PARROT

I know It SAYS it's a downloadable book-
it isn't- just read it here!- djb!

1.

On Saturday morning, a package and a letter were delivered to Robert Matthews at his one bedroom apartment on the second floor of a modest aluminum siding adorned building in a complex on the outskirts of West Hills, a good sized town about thirty minutes from Los Angeles.

He wasn't expecting anything. Especially something that big.
Or, something he was being told was marked “Urgent” that he'd have to sign for and open right away.
“It's not that heavy.” The delivery guy was saying. “It just squeaks and rattles a little. I heard a moving around noise too, like something's alive in there. I guess that's why it's Urgent.” He was holding out a clipboard with the slip marked “Urgent”for Robert to see.
“Yeah, I guess so.” Robert agreed and accepted the clipboard. After signing the slip marked “Urgent” and thanking the delivery guy with a small gratuity, Robert dragged the box -which wasn't heavy but squeaked and rattled as he pulled it over the doorway threshold and into the apartment, leaving the box in the middle of the living room rug near the small coffee table.
Robert lived by himself so it wouldn't be in anyone's way for the time being. He went into the kitchenette to get the scissors.
Opening the large waist high cardboard box, Robert saw a large black quilted blanket covered rectangle next to a smaller box with a rolled up brown paper shopping bag on top.

Next to that, pinned to the blanket was a thick mailing envelope with a law firm's letterhead and address on it, somewhere in downtown Los Angeles, just above and to the left of his own name and address. Robert opened the letter.

“To Robert Matthews. That's me.” Robert read the letter out loud, the sound of his voice invoking movement from within the blanket covered rectangle. “This parrot....wait, what?... parrot?!”
He reached down and pulled the blanket away from the large rectangle, now revealed to be a cage, with a swing perch and various bells, mirrors, toys and a guinea pig style water bottle and dish attached to various segments of the cage's thick wire bars. The bottom of the cage was lined with bird-droppings covered old newspaper with bits of feather and broken toys scattered along the cage's bottom perimeter.
Sitting in the middle of the swing perch was a medium sized black parrot, with bright red spots on the sides of its face and along the edge of his folded wings. It was a parrot with a face more like a vulture than the traditional parrot he'd been used to seeing. Robert thought this to himself as he looked the bird over.
The parrot's eyes blinked and it's pupils dilated and contracted in a manner that indicated that it was getting used to the abrupt revelation of light. Robert quickly moved to the largest window and twisted the rod that closed the Venetian blinds, dimming the light that fell directly onto the bird in its cage. It ruffled it's feathers and bobbed it's head up and down. Robert chuckled at the sight.
“Cool!” He said, turning his attention back to the letter. “This parrot was bequeathed to you by the recently deceased Scott Anderson.”
Scott Anderson? Robert hadn't heard that name in over twenty five years. He remembered him as a boy, putting a face to the name and the memories that face carried.

Scott and Robert had been schoolmates and apartment building neighbors, then. Playing during recess and after-school and on weekends.
He was a skinny kid. Quiet but funny. Thin shaggy brown hair above eyes that looked too big for his face and a mouth that did the same. They'd play with action figures and Dungeons and Dragons or video games or just watch movies and television while eating snacks.
Things changed around the time Robert and Scott were to enter Middle School. When his parents split up, it was loud and angry, and Scott and his mother soon moved out of the building to another school district. They'd lost touch. Robert went to the Middle school. He made some friends, none who really got close. He'd gotten decent grades and just never really thought about it. Then High School and College and then time and life went on, he moved back to West Hills, eventually landed a steady, comfortable but underpaying job and now, mostly a loner. Mostly alone, but not sadly so. Now, Robert was almost forty-one.
Scott would have been around forty one. That's all he'll ever be now, apparently. Robert continued the letter.
“The arrangements for the parrot being bequeathed to you were made shortly before Mr. Anderson's Suicide.”
Suicide? Robert's heart sank in his chest. Oh, no, Scott...
“Along with the parrot and his cage, included are a box with a stand up perch and feeding bowl and a large bag of parrot food that should last the rest of the month.”
The letter ended abruptly there. No “Thanks”or “Good Luck”or “Have a good time” or anything like that. Just the lawyer's scribbled signature, typed name and his credentials and law firm name.
Robert put the letter down, and pulled the large cage out of the box and set it on the dining area counter that was attached to the kitchenette's sink island. The parrot looked at him and swayed back and forth, and then settled on its perch, it's gaze toward the shade covered window.
“Welcome home, Parrot.” Robert said and turned his attention back to the box within the larger box. He moved the bag of bird food and opened the second box. On top of what looked like pieces to the stand up feeding perch/bowls was another envelope with a hand written inscription.
“For Rob-Bob” Wow! Robert thought. No one has called me Rob-Bob since ...well since Scott Anderson.
When the two had met, Robert had been called Bobby by his parents and relatives and because it sounded more grown up at the time, he wanted to be known as Robert at school... but when he introduced himself to his new neighbor at the bus stop on the first day, his nervousness made him mistakenly spit out
“I'm Rob-Bob- I mean Robert... or Rob...It used to be Bobby.”
“Rob-Bob, it is.” Scott had said, laughing and flashing a friendly but somehow sad smile. Pulled back to the present, Robert opened the second envelope.
“Dear Rob-Bob.
It's me, Scott Anderson. We used to be really good friends as children and honestly the only real friendship I've ever had. Not including Jack, of course. Jack has been with me his whole life. Jack was my best friend. He's a twenty-one year old Pesquet's parrot from New Guinea. Also known as a Vulturine parrot and a Dracula parrot. Don't worry, though. He doesn't drink blood that I know of.”

Robert chuckled and found he was a bit misty eyed. This sounded like the Scott he remembered. The Scott he now wished he'd never lost touch with.
“Because you two were my only friends, I thought it fitting that you should know each other, and I know what a caring and responsible person you were, Rob-Bob, even though we haven't seen each other for over twenty years now. I wish we hadn't lost touch. I had only moved about forty minutes away. Different schools didn't have to mean different lives. We both should have seen to that. Oh well. Things happen how they happen, I guess.”

Robert felt tears build up in his eyes. A twinge of guilt and also a touch of annoyance at the audacity- Nope. He pushed that down. Clearly this was coming from an emotional place, from a guy who was hurting. Who needed a friend. Who needed me as a friend. I was his friend. Robert assured himself silently as he read the rest of the letter.
“Jack can speak fluently and will once he gets used to you. If he's happy he'll never shut up hahaha! He likes to be talked to, and petted (but not while he's eating), and he loves music if it isn't too loud. Keep him as warm as you can, he's used to it being tropical but this is California so we should be alright. Jack eats Brown's Tropical Carnival Macaw food. There's enough there to last the rest of the month. Any pet store should have more. Jack gets a full bowl in the morning around 11am once a day. He'll only eat on his stand up perch with the bowl attached with food and water. He won't fly away, even though his wings have never been clipped. And I promised him they never would. I think that's cruel.”

Robert looked at Jack who still stared at the window. He went over and open the blinds, letting light and hopefully wanted warmth into the room. Jack closed his eyes as light filled the room, inching over on his wide perch swing to get the most exposure to the heat.
“I'll move you closer to the warmth if you want.” Robert said, picking up the cage and walking it over to the end of the small sofa. Now the cage sat on the floor by the wall with the sliding glass door the balcony near the corner. The bird stirred in the cage again, but made no noise as he settled into the new spot.
“Thanks again, and sorry Rob-Bob, for bursting back into your life like this after so long. I had no one else to trust, and Jack deserves the best care. Also keep these instructions, so you'll remember how to care for your new best friend. From your old one. Goodbye Rob-Bob. Scott.”

Robert wiped away a sudden stream of tears as he folded the three page letter and put it down next to the bag of food. He opened the box and assembled the three piece stand up perch and attached the two-in-one aluminum bowl that clipped to the side of the perch's stem.
Robert looked at the time. 10:45 am. He filled the bowl with water and the food held in the folded up bag and went to unlock the cage to attempt to feed the bird for the first time, leaving the stand up perch over on the kitchenette counter, so if this resulted in a mess, it would be easier to clean up than, say, bird food, water and possible parrot droppings on the living room rug.
As soon as he approached the cage, Jack's attention turned from the window to Robert's hands as he unlocked the large door, swinging it out wide and then coming around to the front of the cage again.
Before he could get that far, Jack flew out of the cage and landed directly onto the standing perch looking back at Robert with an intent stare.
“That was awesome!” Robert said, closing the cage. He watched as Jack ate his food and drank his water. He wanted to pet him, but remembered the warning not to. Jack seemed grateful.
After he ate, Jack allowed Robert to approach him, and reached his foot out toward Robert's hand. Jack climbed on top of Robert's hand and perched precariously on his where his thumb met the rest of his hand. Robert carefully walked Jack back over to the cage and set him inside. Jack ruffled his feathers and settled, turning his gaze away from Robert and back toward the sliding glass door that led to the small balcony that Robert mostly used for storage.
As the day moved from morning to afternoon and to evening, Robert spent the day cleaning up the boxes and finding a proper place for everything pertaining to his new roommate, Jack. He also moved around the apartment, just cleaning up in general, stopping to eat small meals while the parrot stared out the door, moving and swaying occasionally, as if reminding Robert that he was still there. Robert would comment to him, as they watched some television that evening, and when it became late, Robert closed the shades, drew the curtain over the door, put the blanket over the cage and said goodnight to Jack, turning the lights out in the living room, and going into his bedroom to go to sleep.

2.

Whatever he was dreaming was interrupted by a distant hammering. The sound drifted into Robert's head and pulled him back to reality, as he woke and the the sound continued. Robert sat up and it registered that there was a persistent knocking on the front door.
Robert looked at the clock beside his bed. 6:35am? What could be so important at 6:35am?!
Robert forced himself out of bed and grabbing a hoodie from a pile of clothes off on the floor, went to the living room, flipping the light switch on as he passed by it.
Jack rustled around in his cage as the knocking continued. Robert gently took the blanket from the cage and saw the parrot staring at him, his face right up against the bars. Robert jumped back, just as the knocking repeated. Robert turned away from the bird and peeked through the peep-hole when he reached the front door.
A young-ish portly mustachioed uniformed County Sheriff's Deputy stood with his arm raised, next to a tall, stern looking middle aged woman with cropped blond hair. She was wearing office-appropriate attire. She also wore a police badge around her neck on a chain.
“I'm here- hold on a second!” Robert said loudly at the closed door.
He unlatched the chain lock and deadbolt and opened the door. The blonde woman spoke first as the uniformed officer stepped back.
“Well, Good morning.” She said brightly. A wide, but deliberate smile on her thin face. She held up the badge on the chain around her neck casually.

“I'm Detective Melon- like the vegetable-” a slight chuckle followed her little joke, “-with the Los Angeles Sheriff's department, and this is Deputy-”
“Fruit.” The Deputy interjected.
“Deputy Walters.” Melon finished, wrinkling her nose and shrugging her shoulders, slightly.
“But, aren't they fruit?” The Deputy continued. “Melons?”
“Uh...Sometimes, I think?” Robert attempted to answer.
“Well, no, not all of them.” Melon answered. “It varies- not now- we're not doing that now.” The Deputy nodded and stepped even further back, hitting the wall with his back with a thud and a rattle of his equipment belt. Melon turned her attention back to Robert.
“Look, If we can step inside we have a just few questions we need to ask you. It's about Scott Anderson's suicide.” Detective Melon said. “Just to clear things up. You knew Scott, right? You are Robert Matthews, right? I should have asked first. ”
“Oh. Yeah.. Yes....I knew Scott and yes, I am Robert.” Robert nodded nervously and looked confused but opened the door wide anyway. “Yeah come on in.”
He stepped back inside and let Melon and the Deputy do the same, before he gently closed door, looking into the hallway first to ensure no one was watching the cops walk into his apartment. To his knowledge, no one had.
Robert locked only the deadbolt, and turned his attention to the living room, where Detective Melon was now standing over near, but not too near, the birdcage, where the parrot, stared at her from his perch. Melon was doing the “Polly-want-a-cracker” routine. Whistling at him and asking that, even though she didn't have a cracker.
“His name is Jack, actually.” Robert said. “He just eats bird food, I think.” The detective nodded and turned back to the bird, who still stared at her.

“Oh so you're Jack.” Detective Melon looked up at the Deputy, who raised his eyebrows. Melon looked over at Robert. She offered more information.
“Deputy Walter here attended the scene when Mr. Anderson was discovered.” She explained.
“We're sorry for your loss.” Deputy Walter spoke up, reaching into a small mailing-type envelope that Robert just now noticed he had been holding. “This must be upsetting. We found this at the scene and we were just wondering what it all meant.”

Deputy Walter handed Robert a small official evidence baggie with an index card inside of it. There was writing on the card. The same handwriting as on the second envelope in the package.
“Jack: Send to-” followed by Robert's name and address. Robert returned the evidence to Deputy Walter, nodding.

“Yeah. Uh, yesterday morning I got a package with Jack and all the stuff to take care of him by delivery. It came with these.” Robert addressed both law enforcement officers. He scooped, both, the short letter from the attorney's office and the three page letter from Scott off of the counter and handed it to Deputy Walter who glanced over the contents before handing them to Melon.
Detective Melon stood and read the letters more intently than Deputy Walter had.
The Deputy was now hunched over wiggling his finger at Jack.
“Does he bite?” he asked.
“I don't know, yet." Robert said. “I hope not.” Melon nodded and handed the stack back to Robert.
“Yep. That seems to clear up the extent of your involvement.” she stated. Robert nodded, as she said this. “We didn't know who Jack was or what he sent you- he's Jack and he was sent to you. Easy breezy.”
“Uh yeah okay.” Robert paused. “Wait. Involvement in what? I thought it was self inflicted.”

“That's how it appeared.” Deputy Walter said. “When we found your friend-”
“He wasn't exactly my friend.” Robert said abruptly. Jack rustled on his perch. “I mean he was, but we were kids. I haven't seen or heard from Scott since before we were teenagers. Like thirty years ago...” Melon nodded, glancing between Robert and the Deputy.
“When we found your friend,” Walter continued. “We had gone there to question him about something. Something else.”
“Was he in some kind of trouble?” Robert asked. Walter nodded to

Detective Melon, who shrugged.
“We think he might have been involved with the disappearance of a young lady he was associating with last summer. Girl by the name of Elaine Cramer. But you wouldn't know her if you haven't seen Scott in what- like thirty years?” Detective Melon said that last part with a hint of intonation like she didn't believe it entirely.
Maybe that's how they do it, Robert thought to himself. They wake you up all early and act friendly and aloof and try to catch you off guard with jokes and questions about people you haven't seen in thirty years who may have been psychos before they saddled you with a bird that you have to take care of until it, or you, dies. Meanwhile trying to catch me off guard and get me to stumble through the answers.... these guys are good.
If I was lying I'd have something to worry about, but I'm not, so …
Robert's internal frustration let itself out a little when he said to Detective Melon:
“So is that it?” he caught himself. Slower, calmer. “I mean... That's all the information I have about any of this.... like I said. Before yesterday morning I hadn't thought about Scott since we were kids. Now I know too much.”
“Unfortunately not enough to help us.” Melon chuckled. “Well, thanks for your time this morning, Robert.”
Deputy Walter started heading toward the door. Detective Melon shrugged and followed suit as Robert opened the door once again. Melon turned and faced Robert with one of those 'Call us if you think of anything' cards in her hand.
“Call us if you think of anything.” She said with another deliberate smile. Robert nodded accepting the card and closing the door. He turned and let out a long breath as he looked the card over.
“Detective Melody Melon” Robert read out loud. He laughed because it sounded like a cartoon name and he tossed the card onto the small coffee table in front of the TV stand.
“I'm going back to bed.” Robert checked the clock. 6:50am.
He looked at Jack who looked out the window, as usual, even though it was still dark out.
“I guess you can hang out with your blanket off.” He said to Jack. “I'm surprised they didn't interrogate you.” Jack actually turned from the window and looked directly at him, which gave Robert a creepy feeling. He tried to laugh it off.
“You don't know anything do you?” Robert laughed and smiled again as he headed into his bedroom again.
For the first time since he arrived, Jack made a sound.
Startlingly, it was a menacing cluck-gurgling sound that Robert thought sounded too much like a slow menacing laugh.
He stopped and saw Jack still staring at him as he continued the laughing sound. He went in and closed the door.
Robert wasn't laughing or smiling anymore. He didn't go back to sleep.

3.

Around 11:00am, He emerged from his bedroom and without really addressing the weird vibe or even weirder recent 'communication' from the bird, Robert assembled the feeding stand and opened the cage door to let Jack out and eat his food. Once the parrot was returned to his cage, he then got himself showered and dressed and prepared to go out. He murmured a goodbye to Jack and left the apartment.
As the day went on. Robert checked off from his errand list:
his monthly banking, checked the mailbox, picked up some items from the grocery store and a few other stops. The whole situation from yesterday morning until now ran through his mind. He'd have to see what he could find out on his own.
Upon returning home and putting away all of the day's purchases and fixing himself a small dinner, Robert's attention once again turned to Jack, who appeared to be asleep on his perch swing inside of the cage.
Robert grabbed the blanket and draped it gently over the cage, leaving just enough cage exposed so he could keep an eye on him. His thoughts turned to Scott Anderson. Was Detective Melody Melon right about who his former friend had become?
Robert went to his room to get his laptop computer, and brought it out to the living room, setting it on the coffee table. After getting a can of soda and turning the television on, he sat down, opened the laptop and turned the power on.
Robert moved his finger along the little pad below the keyboard and followed the cursor on the screen with his eyes. He thought of what to search for as he opened his web browser. In the search bar, he typed:
Scott Anderson. Los Angeles. Police. Involvement. Missing. Dead. (Click Enter.)

“That ought a come up with something, right?” Robert said aloud, to no one in particular. Glancing up at Jack, Robert saw that the parrot still asleep on the swing perch.

The laptop screen flashed back multiple results.
Well that's just confusing...he thought... ooh, I know. Robert, then, clicked the 'images' tab and looked through the thumbnails that appeared, scanning them for one that looked like it might be...
“Oh, is that Scott?” Robert asked to himself. Click
The picture that enlarged and now was centered on the screen was of a skinny man in a pullover black hoodie with various patches of rock bands, and bar/ music venue logos on it and even ones with clever slogans or rebellious catchphrases.
The man's face was immediate familiar, just as Robert remembered. How Scott had the eyes and mouth seemingly too big for his face. The differences, and changes began to register, obviously older, the eyes now had black marks around them. It looked like the kind of makeup rock musicians wore around their eyes sometimes. And his ears had stretched out gauge piercings. An indication of a tattoo showed on his neck that disappeared into his hoodie, probably a portion of much larger artwork. And, Robert saw that instead of the thin shaggy brown hair, it was dyed black and spiked up in the front.
Next to Scott was a girl around the same age as him, with the same metal music fan fashion sense and dyed purple hair and similar makeup and piercings and clothes. As much as the two looked like punk rockers, both were smiling brightly in the picture.
Robert hit the return button so he could see the caption on the thumbnail on the previous screen.

'SEARCH FOR MISSING …."the caption cut off.
Robert hit the VISIT link. The screen that popped up was from the local news agency, the L.A. County Times. The article was from a month ago.
The same picture sat at the top, with the headlines just above it.
Robert scanned the article.
SEARCH FOR MISSING WOMAN CONTINUES.

The article detailed how the Sheriff's Department was continuing to search for Elaine 'Lainey"Cramer, 34, a bartender, who has been missing for three weeks.

According to several witnesses, Cramer was last scene leaving the bar at which she worked in the company of Scott Anderson.
Anderson claims to have dropped her off at her house, which she shared with her mother, who corroborated Anderson's account.
Anderson then went to a popular bar in downtown Los Angeles, the article states, for a work assignment.
Anderson works as a band/venue/event photographer for a local music magazine. Police sources say that although Anderson's story checks out, he remains a person of interest in the case.

Just below this article was a heading marked 'Related Stories"and under that a link to another story.

'SUSPECT IN DISAPPEARANCE FOUND DEAD OF..."
Another cut off caption. Robert clicked the link.
SUSPECT IN DISAPPEARANCE FOUND DEAD OF SUICIDE.

Robert read the new article, which told how Scott's body had been found by police officers. The police were considering the death a suicide, as it appeared Anderson had jumped from a window on the building's fourth floor. The body was discovered when Deputy Sheriff Walter had gone to question Anderson further on the disappearance of Elaine 'Lainey' Cramer, 34, a bartender.
After that, a short summary of the case, written similiarly to the previous article Robert had read, followed. Only this one went on to quote Deputy Sheriff Walter himself, saying how Scott's alibi checked out but his demeanor indicated he knew more.
There was a picture below the article, taken at the scene where Deputy Sheriff Walter standing in front of police tape with the covered remains in the foreground with Scott's building and his window in the background of the picture. Robert noticed the window in the picture still had glass in parts of the frame. It was closed when Scott went through it!
Robert followed a line to where the body had landed up to the fourth story of the building in the photo. In one of the windows was a lighter shape, looking down at the scene. Squinting his eyes, and zooming in on the picture, Robert realized he was looking at Jack's face.
Suddenly, the bird, as if somehow knowing what Robert had seen and discovered, cackled loudly and menacingly from the cage, under the blanket.
Robert didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

4.

Robert jumped with a start at 7:30am, as his usual Monday morning alarm sounded abruptly. He turned it off and grabbed the cup of coffee he'd made in the middle of the night and closed the book he'd been reading to take his mind off of things as he spent the night, stressed and worried about the things he was finding out.
After showering and quickly making more coffee, Robert set about his usual workday morning routine. He ate a little bowl of cereal and buttered toast for breakfast, he went about setting up his laptop and a small table lamp.
He uncovered Jack's cage and opened the window shade.

Jack was awake, too, and hanging off of the cage's side wiring, fiddling around with the various toys and mirrors attached to the cage wiring, and ignored Robert completely. Can't say I don't mind right now, he thought as he moved into the kitchenette to prepare a fresh pot of coffee.
Robert worked as a work-from- home data entry drone for a moderately sized banking chain located somewhere on the east coast that Robert didn't know or care, as long as the checks kept coming.
Around nine, Robert clocked in to his job, had a conference call and received this day's workload in an e-mail attachment. He logged into his corporate data entrant interface, poured another cup of coffee and began to work.
A couple of hours passed and as Robert stood up and stretched, having completed one of his many assignments, he refilled his coffee and looked at the time. He turned toward Jack, who was waiting for him on the perch swing, eyeballing the latch that opened the gate.
“I guess you're hungry, huh?” Robert said to Jack. The parrot ruffled his feathers and swayed back and forth in response. Robert set up the feeding stand and filled the bowl with food and water and went over and opened Jack's cage door. Jack stepped onto the railing and effortlessly flew over to the perch like he did before. The bird, once settled, began to eat also like he did before.
Robert sat back down to continue his work, deciding to wait a little before making himself something to eat. As he went back to his next task the sounds of typing and the bird eating were the only things heard from the kitchenette and dining room table areas of the apartment. As he worked, the sounds of the typing and the bird eating quietly behind him, lulling him into a sense of monotony that he found tiring, Robert couldn't help but yawn and begin to doze off.
After all, since Saturday morning's events, he hadn't really gotten a good night's sleep. He yawned again and found himself struggling to keep his eyes open, and his mind alert. Robert sat back down and tried to get back to work. Jack had finished eating and was just sitting on the Feeding Perch, and the clicking of keyboard keys is the only sound, until…

“Rob Bob!” Jack's voice rang out, startling Robert, who jumped in his seat at first, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, a chill running down his spine. “Rob Bob!”
He shook it off and stood up and turned to Jack, who was facing him and looking directly at Robert.
“Oh wow! You CAN talk!” Robert exclaimed. “What else can you say?”
Jack's pupils contracted as he tilted his head.
”Rob Bob" he said “Sorry Rob Bob." Robert shook his head, looking at Jack incredulously. He'd never seen a talking bird ever, and now there was one saying his name... well sort of ...a nickname.
“How do you know that name?” Robert asked. “Did Scott tell you to say that?”
“I know things Rob Bob'' cackled the bird. “Black Magic Hail Satan."
“Well, I definitely don't like that.” He said to Jack. “You don't have to say that one.”
“Black Magic! Scott cursed me! I am cursed!” Jack's eyes darted around the room. “Black Magic! I know everything. I killed her. I killed Elaine, Scott hid her away!"
“Wait-what?!” Robert, shocked, now, began backing away from the bird a bit as Jack leaned forward.
“Guilty Scott blames Jack... Sorry Rob-Bob!” he hissed. “Send Jack away...Scott wanted to tell...Kill Scott...Sorry Rob-Bob!"
The things Jack was saying horrified Robert and he felt himself shiver as the full weight of the few words the parrot said landed on his shoulders.
The entire exchange was punctuated by Jack's menacing cackle. Robert stumbled back into the kitchen table, he quickly made his way around and into the living room. He looked down at the card on the table.
“Detective Melody Melon” Jack said, swooping suddenly through the air and landing right next to the card on the coffee table. Robert leapt back with a shout. Jack leaned back and looked at Robert and laughed and began to bob his head saying over and over: “You’ll be sorry Rob Bob! You’ll be sorry Rob Bob!”
Robert quickly moved toward the bird to pick him up and put him back on the swinging perch and then shut the cage door as quickly as he could. Jack squawked loudly and fluttered from his reach, suddenly, taking into the air and making a circle around the small room that ended with the bird colliding into Robert with force! Robert landed on his back from the impact, with Jack falling with him, using his talons and beak to peck and scratch at Robert's arm, which was up in protection of his face.
Feeling sharp pains as Jack's claws tore into his forearm, Robert grabbed at the the flailing parrot desperately, managing to get a firm grasp on his attacker. He threw the parrot, granny-basketball-style, across the living room, watching as he slammed with a scream into the sliding glass door to the balcony. Upon impact, the aged, thin glass of the sliding door threatened to crack, and a small bloody spot was visible above where now the Parrot lay motionless next to the cage.
Robert scrambled to his feet, grabbed a hand towel from the kitchenette counter and wrapped it around his bleeding arm. Moving around to keep the counter in between he and the bird, Robert peered closer, seeing that the animal was still breathing. Robert grabbed a broom from in between the fridge and the trashcan, preparing to approach Jack. As he stood over the bird for a moment, gaining confidence that he was hurt or stunned- to the least- Robert reached over and opened the door just enough.
He panickedly swept the bird onto a spot on the balcony and closed and locked the door. He tossed the broom aside and backed away, only taking his eyes off of Jack when he turned and walked to the bathroom.
Robert opened the medicine cabinet and looked for the old first aid kit he kept in there. He found and opened it, and whistled lowly, when noticing how long expired the pills and creams inside were. The gauze, however, was fine and so were the band-aids, which Robert used to dress his most prominent and still bleeding arm scratch.
As he crossed the hallway to the kitchenette from the bathroom, he quickly glanced over to the sliding door, which was still closed, and grabbed his wallet and keys and a hoodie, and left the apartment.

5.

“Oh! Mr. Matthews!” Robert nearly jumped out of his sneakers as the vocal outburst, timed with Detective Melody Melon appearing suddenly as Robert exited the apartment building. Less formally dressed this time. Blue denim shirt, khaki slacks. Still smiling.
“Jesus!” Robert exclaimed, then exhaled. “Oh- hey.”
“Ooh-sorry to startle you.” Melon chuckled. “ But, I'm glad we caught you!”
Appearing slightly behind and approaching beside her, Deputy Walter wore a smirk.
“Interesting choice of words.” Robert responded, finishing zipping up the hoodie he had grabbed from the apartment just before leaving. He was glad he thought to include one, because the bandages on his arm would only draw attention to whatever was happening with that damn bird.
“Hey- How's that bird?” Deputy Walter asked, casually. “Wish he was one of the talking kinds. The internet says Vulture Parrots can't talk.”
Robert fought the urge to react, but was taken aback mentally at this. He sure talked earlier. He thought. And some of the stuff he said...and hadn't Scott's letter specifically stated- “Jack can speak fluently and will once he gets used to you. If he's happy he'll never shut up hahaha!”
“That's what he is, right? A Vulture Parrot- aka- a Dracula Parrot?” Melon's voice broke through his thoughts, as she nodded toward Robert. “That's what that letter from Scott Anderson called him right? Dracula huh. Kinda spooky.”
Robert began to nod when Walter handed him a small photograph in a baggie, like the one he had the index card before.
“But we think 'spooky' was Scott's style. See?” Walter pointed at the middle of the photo, where a section of wooden floor had been cordoned off by crime scene ribbon. The yellow and black kind Robert had seen on television.
On the floor was a circle drawn in chalk with a star drawn in the center, along with various other markings he didn't recognize. At each point of the star, it looked like the remnants of candles burning along with a faint white incomplete circle around the perimeter of the first circle.
“Looks like some kind of Black Magic to me.” Melon said. “Did you ever know Scott Anderson to fiddle with anything like that?” Robert shook his head, as he handed the photo back to the Deputy.
“I mean- aside from campout ghost stories, oujia boards and dungeons and dragons, not really.” Robert said. “I think one time we went to what we thought was a haunted house but got spooked and ran out before anything crazy happened.”
“But nothing like that.” Walter gestured with the photo.
“All of that was over twenty years ago. I have no idea what he was into when he...” Robert trailed off.
“Worth a shot.” Melody Melon was already walking to the passenger side of Deputy Walters' patrol car.
Watching them as they pulled away from the curb, Robert almost instinctually glanced upward, which was followed by another sudden start.
Robert could see his balcony from the curb and on it, Jack perched on the edge of wall. He made eye contact with Robert, ruffled his feathers, menacingly.
Jack emitted a terrifying scream and flew away.

About three hours later, Robert opened the door to his apartment building slowly and crept inside. He had taken the long way around the block, keeping a wide view of the front of the main entrance, ensuring no cops could be seen as he made his way in.
He checked his mailbox in the lobby, then climbed the short staircases to his second floor landing and froze stiff, as he noticed his door was slightly ajar.
Robert couldn't remember if he had done that in his haste to leave earlier.
.He searched the apartment building from top to bottom, to avoid thinking he was being followed and stalked by Jack, but ultimately found no trace of the bird's presence.
Robert headed to his apartment again, secretly happy to be rid of Jack. Robert quickly crept around every room, and opening the blood-stained sliding door, walking out to the patio, surveying that it was empty, he went back inside his apartment.
Robert resolved to let the bird just go wherever he wants and began to dismantle the cage, thinking of all this trouble that has been caused since the day that bird arrived. Robert was working himself into an anger, when, on the counter beside him, he saw the letters that came with the package. He disgustedly threw them into the feed bowl, and opened the junk drawer.
“I know I have a -” he said to himself, rummaging through the drawer.
He produced a Bic lighter and ignited the contents of the bowl.

As the heat began to affect the letters, Robert saw new, darker letters forming on the pages that weren’t there before. He tried to pick up the first page but it was already burning – He grabbed an oven mitt and grabbed the letter out of the bowl, unfolding what was left of it, and peering closely.
Robert was able to make out details of how a lonely Scott cast dark spells to make his new bird able to speak, and be more intelligent
The spells seemed to have worked but had awoken something evil in the bird.
The bird was then jealous of a girl Scott liked and Jack killed her, forcing Scott to dismember and hide the body as he knew no one would believe he didn't commit the murder .

Robert dropped the letters back into the now smoldering bowl. The rest of the paper burned away, leaving no trace of Scott's admission.

After absorbing this information Robert was really glad to be rid of this monster. He stepped away from the bowl and stopped with a cold start.
Robert cursed himself for having forgotten to close the slider door, as Jack was back on his counter perch, looking disheveled, his feathers, stained and ruffled. As the bird groomed himself, Robert crept closer, noticing while the bird's eyes weren't on him, while his beak was busy picking out -whatever -out of his fur, noticing a bundle of bloody fabric in one of Jack’s clawed feet.
“What do you have?” Robert asked, timidly. Jack stopped picking at his feathers and looked at Robert. “What did you do?”
Jack narrowed his black eyes and dropped the bundle into Robert's hand, and he alarmedly noticed it getting fresh dark blood all over his hands. Robert quickly dropped the contents into the feeding bowl.
His eyes widened and skin paled, blood running cold as he fully saw the contents: Part of a shirt sleeve, denim blue where it wasn't bloody. Horrifyingly bits of flesh, then a human eye -
Robert turned and retched, vomiting on the floor- he looked up again to make sure it was what he saw, and confirming, screamed aloud as he recognized the last of the bundle's contents: a bloody Detective's police badge!
Robert screamed and dropped to his knees in front of the bowl.

‘Sorry Rob-Bob.’ Is all Jack said and he repeated this a few times while doing that weird laugh. Robert stood and motioned toward the opened the window.
“Go. Leave.” He shouted. “I know you can understand me, and I don't want you here.” Jack stayed on his perch and laughed just as there was a heavy pounding knock at the door that made Robert jump out of his anger. “Robert Matthews!” Deputy Walter's voice - “We have a warrant for your arrest!” The door slammed open, as Walter, this time accompanied by two uniformed officers- quickly stepped through and seeing Robert with blood on his hands, signaled to his officers.
One of the officers immediately apprehended Robert and cuffed him. Walter read Robert his rights and arrested him for the murder of Det. Melody Melon, Elaine Cramer and Scott Anderson, who they assume he killed because he found out what Robert had done.

 “Burn the evidence! Burn the Evidence!” Jack squawked. Walter looked up at the bird, who's head seemed to motion to the feeding bowl on the counter.

The Deputy looked and saw the still smoldering bowl with the letter's ashes and burnt matches and the bloody piece of material and melon's badge.
Deputy Walter bagged the evidence as the officers roughly pulled Robert out of the apartment.
“It wasn’t me it was Jack- I- mean the bird! The bird killed that woman! And Detective Melon! The Bird killed Scott!’ Jack did it! Jack did it!" Robert shouted as the officers moved to drag him away.
"Yeah yeah. Tell it to the judge." Deputy Walter said, as they were about leave the apartment. Walter attempted to shut the door, while Jack could be heard laughing and repeating:

“Sorry Rob-Bob! Sorry Rob-Bob!”
Robert lunged out of the officers' grasps and got through the door,
where he now saw nothing on the perch.
Jack was gone.
Robert was, once more, yanked away as the door slammed closed.

The End

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