He gave a thumbs up and said, “Be careful,” and then went off to go help calm the storm.
Chapter 17
Atticus realized it looked pretty strange running away from the chaos and down a dark hallway but that didn’t cross his mind until later. Dozens of people surrounded him, trying to stop him, but he just pushed past. He was the only one who knew where The Jack had taken Varnum.
He darted to the closet and found the trapdoor still open. He distinctly remembered slamming it, so he knew for a fact that someone was hiding down there. He climbed down the ladder and descended back into the maze. And that’s when his adrenaline wore off and the fear really hit him. He realized that he was in way over his head, and he was in serious danger. He stared up the ladder and thought the smartest thing to do would be to climb back up and hide, but he had to be brave.
He thought about what Dr. Nelson had said: “All this time you were right here!” Atticus wanted to know what he meant. How did he know his parents? Was Dr. Nelson looking for him? He’d never know if he ran and hid.
The hallways were just as dark as before; the faint glow of plasma tubes barely lit anything. Atticus felt horribly uneasy as he traveled through the long labyrinthine halls. Before, he wasn’t looking for anything in particular; he was just exploring, but now he knew The Jack could be anywhere, stalking him the darkness, and that scared him even more.
After a few minutes of stumbling through the darkness, Atticus heard muffled crashes and yells echoing through the halls. He followed the sounds, it guiding him through the maze until he eventually came across the same metal door as before. It was tightly shut, and he didn’t dare try and sneak a peek. On the other end, he could hear three different voices: two men and a woman.
Atticus recognized the professor’s whimpering terrified pleas right away. The woman’s was elegant and graceful, yet harsh: Pearl Nelson. He didn’t know why she was with Varnum, but he feared the worst. The entire time he was suspecting her husband, but it seemed that she was the one who wanted her son dead. But why?
The last voice, Atticus could only assume, was The Jack. It sounded familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
He knelt down and placed his eye up to the crack under the door, desperately trying to catch a peak. He was right about all of the participants: Varnum, Pearl, and The Jack. As best he could see, Professor Varnum was whimpering on the ground, his glasses broken, and several cuts and bruises covered his body. Pearl looked completely unharmed and unafraid. The Jack, meanwhile, had his back to both of them. Atticus couldn’t see his face.
“Please, sir,” Varnum begged, “I did my best. There’s no way the boy knows the truth!”
“You went against The Master’s orders,” the assassin shouted. His voice was cold and vicious. “You were to retrieve Whaelord’s locket and because of your carelessness, he almost got away.”
Atticus felt a knot forming in his stomach. His entire body told him to run, get help, and let the police handle everything, but he knew better.
“The Master hired you, gave you power, because he thought you’d be the right man for the job,” he yelled, “but, you’re just a coward who is afraid of a schoolboy!”
“I swear, sir,” Varnum said quivering, “it’s not the boy I’m afraid of. He’s a smart one. Much smarter than we-”
“He’s a boy,” Pearl butted in. “He’s no smarter than the other brat. Why not just kill him too?”
Atticus couldn’t believe what he’d heard. Pearl was completely okay with Mike’s death. He felt his heart pumping faster and faster, and started breathing harder. He had to hold his mouth shut out of fear that the three would hear him.
“The Master commanded me with keeping him alive,” the Ghost said. “The plan was to have the infiltrator steal the locket and bring it to me, then we’d get the boy to follow us.”
Pearl looked at Varnum and sneered. “It looks like The Master was wrong about your abilities.”
Varnum got up off the ground and said, “The Master is never wrong. I kept the boy off both your tails, didn’t I?” He then turned his attention towards The Jack. “Besides, you almost killed the boy with that automaton of yours.”
The Ghost lashed out at Varnum, striking him across the face and sending him sprawling across the floor. “Do not dare accuse me of failure, you little dobber! I’ve always had the boy under my thumb!”
Atticus’ heart beat faster and faster.
The Jack turned his back to his cohorts and laughed under his breath. “Zebulon will not tolerate your failures, Varnum. But, I do commend you on leading the boy right to me.”
“W-What do you mean,” Varnum asked.
“We have ourselves a little eavesdropper.” He turned to the door and his piercing green gaze shot right where Atticus was peaking.
Instantly, Atticus bolted up to his feet and made a mad dash back into the darkness. His heart was beating a mile a minute and now it seemed even harder for him to see. From behind, he heard the door fling open and the Ghost quickly barreled towards him. Atticus ran as fast as his legs would carry him, but it wasn’t enough. The Jack bounded down the hall and caught up to him in almost instantly.
Atticus knew he couldn’t outrun the assassin, at least, not naturally. He’d have to debilitate him in some way. The speed at which the assassin ran couldn’t be easy to control, Atticus thought, and as a result it should be pretty easy to trip him up. It was a stretch, but he had to go with it.
As they ran, he felt The Jack graze his collar and Atticus collapsed to the ground like a little ball. Luckily enough, Atticus’ plan worked out, and The Jack tripped over him, sending him toppling to the ground. Atticus felt a sharp pain in his back, but he was much too afraid to let it stop him. The assassin, on the other hand, fell head first into the wall.
Swiftly, Atticus jumped back up and dashed down a different hallway. He tried to remember which way lead up and out of the basement, but he was so completely lost in the darkness. He made a quick look over his shoulder and heard the Ghost in the distance bellow in rage. Atticus used his little bit of time to try and find a hiding spot as best he could, but there wasn’t much to work with. The halls felt like they literally trailed on forever.
Finally, he found a room deep in the halls. Atticus looked behind him and The Jack was nowhere in sight. He slipped into the room and closed the door behind him as fast as he could. The room looked to be a storage room of some kind. Boxes and crates were stacked on top of one another into giant mounds, containing what looked like tools and mechanical supplies, and tables were littered with other smaller cardboard boxes, which Atticus could only assume contained more tools and such. And it was dark. Never in Atticus’ life had he been more excited to hide in the dark.
He huddled himself into a corner behind a mountain of crates and waited. He didn’t know what he waiting for, or for how long; he just waited. It felt like an eternity. His heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest, and he didn’t think he’d be able to get enough air into his lungs. Never in his life had Atticus felt more hopeless and more afraid.
He waited in the darkness for only about five minutes before he heard the door creak open. Slow footsteps echoed through the room.
Atticus wasn’t going to let the assassin get him without a fight. Maybe, just maybe, he could catch him off guard, knock him out, and get away; or maybe that would get him killed. Either way, he wasn’t going to just sit around. But, he had to be patient. He needed to wait until the Ghost wasn’t expecting it.
The footsteps continued, but eventually they stopped and Atticus heard the door click shut. The Ghost was still in the room. He knew it, but Atticus had to be sure. He peaked through a small crack in the crates and saw that the room was empty. He feared that maybe The Jack was also hiding, trying to lure him into a false sense of security.
He waited a few minutes. Still nothing.
Atticus slowly peaked his head over the crates and looked around in full view. His eyes had grown a
ccustomed to the darkness, and while it was still tough to see details, it was much easier to see the big picture. There was no one. Atticus was completely alone. He stood up and climbed over the crates, but then he felt something around his neck.
Something began strangling him, and Atticus instantly started panicking. He reached out and felt something holding him, but there was nothing there. Then, Atticus felt himself getting lifted up and hurled across the room, sending boxes, crates, and their innards flying everywhere.
He gripped his neck, gasping for breath as he tried to clamber to his feet. Atticus looked all around, but there was no one in the room.
But from the darkness, Atticus saw a bright green light coming from the darkness. It was almost blinding from being in the darkness for so long, but he recognized it. It was the same light from his dream: The Jack of Clubs.
As the light filled the room, Atticus saw the assassin begin to materialize out of thin air. He looked at the man’s hand, and then up to his piercing green eyes, his face still masked by his hood.
“There’s no need to hide your face anymore,” Atticus said. “I know it’s you, Detective McCloud.”
The assassin let out a sinister laugh. He removed his hood and just as Atticus had said, standing before him draped in his ghastly cloak, was the detective he’d so looked up to.
“Well done, lad,” McCloud said with his crooked grin. “You’re smarter than I thought.”
Atticus was at a loss for words. “I don’t understand. What’s going on?”
“So many questions that don’t matter anymore,” he said. “The only thing that you need to do now is to give me that locket.”
Atticus reached into his pocket and gripped his locket tightly. It was what started it all, and for just a moment, he wished he’d never gotten involved at all. He pulled it from his pocket and dangled it by the chain.
“This locket,” he said, “was a gift from my parents. Why does it have the mark of Mekanile as you said?
McCloud scoffed under his breath. “Why? Why do you think? Because your parents were the leaders of the Mekanile!”
“If that’s true,” Atticus said, “then what happened to them?”
“Simple, lad,” McCloud said. “I killed them.”
Chapter 18
Atticus felt his heart sink. He couldn’t believe what he’d heard. He wanted to believe it was all a dream and that he’d wake up any minute. McCloud couldn’t have been telling the truth, but there was no denying it. He was awake, and he’d finally found the answer he’d been looking for.
“I hate to be the bad guy here,” McCloud taunted, “but the lockets are the rightful property of Zebulon. I was just doing my job.”
“So you killed my parents? And Mike?”
“One at a time,” McCloud smiled and said. “Pearl tried to convince him to throw it away. She said it was cursed, possessed by a ghost or some nonsense. But, the boy wasn’t a believer; so I had to make him one. Do you think it worked?”
Atticus couldn’t believe how little McCloud cared about killing someone. He thought the man had some morality, but there were a lot of things Atticus apparently didn’t know about the detective. He felt so betrayed. All this time, he’d looked up to the man as a hero, and now he’d come face to face with the man who’d taken his parents.
He’d never felt more enraged in his entire life. The entire time, he’d believed his parents had gone missing. His whole life he’d planned to attend university, become a detective, and find where his parents had vanished. But now he had his answer.
McCloud held out his hand. “Now, give me the locket so I don’t have to kill you too, lad.”
“You can’t kill me,” Atticus said. “You said it yourself: you have orders to keep me alive.”
McCloud shrugged and said, “I may not be able to kill you, but that doesn’t mean I can’t leave you on Death’s doorstep.” McCloud took a step forward. “Now give me the locket, Whaelord.”
Atticus was silent. He looked down at the locket in his hand and told himself: No matter what happened, he would never give it up. He slipped it back into his pocket.
“If you want it McCloud, you’ll need to take it from me.”
McCloud shook his head in disgust. “Don’t try and act so brave, lad. I know how much of a scared little brat you are.” Atticus didn’t say a word. “I saw how quickly you fled from me when I found you in the theater. You froze in terror every time my gaze met yours!”
“It’s always scarier when you don’t know the answer,” Atticus said. “Just like the dark. Once you know what’s inside, it’s not as scary.”
McCloud sneered and said, “You think you know what lurks in the dark, lad? You have no idea.” He held up his right hand and the Jack of Clubs glowed a bright green. “So say I, the Jack of Clubs!”
Just then, before Atticus’ eyes, McCloud began to slowly disappear, almost as if the darkness was bending around him, starting from his hands and feet until he was completely invisible.
A cold hand gripped Atticus’ collar and pinned him back to the wall. McCloud began to savagely beat him into a bloody pulp, and Atticus was completely powerless to stop him. He wasn’t a fighter to begin with, but when he couldn’t even see his opponent, he was in even worse shape. Whenever he tried to raise his arms to defend himself, or struggle away, McCloud was able to strike where he least expected. Atticus tasted blood in his mouth; and with every blow, he felt the air rushing out of his lungs.
McCloud let go, and Atticus collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. Everything around him was spinning.
“Save yourself the struggle, lad,” the detective said. But, Atticus didn’t listen. He slowly began staggering to his feet, but McCloud kicked him right back down. “You’re pathetic. At least your parents put up a fight.”
Atticus felt a knot form in his stomach. Normally, he would have felt afraid and perhaps even ashamed, but this time was different. Atticus was enraged, and he was ready to burst. He climbed up to his feet and grabbed hold of a long jagged slab of wood from one of the broken crates. McCloud kicked him back down, but that was exactly what Atticus wanted.
As soon as McCloud connected with him, Atticus hurled the slab as hard as he could where he knew the detective stood. A loud and satisfying “thunk,” rang through the room, and Atticus heard McCloud topple over and fall to the ground, reappearing for just a flash.
Grabbing another plank, Atticus bolted up to his feet, his new weapon at the ready. McCloud reappeared again, and Atticus saw a long bloody gash on the side of his head. He was dazed, and Atticus took that as a perfect opportunity to go on the offensive.
He channeled all of his rage and anger, lunging forward and striking the detective. After the first blow, he let out a second. Then a third. The rush of adrenaline kept him going. At first, it was a bit scary. Atticus felt he was losing all control, and he thought that he might actually kill McCloud. But then his rage grabbed hold and reminded him: “This man killed Mike! This man killed your parents! This man has caused you so much pain, and he deserves to die!”
Atticus didn’t let up. He was so overwhelmed with rage, nothing would’ve stopped him. However, McCloud was much tougher than Atticus gave him credit for. Despite his beating, McCloud was able to reach out and grab hold of Atticus’ weapon mid swing. It was then when Atticus saw the eyes of a true killer.
McCloud’s bright green eyes flared with more hate and more anger than Atticus ever thought possible. They were ruthless and looking at them, Atticus couldn’t believe that he ever believed the man to be kind or moral at all. His eyes were that of a caged beast, ready to lash out at its captors and devour them alive and screaming.
The assassin ripped the plank from Atticus’ hand, leaving him completely defenseless, and then lunged forward, landing a vicious punch to Atticus’ nose. The pain was so intense that it almost caused Atticus to pass out. He held on, but barely. His vision was fuzzy, and now he’d only made the beast inside McCloud angrier.
> McCloud then throttled Atticus with his left hand, making it nearly impossible for him to breath. He then let loose punch after punch to the boy’s face, leaving it bloodied and horribly bruised. Atticus felt his nose break and his left eye almost completely swell shut. Despite being in complete darkness, he saw flashes after every blow.
When McCloud was finally done pulverizing him, he dragged Atticus’ near unconscious body to the table at the center of the room, pinning him to it. Atticus could barely see anything, but he saw the fire burning in McCloud’s eyes and he knew that McCloud could see the terror and hopelessness in his own. The detective cocked back his right arm and the Jack of Clubs began to glow bright green.
McCloud sneered, blood trickling down his face. “You will beg for death!”
Just as he was about to strike, a laugh filled the room. Atticus thought he was going crazy, but he recognized the maniacal cackle of the Gray Man from his dream. But apparently, McCloud could hear the laugh as well, and it looked like it scared him far more than it did Atticus.
The detective’s hands began to tremble; his eyes lost their rage fueled flame. “M-Master?”
As the laugh subsided, Atticus’ Queen of Spades began to glow a bright and violent blue. Atticus wasn’t sure what was going on or why it was acting up on him again, but whatever the reason, it saved his life.
“Y-You’re a Gambler,” McCloud stammered.
Atticus didn’t know what he meant, but before McCloud could regain his senses, a dark body tackled into him and brought the assassin toppling to the ground. Atticus rolled off the table, gasping for air. He couldn’t believe he was still alive. His face was bloody and his whole body ached, but that didn’t matter.
Then, another shadow appeared in front of him; a girl wearing a pink dress: Camila.
“A-Atticus,” she said. She looked on the verge of tears.
He didn’t know what to say to her. He wanted to say he was alright, but that was obviously a lie. He wanted to reassure her that, yes, it was him, but his mind didn’t have time for jokes.
Spring-Heeled Jack Page 14
