Hello, Little Sparrow

by Jordan Jones

  “I will bring the dream to life,” Brooks answered. The ceiling started to swirl a little bit and he was motionless on the floor. He couldn’t believe everything he heard and saw, but wanted to so badly.

  It comforted Brooks to witness things outside of the realm of possibility. It gave him hope there was a world beyond this.

  Brooks stood up and walked to the garage. The darkened walls became darker as he passed them. Nightfall was present all the time around him now.

  He grabbed the side of a small workbench that was no longer fastened to the wall and dragged it into his mother’s old bedroom. Sliding it to the wall, he secured it in place.

  “This is where I work on my plan to destroy the Fortress and its inhabitants,” he called into the darkness. He opened the laptop and hooked up his internet card to it. The police were quick to shut down his communication and internet, but he was able to jailbreak an internet adaptor and retrieve Wi-Fi off the neighbors.

  He’d learned a lot in the past few months of hiding his tracks.

  “Now, the fun begins.”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  “He has to have another place to live,” I said, scouring through the filing cabinet full of documents. The FBI Agents were fast at work in their makeshift headquarters. They made no attempt to reach out to me for help since I’d already given them everything I had. “Something like a backup plan, or safe house. Something.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Harlow asked. “I mean his house was a treasure trove of evidence. He’s definitely our guy.”

  “Oh he is,” I said, picking up a document. “But, he probably didn’t have much when he left. He had everything he needed elsewhere. Something like a fallback plan of sorts.”

  I studied the document for a few seconds and noticed some markings at the bottom.

  “Was that the bill sent to the phone company?” Harlow asked. “There’s that name Roisman again.”

  I stared at the bill for a quick second and my stomach sank into the floor. Everything I’d worked for was being mocked right in front of my face. He was on to me as I was to him.

  ***

  Consult Communications was a fairly large corporate building downtown. Customers didn’t often visit it because most of their customer service hassles were carried out over their terrible automated systems. We walked through the front doors and showed our badge to the front counter.

  “I’m Detective John Trotter; this is Detective Kris Harlow with the Lincolnshire PD.” I displayed the warrant. “We’re here with regards to a single phone line installed at Franklin Scrap, though I’m not sure the exact date.”

  The worried woman at the counter began typing into her computer.

  “We’re also interested in the name Tommy Roisman, which was the alias this customer used to make the phone line active,” Harlow interjected.

  I closed my eyes as the lady typed.

  “I’m not seeing anything under that business name, but the address under the name Tommy Roisman was 3001 Industrial Park,” he responded, squinting at the screen. “It’s since been turned off, three days ago.”

  “Yeah,” Harlow said. “That was us.”

  I took a breath. “Did the technicians not find it weird that they were hooking up one phone line to an empty, decrepit building in the middle of an abandoned industrial park of rusted out factory buildings?”

  She nervously shrugged and said, “Let me get my supervisor.”

  Harlow shook her head at me as we both looked at the clock.

  “Hello Detectives,” a young man with dark skin and a nice sports coat greeted us. “I’m Nelson. I run the front end here. How can I help?”

  I once again showed identification and the warrant.

  “Well,” he said. “That sure looks official. I’d like to help you out anyway that I can.”

  “We’re looking for alternative addresses for the single phone line put in at 3001 Industrial Park,” I responded. “It’s a large, muddied mess of a park with several buildings. This phone line was only hooked up to one. We’re needing any and all information pertaining to it.”

  “It was set up by a Tommy Roisman on March sixteenth,” he said. “He has his home address on there at 545 West Sycamore Street.”

  I looked to Harlow, and she nodded. It was the same address as the one we searched already.

  “What about the technicians?” Harlow asked. “Can we speak to them? Maybe they noticed something about him?”

  “Oh, you can, Ma’am, but they probably won’t notice anything about this Tom —, “

  “His name —,” I stopped myself from being aggressive. “His real name is Brooks Ingram and he’s a serial killer.”

  “Oh whoa…wait a minute,” Nelson said, placing his hands down on the counter. “You mean…this guy’s The Sparrow?”

  I nodded and waved my hands down, looking around to see who all noticed.

  “Please keep your voice down,” I said. “This is an active investigation and this might be some sensitive material. We have to speak to those technicians.”

  “Certainly,” he said. He clicked around in the computer and finally stopped and looked up. “It’s Tad and Andy. I believe they’re working today. Let me check on their route. Ah, here we go. They’re working on setting up internet at a bar here in town.”

  “Good,” I said. “Have them cancel the rest of their day and meet us at the industrial park as soon as they’re finished with that job.”

  ***

  My car sat idling, facing the rusted out building we found the phone in. The drizzle had stopped, but we could still see our breath. Overcast was the prediction, and the obvious weather forecast was spot on again.

  A van with stenciled lettering on the side pulled up beside us. Two young men climbed out and one threw a cigarette on the ground.

  “Are you Tad and Andy?” I asked after rolling down my window.

  “Yes, Sir,” the taller one said. He had an earpiece in his right ear and was dumping fistfuls of sunflower seeds in his mouth. “Our boss said you wanted us to meet you here. We told that guy we didn’t want to stay around any longer, man.”

  My brows narrowed a bit.

  “What guy?”

  “The one who made us come all the way out here,” the shorter, stockier one replied. “He was a real weird person, dude. Gotta weird vibe from him. Wasn’t all there.”

  “How so?”

  The taller one pointed to the shorter one. “Well, he climbed up the pole to tap into our system to get the phone line connected, and this guy goes on and on about what kinds of girls I find attractive and stuff. I thought it was a little strange, especially since he was older than us. He asked if we had ever met a girl online and we both told him no. I mean, I did once, but that was none of this dude’s business.”

  I shook my head with my eyes closed.

  “Anyway, he stood way too close to us while we worked. It was awkward.”

  “Did it occur to you that it was a little strange to be putting in a phone line in an abandoned building?” Harlow asked from across me.

  “I sure did, Ma’am,” the shorter one said. “I didn’t want to be here any longer than I had to. I was glad it was only one line. He told us he just bought the place and wanted to turn it into a rubber factory or something. I didn’t really pay attention much after he kept asking us what we were doing later on in the night. Real creepy vibe.”

  “Do you have a description?”

  “He was average height,” the taller one said, lighting another cigarette. “Nerdy looking. Had those little round glasses you put on the end of your nose. He was wearing a lab coat which I didn’t understand.”

  It all checked out. He worked at Fasten Biofuels as a horticulturalist. He studied plants and helped them grow.

  I cleared my throat. “Is there anything else you can tell us? Anything you remember from this encounter?”

  One looked at the other and they both looked back at us.

  “He told us he had
some good weed, so when we finished up here, we followed him to a storage unit.” The shorter one looked uneasy.

  “And…?”

  “And he opened it up. It looked like a bunch of stuff you’d have in your house just locked away. None of it looked out of place or anything, but he pointed to a mattress and said, ‘this is the mattress my mom was on when she rotted away.’” The taller one took a nervous puff. “He asked us if we ever felt someone else’s pain before. We didn’t know what to say. We just wanted the weed.”

  I looked at Harlow. “What was he talking about?”

  “Madison?” she asked. “They’re now connected. Does he think he’s feeling her pain?”

  “Officers,” the shorter one said. “Are we good to leave now?”

  “Yes,” I responded. “Just be extremely careful and count your blessings. You came face to face with a vicious serial killer.”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Joseph Shipport stood with one foot against the support beam of the porch and flicked ash from his cigarette into the puddle below him.

  He stayed at Crenshaw Residencies and didn’t mind it much. It catered to those who were recently released from prison and had nowhere else to go, especially those with a background like Joseph’s.

  He often thought of the girl whose life he ruined, though they were not thoughts of regret, but of revenge. He remembered her worried face on the witness stand as she pointed right at him.

  That is him; she told the prosecutor. That’s the man who hurt me.

  Of course there was no denying what he’d done to the poor girl; he had done so in broad daylight in the bathroom of a busy shopping center. The opportunity presented itself and he took advantage, although the security officers working at the Macy’s heard the commotion and stopped him.

  The damage was already done, and he was sentenced to prison for nearly ten years. After serving six, he was released and given reprieve at Crenshaw Residencies where the owner was keen on giving men second chances. Little did Mr. Wellpock know that Joseph had perpetrated some of the most heinous crimes before several times…but was only caught once.

  He smiled as he thought how sweet the revenge would be and flicked his cigarette once more. Footsteps crept from his right in the sloshy mud and stopped just out of view of the porch light.

  His roommate Conner had left on a quick errand and had yet to return.

  “You know…you just about missed curfew,” Joseph said into the darkness. “Wellpock will have you kicked out if you make it a habit.”

  There was no answer, though the figure was standing upright and facing him.

  “Go ahead and head inside,” he continued. “There’s extra meatloaf in the fridge. You better have that pack of smokes you owe me for that phone-time.”

  Still no answer. He smiled again and nodded in his direction.

  “You keep disrespecting me like this and I’ll do what they used to do in basic training when someone would act up; beat you with a sock full of soap while you’re trying to sleep.” Joseph lit another cigarette and cupped it with his hand.

  The figure inched forward slowly just out of range of light.

  Joseph held out his hand. “Give me the smokes…”

  There was still no motion from the figure, so he walked towards him.

  “Conner if you don’t — “

  His eyes widened as he peered into unrecognizable eyes; eyes which were jet-black. He knew immediately it wasn’t Conner, as the blade that entered his abdomen pierced through his intestines.

  The pain was indescribable, but he was unable to holler out in agony.

  The figure leaned in and the light illuminated his face. He said, “Joseph Shipport…Marlene Westerkamp sends her regards.” Then, the figure turned the knife upwards and lifted with all his might as the life left Joseph’s body.

  The mess on the ground didn’t affect Brooks one bit. It was messier, however, than what Conner’s body left in the front seat of the car. It sat idling in front of the house with the body of a forty-something out-of-shape man with his head down on the steering wheel.

  Brooks had stabbed aimlessly at the man while the window was down.

  The backdoor was still open, so Brooks stepped inside. The kitchen area looked dingy and dirty, with dishes piled up in the sink.

  “The Sparrow has arrived,” he said under his breath. A stocky man stepped and leaned his head outside his doorway leading to the hallway.

  “Keep it down,” said the man. “It’s about lockdown time.”

  Brooks remembered the man from the picture. The city had taken down all access to the perpetrators online, but Brooks had saved their faced and memorized them for the past several months.

  Titus Kerr assaulted a female correctional officer while at Riker’s Island in New York City. The added charge placed him on Brooks’ list.

  His abrasive attitude towards a guest only made things easier.

  “You cannot leave until they’re all dead,” Madison spoke from the doorway to the back porch. “They’re all the vilest humans this world has ever known.”

  Brooks nodded and stepped in front of Titus’ door. He knocked softly against the hard wood and heard the commotion inside. Titus wasn’t happy to be receiving visitors so late and flung the door wide open.

  “Who are —“

  He knew he’d been stabbed and threw himself backwards, away from the assailant. Brooks ensued and swiped his knife around the room, spraying blood in all directions. Titus tried using a bookshelf to pick himself up, but Brooks didn’t let up, slicing indiscriminately at Titus’ face.

  “There are more upstairs,” Madison pointed.

  Brooks’ mind fell apart as he ascended the stairs. He was exhausted and covered in blood from head to toe, but felt no pain or emotion other than anger.

  His mind was angry.

  His body was angry.

  He only saw red. He wanted the world to remember The Sparrow.

  The upstairs occupants were changing their clothes getting ready for bed when Brooks pointed his gun at both of them, coaxing them to tie each other up.

  “You’re Jack Reeves and Drew Moxen,” Brooks told them, holding up John Trotter’s Glock 19. Both men were shaking violently; Drew vomited on the floor. “Mr. Reeves, you were convicted of kidnapping twelve year old Mayci Backburn and held her for three days. Mr. Moxen, you were found with twenty-five year old Breanna Stewart drugged in your living room. Neither of you followed through with your plans, which I am grateful for.”

  Both men were in their underwear and their hands were turning purple.

  “I need to hear a good argument why I should leave here tonight without killing either of you,” Brooks said calmly. He felt powerful while holding the gun. It gave him such a relief knowing that the men were going to die either way.

  “S— s — sir,” Jack began. “Sir…I’m sorry for what I did to her. I really am. I served almost fifteen years for it. I’m reformed. I really am!”

  Brooks pointed the gun at the other man.

  “I regret ever meeting her,” Drew said. “She’s fine now. I’m glad she’s going well. I was locked up for over seven years for that and rightfully so.”

  “Please, sir,” Jack interrupted. “Please, it was so long ago. We’re not like that any — “

  “Wait a minute,” Drew said, cutting Jack off. “Wait a minute, I know who this guy is.” Jack studied Brooks from afar and wasn’t sure what to think. “This guy…this is the killer!”

  Brooks smiled as he watched Drew figure it out. It wasn’t often a serial killer was recognized in the midst of their work.

  “Yes, Jack!” Drew began to panic. “This is that Sparrow guy! This is the one the news was talking about.”

  “Oh no!” Jack wailed. “No please sir.”

  “You are a psycho!” Drew grew uncharacteristically confident given his situation. “You are a psycho!”

  Brooks looked back and forth between the two terrified men, their panting giving
way to their anxiety and pure panic.

  “I am who you made me to be,” Brooks responded, clutching his fist tightly around the gun. The bloodied knife fell to the floor. “Just as meticulous as you planned, I am here.”

  Brooks stepped closer and both men tensed up.

  “Calm yourselves,” he continued. “I am but the warm embrace, diligently easing your minds from the dangers that lurk beyond.”

  Jack’s teeth gritted. Drew’s fists clenched.

  “I guess I should’ve saved those words for your victims.” Then Brooks pulled the trigger…twice.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  “The phone line at the industrial park was registered to a Tommy Roisman,” Harlow blurted out to LT Anderson as we got into an unmarked SUV. “This name keeps coming up over and over again.”

  LT Anderson and I traded glances in his rearview mirror.

  “Where are we going anyway?” I asked impatiently. The night was long and I was unable to get any rest at the cabin. The post was more undesirable by the day and it was obvious by the lengthy gaps in between patrols.

  Last night, I hadn’t seen a single officer posted at the cabin. I was officially low priority.

  “There’s something huge,” LT Anderson said. “I haven’t seen it yet myself, but this is going to be bad.”

  We turned down a street of a neighborhood well known for drug use, but the houses weren’t in bad shape. It was filled with recovery homes and I used to get calls to the area when I was a patrol officer.

  He pulled in front of a halfway house where I once arrested a man for indecent exposure. The place was a downgrade from when it stood years ago.

  Police cars and several ambulances and fire trucks were in the vicinity, forcing neighbors onto their lawns wanting to get a closer look. Torrey Benjamin was already headfirst in a car; crime-scene tape was spread around it, along with the entire house.

  I put on my fedora and stepped out, spotting a familiar face.