Spring-Heeled Jack

by Wyll Andersen

  “What word becomes shorter when you add letters to it? Short!”

  “What occurs once in a minute, twice in a moment, but not once in a thousand years? The letter M!”

  “A man leaves his house and turns left three times only to come back home greeted by two men wearing masks. Why are these men? A catcher and an umpire!”

  Despite being taken away; Atticus could still see Mike’s body dangling from the tree. The image wouldn’t go away. His stomach churned and a lump formed in his throat, but Atticus wasn’t going to chicken out. Now, more than ever, he had to be focused. If he really wanted to be a detective, he knew he’d have to face even worse situations. He couldn’t let his emotions and fears get the better of him. He had to stay strong.

  Brock’s voice broke the silence.

  “Hey, you forgot something.”

  Atticus jumped before turning around and seeing his friend standing behind him, Atticus’ school bag in his hand.

  He smiled and took it, placing it gently by his side on the bench. “Thanks.”

  Brock could feel that Atticus wanted to be alone. He knew that he wanted to skip class, but Brock wasn’t going to sit idly by and watch his friend beat himself up.

  Brock sat down next to him. “Atticus, why do you want to be a detective?”

  Atticus shook his head. “I want to help people. I want to help when it seems like there aren’t any answers.”

  “Like with Mike,” Brock said. “Or your parents?”

  Atticus nodded.

  “I believe in you,” Brock said. “Together, we can solve this mystery.”

  “Together?”

  Brock smiled and said, “Of course! I’ll help you any way I can.”

  Atticus smiled back. It felt as if a tremendous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He looked up at the tree and it finally seemed that he could see it without Mike’s body.

  Rock got up and prepared to leave for class, but before he could get anywhere, Atticus stopped him.

  “You asked me, so now I get to ask you,” he said, “why do you study psychology?”

  “Brock was silent for a moment.

  “I guess; the same reason you want to be a detective.” He smiled, but Atticus could see, for just a second, a tinge of sorrow in Brock’s eyes.

  “What happened?”

  “My mom,” he said. “She went off the deep end a few years ago. No one could help. But, I’d like to help others like her before it’s too late.”

  Atticus smiled. Brock smiled back and continued his way to class.

  Atticus sat, staring at the tree for a while longer before hearing the eight o’clock bell. Class was starting, but he wouldn’t be attending today. He needed to clear his head and listening to teachers’ lecture wouldn’t help him at all. However, sitting around wouldn’t either. Atticus picked up his school bag and decided to go on a little walk around campus.

  By the time the nine o’clock bell rang, Atticus had made his way from the west park to the east side of campus where all the tech labs were located. Walking in their shadow, Atticus felt envious of the students who understood all of the technical mumbo jumbo they were taught. He had no idea how to design perpetual clockwork mechanisms nor did he have any clue on who the laws of plasma conductivity worked. To him, it was all Greek. His parents were brilliant minds in their fields, but sadly he didn’t inherit any of their brains.

  The ten o’clock bell rang and Atticus had travelled from the tech labs down to the fine arts and language buildings. He wasn’t a very artsy guy, but Atticus was always impressed listening the music students. He figured he might be good in the arts, but he didn’t want to go embarrass himself. Plus, he didn’t want to commit himself to any extracurriculars if it turned out he wasn’t good.

  By eleven o’clock, Atticus made his way to the physical education building on the southeast side of campus. The Fortuna Prep sports program was very limited. The Zebulon Corporation insisted on keeping it small, only allowing intermural and club sports. They didn’t want students to be too distracted from their studies, but they knew the importance of casual competition.

  Back when Atticus was a freshman, there was a petition going around to grant the school a competitive football team: The Fortuna Prep Starmen. Atticus didn’t think to sign it at the time. He didn’t think it was really such a big deal, but apparently it was to a lot of other students.

  By noon, the students were excused for lunch. Atticus felt his stomach rumble and he figured getting some lunch wouldn’t be a bad idea. Besides, he figured he could meet up with Brock and get some things off his chest. So much was building inside of him that he felt like was going to explode.

  As he made his way to the cafeteria, Atticus could hear his classmates talking about him. He wasn’t sure what they were saying, but he really didn’t care. It was usually something about him being so quiet, or how good he was at exams, or about him being a wannabe detective. Maybe they did bug him deep down, but he tried his best to shake it off. Perhaps they were talking about him ditching class: “Straight A Student Plays Hooky.” That sounded like something that would pass as gossip on campus.

  He continued to walk through the crowd of students, not really paying attention to where he was going. He was just going with the flow, but in doing so, he crashed into a girl, knocking both of them to the ground.

  “Hey, watch where you’re going,” she shouted. She had a bit of a Spanish accent.

  Instantly, she bolted to her feet, but Atticus was a bit dazed. He staggered around for a moment before finally standing back up.

  “I-I’m sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t paying-”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she cut off, “but you’re Atticus Whaelord, aren’t you?”

  Atticus wasn’t sure what to say. He thought he was the one to apologize, but now this girl looked at him like he was a celebrity. Not that he didn’t mind. The girl was extremely cute. She had long wavy chocolate brown hair tied into a pony tail and big brown eyes behind big oval glasses. She wore her Fortuna Prep uniform, an indigo vest with golden trim, a white short sleeved shirt, and a long purple and black plaid skirt. Her look alone made Atticus blush.

  “Y-Yes,” he said, “I’m the Atticus Whaelord.”

  The girl smiled and held out her hand.

  “I’m Camila Valencia,” she said. “We’re in Professor Varnum’s history class together.”

  “Really? I can’t believe I’ve never noticed you before.”

  Atticus didn’t realize how rude that sounded in his head and instantly tensed up. Luckily enough, Camila just laughed it off. She was flattered by his bumbling nature.

  “You know,” she said, “that was really amazing what you did yesterday. Turning your exam in so early and rubbing Varnum’s nose in it.”

  “I-I didn’t actually,” Atticus smiled awkwardly. “It really wasn’t that hard of a test.”

  “But you aced it,” she said laughing. “I wish I had that kind of confidence to do what you did.”

  “I wouldn’t say I’m confident.”

  “You’re too humble.” Camila smiled. It was incredibly contagious and Atticus felt forced to smile right back.

  “So, I was wondering,” she said, “are you busy today after class?”

  Atticus felt like he got smacked in the gut. “N-No, I don’t think so.”

  His heart was beating violently. He’d never been so baffled around a girl before. It wasn’t like this was his first time talking to one, but for some reason Camila was different.

  Camila smiled and said, “I was wondering if you’d like to get together and study sometime?”

  “Y-Yeah, sure,” he said. “I’d love to. Tonight?”

  Camila’s face beamed with delight. “Yes, that’d be wonderful. Say five o’clock?”

  “That’d be perfect!” Atticus gave a weak smile. He couldn’t let his mind rush too far ahead. He had to stay focused. Now wasn’t the time to go brain dead. But, when a pretty and popular girl actually wanted h
is help, it was hard to keep it together.

  “Hey, why don’t we-” He froze up.

  “Why don’t we what?”

  “W-We could,” Atticus stuttered, “we could, y’know, perhaps grab something to eat beforehand? Maybe?”

  Camila blushed. Atticus was sure he’d stepped over the line. This wasn’t a “date” date, just a study date. He wasn’t sure why he thought it’d be okay to ask. He lowered his head in shame.

  “That sounds wonderful,” Camila said.

  Atticus wasn’t sure if he’d heard her or just imagined it. He looked up and saw her smiling and giggling as if he’d said something charming.

  “How about we meet at the Turtle Dragon,” she asked. Atticus nodded. Atticus nodded. “Alright, so I’ll see you at the Turtle Dragon at five o’clock.” He nodded again.

  Camila smiled and said goodbye to Atticus, who was still trying to recover from what just happened. As she walked off, he looked down to make sure his zipper wasn’t down or something horribly embarrassing. Much to his delight, it wasn’t.

  Atticus decided against going to history class Instead, he decided to do the smart thing and return to his dorm for a nap. There was nothing grouchy old Varnum could teach him that he couldn’t just read out of the textbook. Atticus figured if he couldn’t take the book’s word, how could he take his professor’s? Besides, Professor Varnum just took his lessons straight from the book itself anyway. He didn’t paraphrase or try to make it interesting; he just quoted it verbatim.

  As his head hit the pillow, Atticus found his mind already drifting to lala land. His heart was slowing down and he was beginning to relax. Atticus closed his eyes and instantly he passed out.

  And instantly, he wished he hadn’t. In his dream, Atticus found himself trapped within a dark empty void. Atticus was not fond of the dark. It terrified him more than anything else. It was one thing to not know the answer, but it was another thing to not know anything without ever hoping to know the answer.

  There was nothingness as far as the eye could see. It wasn’t cold nor was it hot. It was like there was no temperature. Atticus began to fear if this is what death was like. Absolutely nothing, not even hot or cold.

  He wasn’t standing on anything, but he wasn’t floating either. There was no light, but if he looked down he could see his hands. There was no air to breath, but he wasn’t suffocating. Atticus was literally in an abyss of nothing.

  That in itself wouldn’t have been so bad except for the squeak. The squeak a bicycle chain made after not having been oiled for a few years. It was faint and not very frequent, but every time he heard it, Atticus squirmed.

  He looked all around in a desperate attempt to find the source of the squeaking, but only darkness surrounded him. It was then, at the peak of his panic, he heard the terrible laugh. A laugh of sadistic delight. It was more of a scream than a laugh. It was so much worse than any squeak or any darkness; the laugh rang in his ears, sent shivers down his spine, and caused his knees to buckle. It overwhelmed him like a powerful wave and Atticus felt himself getting tugged deeper and deeper into the darkness all around.

  Everything in his body screamed at him to wake up, but Atticus wasn’t in control.

  Then, a flash of light blinded him and his dream changed. No longer was he drowning in an ocean of nothing, thank goodness, but instead he was standing in the lobby of the Las Vegas Police Department. At the far end of the room, Atticus saw Detective McCloud speaking with a man and a woman.

  The two were an older couple, maybe in their mid to late forties. They were obviously a married couple. Well, maybe obvious wasn’t the right word, but that’s what Atticus figured when he saw their matching wedding rings.

  The man wore a dark green suit and a bright orange tie. His hair was an untamed mess of dirty blond mess and he wore a pair of large brass goggles. The woman wore a long elegant golden dress patterned with little silver diamonds around the frills and long silk black hair.

  The couple was obviously not happy. The woman’s eyes were red and puffy from sobbing. The man’s jaw was tightly clenched. Atticus didn’t know these people, but they seemed awfully familiar. But then, before he got time to think about it, his dream shifted again and he heard the terrible laughter. For just a second, Atticus caught a glimpse of his locket dangling in the nothing before his eyes shot open to Brock shaking him awake.

  “Atticus,” he shouted, “what’s wrong? You were wiggin’ out in your sleep. I thought you were having a seizure or something.”

  Atticus rubbed his eyes and looked over at the clock on his nightstand: 3:07.

  “What? No way, I was only asleep for a minute!”

  “Are you okay?”

  He shook his head. Atticus felt his heart racing all over again. His hope that a nap would relax him was sadly all for naught. But, if there was one thing he got from his nap, Atticus knew what he had to do to help Mike’s case.

  “Hey Brock, how would you like to help me run some errands?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Atticus smiled and said, “I need to grab myself another locket.”

  Chapter 4

  Atticus and Brock quickly changed out of their school uniforms and into more casual wear. With the cool weather, Atticus put on his favorite jacket: a red plaid cotton windbreaker his grandmother had given him on his twelfth birthday. Brock slipped on a green and black sweater with a large singe mark around the neck.

  During their sophomore year, the two were working on an extra-credit science project in the steam labs. They didn’t know what they were thinking, tinkering with steam, but they thought the concept would be simple enough. They were very wrong. Instead of creating a small steam engine like they’d planned, they created a small weapon of steamy destruction. It doesn’t sound threatening, but when it blasts a highly concentrated beam of super-heated water vapor at your neck it becomes very threatening. Luckily, the only one to get hurt was Brock’s sweater.

  They swiftly packed up their things and without a moment’s hesitation, they bolted out the door. Atticus wanted to tell Brock about his dream. He figured Brock would know something about psychoanalysis, being a psychology student and all, but whenever he tried to say something, he got shivers.

  As the two walked across the courtyard, they heard the loud purr of the plasma labs all the way across campus. The clinks and clanks from the clockwork labs were just as loud, as were the revving engines and the whistles of steam. The school was just as bustling and busy as ever.

  Fortuna Prep’s science department was definitely its pride and joy. It was the most highly publicized department as well as the most sought after. Students from across the country with any desire to go into the sciences at all were sent to Fortuna Prep for even the slightest chance to work for the Zebulon Corporation. At Zebulon, everybody could be a somebody. They were always in need of workers.

  When Atticus and Brock reached the main gate, they unfortunately bumped into their favorite history professor: Varnum. He was wearing is standard tan suit and his dark tinted glasses.

  “Well hello, Mr. Whaelord,” he said. “Your insults just don’t stop: first you cheat on my exam and now I find you skipping class? I should report you to Principal Shepard and have you expelled!”

  “H-Hey, I didn’t cheat,” Atticus mumbled. “You just need to make tougher exams.”

  Atticus instantly reared back. He didn’t mean to snap, but people assuming he was a cheat was a huge peeve.

  He couldn’t see it, but Atticus felt the professor’s hateful gaze. “You think my exams are easy, do you?”

  Atticus felt his heart pound against his chest. He wanted to butt in and argue, but he couldn’t find the words. Luckily, Brock was there to bail him out once again.

  “Well, he’s not wrong professor. Not even I broke a sweat. Maybe you should raise the difficulty on your tests after all. This is a private academy after all.”

  “I wouldn’t sound so high and mighty, Mr. Mackenzie,” said the professor.
“You might change your mind once you see your grade.” Varnum turned back to Atticus. “So, where were you today, Mr. Whaelord? Any reason you didn’t send your friend here with a note explaining your absence?”

  Atticus didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t have to tell the whole truth. He bit his lip and said, “I’m sorry sir, but I wasn’t feeling very good today. I’m still kinda torn up about Mike.”

  “Mike?” Varnum asked, “Who are you talking about?”

  “Mike Nelson. He was in-”

  “Oh, the boy who hung himself? Right, very sad.”

  The two students knew the professor didn’t care. He was probably more upset that Mike skipped class rather than his death.

  “Yeah, him,” Atticus said glumly. “I felt sick this morning so I didn’t go to class all day.”

  “And now you’re up and about feeling just fine? All howdy-doody-doo? I see where your priorities lie, Mr. Whaelord.”

  “Actually,” Brock chimed in, “it was my idea that Atticus get some air. I thought it would help clear his head.”

  Slowly, the weight was lifting from Atticus’ shoulders. He wasn’t a good liar under pressure and in the presence of the professor he was even worse. If not for Brock, he didn’t know what he’d do.

  Varnum shifted his gaze from one boy to the other. “Where are you two off then?”

  “The police station,” Atticus blurted.

  “What? Why?”

  Both Varnum and Brock looked at Atticus with shock.

  “I-I need to speak with detective McCloud,” Atticus said. “It’s for a summer internship.”

  At the mention of McCloud, Atticus noticed a slight twitch on Varnum’s face.

  “Really? McCloud you say?” The professor looked all around him as if saying something would get him in trouble. “Well, then go ahead. I won’t stop you. I need to get back to business anyway.”

  Varnum shouted one final threat of expulsion at Atticus, but it didn’t matter. Both students knew it was just a hollow threat. As far as they cared, Varnum was just a snooty professor with a severe case of bighead syndrome.