Fledgling

Chapter 1

        Jazz wondered why he even to bother to keep an email account as he shuffled through the crap people send him. Everyone important to him had his cell phone number, even when he got a new phone he kept the old number. Besides email was way too easy to track down. No matter what account name he chooses eventually someone finds his email. 

It got a lot worse ever since the memoir came out, god he loathed its very existence. At the time he’d been able to justify it; all the crap that his parents put him through made college pretty much impossible and he had to have some money to live on. So the book seemed the easiest way to survive. Besides he kept a lot of stuff out of it, things that were no one’s business, thing about his— Ugly J. 

Touch me like that, there Japer. 

Jazz shook his head slightly feeling nauseous. The memories always haunted him, the voices of his parents screaming in his head constantly. Ever since that night with his parents, where it all ended, all his repressed memories assaulted him. In his every dream and even while he was awake his past haunted him. Jazz swallowed hard and turned his attention back to the computer screen. 

Most of the emails went straight to the trash if they came from an unrecognized address. However the subject line on one of the emails caught his eye; it read “Jack Dawes”. Jazz froze. At the police’s request, he purposely kept most of the details about the inner workings of the Crows out of his memoir. Jazz clicked onto the email. 

From:mybleedinghart@harting.com 

To: jazzwazhere@jd.com 

Subject:Jack Dawes

Dear Jasper Dent,

I’m going to assume the subject got your attention. I read “your” book, but you didn’t write it did you? It seemed too objective at times, like there was no emotion in the memories. I have a question for you: why didn’t you kill them? If I had your opportunity I wouldn’t hesitate. I would kill my father in a second if I could but I’m scared. The Crows know me, I’ve met a few of them. They’d come after me if I killed him. Can you help me? Please save me from my father. I don’t want to become him. I want to be like you. I want to be human. To have a soul. Can you give one to me? Don’t go to the police. He’ll kill me if he finds out I contacted you. You can reach me at this number, leave a message and a number if I don’t answer. 235-998-6171. P.S. If you cannot tell me who Jack Dawes is then don’t bother calling.

From,

Lucy 

Attached to the email was a picture of a girl younger than him, she looked fifteen maybe sixteen. The lighting in the photo was horrible, Jazz suspected she did it on purpose. The girl was staring at the camera with wide blue eyes, blonde curly hair spilling over her shoulders. Spread out in front of her was a bunch of small seemingly meaningless pieces of junk. A necklace, earring, a card (either a drivers licenses or credit card), a ribbon, and others: Trophies. Jazz counted 14 trophies in the pile, he was almost certain a girl as young as the one in the picture couldn’t kill that many people but female serial killers had been surprising him lately so he didn’t dismiss the possibility. 

After Jazz had dealt with his parents he promised Connie he’d be done with the serial killer stuff for good. Connie, he missed her. They hadn’t talked in more than a week. Jazz called her last night but she didn’t answer. She had been missing his calls more and more often. It didn’t surprise Jazz at all, he knew their contact would be limited the moment Connie told him she was going to New York. She hadn’t asked him to come and Jazz was just happy he didn’t have to say no.