deemed “vile” are done so with a purpose in mind. When one of them dies, hundreds of innocent lives are saved.

I should’ve killed you in your car when I had the chance. I don’t have regrets like the masses, but inconveniences.

I won’t use a weapon against you, Detective. I want to use my bare hands so I can feel your life drain from your body, much like Detective Morelli, though I used less of my hands and more of my will to kill him.

It’s hard to tell if he’s been found yet, but he about got the best of me. A feisty marine that guy, but his heart was also against him.

Lying before you now is what I like to call a “Vile Purge.” Several of the vile dead in one evening. This work only took me about thirty minutes and I walked out of here without so much as a threat from a neighbor.

This had to happen.

You know this.

I know this.

They all have to die. The gates have been opened for me to bring the dream to life. I want to thank you for your incompetencies and I look forward to our next face - to - face meeting.

 

Until next time,

 

Sparrow

Chapter Fifty-Seven

The yellow car was a nice distraction from the white Impala; it was flashier, and looked more out of the ordinary.

Brooks wanted something that stood out, because the less he tried to blend in, the more he, in fact, did blend in. He did feel an ounce of guilt, though, when he jumped in the car that was parked next to Mr. Wellpock’s halfway house. The Impala was hidden down the street blocking the entrance to a secluded ally Brooks was sure citizens rarely used.

He was good.

The yellow Volkswagen beetle hummed down the interstate facing north against the wind, though it wasn’t as powerful as it was in the early morning hours.

One headlight was out and he realized his cover was likely blown immediately. He wanted to reach Voncroft Nursing Home in the outskirts of Voncroft, Maine.

The dream was alive and well. His calling was soon to be fulfilled…to the brim perhaps, though he couldn’t be sure.

He’d found that killing pedophiles and other sex offenders brought him extreme catharsis and it was impossible to match with anything that didn’t involve causing the deaths of the vilest.

If he was able to bring the dream to life and still felt the need to exterminate any and all sexual deviants in his path, so be it.

Madison was certainly on board.

She sat staring straight ahead in the passenger seat, not worrying about her surrounding zooming by outside the window.

Brooks had wondered what she was like while she was alive. He was afraid to ask, but his thoughts about her comforted him.

Her bedroom was filled with artwork, page after page depicting fantasy scenes, scenes in which he knew she meant for him to take the place of.

Especially the phoenix.

His ember was gone and he’d