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

screamed. “You are on your own if you won’t listen!”

Detective Morelli opened the door just as lightening cracked. The clouds above took over the sun, making it look almost night.

“Who are you?” Morelli asked, but then looked down and saw the gun. He raised his foot and kicked Brooks backwards. Brooks stumbled to the ground and lost control of the gun. It was lost somewhere in the darkness, but Morelli came at him again.

“You want some?” Morelli shouted and sent a kick that landed on Brooks’ shoulder, causing him pain he’d never felt before.

“Come here to my house and threaten me?” Morelli kicked again, connecting with Brooks’ ribs. Brooks let out a wail and a hoarse cough as he fell back to the ground.

Morelli grabbed Brooks by his back and pulled him up. He then threw Brooks against the brick siding of his house, smashing Brooks’ face in the process.

Morelli was out of breath and Brooks nearly lost consciousness, though his eyes still peered through the darkened rain at the detective.

Lightening cracked again as Morelli’s hands fell to his knees; he coughed violently and fell as his knees hit the ground. The blood pumping through Brooks’ wounds were more pronounced than ever, and Brooks was fully awake.

“Get up,” Madison whispered from the shadows. “He’s down. Get up.”

Brooks used the house as support and found the strength to stand up. The gun was still lost in the darkness, but Morelli was seemingly incapacitated, almost convulsing on the ground.

Looking at the shadows, Brooks asked, “Did you do this?”

Madison said nothing.

Brooks felt along his face and could feel his jaw hanging open. Though obviously broken, he could still move it around with little pain.

Adrenaline took over as he slowly dragged Morelli’s flailing body back through the front door and into the living room. He found some military grade five-fifty cord in the garage and tied Morelli to a wooden chair and sat on the living room floor.

He was soaked and muddy, but most of all…he was angry. Morelli fought so valiantly to stop him.

It made no sense.

Brooks was the one doing their job for them. Where they failed, he was succeeding.

“He doesn’t fit the description of the vile, but he’s worse than them,” Madison said. “He coddles them. He’s a part of the system that cares for them. Feeds them. Protects them. He’s just like them.”

Brooks took his knife out and studied it. It was the same blade that killed Angela Cooper, Isaac James, and William Henson. The blade was every bit as sharp as it’s ever been.

“I want him awake,” Brooks said.

Morelli coughed again and struggled to free himself, though Brooks didn’t even look up in his direction.

“I think I’m having a heart attack,” he said, his voice more raspy with each syllable.

“You think?” Brooks asked, still looking at his knife.

“Please, my medicine is on the sink.”

Brooks stood up, passed him, and walked to the sink.

“Warfarin,” he said. “Take one pill three times daily. Looks like you skipped a few doses, Detective.” He opened the pill bottle and turned it upside down into the garbage disposal, turning it on in the process.

Morelli winced and struggled again to free himself, though he gained little ground. His hands were turning purple with how tightly Brooks tied them.

He knelt down in front of Morelli as his consciousness began to fade.

“You came into my house and threatened to kill me,” Brooks said.

Morelli’s eyes widened, and it occurred to Brooks that he was just figuring out what was going on.

“It’s you!” he said from his stupor. “You’re the killer! The Sparrow!”

His eyes widened again, but the life started to drain from them. Brooks’ eyes turned black again as he watched as Morelli’s rage began to falter. He was such an angry man with vengeance on his heart, but Brooks knew what true vengeance looked like. And…it looked an awful lot like an out-of-shape detective tied to a chair dying from a heart attack.

“You were never going to find me,” Brooks whispered in Morelli’s ear. “I want you to know that. I was always going to find you first.”

He saw the last gasp of air that left Morelli’s lips and sat there for several minutes examining him. A life full of impulsive hatred, protecting the worst humans, and tracking those who tried making the world a better place.

No matter how much Brooks tried to justify Morelli’s actions, he couldn’t make sense of it.

“He died doing what he loved…hating the righteous, and protecting the vile,” Madison said from the open doorway.

Brooks nodded and smiled. It made him feel good hearing her validate his actions. She took the struggle out of his hands for this one, and for that, he felt appreciated.

There was no blood at the scene, and Brooks thought for a second to stage the scene to make it look like Morelli died in his sleep, but Brooks wanted credit for it.

He enjoyed the scene in front of him. He wasn’t the phoenix any longer. He was OK with what the tabloids were saying about him.

His sister had the nickname in her first life.

Brooks would take it over in his second life.

He was The Sparrow.

Chapter Fifty-Two

The crowds were surfacing close to the steps at City Hall.

I’d just finished submitting the evidence to the FBI in the Hall of Records; it was the official transfer protocol for a city police detective to go through the proper channels when handing over evidence for a case as big as The Sparrow.

There was shouting and cursing aimed at the top of the steps.

The people demanded answers and the police commissioner did his best to oblige, though it wasn’t close to good enough. I walked through the doors with LT Anderson in