Hello, Little Sparrow Jordan Jones (book series for 10 year olds TXT) 📖

“I said, I thought you took the week off,” the technician said. Brooks knew all of their names, but didn’t want to get too close to anyone. The technician was in charge of picking dead leaves off of the plants and keeping them watered. None of what he did amused Brooks. Brooks had much more in store now than before.

“I did,” Brooks responded. “I just came back to pick up a few things.”

“Oh,” the technician yelled over the heater. “I tried putting your paperwork on your desk, but my card didn’t work for your door.”

Brooks grabbed the young man by his collar and pulled him closer. “Do not ever open my door.” He threw the man back and stormed off to his office.

His keycard worked and his door slid open, and he quickly closed it behind him.

The collage of photos above his desk depicted several photos of children throughout their lives, but they had one thing in common: Madison was featured.

He set down the notebook on the copier and began to run it through, counting to make sure all thirty-six pages were accounted for.

He then sat down in his swivel chair and rested his head back. A deep sigh escaped his lips as he admired the pictures of the innocent children on his wall. Madison standing with all of her friends, smiling and posing for the camera.

How many others? How many others would have to get hurt before he could right all their wrongs?

Each offender within the city limits had their address for everyone to see on a virtual map online. It was as if Madison gave him a blueprint on how to fulfill her plan. It was there for him to take, and he wasn’t about to let it slip.

But, Brooks couldn’t just go up to each of their doorsteps and stab them like he did William Henson. That was too impulsive, and that would make him too obvious.

He couldn’t have any more daytime killings. They all had to be at night, and he had to be hidden.

Maybe they could be in the day.

He would just wait to hear back from Madison the day he planned to kill again and she would guide him all along the way. He was fine with that.

He had no conscience.

It was perfect.

Chapter Eleven

The next morning was filled with Aleve and several pints of water. As much as my body was used to the constant abuse of binge drinking, I rarely had tequila, and last night was a great reminder why.

I stared into the pathetic reflection in the mirror trying to make sense of everything. My scruffiness-turned-beard was stuck to my face, unwashed and unkempt for several days. The crust along the edges of my eyes made it difficult for me to see, and my breath tasted otherworldly.

After brushing my teeth and making myself halfway presentable, my phone rang on my nightstand. I pushed the can of beer to the side and grabbed it and answered without looking.

“Yeah, it’s Trotter.”

“Hey,” said the other voice, and it was the most recognizable voice I’ve heard in quite a while.

“Viv…” I muttered without hesitation. The desperation seeping from my lips when I said her name was obvious, and my shame grew with each breath I took.

“Yeah, John?” Vivian started. “I was just checking in to see how you were doing. How are things?”

I stood and stammered a few unintelligible syllables before gathering my thoughts. My heart was on overdrive. After twenty years of marriage everything fell apart.

Her absence in my life left a void that was incalculable using any measurement known to man. To fill the void was to fill forever.

“I…I’m doing fine, Viv,” I responded. I started calling her Vivian after the separation out of respect. ‘Viv’ was my cute way of saying you’re all mine!

Hearing the name Viv likely brought an unsettling shake to her frame, but her voice didn’t miss a beat.

“That’s good, John. I’m really happy to hear it.”

“How’s San Francisco?” I asked. I had more confidence built up now.

“It’s good. The market is starting to dry up here, though. I’m thinking Craig and me will probably have to find a new location soon. Not sure if we’ll stay in California or not.”

“Oh no,” I responded, trying to sound interested in her future plans with a new boyfriend. The divorce wasn’t even finalized yet and she was already off starting a business with her boyfriend. We fought about it often when she first moved out, and she said Craig Bennet was “just a business partner.”

It wasn’t long before she dropped the act and started talking like they were engaged and living together. She brought it up nonchalantly a few months back like I should’ve already have known.

Like it was no big deal.

She was over me long before we separated. She was screaming to get out and I was clawing onto her. She slipped through my desperate clasp and was living it up, selling real estate in some of the country’s most lucrative housing markets, and I’m stuck in a sleepy town catching car thieves and investigating suicides.

She was over the moon and I was depressed.

The comparisons did me no good other than validating my already over conscious mind.

“Also,” she said after a long, awkward pause. “I wanted to make sure Katherine’s school was taken care of. I would send her some money, but she hasn’t updated me on her email or address or anything yet.”

That was a lie, but I was walking on thin ice.

“I took care of it.”

“Does she have food and gas? Extra spending money?”

“Yes. She has everything she needs.”

“OK. Thank you, John.” The voice in the background was barely recognizable, but had an eerily familiar tone.

In his pictures, Craig looks