Hello, Little Sparrow

by Jordan Jones

  I wasn’t glad she was happy, even though I knew I should be. I wanted her to be miserable; just like me. I couldn’t understand why it was that she got to have everything she ever wanted, and I was stuck working a job I wasn’t cut out for, supporting our daughter I never got to see.

  Pity was my strong suit, especially during tough cases.

  Was I really going to go head-to-head with a serial killer? Oh, how much pressure that would put on me, but who would care? Who would even notice?

  I was distraught of my lack of foresight. Katherine had turned into something I dreaded, only because I knew I’d lose her otherwise.

  I was in over my head and I knew it.

  Gathering my thoughts appeared impossible until my phone rang.

  “Hey man, I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight unless I get hammered. You in?” Abraham didn’t let his tone waver much. He needed to be with a familiar face again.

  “Of course,” I said. I couldn’t turn down an opportunity to get left at a bar again.

  “I’ll be there in ten.”

  I attempted to get cleaned up, but really just sprayed body spray over my shirt and tie. I threw on my weekend jacket, and went downstairs. I polished off my third beer when Abraham arrived.

  He was mysteriously quiet during the drive, but I found entertainment in the lights streaking across the window, with each one screaming out to me to return home. What good could come from going out on a work night and getting drunk again?

  Nothing, apparently.

  Chapter Ten

  The cards and flowers for Madison’s trailer-front memorial grew more sparse and weather-wary. They weren’t placed in any rhyme or fashion, just sort of thrown in a pile. It was as if the occupants of the trailer were the “scary lady” in the neighborhood and the grieving citizens still felt the need to pay respects.

  The cross lay on its side with frozen rain forcing it to the ground, stuck in a mixture of ice and mud. There was barely a semblance of a memorial, though those who really cared knew.

  They were the only ones that mattered, anyway.

  Kay stepped outside and through the screened in porch. Her hair was up in a messy bun with a coffee mug in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Brooks took note of her movements throughout the past three days.

  It had been three days since Madison took the plunge.

  Kay’s movements were off: she staggered down the steps and around the van. She opened it up and placed the items inside. Brooks wondered if she was out drinking again like the first night after her daughter died.

  He was outside of Crazy B’s watching her stumble her way in.

  He sympathized with her, but his patience was already wearing thin. She should not be out sulking it in. Instead, she should join him in his mission.

  Exhaust spewed from the van’s muffler as she pulled away. She drove right past Brooks on her way to her sister’s. At least, that’s where he figured she would go. He always found her car in front of her sister’s house during the day, and at the bar at night. She would go home only to sleep and do it all again the next day.

  Though this routine was held steady for two days, there wasn’t a doubt in Brooks’ mind that Kay was about to do it again.

  Brooks rose from his position in his car and stepped out. The trailer park was quiet, as no one seemed to be up and awake yet.

  There were abandoned cars parked in front of other mobile homes, so Brooks’ little ten-year-old sedan wasn’t so conspicuous.

  The door to the porch was open; the holes in the screen would do little to keep out bugs in the warmer months. It bothered Brooks to see so many holes. Maybe he would come back as a repairman and help fix it.

  He fished for the paperclip in his pocket as he tried gently to open the door. Much to his surprise, the door opened easily and without resistance.

  In all of her confusion, sadness, and indifference, she forgot to lock her door.

  Brooks stepped into the living room and looked around. It reeked of smoke and the ashtray on the end table next to a recliner was filled with several dozen butts.

  “You lived here, sweet one,” Brooks muttered out loud. He wasn’t sure if he said it out loud, but if he didn’t, he wished he had.

  Madison’s presence willed Brooks’ lungs as he placed ear buds in and played shuffle on his phone. He had a playlist of compositions by various modern composers. Mostly ominous and dark, though some of the pieces had more flare than others.

  He couldn’t listen to pieces with words. Words meant they weren’t “pieces” anymore, but “songs.” And, Brooks hated songs.

  “Pieces” afforded Brooks the right to translate each note to his own meaning, making each one perfect in every way. In the greenhouse, Brooks would often get lost in thought while watering the plants he knew would eventually be harvested in the cruelest ways.

  Brooks swayed across the room with eyes shut. Gliding across the thin layer of carpet, he made perfect harmony with each movement of the piece with his body. It was unnecessary to open his eyes because he had become so in-tune with Madison at Covey Bridge that he didn’t have to make an effort to connect with her anymore.

  Stopping at a wall halfway down the hall, Brooks looked down at a short table with several pictures. Two frames were placed face down and he picked them both up.

  Madison was so happy in both of them. Kay couldn’t bear to place them facing up, but also couldn’t bear packing them away.

  There weren’t any pictures of Philip around. Brooks remembered the case from several years ago, and it stuck with him throughout many of them.

  The local Lincolnshire paper posted a small article about a “Local man” who got caught up in a sting operation with a “predator hunting” group. He wanted to send them a medal.

  It was the same group he cross-referenced William Henson with. He was already on the Lincolnshire registry for groping the nurse, but also for meeting with the vigilante group eight years later.

  Philip’s face was posted at the header of the small article, so Brooks knew what he looked like. He didn’t have any pictures in this house. Brooks knew what Philip was capable of, and he wanted Philip to understand retribution. If he understood it to the degree Brooks was comfortable with, Philip would atone through taking his own life.

  Brooks would accept that.

  It would keep him from having to do it.

  The second to last door was shut; it was the only door that was. It had to be Madison’s room. It felt wrong to enter her room without some sort of offering. He wasn’t a detective just studying the case. He wasn’t just a mourner wanting to learn more about her life.

  He was more than that.

  “I am the offering,” he said out loud. He knew he said that out loud.

  Brooks made sure, because he repeated it several times.

  The door opened with a bit of force and Brooks saw himself in. He felt a rush of wind overtake his body instantly. His fingertips tingled and so did the toes inside his black boots.

  Her walls were plastered with pieces of art, depicting a fiery bird flying high through the sky. The people down below looked terrified.

  They looked unprepared

  But, one thing they did not look like was innocent.

  They each had their own stories and Madison made it able for Brooks to see it. They had murdered, assaulted, kicked, battered, and abused others. They were the opposite of innocent.

  They were the punished, and the fiery bird was coming for them.

  Many pictures were painted in Madison’s earlier years. They progressed to better quality work until right before she left this earth.

  They also progressed to much darker depictions. Brooks wasn’t ready to take on the role yet, not fully anyway. He felt like killing William was a great consolation prize to fulfill his purpose for a time, but needed harder evidence to ensure what he thought so concrete in his mind.

  Her dresser had a notebook and the front had handwritten “Madison’s thoughts” on t
he front. The handwriting on the front and throughout was on par with Old English, and looked as if it was done with a quill. Her elegance danced off each page and into his pupils.

  I am leaving and I’m not coming back. I feel the pain that you have caused, but don’t worry…I won’t call you out by name; your secrets are safe with me. You are like a terrible Phoenix, destroying everything in your path. You are caged, but you will soon be free to do as you wish.

  Have fun with it.

  Madison M

  Brooks nearly fell down on the ground. His knees grew weak and he began to dry-heave. He couldn’t leave any evidence behind that he was there so he stormed out and ran into the bathroom.

  The vomit splashed with great force into the toilet and much of it ricocheted back on his face. He finished washing his hands and dried off his face. He was scared to re-enter the room with the notebook, but as he stepped into the hall, the door slowly crept open on its own.

  “I am the offering,” he whispered as he reentered the room. The notebook was still open to the page, and Brooks read it through several times.

  She knew about William. I feel the pain that you have caused. She was speaking directly to him, and he was to carry out any order she had.

  You are a terrible Phoenix, destroying everything in your path. She recognized that Brooks has had inner struggles with what to do next.

  You are caged, but now you will soon be free to do as you wish. She wanted exactly what he wanted.

  Have fun with it. This was all the validation Brooks needed. He grabbed the notebook and rushed out of the front of the house. He left all the doors open, because all of the doors in his life have now opened.

  The portrait of him up on her walls flying through the sky as a fearsome Phoenix meant so much to him. She was his savior, and he was her protector.

  Nothing could happen to her again.

  The abuse she suffered leading up to her fall paled in comparison to what lay in store for Lincolnshire. Brooks wanted the entire community to suffer the way she did. Her mind encompassed Lincolnshire and exposed all of the atrocities on a single piece of paper.

  The words themselves weren’t there, but Brooks now knew how to decipher what she meant.

  Driving back to Fasten Biofuels, Brooks went the speed limit. He was seeing the world for what it was, and was now capable of the unspeakable. He couldn’t act impulsively until the time was right. She would guide him up until that time.

  Brooks stormed into the greenhouse, the notebook nuzzled in his coat pocket. The heaters were on full-blast, making it hard to hear the technician. Brooks stopped and looked at him, his eyes were dead and gleaming through the technician.

  “I said, I thought you took the week off,” the technician said. Brooks knew all of their names, but didn’t want to get too close to anyone. The technician was in charge of picking dead leaves off of the plants and keeping them watered. None of what he did amused Brooks. Brooks had much more in store now than before.

  “I did,” Brooks responded. “I just came back to pick up a few things.”

  “Oh,” the technician yelled over the heater. “I tried putting your paperwork on your desk, but my card didn’t work for your door.”

  Brooks grabbed the young man by his collar and pulled him closer. “Do not ever open my door.” He threw the man back and stormed off to his office.

  His keycard worked and his door slid open, and he quickly closed it behind him.

  The collage of photos above his desk depicted several photos of children throughout their lives, but they had one thing in common: Madison was featured.

  He set down the notebook on the copier and began to run it through, counting to make sure all thirty-six pages were accounted for.

  He then sat down in his swivel chair and rested his head back. A deep sigh escaped his lips as he admired the pictures of the innocent children on his wall. Madison standing with all of her friends, smiling and posing for the camera.

  How many others? How many others would have to get hurt before he could right all their wrongs?

  Each offender within the city limits had their address for everyone to see on a virtual map online. It was as if Madison gave him a blueprint on how to fulfill her plan. It was there for him to take, and he wasn’t about to let it slip.

  But, Brooks couldn’t just go up to each of their doorsteps and stab them like he did William Henson. That was too impulsive, and that would make him too obvious.

  He couldn’t have any more daytime killings. They all had to be at night, and he had to be hidden.

  Maybe they could be in the day.

  He would just wait to hear back from Madison the day he planned to kill again and she would guide him all along the way. He was fine with that.

  He had no conscience.

  It was perfect.

  Chapter Eleven

  The next morning was filled with Aleve and several pints of water. As much as my body was used to the constant abuse of binge drinking, I rarely had tequila, and last night was a great reminder why.

  I stared into the pathetic reflection in the mirror trying to make sense of everything. My scruffiness-turned-beard was stuck to my face, unwashed and unkempt for several days. The crust along the edges of my eyes made it difficult for me to see, and my breath tasted otherworldly.

  After brushing my teeth and making myself halfway presentable, my phone rang on my nightstand. I pushed the can of beer to the side and grabbed it and answered without looking.

  “Yeah, it’s Trotter.”

  “Hey,” said the other voice, and it was the most recognizable voice I’ve heard in quite a while.

  “Viv…” I muttered without hesitation. The desperation seeping from my lips when I said her name was obvious, and my shame grew with each breath I took.

  “Yeah, John?” Vivian started. “I was just checking in to see how you were doing. How are things?”

  I stood and stammered a few unintelligible syllables before gathering my thoughts. My heart was on overdrive. After twenty years of marriage everything fell apart.

  Her absence in my life left a void that was incalculable using any measurement known to man. To fill the void was to fill forever.

  “I…I’m doing fine, Viv,” I responded. I started calling her Vivian after the separation out of respect. ‘Viv’ was my cute way of saying you’re all mine!

  Hearing the name Viv likely brought an unsettling shake to her frame, but her voice didn’t miss a beat.

  “That’s good, John. I’m really happy to hear it.”

  “How’s San Francisco?” I asked. I had more confidence built up now.

  “It’s good. The market is starting to dry up here, though. I’m thinking Craig and me will probably have to find a new location soon. Not sure if we’ll stay in California or not.”

  “Oh no,” I responded, trying to sound interested in her future plans with a new boyfriend. The divorce wasn’t even finalized yet and she was already off starting a business with her boyfriend. We fought about it often when she first moved out, and she said Craig Bennet was “just a business partner.”

  It wasn’t long before she dropped the act and started talking like they were engaged and living together. She brought it up nonchalantly a few months back like I should’ve already have known.

  Like it was no big deal.

  She was over me long before we separated. She was screaming to get out and I was clawing onto her. She slipped through my desperate clasp and was living it up, selling real estate in some of the country’s most lucrative housing markets, and I’m stuck in a sleepy town catching car thieves and investigating suicides.

  She was over the moon and I was depressed.

  The comparisons did me no good other than validating my already over conscious mind.

  “Also,” she said after a long, awkward pause. “I wanted to make sure Katherine’s school was taken care of. I would send her some money, but she hasn’t updated me on her email or address or anything yet.”
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br />   That was a lie, but I was walking on thin ice.

  “I took care of it.”

  “Does she have food and gas? Extra spending money?”

  “Yes. She has everything she needs.”

  “OK. Thank you, John.” The voice in the background was barely recognizable, but had an eerily familiar tone.

  In his pictures, Craig looks nearly ten years to Vivian’s junior. He was in great shape and had an even better tan. He was much better looking than I was, but he had about as much personality as a toadstool.

  I checked his online social media accounts, and they mirrored nearly everyone else’s that lived in that part of the country.

  Hates being inside.

  Loves working out.

  Loves organic foods.

  Hates fossil fuels.

  His voice was monotone in the background and all I could make out was, “we’re going to be late.”

  Vivian spent most of the conversation invested in other things, so getting off the phone with me wasn’t a problem.

  “John, something just came up and I have to go. Thanks for taking care of Cat for me.” She hung up.

  Although I didn’t explicitly take care of Katherine for Vivian, I felt that I owed it to her. The years of hardship that led to the separation was all due to my inability to tell myself “stop.”

  What transpired during our demise made me the culprit.

  The part of the entire messy marriage escapade and misadventure that confused me most, was that she already had plans to move with Craig nearly one year before she officially moved out.

  I didn’t know who Craig was other than “someone that can help me further my career in real estate.” She lied and quickly became romantically involved with him and forgot about me.

  I was wasting away in my inability to survive on my own, and I knew it. I fell from the highest tower all the way to the ground, but at each floor I landed…just to jump off again.