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

as it sounded, I wasn’t sure he found the strength of his own son.

He was a resident of Lincolnshire psychiatric for the past five years, and their gates stood formidable overhead. My Charger buzzed along the long, windy driveway to the small parking lot.

The building was made of old red brick, weathered with years of harsh Maine winters, blasted by the wind flowing forcefully from the Atlantic.

I didn’t come enough and for good reason.

As I stepped out of the car, a large, older woman exited the front doors sobbing into her handkerchief. She passed me as I stepped in.

The short, wrinkled lady with glasses on the edge of her nose didn’t bother looking up from her computer.

“Name?”

“John Trotter.”

She looked at the computer with obvious confusion. The screen was outdated by ten years and it’s user by many more.

“We don’t have a John Trotter here. Are you sure you’re at the right place?”

“No — I’m John Trotter. I’m here to see my father.”

She sighed and did some clicking. “Oh, yes. I see it here. You’re early. Go sit in the waiting room and we’ll call ya.”

I narrowed my brows. The appointment was for 10:00 a.m. and the clock read 9:53. I shook my head and sat down next to a younger couple. We exchanged smiles as the dripping from the ceiling landed safely in a bucket placed in the middle of the floor.

“Trotter,” an orderly called from the door. “You’ll be in the dayroom. Follow me.”

Entering the dayroom, it was pleasantly calm. Residents played board games with each other and there was a small, skinny man calling out bingo numbers from the corner.

There were three residents playing along. There was an assistant going around to each of their cards, helping them select the correct space.

My father sat in the corner looking out the window like he always was. He saw countless cloudy, rainy days sitting in front of the same window. It didn’t matter if he knew I was coming or not.

The orderly turned and left me with my father.

I took the seat next to him and looked out the window. My gaze followed his and it was transfixed on a small rosebush blowing in the wind. The ends of his lips were slightly curled up in satisfaction.

“Dad, I made it. Just like I said I would,” I said. I was always a little uneasy when breaking the ice with him for the first time.

“Oh, hi son,” he said, giving me a slight pat on the back. He never took his eyes off that bush.

“How have you been?” I asked.

“I’ve had some good days and some bad ones. Some outweigh others. Just depends on what my mind wants think or do.”

I closed my eyes and pictured him on the roof again. He screamed at the firefighters below to “let me fly, you demons!”

“How are they treating you here?” I asked, placing my water bottle on the end table. “The staff seems nice enough.”

“They’re good to me here. I’m glad I’m here; let’s just put it that way. Who knows what would’ve happened out there. I could hardly take care of myself.”

“That’s good.”

“So,” he started. “How’s Detective Trotter doing these days? It’s been a while, son.”

“It’s going well,” I said, lying through my lips. He could tell, too.

“No it’s not. What’s going on?”

“I don’t want to bring it up in here,” I said, looking around.

“Come on, John. Just tell me. No one can hear. You struggling with some police work?” He had the knack for reading people.

“Something like that,” I responded.

“Then spill it.”

I cleared my throat and said, “I think a serial killer is about to start in Lincolnshire. Or, he already started. It was a random killing that we all think is about to turn into much more.”

“Hmm…what makes you think there will be more?” He dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief.

“He left us a note,” I said, pulling out a copy and handing it to him. “I could get fired for showing you this, but I need your input. I’m losing my mind trying to wrap my head around what I’m dealing with here.”

He looked at me with a disapproving look on his face. Maybe mentioning losing my mind in a psychiatric facility wasn’t the most sensitive thing I could say.

“Let me look here,” he said. He read over the note several times, each time giving a new grunt. Could be interpreted as both approving and disapproving.

It was hard to read him.

“What do you think?”

“Sparrow…” he started. “You see I know this type of character.”

“Really? You know him just by reading this letter.”

“Oh, sure.” He pointed to different parts of the letter. “It’s a signal. Only my kind can decipher this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Each day, a tiny sparrow flies around the courtyard in the back. It flies around and around and I always found amusement in watching it. We were connected. I felt it’s aura, and it felt mine. It knew what I was thinking at all times and we communicated daily. It felt when I had pain and I felt its pain. Then, one afternoon I watched it fly into the window of my room. Out of all the windows, and there are dozens, it chose mine. Ever since then, I felt like we became one.”

“Dad, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I am also The Sparrow. You are the spawn of me, so you are also The Sparrow. Thank you for bringing me this letter. It means more to me than you’ll ever know. Somehow in the midst of all the chaos in this world, you knew we were all sparrows, just flying aimlessly into windows. I really hope yours opens soon, son.”

He cupped my hand inside of his and