by Jordan Jones
We reached nearly sixty miles per hour rushing through town; each building on both sides of us came at us fast, and left as a blur. All the vehicles in front of us pulled to the side of the road and I turned right to enter a deserted industrial park.
The sign above read:
Franklin Scrap
Private property
I slowed to a crawl and turned the sirens off. The squad cars behind us followed suit, turning theirs off as well.
“We’re getting closer,” Harlow said, breaking the intense silence. “It came from up here on the left.”
We pulled up to a dilapidated brick building that looked like it hadn’t been used in over a decade. The entire park was filled with buildings falling in on themselves.
I stopped the car, pulled out my newly issued Glock 19, and stepped out.
The wind picked up, forcing some of the young leaves from a neighboring forest to detach and fall around us. I searched the ground for footprints, but there weren’t any.
“Inside,” Harlow responded from the passenger seat. “This is saying the call came from inside that building.”
Other officers stepped out of their cars and onto the rocky and mud mixture beneath our feet. I held up my hand for them to hold back.
“I need three,” I said. LT Anderson’s black SUV was pulling up behind the rest, but I couldn’t wait to make a move. “On my go.”
We stacked up on the door in a single file line.
“Go.” The last man in the stack was the biggest and burliest men on the force and he kicked open the door. I was the first one in and aimed my pistol straight down the narrow hallway. After all the others entered behind, we stopped and waited.
Drops of water came from all around us, falling through the holes in the ceiling above. My flashlight illuminated the dark, dingy hall, and we shuffled down in near silence.
I heard a ringing in the distance and held up my fist.
“Hold up,” I said quietly. Then, we all moved as a unit forward until the ringing grew louder.
It stopped, and then started again.
At the end of the hall, a door was half open on the right. I gave the signal, and the last man swung the door open.
The room was empty except for a single phone sitting on a desk in the middle of the room. The lights weren’t working, and the room was in obvious disrepair.
I walked over to the phone and picked it up, bringing it slowly to my ear.
The man breathing on the other side stopped to clear his throat. The other officers looked at me, confused at the circumstances.
“Detective John Trotter,” the voice said. He coughed, and then let out a sigh. “You’re so predictable.”
“What is your endgame here?” I asked, wiping the sweat off my forehead. “Do you plan on wiping out all the perverts in town? In the world? At some point you have to stop this.”
“The only thing I have to do is keep my knife sharpened and my — I mean, your gun clean.”
“Just turn yourself in,” I tried saying as calmly as I could. “This will end horribly otherwise.”
“It was always intended to end horribly, Detective,” he said, breathing even more heavily into the phone. “The former life I once knew is far behind me now. The innocence that was taken from me will now be placed upon the heads of those who violate the most vulnerable among us. I cannot defeat what’s inside of me now. I cannot stop this even if I wanted to. And, you can’t either.”
The line went click and my shoulder radio beeped.
“Detective Trotter. Do you copy, over?” LT Anderson called from outside.
“Yes, I copy that. We need some lights and Torrey Benjamin and his crew to help assess what we have here.”
“What do you see?” he called again.
“A phone.”
The other officers around me waved the rest of the crew into the building and they completed a full search of the perimeter, finding footprints and tire tracks as they did.
Benjamin’s team set up a light in the dark, makeshift office with the phone.
“What the hell is this, John?” LT Anderson said. Benjamin and his crew were scouring the room and bagging several, little items.
“I don’t know, sir. He timed it out perfectly to call us when we walked in. He had to have seen us from somewhere.”
“I’ll have the guys take another look around,” he said. “There are woods to the north. Could’ve seen you all enter from there.”
“What I can’t understand is how this phone was active,” Harlow said. “This place looks like it’s been vacated for twenty years or more. Who hooks up a phone line all the way out here?”
I shook my head. “We’ll have to check with the phone providers. Someone’s paying for this line and someone’s providing the service to it.”
Benjamin looked up from his kneeling position.
“Detectives,” he said.
We walked over to him and he didn’t take his eyes off of the phone.
“What is it?” LT Anderson asked.
“This receiver has fingerprints all over it,” Benjamin said. “I can’t tell if they’re his until I do testing, but this guy really doesn’t care if he’s caught. And here…this is some sort of interruption in the fingerprints. The fingerprints were very deliberate; people don’t hold phones like that. But, this…this is something else.”
The fingerprints were very noticeable on the phone, but there was a slash taken out of all of them and down the length of the phone.
“Was he trying to wipe it away or something?” I asked. “Like, to destroy the evidence?”
“Not likely,” Benjamin said. “Because this wasn’t done with a rag or a shirt. This looks like he licked from the speaker to the receiver. There’s saliva here. Or, someone did. It was definitely a tongue, though.”
“What in the world is going through this guy’s head?” LT Anderson asked.
“You probably don’t want to know, sir,” Harlow answered.
The rest of the items were bagged including the phone, and Benjamin wrapped up his forensic suitcase.
“John,” he said out of earshot of everyone else. “We have to catch this guy. What happened here today is a huge red flag for me. I haven’t dealt with it too much myself, but my schooling taught me that when a serial killer becomes purposefully reckless…much like this one, they become even more dangerous. He knows his days are numbered and he’s about to do something big.”
The last of the forensic team walked out the door, and she placed investigation tape on the doorway.
“But, this is also a good thing, John,” he continued. “He knows you’re getting closer to finding him.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
The door swung open and Brooks fell to the floor of the foyer.
He laughed and grimaced as he thought about what he’d done. He wanted Detective Trotter to know his power and what he was capable of. From the bottom of his feet, a tingling sensation grew stronger and stronger as it went up his ankles and penetrated his calves.
The control he once had was long gone.
“I am the ember fading,” he said aloud from the floor. The hardwood beneath him offered a place of warmth and belonging, that of which he’d never known in his childhood home.
“I am a phoenix,” he whispered to himself. “I am the hero of the story.”
He balled his fists and slammed the floor at his sides. How dare Detective Trotter try and stop him. Brooks was doing his work for him. He was ridding the streets of the mangy filth within, and didn’t even ask for a paycheck.
Just a little recognition…that’s all he asked. The tightness of his fists ran incongruent with his peace of mind, knowing full well he was the hero.
“I am the hero.”
He let out a long and tiresome sigh.
The ceiling started to chip away and fell around him. He could feel bits of plaster and wood stabbing through his torso, on their way to meet the floor. Even further down into the basement they we
nt, without so much as a hello or goodbye.
As the music played from the radio in the kitchen, he enjoyed himself on the floor. He opened his eyes and the ceiling was still intact.
He’d imagined it.
He’d imagined it all.
How much of the past few months had he imagined?
Were the vile actually extinguished? Were they actually dead?
A moment of clarity overcame him as his ember grew bright, but it was soon dull and grey, much like an ashy rock, forgotten in a riverbank…wishing one day to be skipped across to make it to the other side.
There were footsteps walking up the steps to his front door, but he didn’t move.
It could just be his imagination.
“Mr. Ingram,” the voice boomed. It was familiar. “Mr. Ingram, is everything all right?”
Brooks looked down and met the man’s gaze…it was Detective Morelli. This time he was alone.
“I’m as ripe as a cucumber Detective,” he replied from the floor. “Is there something I can help you with? Perhaps, you didn’t do enough damage when you stared through me with your beady eyes the last time you were here.”
“Mr. Ingram, may I come in?” A sense of urgency entered into Morelli’s voice.
“It’s a funny thing,” Brooks said as he used an end table for balance. “The only two beings needing verbal consent to enter a home are police and vampires; one will suck the life right out of you, and the other is a vampire.”
“Mr. Ingram…”
Brooks opened the door and waved the officer in, quickly glancing to the basement door where he stashed his bloodied clothes at the bottom of the steps.
“Your partner not well?”
Morelli took a drink of the coffee he had with him. “Draper is attending to another case in Brimsburg.” He took a seat on the couch, and was much less intimidating than the first time he was there.
“For what do I owe this pleasure, Detective?” Brooks asked.
“Your cousin…Angela. She was buried and I noticed you weren’t at the funeral. There weren’t many family members there at all. I think some were distant cousins…maybe a sibling. It just struck my curiosity.”
Brooks leaned against the mantel in the same fashion Morelli did, openly mocking him…though Brooks wasn’t quite sure if he’d get the hint.
“We weren’t close,” Brooks responded.
“But, you were close enough to visit in prison on at least three occasions.”
“She was in prison for over three years, Detective,” Brooks quipped. “Three visits in three years doesn’t constitute a close relationship.”
Morelli checked his notes and looked up. “You were taken out of there forcefully. This was three weeks before she was found gutted.”
“I’m still waiting for a question, Detective Morelli.”
Morelli threw his notebook on the floor and stood up, matching Brooks’ intensity.
“I know it was you, Brooks,” he said, snarling as he did. “I know you killed your cousin at that rehab clinic…I don’t know how I’m going to prove it, but I’m going to. You’d better hope you don’t resist when I come back to arrest you.”
“I think it’s time to leave, Detective,” Brooks said calmly, without taking his eyes off of him. Brooks wanted to quickly grab the knife he had hidden under the mantel and stab it into Morelli’s jugular, but thought better of it. He would have to dispose of the body where no one could find it…and the car.
He’d have to take the car somewhere and burn it. Too many chances to leave evidence.
“Listen here you sick freak,” Morelli said, nearly foaming at the mouth. “Draper’s not here to save you. What’s to stop me from taking you in right now?”
“Evidence…that and the fact that I’ve told you to leave and you haven’t. Now you’re trespassing.” Brooks’ calm demeanor only infuriated Morelli even more.
“There’s something bigger here, isn’t there?” Morelli said. “Only a sick freak would gut someone like that in broad daylight and not look back. I think you may have some knowledge of this Sparrow fella. Only enough room for one psychopath in the Northeast and that’s you.”
“How do you know?” Brooks asked.
“Know what?” Morelli said, his face growing red by the second.
“That I didn’t look back?”
Morelli drew his gun and raised it to meet Brooks’ eyes. “Why don’t I just shoot you and end all of this right now. I’d be saving a lot of people a lot of trouble. I know you’re good for this. I knew something was wrong with you.”
Brooks took out his phone and began recording Morelli.
“I’ve learned something in all my years of life, Detective,” Brooks said, still recording. “Not all situations can be handled with brutal violence. Some can…for sure. But, others should take a more diplomatic approach. And now, I have you on a live recording pointing a gun at my face after I told you to exit my home for the third time.”
Morelli lowered his pistol and backed out of the living room, making his way down the hall and back outside.
Brooks let out a sigh and felt Madison’s presence behind him.
“It’s OK,” she said. “Mr. Morelli will get his. He has made himself to be a sacrifice. Unlike the vile, but with potential to do as much damage.”
Brooks smiled.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Benjamin came by my desk as I was placing all the evidence I had on top of it. The FBI was coming any moment to seize any and all case files on The Sparrow and I wanted to make sure I gave them everything they needed; no matter how much I hated it.
I did all the heavy legwork, and they come in during the eleventh hour to take everything I’d gathered throughout the course of the investigation. It was almost poetic that my life fell further into shambles, only for the floor to drop out from under me even when I was certain I’d reached the bottom.
“There’s something more to see,” Benjamin said with his eyes on the newly remodeled laboratory. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. “There was another letter.”
“What? Where?” I asked, standing up and following him.
“It was inside the phone. He took it apart with something…looks like he pried it, maybe with a screwdriver. He placed the letter inside and then glued it back together.”
“This keeps getting weirder,” Harlow said, walking in behind us.
The letter was sitting on the table next to the phone, which had been taken apart. The font was more erratic and indistinguishable from a small child.
Hello, My Little Sparrow…
I haven’t got much time left…the doctor was sure to tell me. I’d be one less tiresome bore relying on the masses to pick up my slack. To you…My Sparrow…I want to fill you with as much hope as I can before I go. I have only days left, but you have an eternity.
At least that’s what it’ll feel like.
I’m sorry he’s such a monster. I should have shunned him with the rest of the smooth-talkers at prom. He grabbed my attention early, though, with his sky-blue eyes, dragging me from the dance floor to the back of the car. I enjoyed it. I’m certain he did, too.
My bones are week my Little Sparrow, and my skin is beginning to sag. I feel disgusting and look much worse. I can’t hold my head up or even hold down food. I know I have only days left, and I’m at peace with that. I’m not, however, at peace with what you’re about to experience once I’m gone. I’m afraid he will stop being so shy and commit whatever atrocities he planned on all along.
I’m happy I was able to keep it together for this letter. I quickly went through the previous writings and noticed some inconsistencies.
Growing up can be so hard with a sick mother. It will be even harder growing up with a father who is a monster. Please look after your little brother, my girl. He’s developing an appetite for hurting small animals. I’m afraid he’s too far gone.
Love always,
Mother
“What do you make of that?” LT And
erson said from the doorway.
Benjamin walked over to study the paper once more. “The pages are yellowed and consistent with the others. I’d say it came from the same source. The same notepad.”
“So, there’s no way he wrote this long ago with mass murder in mind just to string us along?” I asked.
“That would be some constraint,” Harlow added. “It sounds an awful lot like the matriarch is sick, and she’s talking to the daughter. The son must be the killer.”
“So, the killer isn’t The Sparrow in the letters,” I said. “The Sparrow is definitely the killer’s older sister.”
“Looks that way,” Benjamin said.
“What do we have on this Ingram fella?” LT Anderson asked. “Maybe he’s the monster the author is talking about.”
“Well, like we said, he’s long dead,” I said.
“I found another newspaper clipping that came out two days after his death in Paducah,” Benjamin said. “It said something about being survived by a two daughters.”
“The killer is obviously a male, but it’s worth a shot,” I said.
“Detective!” A voice rang out. “Detective Trotter. There’s an officer out here that wants to speak with you.”
I moved through the doorway and walked to the front desk and saw a short, stocky man. He had Italian features, and was nicely dressed for your typical detective.
He scowled as I approached him.
“Detective John Trotter?” He asked. He didn’t appear to be from the FBI. He didn’t have any identification on his attire that signified as much.
“Yes,” I responded. “And you are?”
“My name is Detective Marco Morelli and I’m with the Brimsburg police department,” he answered. His scowl did not match his voice. He sounded upbeat and happy to meet me.
“Oh, great to meet you, Detective.” I showed him back to my desk, but several more feet away so we could have more privacy. “What do I owe this visit?”
