Hello, Little Sparrow

by Jordan Jones

He turned down the onramp to the interstate, which was normally a direct route back to his house, but he felt a jerk at the wheel.

  “This isn’t part of it,” Brooks said out loud. His wheel jerked again to the right, forcing him to take a different interstate heading due north. “It doesn’t fit. It has to make sense!”

  The large green sign said:

  Brimsburg - 134 miles

  Angela was unaware her cousin was driving her way. She was unaware he had killed before.

  She was unaware he would kill again.

  Brooks grinned as his hands gripped the steering wheel tighter.

  He was losing it and it felt perfectly fine.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It was nearly nine-thirty when my phone buzzed, imitating a jackhammer gnawing at the oak coffee table. Katherine had made breakfast for the both of us and was cleaning up the dishes in the kitchen.

  “Trotter,” I said answering the phone.

  “Hey, how you feeling today,” Abraham’s voice rang through.

  “Good. What’s going on? You sound out of breath.”

  “Good? As in ‘I’m-ready-to-get-to-work’ good or something else?”

  “I said I was good. What’s going on?”

  “We have a body on Fairview Lane. I don’t know any specifics, but it sounds like foul play or something. They said windows are smashed to bits.”

  I thought of the Henson case and how his sliding glass door was smashed in.

  “I’m getting ready,” I said, standing up with a groan.

  “OK. I’ll text you the address. Please hurry. The press doesn’t know about this one yet.” It was like we’ve spoken cordially for the past month. Nothing set this conversation apart from any other we’ve had.

  We hung up and I stood in the doorway to the cabin’s kitchen. “I’m going out. There may be a new lead in this thing, and I have to get ahead of it.” Katherine nodded and continued drying the dishes.

  I swung my arm in a circle on my way out to the car, ensuring a full range of movement. The early spring was still cold, but not freezing. I grabbed my fedora and placed it on my head and started up the car for the first time since throwing up in front of Geoff Burnley’s house.

  The pain didn’t bother me turning the wheel, but the stiffness sure did. My shoulder was atrophied since the stabbing, and the physical therapy did little to strengthen it.

  I put in the address in my GPS and followed it through the winding hillside, eventually coming out on the freeway heading towards Fairfield Lane.

  The houses on Fairfield were larger than any other part of town, and their yards were typically immaculate, as many rich retirees lived in the area. The ambulance was parked in the driveway, along with several patrol cars and unmarked cars.

  I pulled a few houses down and got out of the car. Abraham spotted me from across the yards and waved me towards him.

  “Hey, I just wanted to say — “

  “We don’t have time for all that, man,” he said. “This is a bad situation.”

  “Is this our guy?”

  “It certainly looks that way. This guy’s been dead for a while now. Coroner is on her way, but Benjamin says he’s probably been dead two to three weeks.”

  I looked over his shoulder towards the house. There was a worried looking man out front talking to three uniformed officers.

  “What’s his story?”

  “He lives next door. He was somewhat of a witness. Apparently, in all the fog we had this morning, he saw a red…or maroon, sedan parked in the driveway. He could barely make it out, but said it was a small car and saw a dark figure moving through the fog.”

  There was a blue minivan parked in front of the garage door, several officers were looking through it.

  “Nothing weird stuck out to him?”

  “Well, it did. After the car left, he went around back and saw the sliding glass door completely busted. He called the police without going in. He was scared out of his mind.”

  “Three weeks old? Something doesn’t sound right.”

  “He said his neighbor was a recluse. Came into some money after getting badly jumped in prison in Indiana. The guards stood around and watched it happen. The guy told him everything about his life the first day he moved in, then didn’t say a word since.”

  “Do we know why he was in prison?”

  “Not yet. We’re running a background on him as we speak. There’s also something else that won’t surprise you.” Abraham motioned towards the house. “After you.”

  I pushed the crime scene tape over my head and saw the news van pull up a few blocks down. Some nosey neighbors stood out on their front lawns, some even gazing through binoculars in our direction. I was stone sober and dared not have another tragedy on live news.

  The door around back was shattered and tiny pieces of broken glass littered the floor. There wasn’t any sign of a struggle all the way down the hall and into the bedroom. I tried the light switch, but the other officers in the room shown their flashlights on the body.

  “What’s the deal here?”

  “Electric company said he was past due for a couple days so they shut it off. They said he was alive and well when they did it.”

  “A couple of days?” I said, stretching some examination gloves over my hands.

  “He’s had issues not paying his light bill before. He came into a lot of money in the lawsuit, but that won’t teach you how to be responsible, I guess.”

  I placed my scarf over my face, as the smell hit me hard. The other officers opened up a window allowing the smell to drift outside.

  Three weeks…at least.

  Katherine was right. She told me there might be an undiscovered body out in the community, and now I wasn’t so sure there weren’t more.

  “The letter…” I walked closer to the body.

  “It looks newer than the aged pages we’re used to,” Abraham said from behind me.

  “Is that what he was doing back here this morning?”

  Abraham shrugged, placing a surgical mask over his face. There were larger puncture wounds over the body, but smaller staple wounds in his upper chest. The letter was also stapled.

  “Wait a second…He killed this man, he was here undiscovered for up to three weeks, and he returns this morning to switch out his letter? Why?”

  “I’m not sure,” LT Anderson said, standing in the doorway. “Maybe the old one was saturated and he wanted a fresh one.”

  “How often does that happen? A killer returning to the undisturbed body after so long?”

  They both shook their heads.

  “Only the sickest of the sick,” Abraham finally said.

  I took hold of the letter and had the officers take several pictures. Benjamin also took some of his own and I slowly tore it off.

  The paper was definitely a new photocopy of an old letter. He must have taken the old letter with him and replaced it with the new one.

  Hello, Little Sparrow,

  My feet have been killing me for the past several days. My morning strides around the house have turned into a crippled old woman limping about, falling into nearly everything. It’s really made me rethink the clutter I’ve accumulated over the years.

  Glide, My Sparrow. Glide.

  You played with your dollhouse this morning…and I convinced you to bring it in my room so I could watch. You’re so creative, Sparrow, that you are lost in your own little world. I’m grateful for it, I really am, but I’m afraid you will crash down when reality finally sets in.

  The remedies have taken its toll on my body that I’m on the verge of telling the doctor that I don’t want it anymore. I can’t have it anymore. I can’t.

  Your dollhouse means so much to you…you know your grandfather made it for me, until I outgrew it and then he put it in the attic. It lay dusty, covered in a sheet for many, many years, until you turned two. Well before your innocence was taken from you.

  Your fickle moods were not a “normal” progression of a
young child like your psychiatrist had said, but a manifestation of your most dire experiences, which were often the root cause of your outbursts and ever changing emotions. I never meant for this to happen.

  I never meant for you to go through this. My days are numbered and my mind is frail, but you still have a chance, Little Sparrow. I want you to find that chance and fly away as quickly as you can.

  I don’t believe I can comprehend what is waiting for you after I pass, as the battles are very arduous now. Please…please do your best to take away from him what he took from you.

  And keep your brother safe from the Ground. Don’t let him fall.

  Not like you.

  He is not as strong as you, though he’s not weak.

  He’s just…different.

  He expects and attracts more attention than I can give, but if he falls to the Ground, I’m afraid of what will happen to him.

  Get back up, Sweet Sparrow, for you shall flap your wings once more.

  Fly, baby bird. Fly.

  The paper was held up to the light for all to read. Benjamin took the original copy and placed it inside of a bag, and left the room.

  “What is he trying to tell us?” Abraham asked. We all stood in silence as the smell began to reemerge.

  “It’s his history,” I said. “He wouldn’t be leaving us all of these notes if it didn’t tie in somehow.” Benjamin’s forensic team entered and made preparations to remove the body. I couldn’t stand the extraction process, so I left and stepped outside.

  LT Anderson pulled down his scarf. “What’s the significance of all this? I mean, he made a charade out of the other killings, why not this one? One he sliced the guy up right in his doorway and the other one was a shotgun blast.”

  “Maybe it was to buy him some time,” Abraham added.

  “No,” I said. “Then he wouldn’t have come back to drop off the other sheet. He wanted us to find this one like the others. He brought it back to preserve it somehow. Like, in some sick way, the old letter wasn’t kosher any longer and it needed to be refreshed.”

  “What’s the point?”

  “The point is, is that this guy is a psychopath…he doesn’t think like us. He left the Burnley scene a mess, but told me I somehow disgraced it by throwing up in the front yard. As if what I did was somehow worse than what he did.”

  Harlow rounded the corner and met with us in the back. She had a manila folder that she stretched out towards us. “Here you guys go. I don’t think you’re going to be too awful surprised what you see inside.”

  The deceased man’s name was Isaac James, and his rap sheet was nearly three pages long. The page displayed very little violence, but a real piece of work.

  Then I saw it.

  He was registered as a sex offender in the states of Ohio and Indiana, but moved to Maine three years ago soon after winning a legal battle with Indiana State Corrections.

  He was registered at this address. Everything seemed in order.

  “Well,” Abraham said after glancing over the documents. “Goes along with the rest of them.”

  I nodded, and saw a concerned look over LT Anderson’s face. “Thanks, Harlow. This is just more validation that he’s targeting this demographic.”

  “Given this information, it’s really hard to feel bad for these guys,” Abraham chimed in.

  “Hopefully those beliefs aren’t skewing your judgment, Detective,” LT Anderson snapped back. “We still have a killer on the loose. He’s now killed three that we know of, and he’s not stopping anytime soon. I need to get the Commissioner on the phone and see what the next PR move is. This is going to shake this city.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “This is the nicest neighborhood in town and someone got snuffed out right in front of their noses. Harlow, why don’t you see if any neighbors have any Camera’s facing this way, or at the street? Maybe we could get a tag number or something.”

  “On it.”

  I stepped back and looked around at the house and the yard. “He was here this morning. That shows you he’s still in the area. That’s a good sign, at least.”

  “A good sign of what?” Abraham asked.

  “A good sign he’s still here. He didn’t leave.”

  “In what twisted world is it good to have a serial killer on the loose?”

  “You know what I mean…” I walked around the garage back down the driveway. The press was standing outside next to the forensic van, and they filmed the crew bringing the stretcher out with the black body bag on top.

  I got to my car before Abraham put his hand on my shoulder and swung me around. “What’s the deal? You told me almost a month ago that you weren’t so sure you even wanted to stay on the force, and now you come in here, running things again like usual?”

  “I was just stabbed through my shoulder. It came out of my chest, Deangelo. A lot was going through my mind at the time. I had nothing but time to think.”

  “And…?”

  “And…I’m here, aren’t I?” I sat down in the car and started the engine. “I’m going to go back to the office and start the report. I’m sure it’s going to take the rest of the day. We’re done here.”

  “You want to grab a drink later? Like old times?” His sly smile was an indication of sarcasm, and I didn’t fall for it.

  “I’m still on the Vicodin,” I responded. “Man, if I get an ounce of alcohol in my system, social drinking hour would turn into a party. And we know what happened last time.” I chuckled and started down the street.

  He was out there…still. He needed to be stopped at any cost, but the question remained: Was it wrong? Was he doing something so wrong? Or, was it just enough right to justify it. I couldn’t bring myself to side either way, though being a police officer forced me to side with the vile and grotesque, no matter how disgusting it was.

  The thought of defending any of those creeps, especially ones with a history of Isaac James, made me feel dirty, and it didn’t matter how many showers I took to clean off the stink.

  The Sparrow picked the perfect victims. No one was afraid of being next. The media made sure to make the connections quickly, spreading William Henson’s sexual misconduct throughout the papers and news cycles for weeks after his death.

  He had society on his side.

  There were no actual victims; just animals being put down. There were even social media groups starting to form garnering The Sparrow as a hero, though they were more inactive recently due to The Sparrows…inactivity.

  It would no doubt reignite with the death of James. At the very least, it brought attention to the killings, even if it did build his character into something perceived as virtuous.

  In a way, it was.

  The office thinned out, with many of the officers on their patrols, and many more in the Fairfield neighborhood, patrolling along. They wouldn’t find The Sparrow flying there, though. I knew that.

  He would be satisfied with this killing for a while, or so I thought. My understanding of his psychopathy only ranged from what I’ve witnessed to crime dramas on TV.

  Dugger was different. He was erratic; The Sparrow was not. The Sparrow liked things done a certain way, and if they didn’t go as planned, well…then he comes back and cleans up the crime scene a little bit, making the letter more readable.

  A textbook psychopath.

  It wasn’t right. The conscienceless killer resumed his daily activities like nothing happened for nearly three weeks until he felt the need to make his presence known again.

  My desk was in pristine condition and I sat down, turning on my computer again. Harlow sat down across from me and started up her computer in tune with mine.

  “How does it feel being back at your old desk?”

  “Cathartic.” I adjusted my monitor.

  “This guy is something else, isn’t he?” She pulled back her hair, readjusting her hair clips and ties.

  “Yes he is. Something this world has rarely seen.”

  “I mean, especiall
y at your place.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Harlow cleared her throat. “I mean, how he was in your car all night the day he attacked you.”

  “Huh? This is the first I’ve heard of this.”

  “After they dropped you off, they got footage of him immediately going to your car and sitting in the back of it. He didn’t emerge until after he attacked you almost eight hours later.” She sat up straight and looked at me. “I can’t believe no one told you about that.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “He’s different. He has an extreme amount of patience. He didn’t lie down to sleep, either. He was in a sitting position behind the driver’s seat the entire time. He didn’t even move to pee or adjust himself or anything.”

  Chills went down my spine as I opened up the Maise case file. It felt unimportant to go over a case that was likely solved within the first few hours of it being open, but Madison’s face cried out to me from the pictures. She was a mess, even when alive.

  Tears streamed down her face, taking the mascara along for the ride. Given no context as to when or why the pictures were taken, I’d assumed her artistic prowess took over and made the pictures as authentic and believable as possible.

  She was a beautiful girl that I didn’t want to let go for some reason. She was calling out to me to help her, though something stood in my way.

  The Sparrows file was much larger with many more aspects and moving parts to it. I reluctantly opened it to a display of pictures and there were three stills of the parking garage footage.

  He sat there in the backseat of my car, head facing forward. I could only assume his hands were in his lap. All three pictures looked nearly the same, but the third had something more clearly shown. On top of the trunk was a golden butterfly necklace, with brightly colored jewels and wings attached to the chain.

  My heart jumped in my chest.

  I tossed the file to the side and opened up Madison’s file again.

  Pictures…pictures…more pictures.

  Then, there it was. The necklace Benjamin had found at the scene.

  A golden butterfly with different colored jewels on it.