Spring-Heeled Jack

by Wyll Andersen

  “Please, Mr. Whaelord,” she said sternly, “answer my question.”

  Atticus felt his hands tremble. “Y-Yes, ma’am. I think that Mike was killed and it was all set up to look like a suicide.” Atticus closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, and regained his composure. “Detective McCloud things so as well.”

  “Yes,” the principal said, “the detective.”

  Atticus didn’t know what was going on, but he bit his tongue. His inner detective told him to ask questions, but he didn’t want to risk it. This was not the time nor the place. Principal Shepard called him in for a reason. He didn’t need to be asking any suspicious questions.

  “Atticus, I understand you plan on studying criminal justice after your time here at Fortuna Prep, but I must say that you need to stay out of criminal affairs.”

  “W-What?”

  “I know you want to help, but at times like this it’s best to stay focused on your studies.” Principal Shepard steepled her fingers and rested her chin on the point. “You have all the time in the world to become the detective you want to be, but for now I want you to stay out of this.”

  “P-Principal?”

  Behind her glasses, Shepard closed her eyes and sighed. “Atticus, please don’t argue. Promise me that you will no longer tamper with this.”

  Atticus bit his tongue. He couldn’t just stop, not after finding Varnum’s folder. He didn’t want to do it, and he knew that there was only one thing he could do: he lied.

  “I promise, Principal Shepard. I will not get involved with this case any further.”

  Just like that, the tension lifted from the room. Principal Shepard seemed to relax in her chair, almost like Atticus had just answered the million-dollar question correctly.

  “Thank you, Atticus,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I can’t risk losing another student.”

  “W-What do you mean, principal?”

  Shepard shook her head and said, “Nothing, Mr. Whaelord. Don’t worry about it. Now go resume with classes for the day. I’ll have a note sent to your next class explaining why you were tardy.”

  Atticus thanked her, but deep down he felt awful. He wasn’t going to lvie up to his promise. He couldn’t. He couldn’t back out, but the look of relief on the principal’s face looked almost as if she’d been in a similar position before. He made his way out of the office, his school bag with the stolen document held firmly under his arm.

  When Atticus arrived at Professor Varnum’s class, he was mortified to see that class had been canceled for the day. A note was posted on the door, reading:

  Professor Varnum’s History Class

  Canceled for the day due to:

  Instructor’s Health.

  Classes will resume as scheduled next week.

  His stomach began to churn and Atticus feared that what he saw in his dream wasn’t a dream at all, but some sort of premonition. He looked down at his hand where the Queen of Spades would normally appear and pondered the idea that perhaps it granted him abilities in his sleep.

  Perhaps, Atticus thought, he had the ability to project himself in his dreams and spy on others. That could explain why it was visible when he woke up.

  He quickly shook that thought out of his head. He’d been reading too many fantasy books and it was starting to mess with his thinking. Still thought, it couldn’t be a coincidence that Atticus would dream about the professor getting injured, only for it to come true and force him to miss class.

  But Atticus wasn’t foolish. He wasn’t going to be upset over a two-day break from Varnum’s class. He began to make his way down the hall when he remembered he was supposed to meet Camila after class. But, if there was no class, where would he find her?

  He began to pace around the English and History building, looking high and low for Camila. It seemed impossible, but the school wasn’t that big. He’d find her eventually.

  As he was wandering around, Atticus felt a strange feeling in his gut. It felt like he was being yanked down a specific path. He didn’t notice it at first, but it became very prominent. Atticus felt like a rat moving through a maze looking for its cheese. He just knew where to go, but he didn’t know why or how.

  Atticus spotted Camila and some of her friends outside near the campus fountain. He couldn’t help but notice that she always had a group around, but she herself never really talked. At breakfast, the girls were all giggling and talking, but she was content sitting idly by and listening.

  As he walked over to them, some of the girls pointed and laughed at him. Instantly, Atticus feared that his zipper was down or that there was something on his face. Blood began to rush to his cheeks and Camila ran up to meet him.

  “D-Do I have something funny on me,” he asked.

  Camila smiled and said, “No, you’re fine. They just think we’re a bit silly together.”

  “Together?”

  Camila blushed. She guided Atticus away from her friends and quickly changed the subject. “So, what do you think happened to Professor Varnum?”

  An image of Varnum getting attacked by the Ghost flashed into Atticus’ head. It made him queasy, and he heard the scream, but he did his best to shake it off.

  “Maybe he ate some bad fish?”

  Camila laughed. “Or maybe his wicked old heart finally gave out?”

  Atticus wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t. Everybody loved to joke about Varnum’s heart being as black as coal, but at the time it felt so wrong.

  Camila saw that something was worrying Atticus and said, “Hey, I’m sure he’s okay. Like you said, he probably just ate something.”

  “Yeah, yeah I’m sure that’s all.” Atticus realized he was acting very strange. He took a deep breath and said, “So, since we don’t have class, you ready for the movie?”

  “Oh heavens no,” Camila said. “I’m still in school clothes. How about we meet back here in thirty minutes?”

  “Thirty minutes? Sounds good to me!”

  Back in his dorm, Atticus was hectically trying to pick out something nice to wear. Brock watched him, refusing to give any sort of advice except to wear what he was comfortable. That didn’t make Atticus feel any better.

  “Just calm down for a minute,” Brock said. “What’s something comfy that you like to wear?”

  “Pajamas,” Atticus said. “Are you saying I should wear pajamas?”

  Brock shrugged. “Why not?”

  Atticus ignored the comment and went back to scouring through his dressers. He picked a plain black dress shirt, khaki slacks, and his red plaid jacket.

  “That’s it?” Brock asked. “You spent all that time just to pick out the most boring of the bland?”

  “Shut up! You said to pick something comfy, so I did!”

  Brock laughed as Atticus began to weasel himself into his clothes. Just to be safe, Atticus brushed his teeth and hair again, and slipped on a clean pair of socks. He was not going to risk any part of him stinking up the night.

  Atticus went to grab his school bag, but Brock stopped him.

  “Hey now,” he said, “you’re not gonna be needing this for the movie.”

  “B-But, we’re gonna be studying afterwards.”

  Brock gave him a sly smirk and Atticus’ face turned blush.

  “Trust me,” Brock said, and then he shoved Atticus out of the dorm.

  Atticus arrived back at the fountain where he saw Camila sitting down already to go. He was left speechless. She wore a cream colored blouse with a black collar and skirt. Her long chocolate hair was hanging down with the ends styled into a soft roll, pageboy styled. How she got ready so fast blew his mind.

  “Y-You look wonderful,” Atticus said.

  Camila blushed and said, “You don’t look too bad yourself, Mr. Detective.”

  The two smiled at one another and made their way to the theater.

  *****

  The Magister Theater was the grand king of all movie theaters in the city. Unlike most others which had only one or two auditoriums, the
Magister sported eight large auditoriums, each showing a different movie at all hours of the day.

  The exterior was everything you’d expect from a Las Vegas movie theater, with enough bright lights to completely illuminate the sky. Posters for all the shows were garnished with plasma tubes to make them really stick out and draw attention. A gold and blue arch covered the entrance and ticket booth, and a long red carpet lead all the way into the theater.

  After buying their tickets, Atticus and Camila made their way inside to the lobby. Eight different halls lead to the eight different auditoriums, and in the very center of the room was a giant circular concessions booth. The smell of popcorn littered the air; buttered, burn, and everything in between. On the ceiling was a mural of airships sailing across the starry sky.

  The two made their way to their auditorium and Camila found them some seats that were close enough to the front where you wouldn’t miss any action, but far enough back so you wouldn’t hurt your neck. They say down and after a few minutes the lights began to dim for the pre-show.

  Everything was perfect, Atticus thought. Nothing was going wrong. But, that wore off when Atticus felt a sharp tinge run down his spine. The Ghost was near.

  Immediately, Atticus tensed up. Did he put himself and Camila in danger? His body froze and his heart began to pound violently against his chest. Despite the darkness of the theater, Camila recognized something was wrong.

  “Atticus, what’s the matter?”

  “N-Nothing,” he lied. “I just need to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

  As he was about to stand up, Camila pressed her hand on his. For just a moment, Atticus felt his fear melt away.

  “Please, are you sure?” Atticus could see she was worried about him. He wanted to tell her something, but he didn’t know what. The truth? Would she believe him?

  Maybe it was all just date anxiety.

  Atticus shook his head and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll be right back.”

  He got up and shuffled his way to the bathroom. He splashed his face with cold water and tried to make sense of why he was feeling so afraid. He told himself that there was nothing to be afraid of, that in a public place filled with so many people he didn’t need to be afraid of the Ghost attacking.

  Atticus stared down at the sink; the water dripped from his face. He reached for a towel, but again he felt the sharp tingle and froze up. He looked up and in the reflection of the mirror, behind him, he saw the same cloaked figure staring at him, its piercing green eyes unwavering. It was almost as if it’d just appeared from nowhere.

  Atticus turned around so fast he nearly slipped and fell to the ground.

  “W-Who are you,” he asked. The Ghost was silent. Atticus wanted to scream, but no sound came out. He felt so powerless. There was no bravery he could possibly muster up.

  “What d-do you want?” Still, the Ghost didn’t respond. It made a step towards him.

  Atticus jumped back. “What did you do to the professor?”

  The Ghost stopped in its tracks, its eyes still glued on Atticus. Clearly, it didn’t expect him to bring that up. The Ghost looked down for just a moment, which snapped Atticus out of his paralysis. He used every last bit of willpower he had to bolt out of the restroom and out of the theater.

  He turned around and looked inside. Nobody seemed to be phased by anything. It was strange, but Atticus didn’t dare run back in. But, what about Camila? He had to tell her what was going on. But, the Ghost was after him. It didn’t care about her. Atticus figured the best thing he could do to keep her safe would be to get as far away as possible as he could.

  There was only one place Atticus thought he’d be safe: the police station. He needed to speak with Detective McCloud now more than ever.

  Chapter 11

  When Atticus arrived at the station, he was drenched in sweat and beyond exhausted. He’d just ran in a desperate attempt to hopefully save his own skin, but Camila’s as well. He darted through the doors and up to the receptionist who probably thought he was being chased by a monster. The receptionist was an older woman, probably in her mid to late forties. As Atticus approached, she looked at him with wide eyes.

  “I need…detective…McCloud,” he wheezed. His face was red and his heart felt like it was going to explode any minute.

  “Son, what’s the matter? What’s happened,” the receptionist bolted around her desk and tried to help, but Atticus just battered her away.

  “Detective…need help!” The receptionist wasn’t helping. Her heart was in the right place, and she’d probably been instructed on what to do in similar situations, but it wasn’t what Atticus needed. He just needed to speak with Detective McCloud.

  “Please, I’m…fine,” he said. “I just need…talk with the detective.”

  “You man, I can’t let you speak to anybody unless you tell me your emergency.”

  How was Atticus supposed to tell this woman about his encounter with the Ghost? She’d probably think he was crazy or pulling some prank, but then again, she probably did already. He had to think of what Brock would say in a similar position.

  “I-I’m working with McCloud,” he said. “I’m his unofficial intern.”

  “Unofficial?”

  “Y-Yeah, I’m helping with the Nelson case.”

  The receptionist looked at him like he’d just said something in another language. “What case?”

  “M-Mike Nelson,” he said, “the Fortuna Prep murder from a few days ago.”

  “Young man, do you think this is some kind of joke,” she asked. “Lying about something like this is extremely disrespectful.”

  Atticus was at a loss for words. “W-What? No, I’m not-”

  “Young man, that’s enough,” said the receptionist. “There is no Nelson murder case.”

  Atticus’ heart sank. Detective McCloud wouldn’t let this drop. He knew there was something deeper going on.

  Just then, a familiar Scottish voice filled the room. “What seems to be the problem.”

  Atticus and the receptionist both jumped. As if out of nowhere, McCloud stood behind them wearing his fedora and black trench coat.

  “Hello, Mr. Whaelord,” he said. “What seems to be the matter?”

  “Mr. McCloud this boy says he wants to speak with you about the Fortuna Prep suicide,” the receptionist said. “He said something about it being a murder.”

  “Oh, did you find anything, lad?” The woman couldn’t believe what she’d heard. “You see, Mr. Whaelord here is my unofficial intern. He’s helping me solve the Nelson murder.”

  “But Detective McCloud, there is no Nelson murder. What’s going on?”

  The detective glared at her. For just a moment, the woman looked as if she went into a trance. She blinked and when she opened her eyes, they looked blank and lifeless. But a second later, she was back to normal and she excused herself.

  “Now, lad,” McCloud said, “let’s get down to business.”

  McCloud lead Atticus back to his office deep within the police station. Inside, he had dozens of books and files, a standard wooden desk decorated with small brass trinkets and knick-knacks as well as a name plate reading: Det. Connor McCloud. Dangling from the ceiling were several model airships that looked like children would play with.

  “Detective, shy didn’t the receptionist know about the case?”

  McCloud’s eyes shifted. “Well, the sad thing is: It’s not an official case. I’ve no proof apart from my speculations. As such, the station can’t treat it as official.”

  Atticus looked disheartened.

  “But,” McCloud chimed in, “there is nothing stopping me from investigating on my own time.”

  “So, do you have any leads,” Atticus asked.

  “Sadly, not right now. Working as both Zebulon’s investigator as well as the city’s has me a bit tied up.” McCloud smiled at Atticus. “That’s why I need you, lad. You’re my eyes and ears around the campus. So what’ve you got for me? You wouldn’t have come
here for nothing.”

  Atticus explained everything he knew to the detective. He told him about Professor Varnum and the Nelsons, as well as his theory on the Ghost and how he appeared to him at the Magister Theater. The only details he left out were about the lockets and his nightmare.

  McCloud listened intently. He took every word Atticus said seriously. “So you’re sure this Ghost is the real deal?”

  Atticus nodded. “I saw it with my own eyes. It just appears and disappears.”

  Detective McCloud leaned back in his chair, carefully contemplating everything he’d heard. Atticus wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but he did notice the cogs in the detective’s brain working hard and fast.

  “And, you think your professor is involved in all of this?”

  Atticus nodded. “I know I shouldn’t have, but I did some snooping around his office this morning and I found a file hidden in his desk.”

  McCloud’s eyes flared up and he lurched forward. Atticus was afraid he may have said something bad, but the expression on the detective’s face was that of an excited puppy. “A file yeh say? What was in it?”

  “It, uh, had a really important looking document in it,” Atticus said. “I had a hard time reading it, but on the cover it said 10/1/3/11: I & E. Do you have any ideas what that means, detective?”

  The detective’s look shifted from excited to somber. He took a deep breath and reclined back in his chair slowly and asked: “Lad, have you ever heard of Mekanile?”

  Atticus shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Mekanile is a rogue group of criminals out to destroy the Zebulon Corporation.” McCloud closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “This Ghost of yours, as well as your professor, most likely work for them.”

  “How do you figure,” Atticus asked.

  “Lad, that document you found is most likely an ‘Invade & Execute’ order: I & E. It’s an espionage code to infiltrate a location and terminate a target. Numerous high powered organizations, even the Police and Zebulon, use that code.”