Hello, Little Sparrow

by Jordan Jones

  The cold Maine breeze sent a chill down my spine and I took a seat overlooking the entire city. The lights illuminated the cloudy sky, calling out to surrounding communities that we weren’t quite ready for sleep.

  Time on my phone said 6:14 p.m.

  I was fully awake after sleeping for the past fourteen hours, so sleep was out of the question. I couldn’t think, much less make myself functional. I opened a beer and chugged the bottle in thirty-seconds.

  My life was a walking cliché and I had no answers. Shame…I had shame. Plenty of it.

  Several minutes went by before I looked back at the table and saw another three bottles next to the first one. My body was feeling numb, finally matching my mind. I didn’t want to feel anymore. I didn’t want to examine what I should feel.

  How I should feel.

  Another beer down. A quick trip to the bathroom, then back on the balcony.

  Another one down.

  And another.

  The more intoxicated I felt, the faster the memories flooded in, though distortions convoluted much of them. I wanted out of my body and into another.

  In my drunken stupor, I texted Vivian after 7:30 p.m.

  She didn’t answer so I called her and left a lengthy voicemail expressing everything I hated about her. I added some things that I loved about her and ended it with an apology.

  Immediately after hanging up I regretted the call. That regret sent me closer to the edge of the balcony, but I knew I couldn’t bring myself to do it. There was nothing I could do to bring DeAngelo back. There was nothing I could do to bring anyone back.

  The police officers who let me in the apartment were out in the hallway keeping guard, and there were a few more posted in the parking garage. LT Anderson never told me I couldn’t leave the apartment, so I phoned an Uber and gave them the wrong address three times through slurring my words.

  “It’s the tall apartment building on Parklane…Parkland. On Parkland Drive,” I told them. They informed me that I’d have to order the ride through an app, and that’s when I elicited the help from an officer outside. They shook their head and helped me call for the Uber.

  “Do you know how long you’ll be, Detective?” one asked.

  I shook my head. “I just t-t-took a long nap so it c-c-c-could be a while.”

  “Just be safe.” The pity he took on me was undeniable, and my half-hearted presentation of an untucked button-up shirt and scuffed up loafers didn’t help my appearance.

  We had a shortened, awkward conversation before my ride pulled up and I hopped in. She was messing around with her phone on her dash and I helped myself to a bowl of peanuts she had sat out.

  “Whoa buddy…you live here?” she asked. “Smells like you’ve already been out.”

  “Just trying to save some money is all,” I replied.

  “Make sure you try to mask some of that smell before I drop you off. They want people to spend their money there, not get drunk at home and sip on a drink or two.”

  We both laughed it off as she pulled away.

  It was a fairly short drive before we arrived at Lucky Charley’s.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The violin solo rang through the speakers of Brooks’ red sedan.

  Lincolnshire’s prestigious Theatre for the Arts was finally holding their grand reopening after being taken over by new ownership. It was the talk of the town, slightly overshadowed by the string of Brooks’ murders.

  The new ownership took up a public plea for funding to remodel and repurpose the old movie theater. Now it was used for live musicals and orchestras, which was much more Brooks’ taste anyway. He couldn’t stand sitting for two hours to watch fake drama unfold on a screen.

  He’d much rather see it in person.

  Or, be a part of it.

  The local radio station broadcasted the opening night festivities, introduced and DJ’d by Lincolnshire’s own DJ Ramon Heath. His voice came on the radio from time to time when Brooks left work or took late night drives. His voice was soothing, but his content he spewed into his microphone was vomit-inducing sewage.

  The music was garbage and callers asked him advice in their failing relationships. He’d stab a joke or two at their expense, then offer up a superficial alternative to their problem and wrap it all up with his catch phrase, “Aaaand that’ll do it!”

  Brooks shook his head, trying to enjoy the ending of Bartok’s Violin Concerto No. 2 before Heath interrupted the finale with some cheesy one-liner. Brooks had had enough.

  The knife sitting in the passenger seat slid nicely into the sheath at his side. The knife itself was long enough to cause serious damage, but inconspicuous enough to be hidden in plain sight.

  He agreed with himself that he wouldn’t act impulsively tonight, but Madison watched from the backseat and gave a glare in the rear-view mirror.

  Brooks didn’t look up. He had to do things their way. Madison’s way nearly got him arrested. If the detectives had any stench of criminality on him, they’d jump. They were looking for anything and everything as an answer, and Brooks was ripe for the picking.

  He saw Bryan and a friend get out of a dark blue SUV, parked across from Brooks. Brooks stepped out, double-checking his knife on the way.

  “Brooks! You made it!” Bryan grabbed him aggressively around the neck and motioned to a friend. “This is Blake…He’s another technician at the plant. I think you might’ve seen him around.”

  Brooks nodded, trying his best to match Bryan’s enthusiasm.

  This is how people are…

  “Nice to meet you,” Blake said, extending his hand.

  “Cool! Everyone else is inside. I think they grabbed us a table.” Bryan lead the way inside Lucky Charley’s and Brooks followed behind.

  Then, his eye caught something.

  A small SUV pulled up and Brooks saw a glimpse of John Trotter stepping out before the doorframe skewed his vision.

  Brooks’ heart pounded out of his chest and seconds later, the line to get into the bar moved slightly, but not near fast enough.

  John fell into the wall and braced himself…he was obviously already drunk, and Brooks knew he couldn’t be on the clock. Brooks had just killed his partner less than twenty-four hours ago, and John was no doubt taking it hard.

  Brooks stared forward.

  “I’m really glad you made it,” Bryan said. “You work with a good group of people and you’re about to get to know them.”

  John held his face parallel to the floor in preparation to puke, but nothing came out. Brooks didn’t want attention on him or John. He just wanted the night to go smoothly so he could be like everyone else.

  “Dude,” Bryan said, looking over Brooks’ shoulder. “You don’t look good, man. They might not let you in like that.”

  Brooks’ face grew red…both out of fear and rage. He wanted to stab his knife into Bryan’s jugular.

  Just shut up!

  “It’s been a rough few days,” John said. “I need this.”

  Brooks stood still and didn’t want to speak. Even in his drunken state, John might be able to recognize his voice.

  “All right, my man,” Bryan answered.

  The bouncer let Brooks and his acquaintances through after showing ID’s and John came in soon after and headed straight for the bar.

  Everyone was already seated and gave a half-hearted cheer as the three men arrived. They all took their seats and immediately began talking obnoxiously loud. It bothered Brooks a lot.

  He didn’t like a loud environment. He mostly kept to himself at home or locked in his office at work, playing instrumentals at low volume.

  The loud thrashing bass pounded his ears as he took a sip from his glass. It was a mixed drink some random person from the group bought him before he arrived, but it was good.

  Brooks hated alcohol; the taste, the loss of control…everything.

  But tonight…tonight he was one of them.

  He would become one of them and blend in. His Being
would have to wait another day to manifest. That’s not who he was any longer. He couldn’t be who he really was.

  Use someone else. He was angry at the prospect his work couldn’t be performed anymore. But, the itch was still there. Socializing only drew it out more.

  He was conflicted.

  All of these creatures moving about, talking about subjects no one cares about, asking about things no one cares about…it was insulting.

  One man told the woman sitting across from him that his dog was severely out of shape and needed to go on longer walks.

  Someone else said their mom won a bicycle at an auction.

  Someone else couldn’t wait until the summer to go to the fair.

  It was all drivel and Brooks thought about getting up to leave.

  Then he heard, “So, I think I’ve seen you around work. What is it you do exactly?” It was a woman sitting across from him. He’d seen her around the plant…her hair was black and curly, her smile was infectious, and her eyes darted through Brooks.

  “I-I-I am a horticulturalist,” he said, stumbling through the sentence. “I grow the plants for Dr. Leggons to study.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” she said. “You work in the greenhouse. We hardly see you around.”

  “Most of my work is done in my office,” he replied. “Brooks is my name.”

  “Mine’s Mae,” she said. “I work with the fish.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mae,” he responded. She brought out a feeling in him he hadn’t felt in many years. She didn’t give off a romantic aura, but more of matronly one. He felt comforted around her and didn’t know her.

  The person sitting next to her interrupted and took the focus away from Brooks. He felt a little better. He was isolated again, surrounded by people.

  Fading into the backdrop of these unsuspecting peoples’ lives. This short conversation would have serious impact on him fitting in. Her flashbulb memory of this conversation would play over and over in her head. Every time she thought of Brooks, it would be that he talks like a normal human.

  Not a killer.

  He wanted to leave so badly now that he made his mark. He wanted to listen to the rest of the musical on the radio.

  In his car.

  Alone.

  The DJ got on the microphone and screamed, “Are ya’ll having a good time tonight?” The speakers were blaring much too loud to listen comfortably, but as Brooks looked around; he was the only one wincing every time the man spoke.

  He tried his best to compose himself and stand strong against the noise.

  “Well, as you all know the last Saturday of the month is dedicated to you fabulous singers out there. The sign-up sheet has been passed around and we have it up here. Can I please get Suzanne Abbott up here?”

  A staunch woman threw her hands up as she ran up to the mic, nearly tearing it out of the man’s hand. The music blasted at an obnoxious tempo and she sang out of key at the top of her lungs.

  The crowd cheered for her as she sang, but Brooks was more confused than anything. Her singing was off, and she had no stage presence other than flopping around on the makeshift stage. Others at the same table were clapping to the tempo of the song and letting out celebratory cheers.

  Is this what he was to become?

  Brooks clapped once…then twice.

  Again and again.

  Then he clapped again until the end of the song. His confusion wasn’t displayed on his face, though he definitely felt it.

  He was dismayed that this would be his life for the foreseeable future.

  Another young woman got on the stage and started singing a song about sweating, and dancing, and drinking…much like the one before it.

  Then the next song was much of the same.

  “I love this one!” Mae eeked across the table from Brooks. She then belted out and matched the words coming through the speakers. She stood up and danced seductively around the rest of her co-workers, many of who were encouraging her with cheers of approval.

  The way she glided around the table reminded Brooks of something.

  Of someone.

  Her gracefulness did not match the exorbitant noise forcing its way into his ears. She danced and swayed in every which direction, all on her own. The music did not guide her; nobody did.

  She decided what moves to make, much like his sister. No one told her what to do, and no one told her how to do it.

  Her elegance was unmatched by everyone in the bar, and though others joined her in dancing, she was alone, floating about.

  Her eyes met Brooks’ and they shared a moment. Brooks knew she had a connection with him no one else could have.

  The song ended too soon, and Mae laughed and stumbled back to her seat. Her smile lit up the table, as everyone gave each other high-fives for a dance well done.

  “I hope I didn’t look too stupid,” she said, looking right at Brooks. “I just like to have fun sometimes. Work is so serious. We have to let loose sometimes.”

  Brooks nodded in agreement as the DJ called Mae’s name up to sing. She sang the first song of the night that had nothing to do with sex, and Brooks could feel her singing about him. She couldn’t have planned it, because she didn’t know him thirty minutes ago, but somehow this song was directed solely at him.

  Her voice was spot on, and her gracefulness followed her to the stage. Brooks sat in wonder as she sang lyrics about not wanting to be without someone.

  This is it, he thought. This is my ticket to being like “them.”

  Her song ended and Brooks stood up and cheered, whistling through his fingers to add more support. She returned exhausted to the table; sweat beads forming on her forehead.

  “Whew!” She exclaimed. “OK, now I can relax for the rest of the night.” Her martini was empty and Brooks called a waiter over and paid for it to be refilled. She smiled at him and said, “Thank you! See? We’re not that bad. You should come out with us more often.”

  “I think I might,” he said. He could finally begin to live a normal life…even better than before. Even before he killed William Henson, he struggled meeting people.

  Not any longer. This was his new thing. He went out and partied with friends and had drinks.

  This is what normal people do and what Brooks would now do.

  “Do you want to go out sometime?” Mae asked suddenly. “You know, just the two of us?”

  “Yes, er…yeah,” Brooks said. “Yeah that sounds like fun.”

  “Let’s do tomorrow. I need to keep busy this weekend. Maybe pick me up around 2 or so? It’s a work night, so I don’t want to be out late,” she said, letting out a cute little laugh.

  Brooks was in.

  Society had accepted him after only an hour of acting normal. He thought he could get used to it.

  This is who I am now, he thought. A sense of dread immediately followed the cathartic feeling of overwhelming acceptance because, deep down, Brooks knew it wouldn’t last.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I grabbed the chaser in front of me after taking a disgusting shot of whiskey.

  My stomach let me know its limit by bringing back up all the alcohol I had in the evening and the bartender cut me off. The place was rowdy. I was sullen.

  My mood clashed with the audience around me; most of them came with multiple people, but not me. I came alone and felt one hundred times so.

  A bouncer came by and made sure I was all right to stay, but said I couldn’t order any more drinks, and I agreed. The music from the karaoke singers rattled my brain as he shouted to me from less than six inches away.

  “You can’t be throwing up in here, man,” he shouted. “It’s bad for business. I can tell you were drunk when you came in, so I’ll let it slide, but you’re cut off the rest of the night.”

  I nodded and gave him an awkward pat on the back as he left.

  A woman sat across the bar from me…the same one Abraham left with the day Madison jumped off Covey Bridge. She was every bit as seductive as she was
the last time I saw her and her eyes darted right through me.

  Her hair was shorter than I remembered, but her features were contoured specifically for the dim lighting in at Lucky Charley’s, as if to say, “notice me and take me home.”

  I ran several scenarios through my head what her Saturday nights looked like. She’d pour on the foundation and mascara, then pick out one lonely soul at the bar, take them home, and somehow feel better about herself.

  Abraham told me he struck out during his turn with her, but didn’t delve into what actually happened. I wasn’t curious.

  I didn’t much care for one night stands. It took everything in me to get out of bed in the mornings, let alone after a night with a random woman.

  But, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her. She was focused on me and I let it happen. I didn’t move seats or shy away when our eyes connected.

  I allowed it to simmer.

  She stood up and made her way over to me, walking in obvious seduction as she past several other men at the bar.

  “Annoying, isn’t it?” She asked, taking a seat next to me.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “The singing. It’s annoying. They have the microphones turned up way too loud.”

  “Yep. The screeching hurts my ears.”

  She looked at her drink, then back to me. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “I’m cut off,” I replied, pointing to the mess on the floor another staff member was cleaning up. “I’m lucky they didn’t kick me out.”

  “How did you manage to come on your own and get drunk enough to do that? Usually loners don’t stay long.” She let out a chuckle, not at all turned off by the vomit at the least.

  “I was about eight deep before I came.”

  “Ah, smart.” She took a drink of her rum and coke and pushed it back, giving the bar tender a nod. “You were in here with that black guy about a month or two ago, huh? He was a detective or something.”

  I stared at myself in the mirror behind the bar. My reflection barely showed emotion as it stared back at me blankly.