Hello, Little Sparrow by Jordan Jones (ebook audio reader txt) 📗

We both knew that was a lie, but I didn’t test him. I wasn’t thinking clearly and didn’t want to get caught up in a squabble while I saw two of everything.

“Through the garage there,” LT said, pointing in the direction of an older model Chevy Impala. There was a chair out of place to the right of the car, facing the door that led inside.

“And, where’s Abraham?” LT spouted from the front yard.

“On his way, sir,” I said, focused on the chair. Two uniformed officers walked out of the door and down the steps next to a workbench. One obviously shaken and the other trying to calm him down.

I stepped through the door into the laundry room, then kitchen. Benjamin was already there taking pictures of the newly deceased body. I was no forensic expert, but the smell of new blood was certainly different than that of old blood.

The body lay on the floor in a near-fetal position with his hands clasped together. The back of his head was nearly blown off, and Benjamin was there to document it.

“What am I looking at right now?” I asked Benjamin, who was in a kneeling position. A few other officers searched the house, making much more noise than they intended.

“Looks like he was sitting at this dining room table and someone stood behind him…I’d say about four feet away, and pulled the trigger. The blood spatter indicates crazy amount of force. This shotgun was likely modified. It wasn’t made for hunting, that’s for sure.”

The man wore work boots and jeans that were a few sizes too large for someone his stature. Counting his head, I would’ve guessed he stood five foot seven, and weighed in around a hundred and thirty pounds.

“Do we have an ID?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Harlow said from behind me. “His name is Geoff Burnley. He left his wallet in his car. The neighbors heard the gunshot and called us right away. They say a man exited the house and headed down the alley.”

“I hope you already had someone go that way?” I asked.

“Yeah, they radioed back saying there were only a few businesses there. Nothing that looked out of place.”

“There is this,” Benjamin said, still hunched over the body. “I didn’t want to take it off until you got here.”

I looked closely and it was another piece of paper.

His calling card.

“This is a serial killer,” I said. “Did you tell LT yet?”

“He’s aware it’s here, but none of us know what it says,” Harlow said.

I slowly ripped the paper away from the staple, trying to preserve as much as I could. It was another letter with the same format and everything.

“This was likely taken from the same notebook. Same discoloration.”

I read the letter aloud to all within earshot:

Hello, Little Sparrow,

I have once again found myself peeking through the window at you galloping about. My knees are beginning to fail me, but I must be strong for you. There are only so many hours in the day, and I can only enjoy so few. There are many things that cross my mind when I think about your future without me here. Without my guidance and warm, safe cuddles. I know what awaits you when I’m gone, and, sadly enough, there is little I can do about it. I grow weak and he grows strong. My mind, though, has not abandoned me yet, but I can begin to feel the wheels of time turning the hands of the clock and its conclusion will be my eventual demise.

I can no longer hide my frailty from you any longer. I want to be your refuge throughout the rest of your life, but sadly, that will never be so. The earth quakes beneath his ungodly footsteps and I regret the day I ever met that man. I want him to fall on his own sword. An ending of his own doing. How can we make that happen?

I am unaware, Little Sparrow, of any possible, conceivable way to stop him at this point. He will do, as he wants whenever he wants to whomever he wants. This must stop…now. When you finally read this, will you please visit me in your heart? I promise you, I will always be there until we are, once again, reunited. Alas, I must follow the doctors’ orders and rest. Until next time…

The paper felt heavy in my hand as I placed it down on the counter top. It had grown to weigh as much as several notebooks piled on top of each other. My head began to throb and I rubbed my temple, as the other officers, now including LT and Abraham, stood silent in the kitchen.

I felt dizzy and uncoordinated, so I grabbed the counter.

“What do we make of this?” Abraham said, looking me directly in the eyes. We both knew the other was still slightly intoxicated and our jobs could be on the line.

“It’s obviously from the same perspective,” Harlow said. My stomach was fighting me and it was winning the battle.

“Yeah, but who are these characters?” Abraham said. “Is The Sparrow our killer? Is the writer our killer? Is The Sparrow his child?” My stomach was punching my other organs. The last glass of scotch finally made its way to areas of my bloodstream, giving me a second wave of intoxication. But, this was no ordinary feeling.

My stomach took a turn for the worse.

“I don’t know, DeAngelo,” Harlow said. “I’m not going to just keep guessing here.”

I pushed passed both on my way out the door into the front lawn. Two uniformed officers jumped back as I ran between them and fell to the ground, throwing up everything I consumed from the day before out on Burnley’s front lawn.

After