by Jordan Jones
Hello, Little Sparrow
I grabbed it from her hands and studied it. The texture of the cover was porous, and showed signs of wear. The pages inside were stained with a yellow film and matched that of the letters found at the scenes.
“This is the notebook Marcie used to write all the letters, isn’t it?” I asked, knowing full well what the answer was.
Harlow nodded and flipped a page. The last past was the only page with writing. Letters were less fancy than we were used to, and they matched that of the writings at Wellpock’s house.
It read:
You found me.
Boo.
We both turned the pages together, but all the other pages were blank.
“The back page has some writing on it,” Harlow suggested. “If found, please return to 5775 South Palm Road.”
“It’s written in pencil in the original handwriting,” I responded.
“That’d tell us this was written by Marcie at the fallback house.”
“I knew Brooks had another place to hide,” I said, shoving the book in my jacket pocket. “This has to be where he’s hiding out.”
The short man wobbled his way back into the entrance of the door.
“Excuse me officers,” he said. “My boss wants to know how much longer ya’ll are gonna be out here.”
I took another look around and met his eyes again.
“It’s going to be a while longer,” I said. “We have an entire team of forensic experts that are about to clean this place out.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Brooks staggered through the back door after parking the small yellow Volkswagen in the back yard.
His feet were muddy and shirt was bloody, though no one saw him driving back. The falling sun provided enough cover to keep him free and alive a little longer.
It wasn’t over.
He still felt the need to kill; he wasn’t finished. Madison was waiting for him in his mother’s bedroom with a bright red dress, her hair layered on top of her head in such a fashion Brooks thought she was actually alive.
His hands were thrown forcibly down on the workbench where his mother’s bed used to be.
“This isn’t finished, is it?” He asked the menacing shadow in the red dress. “I killed the man who started it all, yet I feel like nothing has been achieved.”
“You said it,” she spoke softly from behind him.
“I thought once I killed the man responsible for all the vile on earth, it would be done,” he said. “Have these deaths meant anything?”
She said nothing. He could still feel her, but she didn’t speak.
Brooks’ eyes turned black as if they were void of any life at all, and he instantly felt the need to search the thumb drive for another sex offender and end their life immediately.
He wanted their family to watch as they gasped for breath.
“They’re here,” Madison spoke again, but this time she wasn’t visible.
Outside, Brooks heard a car pull up in front of the house. Peering through the window, he saw two figures exit the car and look towards the house, conspicuously.
***
“I’m going to call this in,” Harlow said, reaching for her radio attached to her shoulder.
“No…don’t,” I said. “If we mention this could be where The Sparrow lives, people all across town with scanners can hear. There would be about forty police cars and about a hundred news vans. We just need to see if this is the place first.”
“At least let me call LT Anderson.”
I agreed and as we moved towards the side of the house, I turned on my flashlight, eliminating the side of the modest single-story home. The white siding hadn’t been cleaned for several years. The carport looked unused and uncared-for in some time.
We rounded the back and Harlow raised her hand.
“There,” she whispered, pointing to a small yellow car parked in the middle of the yard. Its engine was still running as it puffed out exhaust from the muffler.
Tire tracks were left stamped into the yard; whoever drove the car drove through the carport and into the backyard.
“There’s only one reason to park a car in the backyard,” I said, knowing full well Brooks wanted to hide it. “Maybe it’s best we call this thing in…like, fully.”
I drew my gun and faced the barrel to the sky and Harlow did the same. I’d only used it once in my life with Alvin Dugger, and I always hoped and prayed I would never have to use it again.
“The backdoor is unlocked,” I said as quietly as I possibly could and still be audible. Harlow grabbed the handle and twisted it slowly. It opened to a slight creak, but was virtually unnoticeable unless you were very close.
My boot was the first thing to touch the house as I pulled myself up the steps with my hands. Harlow was close behind and I held my gun in front of me with the flashlight.
The kitchen was small and cramped with a single window looking out into the backyard.
The darkness around us only added to our sense of isolation and dread, but we pushed forward.
We stopped as we heard what sounded like violins and cello’s playing in an orchestra, slowly conveying their musical message across our eardrums.
“Do you really think I can’t feel you skulking in the shadows, Detectives?” a voice called from another room.
“Brooks Ingram,” I shouted into the darkness. “Show yourself immediately!”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to try harder than that, Detective,” he mocked.
We stepped closer to the voice and turned left into what looked like a living area. New construction looked like it was halted long ago.
I wondered how long Brooks was held up there.
“People have died…the wrong died in the right way,” he continued, this time from the door directly ahead of us. “I thought by killing my father today I would be able to move on from this. Change my identity and move on bettering my life elsewhere, but I realized only moments ago that I will not be able to stop myself.”
The voice was muffled, but it wasn’t because of the door in front of us.
It sounded different…
We posted on both sides of the door and I motioned for Harlow to kick it in; we both braced for a hailstorm of bullets from the other side.
She kicked and I rushed in.
A lantern sat on a workbench next to a walkie-talkie, which I quickly walked over and picked up.
“This is why it was muffled,” I said looking at Harlow.
From behind her, a figure stuck a large knife through her shoulder blade as she cried out in pain. Falling to the floor, she grabbed helplessly and desperately towards me and bumped her head on the workbench before being knocked unconscious.
I raised my gun in the direction of the figure, but felt a zap in my left side and immediately fell to the floor. The darkness around me only came in closer and closer…
***
The world was spinning around me…
Viv was off in a distance with Craig and his successful career.
It was everything just to see her again, even with him. They were happy.
“I’m going to need you to wake up now,” a voice interrupted. “Wake up or I will slit her throat.”
I opened my eyes and Brooks was standing behind a whimpering Harlow, the wound in her shoulder bleeding profusely, spilling to the hardwood floors beneath her.
My hands were tied behind me to the chair; I could feel the pulse in my hands from how tight he had them tied.
“I’m awake,” I said, wincing at the pain in my side. He’d turned up the taser so it would knock me out, not just down. The burn on my side singed my shirt.
“The police are en route, I would imagine,” he said. His glasses were pushed down to the end of his nose. I’d seen him around town before, but couldn’t place it where.
“We’re going to tell some truths, and I want your partner…your new partner to hear them,” he said, fluctuating his voice in uncomfortable tones. “
I’d like to clarify this is your new partner because I shot your old partner in the throat.”
I couldn’t say a word, but shook. It wasn’t necessarily fear or rage, but a nice mixture of both, ruminating inside my chest and head simultaneously.
“I’ll go first,” he said. “We often hear the deranged killers interviewed by the media. The one question they always ask is this: Why did you do it?”
He coughed into his elbow and knelt down between the two of us.
“I guess I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he continued. “In the back yard my father and uncle were malicious to the girls in this neighborhood. They would do all sorts of things to them back there. They would hurt them, then set them free after a few weeks. The girls would be blindfolded, and driven several miles outside of town, and let go.” He stood up and walked to the window. “When it became too difficult to abduct a girl, my disgusting uncle decided that my sister would be an easy target…I mean, she lived here after all.”
The man turned to face us again. “When they began to abuse her, her innocence was lost forever. Her demeanor changed. Her life became a black void.” He pointed to a picture he had on the wall. The girl in the picture looked much like the one from the storage unit.
“She hid it for the longest time while my dear mother had to die slowly in this room, though as you can tell by her journal, she knew exactly what was going on. She died right where you’re sitting, Detective…gasping for air until the life left her.”
He knelt down again. “I have shared the reasons for doing what I do. I think it’s only fair for you to share the reasons for doing what you do.”
I squinted my eyes towards him; sweat seeping out of my pores. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“So, you understand that I have been using an alias for everything since I’ve known about you, Detective,” he quipped from the darkness. His knife still hovering at Harlow’s throat.
I nodded. “I’ve noticed.”
“I want you to explain to your partner why I’ve been using Tommy Roisman as my name.” His voice grew monotone as if it was void of any emotion. He stood up and paced slowly backwards into the darkened corner of the room.
My mind raced and I thought back just over one year ago.
Just before my marriage fell apart.
Before Vivian moved out and Katherine stopped talking to me.
Before my life was destroyed.
“Kris Harlow…you were a decorated patrol officer much like John Trotter,” he hissed from the shadows. “When you were promoted, you still served your city honorably, although I’d disagree with many of your stances. I can at least respect it. John, here, took a different approach. He wasn’t always so honorable.”
“Enough,” I said. “I know what I did was terrible. But, I still don’t fit your profile. I’m not a vile.”
Brooks smiled.
“So you did read my letters. Ah, yes…well, Miss Harlow, let me introduce you to Mr. Tommy Roisman.” He stepped closer to me and placed his hand close to my face, and cocked his head. “This man right here traveled across town…on a work night nonetheless to meet with a child.”
“You….you what?” Harlow whispered with her face still slouched to slow the bleeding.
“It was a mistake,” I said.
Brooks once again interrupted. “Yes, your city’s hero was caught by the vigilante crew known as the Nightstalkers last January trying to meet a thirteen year old girl.”
“Is…is that where Tommy Roisman came from?” she asked, still barely a whisper.
“I told LT the very next day and he was able to get it taken down off all the servers,” I said. “Tommy Roisman was just a name I gave the Nightsalkers so they wouldn’t know who I was. It was a stupid mistake and I’ve paid dearly for it.”
“You’ve paid for it?” Brooks asked as if I’d offended him. “On January twentieth of this year, Madison Maise jumped to her death because her abusive father was getting out of prison. She lived in the hell inside of her head because of him. You had planned on doing the same thing to another innocent, unsuspecting girl.”
I closed my eyes, feeling the pain in my hands again. I didn’t want to be alive.
“Your wife left you when she found out, didn’t she?” Harlow asked. “That’s why you started drinking so much? That’s why you won’t talk about Abraham?”
“I was depressed,” I said, tears streaming down my face. “I wasn’t thinking straight. I don’t deserve this job or anything else. I used my position as a detective to wipe the slate clean and get the videos taken down of the sting. I don’t deserve anything that I have.”
Brooks stood up and studied me, his hands began to shake. My left hand was sweaty from the nerves and the twine was giving away.
“I found your video soon before I killed William Henson,” he said, standing over me. “So there must have still been one video floating around even after you attempted to wipe the servers because I found it. It’s funny though.” A pause. “Even that video was gone.”
“It was me,” I said. “I went to the owner’s house…Evan Crist. I took my thumb drive and stole the file from his hard drive. It was the only way I could keep from having this get out.”
“So, you are in fact a vile,” he screeched from beside me. “That will make this next part so much easier for the both of us.”
I felt the freedom about to take hold, but I wanted to stay there in that captivity.
My actions forced me to deserve it. For an instant, I wanted Brooks to end my life.
It was the same when I stood on my balcony several months earlier before his first kill. I’d teetered on the edge then, and was tethered by sheer ambivalence.
There was no doubt I would’ve jumped if I were there now.
The pavement below would not be forgiving…and I was not worthy of forgiveness.
Brooks pulled up his pant leg and revealed a long sharp buck knife in an ankle holster, and turned his head in an effort to unbuckle it.
My hand slipped free and I had a choice to make, much like two January’s ago. Would I make the biggest mistake of my life that would cost me everything, or do everything I could to survive?
With my freed hand and in only a moment I grabbed the knife from the workbench and drove it into Brooks’ chest, feeling the knife penetrate bone and flesh alike.
A shot rang out and I felt a deep warmness in my abdomen, knowing that it was the deciding factor of my fate.
I took a chance, but it was still left up to a coin flip.
The sounds of sirens filled the room along with blue and red lights dancing along the walls.
“Lincolnshire PD!” A very familiar voice called out from down the hall. “Let us know if anyone is present!”
***
Brooks was lying in his own blood when the other officers entered the room.
He could see the silhouette of a girl standing over him, and could feel her presence. Madison dissipated into the darkness and he could no longer feel anything.
The blood poured out of his chest and the room was hazy. He knew Madison wasn’t real anymore. It’s likely she never was…after death, that is.
He would take responsibility of the deaths now; she was no longer in charge. His head slouched to the side and he saw the sunrays peering through the window down onto his mother’s bed.
She was facing him; her brown hair was full and neatly brushed. She smiled and held her hand out to him to caress his face.
After closing his eyes, he could feel her gentle touch, which was all he ever wanted.
Jody was seated at the foot of the bed smiling in child-like wonder.
Nothing was wrong with either of them.
No cancer.
No suicide.
Just a mother and her son…and her Sparrow.
Chapter Sixty
Soft cotton behind my head was the first thing I felt after the night in Brooks’ childhood home. The doctors came and went, stitching my abdomen up; I was sho
t deep by the psychopath and cut wide by the doctors.
Their voices rang softly in my ears as they told me various prognoses of various medical interventions.
LT Anderson came and went several times from my bedside, not knowing what to say. He did mention, however, that Harlow was in recovery from her shoulder wound.
“Her loss of blood almost cost her the life she’s always known,” he told me. “She’ll resume work in a matter of weeks, much like you did when he stabbed you in the parking garage.”
I learned, throughout my physical agony, that Brooks had died in his mother’s old bedroom after I stabbed him. It wasn’t the sense of hope I had hoped it would be.
My views towards Brooks never wavered from a cautious respect to a more serious dread. It was always somewhere in-between.
In the weeks that followed, I began to walk again, waving at Harlow from the window as I took ten steps in a row. She smiled and waved back, her arm hung flaccid in a sling.
She wondered why I did what I did, though not at Brooks’ home…more than a year earlier. Her lips never spoke about it while we both recovered, but the tension between us made it obvious.
LT Anderson came into my hospital room, having no doubt gotten my letter.
“Are you sure you want to go through with this, Trotter?” He asked. “You are the hero of this city. Your life is paved before you. This could destroy everything you’ve worked for up to this point. First Dugger, and now Brooks. They love you.”
“I have to,” I said, motioning to the document in his hand.
“For what?” He responded. “There’s no legal obligation here. We keep this thing where it is — dead in the water.”
I thought back to when Brooks was in my backseat. He told me that his principles were not as rigid as I thought they were, but I knew better. He did everything he could to rid the world of people he deemed “vile.” Even the people who weren’t sex offenders were standing in his way. I was glad he spared me.
In a sick sort of way, I respected his motivation for doing what he did.