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

I get an EMT over here?” I yelled from across the bridge. Without giving the crowd what they wanted, I motioned for the medical team to come over and check on the poor woman. LT Anderson came over to investigate. “She passed out, sir.”

“My, my. Imagine what she just experienced right here.” He sighed and placed the cap back on his head. He waved off the crowd, now nearly thirty people present. “Please, ladies and gentlemen. This is an ongoing investigation here. One hundred meters from all sides of this spot is an active scene. We need you all to scoot back.”

Abraham looked at me with lips clamped together. “This is a rough one, Trotter.”

“I know it is, buddy.” I took a step back to let the medical staff tend to Miss Maise. “Something about this girl taking her own life rings different than the others.”

Abraham gave a subtle smirk. “Probably the fact there was barely a body to see.”

“No,” I said. “Not that. This one just feels different.”

Chapter Two

The stench of cigarette smoke seeped into the hall from the apartment across from mine. I shook my head as I unlocked the door and pushed my way in.

I threw my keys on the kitchen counter. The small two-bedroom apartment was spacious enough for one person to live comfortably, but small enough to make that one person go crazy from the constant isolation. I looked through the living room from where I stood in the kitchen and peered out the sliding glass doors onto the balcony.

Not a day went by that I didn’t think about stepping off the balcony and letting gravity pull me towards the sidewalk fifteen floors below. Although the desire was there, something always held me back, and it definitely wasn’t gravity.

My phone buzzed from my pocket, so naturally, I ignored it. My work phone buzzing typically elicited some sort of response from me, but my personal phone was fair game. I checked the clock on the oven and it read 7:37 p.m. I was at the bridge and then at my desk scouring through notes and pictures for over twelve hours.

I saw that poor girl’s body from so many angles it was enough for any investigator to understand the full extent of her injuries. I was done looking at her.

But, I wasn’t done seeing her.

I wouldn’t ever be done seeing her. What I had seen would last lifetimes.

The plan was to visit her mother tomorrow and check out her living situation to better understand the jump, though not much ever came from visiting grieving mothers the day after scraping their kids off of embankments.

Kids have been dropping like flies for the past year in Lincolnshire, and investigations always involved a journal, suicide letter, or diary of some sort depicting the tragic last days of their lives.

And, it never got easier reading them.

One teen in the outskirts killed himself with his father’s .45-caliber handgun. His letter was so long his mother published it in the local paper trying to spread awareness.

What she was spreading awareness of, I will never know. It lead to a public outcry, with many saying his most intimate feelings were being professionally published for the entire world to see.

I tended to agree.

The cherry-wood coffee table in front of my couch facing the wall-mounted TV was three beer cans deep before I grew the nerve to call Katherine. Her number was always at the top of my recently called, though I hadn’t spoken to her in many months.

The checks for school I sent her were always cashed immediately, and I kept her tuition paid for on the regular.

She had good reason to keep her distance, as the cans on the coffee table told more of a story about that than I ever could.

The blame she set at my feet was more than appropriate, it was accepted. Not only that, but it was also harnessed and ridden. The constant sadness I felt about the way my life had gone up to that point was only rivaled with my innate ability to isolate and wallow in my self-pity.

This wasn’t lost on me.

Not even close. I understood what I did, but I had no idea how to stop it. The motivation I once had when I was married to Katherine’s mother, Vivian, had not only perished, but held me down with a crippling depression so deep I couldn’t begin to see through the darkness.

The motivation I once had to find happiness was now my kryptonite, because I knew I had it within me to get up and do the things I once loved. It wasn’t even close to happening anymore.

That motivation was used for everything but the marriage.

“Daddy?” she answered. I was so lost in my train of thought that I didn’t realize I had even placed the call. “Daddy? Are you there?”

“Uh…yes,” I responded. “I’m just checking in to see how things are going.” I stood up and started pacing, which was normal for a nervous party in a phone conversation.

“I’m good, but I’m at work.” I heard some commotion in the background. She worked at the university bookstore, and I knew they closed nearly two hours before the call. I didn’t want to step on any toes. This was the first time I spoke with her since before Christmas, after all.

“Well, good honey,” I said. “I’m glad all is well.”

“Is there something you wanted?” Someone in the background said something to the tune of, ‘No, it’s my turn to shuffle.’

“I just wanted to make sure you have enough money for groceries or anything like that.” My bank account had swelled in recent months. Isolation kept me from spending anything.

“Well, I could use a little gas money. There are a few pairs of scrubs and a stethoscope. I