Hello, Little Sparrow

by Jordan Jones

  Madison Evelyn Maise.

  The box was locked with a tiny keyhole at its center. With Abraham’s help, we were able to pry it open.

  A kid with secrets laid out for the world to see.

  The top of the box flew off and landed at our feet, but there appeared to be nothing inside. The box was lined with red felt, but the bottom was loose.

  I lifted it up and pulled out a folded up sheet of paper. It read:

  For whomever is unfortunate enough to have found this sheet of paper,

  I am the Phoenix.

  You know me as The Sparrow. I see the articles about me in the papers. I’m happy; I truly am, about how things are progressing. So far, I’ve been able to contain whatever that’s inside of me, but it’s about time to fly, fly, fly.

  I took items from this house and have them somewhere you’ll never look. They mean much more to me than they ever would you. I scour over the letters…all addressed to me…the Phoenix.

  If you think simple police work is going to come even close to stopping me, you will have to try much harder.

  I’m not writing you to help you find me.

  God, no. I’m writing you to offer some advice.

  I’m doing the work your ‘justice system’ failed to do.

  You try the vile.

  You convict the vile.

  You jail the vile.

  You let the vile go.

  I have been placed here to kill the vile. You do your part…I do mine.

  My advice is to let me keep doing what I’m doing without repercussion. I’ve already cut one of yours and I’m bound to do it again.

  We are not alike, you and I. In fact, we couldn’t be further apart. I help protect the children. You keep them with these predators.

  How do you sleep at night?

  I sleep just fine with my hands soaked in blood and my heart with fire.

  My conscious is cleansed. I can’t possibly see how yours is.

  You found me. I am here…you are not. The Sparrow will continue to provide this community with a free service, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.

  Why would you want to?

  I gave the paper to Abraham, then to LT Anderson who made his way through the house. They examined it and shook their heads.

  “He must’ve come in here when Kay was working or somewhere else,” LT Anderson said. “She told me she thought our team came in and took items.”

  We took the box outside to Kay and showed her the inside.

  “She used to have a locket in there,” she said. “You found it in her ceiling tile? She used to just have it in her dresser.” She belted out a cry that seemed to come from nowhere. “I feel completely violated!”

  “Mrs. Maise,” Abraham said. “Do you have anywhere else to stay for the night? We’re going to need your home for a few days. I don’t think it’s safe for you to go back in there for a little while.”

  She nodded. “I can go to my sister’s. She’s across town. I don’t want to drive so I’ll have her pick me up.” A uniformed officer followed her back inside and gathered some of her things.

  I turned to Abraham. “I’ve never seen anything like this if I’m being completely honest. Like, nothing about this makes sense. What are the chances that a girl’s suicide and a serial killer are somehow related?”

  “You think they knew each other?” Abraham asked.

  “I don’t see any other way,” I answered. “We’ll have to go through the family tree and see if there is anything noteworthy.”

  LT Anderson stepped between us. “Benjamin and his team will finish up here. I’ll have Welker and Harlow go door to door in the morning to see if any suspicious stalkers were seen around. You two go back home. The Sparrow’s time here was likely days ago, so there’s nothing immanent that can be done until prints and the DNA from that hair come back. You two go get some serious rest. We’re going to need all of your energy bright and early.”

  We both nodded and headed back to the Charger.

  “And Detectives,” he said as we were only a few feet away from the car. “If you get drunk tonight I will personally see to it that you lose your jobs.”

  “Yes, Lieutenant,” we said in unison and opened the car doors. The drive home was eerily quiet, and it wasn’t just that Abraham and I weren’t talking. The streets were bare, and it looked like some of the streetlights weren’t functional.

  Dispatch said a transformer on the edge of town was hit by a semi driving too fast for the conditions. The driver was clinging to life and was being medevac’d to St. Michael’s for ‘serious head trauma.’

  I held out hope it was The Sparrow taking his own life in grandiose fashion, sparks flying and metaphorically symbolizing the death of a killer.

  I wouldn’t be sad; I’d be relieved. My face was on the news channels throwing up in the front yard of a slain man’s house. I was the detective assigned to the case. There weren’t many of us, so it was easy to be visible to the public.

  After the stabbing, my face was again briefly displayed for all one hundred and twenty-five thousand residents of Lincolnshire to see.

  I stopped in front of Abraham’s condo and he got out. He went to shut the door, but stopped himself. “John…we’re gonna get this guy,” he said. “As confusing as the motives are, we’ll figure them out. This guy is as good as gone.”

  I let out a forced smile and nodded in his general direction. “Have a good night, DeAngelo.”

  The road was slick from the sleet and the temperature was oddly cold enough to keep it in a slush mix, but also warm enough to keep it from freezing.

  The streetlights came on slowly as I drove across town. The lights danced, as my vision grew more and more hazy. I had gone nearly thirty hours with no sleep and it was catching up to me.

  Right about now, I’d be at some random bar finding my second wind in my forth mixed drink. It was a sad sight; me sitting alone at the bar on the nights DeAngelo couldn’t make it. The shame I felt didn’t radiate, but it was there. I felt it with every gulp of alcohol.

  I felt it more as the alcohol hit my stomach…more still as it hit my bloodstream.

  It was a sad life, but LT Anderson’s ultimatum helped me stay on track. I had a job to do and that job was to find who is killing all of these predators.

  After rounding through the spiraling roads to the cabin, the police officers’ car could be seen in the driveway. It gave me a sense of relief seeing them there. One officer was even outside, shining his flashlight around.

  I gave them both a handshake and looked over to see that Katherine’s car was missing. My phone had seventeen texts with two from Katherine that read:

  Went back to the dorms. Hope you’re OK to be by yourself again.

  Love you and hope you find what you’re looking for.

  Inside I fished for my wallet in a kitchen drawer only to find my debit card missing.

  I figured I’d give it a few days before I call and cancel it.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The office door was closed. It was three hours after everyone’s shift was over, after all. No one should’ve been at Fasten Biofuels so late, but Brooks was.

  He was alone.

  He also wasn’t alone.

  He felt Madison everywhere he went. She was in him, and she was him.

  She drove his thoughts, his demeanor, and his mannerisms. He rarely took a breath without her consent.

  The blank paper in front of him stared back with a lethal dose of ecstasy, playing with his creative juices in ways he never thought possible.

  Brooks was prepared to write why he had to do what he was doing. He wanted the world to know why it was he that took the lives of so many vile humans. He didn’t feel like they had the right to know, but that he wanted to offer an explanation. He also understood that everyone was OK with the vile humans walking about the communities unscathed and unchecked, and Brooks knew that the vast majority must’ve been complacent in their feelings towards them.
<
br />   They were fine with it. Brooks wanted them to understand why they shouldn’t be.

  Brooks put pen to paper, full well knowing someone would one day read what he was about to say and form their own opinions.

  The pen made strokes as he formed letters, then words, progressing more and more piecing eloquent sentences together. He wrote about growing up with his sister, Jody, and how indescribably playful she was. He wrote about how she would often frolic around the backyard, jumping at any chance to get lost in thought. She was so great at creating new worlds where they could thrive.

  She once found a frog and made it queen of the backyard. The backyard was a kingdom called New JodyBrooks, and the frog’s name was Queen Longlegs. She was the fairest of them all.

  Brooks wrote about how Jody would often care for him and his accidents. He’d scrape his knee on the sidewalk, and she would tend to him and never break character. She would wrap up Prince Brooks’ knee with paper towels she deemed magical in some sense, though Brooks knew they were store-bought.

  The fairy tales rarely ended, as the creativity followed Jody and Brooks inside the home. At dinner, their mother would make a respectable meal for the four of them, but Jody would pretend the meal was one fit for royalty and all those who resided in the kingdom.

  Often times at night, Jody would stay up very late and watch the moon through the window. If it were full, she would tell Brooks that tomorrow they would have to do battle with werewolves, and describe them down to the coarseness of their fur.

  It all seemed so normal for Brooks. Mother and Father never intervened with their daughter’s imagination, though the furthest stretches came from memories she was trying to avoid.

  Brooks felt a tingle in his chest as he continued to write. He felt Madison take his hand and help guide the sentences, making them more powerful than he ever could.

  Each morning, Jody would be up before the family and glide downstairs to eat a quick breakfast before galloping outside. She was eleven and her imagination was as untethered as ever before. Many days, she was indifferent if Brooks played with her or not. He always wanted his sister’s approval and guidance, but it faded quickly.

  She didn’t care for Brooks any longer, and he began to notice when her creative worlds became darker. She wouldn’t be galloping on a horse through the backyard; it was a tamed werewolf. She tamed it with magical berries, and she could command it to kill at her discretion.

  And she did. Often.

  It was only a few days after this Brooks saw the work of his father in the garage behind his house. His uncle Samuel was also over on certain days of the week, and they would disappear in the garage for hours. Mother was unfazed by this and never questioned their deeds.

  She would hum joylessly as she cleaned up the kitchen, and hum louder the more it bothered her. Brooks wrote how she got sick and was tired most days towards the end.

  He didn’t understand what his sister went through, but he had some idea. His cousin, Angela, also experienced much of the same, but she didn’t have revenge in her mind.

  Jody would have. She would’ve been there with Brooks through the murders. She would’ve helped him clean fingerprints from the crime scenes.

  Brooks didn’t write crime scenes…they weren’t crimes. He used more appropriate terms. Terms that fit much better than a crime.

  Angela was weak and forgiving. Jody would’ve been strong and spiteful.

  Exactly the way she should’ve been.

  Brooks wrote about the last day of Jody’s life. She had told him she wanted him to grow up and “Do what you think you have to do.”

  Brooks didn’t know what that was. He had gotten straight A’s in school, went on to get a bachelor’s in biology, and a masters in horticulture.

  He was aimless with a very good job.

  Until Madison finally showed him the way.

  Much like Madison, Jody’s death was tragic…it was mourned by everyone who knew her, and everyone who didn’t.

  Father and Uncle Samuel would continue their deeds for a few months until they were caught and each sentenced to twenty and twenty-five years respectfully.

  Uncle Samuel died less than a week after being released from prison after pulling a knife on a man at a bar just outside Paducah, Kentucky. The man was trained in mixed martial arts and made quick work of Samuel. The man connected with several punches and knocked the inebriated Samuel back several feet before he tripped over a rock and slammed his head against a trailer hitch on the back of a pickup truck.

  He was pronounced dead at the scene. After locals discovered his history, the news clippings soon left the papers.

  Father was released from prison three years ago. Brooks couldn’t find it within him to locate him.

  He was afraid of what he might do.

  He felt sweat beads form on his head as his hand formed the letters to the paper.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Custodian,” exclaimed the woman from outside the door. “Mr. Ingram, are you in there? If so, you forgot to leave your trashcan outside your office. Mr. Ingram?”

  Brooks jolted up and grabbed the trashcan from under his desk and hastily opened the door and set it out without acknowledging the woman.

  “Thank you, too,” she said with a smirk, and walked away.

  Brooks returned to the paper and intended on reading his masterpiece…but it wasn’t there. The jagged squiggly marks covered the entire page from top to bottom.

  There were no words at all, only lines. There were sharp edges, circles, and straight lines. It looked like nothing was accomplished…to the layman.

  Lines came to a point at the top and bottom, almost like a showcase of what was inside. Brooks took a step back and exhaled. He had expected the words would dance off the page and into his pupils much like Jody, but this wasn’t that at all.

  He couldn’t understand it.

  It was a convoluted, jumbled mess. Nothing was where it was supposed to be.

  It was perfect.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The eggs were sizzling in the skillet at six o’clock the next morning by my own hand; Katherine wasn’t there to prepare my every meal like she had before. It was comforting having the movement I needed in my right shoulder again. The pain had subsided and the movement came back…I was almost full-strength.

  I turned on the local news to see if any good happened the night before. I was hopeful they didn’t catch wind of the party we all had at the Maise house last night, or the investigation would be in dire jeopardy. The Sparrow was already keen enough on his own.

  We didn’t need the news showing our hand.

  I also didn’t want him knowing we found his letter to us. I was sure he’d love the fact we read it and still had no clue who he was or where he lived.

  A sportscaster gave some scores of some basketball state tournament games and the meteorologist gave us the predictable early-spring gloom on the radar. They had the easiest job of all.

  The eggs were too salty and not peppery enough. Katherine made them perfect every morning. She was a pro in the kitchen, much like her mom, but I never found my way into the kitchen long enough to learn.

  Katherine was too embarrassed by her old man dancing like a goofball while stirring the spaghetti to take me seriously. I thought we’d grow closer learning things together, but that wasn’t the case. There was always the distance, even when we were feet apart.

  The month she spent with me in the cozy cabin made no difference, and her stealing my debit card was proof of that. My indifference only accompanied my enabling by showing her that I knew, but also didn’t care.

  Money meant nothing to me.

  Nothing was everything to me. I was shocked at that thought. I wanted pursuit of The Sparrow to give me that drive again…much like after I killed Alvin Dugger.

  The drive that Abraham spoke to me about ebbed and flowed and was inconsistent enough to shoot my anxiety into the next universe. Some days I was fine as a
detective.

  I felt competent. I felt compelled to keep the scum off the streets, as clichéd as it sounded.

  But, it was the days that I couldn’t find the energy to leave my bed that kept me from having that desire to continue. Those days were hell.

  The fear that pulsed through my veins when I thought of another encounter with The Sparrow pierced through me like a hypodermic needle ready to inject me with a lethal dose of something painful. He was all I could think about.

  Through the curtains, I could see the officers sitting in the patrol car; one was dozing off and the other digging at his nose. He had a strong flick outside the window, which nearly made me puke.

  When my phone buzzed, I nearly jumped out of the recliner. Without looking, I answered.

  “Trotter.”

  “Whoa, Mr. Cop. You can settle it down.” It was Vivian. Calling me a little after six in the morning. It was an odd time for sure.

  “Viv…I was expecting it to be work,” I said, keeping my voice as steady and confident as I could.

  “Yeah, well it’s me. I was trying to reach Katherine. Is she there?” She sounded preoccupied as she often did. I could picture her wearing a black pantsuit with her hair freshly washed. She was applying eyeliner while sitting in her nice dark blue SUV in the parking lot of her office.

  It wasn’t difficult to picture, but it also confused me why I always pictured her in scenarios when she called.

  “She left yesterday sometime. She took off with my debit card. I’ll let her have some fun before I contact the bank.”

  “Hmm,” she responded, sounding disappointed. That was her ally after all. “I might try reaching her cell, then.”

  “OK, you’d have better luck with that. I think she’s back on campus.”

  Vivian stopped for a few seconds before speaking. “John…I wanted to also check up with you and see if you were all right.”

  My heart fell into my stomach. I knew Craig would be nowhere around and Viv wouldn’t want him knowing we were having this conversation. The sides of my mouth rose slightly as I answered.