Spring-Heeled Jack

by Wyll Andersen

  “H-How’d you two find me,” he asked.

  “We’ll share stories later,” Brock shouted. He weaseled his way out of McCloud’s grasp and ran up to help Camila bring Atticus to his feet. Together, the three fled the room, but Atticus could hear McCloud let out another wail of anger. A wave of adrenaline rushed through him, and despite all of his injuries, he was able to pull his own wait in the escape, not having to rely on Camila and Brock carrying him.

  Camila lead the way, thanks to her incredible memory. She was able to guide them perfectly through the basement. They didn’t make any attempts to try and shake McCloud; they simply made a mad dash to the exit. Every now and again, Atticus would peak over his shoulder and make sure McCloud wasn’t on their tail, but in doing so, he accidentally ran past his friends and bumped head first into a strange man standing within the darkness.

  At first, Atticus feared that it was McCloud who’d somehow gotten in front of them, but thankfully that was not the case. Instead, standing before them was a man with jet black hair wearing a long black and white leather trench coat, black gloves, and a pair of dark sunglasses. Despite getting bumped into, the man didn’t seem to notice the three kids, almost as if he was specifically waiting for Detective McCloud.

  “W-Who are you,” Atticus asked.

  The man looked down at Atticus and smiled, but before he could say anything, McCloud arrived and froze in terror.

  “I-It can’t be,” McCloud said. “You’re dead! I killed you!”

  “Long time, McCloud,” the man said. The card shark pushed past the three, putting himself between them and the detective. “Perhaps Zebulon needs a new assassin.”

  McCloud gave a sly smile and the Jack of Clubs began to glow. “Well, alive or dead, it doesn’t matter. It looks like I’ll just have to bury you personally this time.”

  His body began to disappear just like before, and Camila let out a loud gasp.

  Brock looked at Atticus and said, “H-He has a mark just like you!”

  “Yeah, I’m aware,” he said.

  Camila looked at the two. “J-Just like you?”

  “Be quiet,” the card shark shouted. His gaze was unwavering. “McCloud is just a one trick pony. Once you know his trick, he isn’t so scary.”

  The card shark took a step back and made a quick jab forward. To Atticus and the others, it looked like a shot in the dark, but a thud was heard along with a squeal of pain from McCloud. He began to reappear, blood streaming down his nose as he backed away.

  Then, the card shark reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked to be a metallic playing card. “I wonder McCloud,” he said, “are you a fan of card tricks?”

  With a flick of his wrist, the man shot the card straight at McCloud. With perfect precision, the card spun through the air and slashed the detective’s left eye. McCloud let out a blood curdling scream and staggered back, glaring viciously glaring at the card shark with his one good eye. His hands were plastered to his injury.

  The card shark snapped his fingers and the bloodied card behind McCloud began to wobble before soaring through the air back into the card shark’s hand.

  “I’ll take that as a no.” The card shark flicked his wrist again and fanned out four new cards behind the first. “I’ve been practicing for this very moment, McCloud. Do you like it?”

  “You’re just lucky,” McCloud growled. Blood continued to drip down his face as he backed into the darkness. “Next time, I’ll kill you and make sure you stay dead.” The Jack of Clubs shined brightly on his hand as he disappeared into the darkness. Though he was invisible, the blood dripping from his eye left a feint trail through the hall.

  The three students stood in awe of the strange man who’d just saved them from the two-faced assailant.

  The card shark slipped the cards into his pocket and turned to face the three. He smiled and asked, “Are you kids alright?”

  “I guess,” Atticus said. He looked to his friends who looked just as confused as he was.

  “Who are you,” Camila asked.

  The man adjusted his sunglasses. He then reached into his coat and pulled out a necklace with a pendant that revealed two overlapping gears.

  “Mekanile,” Atticus said.

  “That’s correct. I am the captain of The Mekanile,” the man said. “My name is Ace.”

  “W-What do you mean ‘Captain’ of the Mekanile,” Atticus asked.

  Ace smirked and slid the necklace back into his coat. “The Mekanile, Atticus,” he said, “is a ship.”

  “Hold on, what’s going on,” Camila shouted. “What’s with all the cards? Why did McCloud want to kill Atticus? And what’s with the mark on his hand?” She turned to Atticus and said, “Why did Brock say ‘Just like you?’”

  Ace held up his hand and said, “Hush now, young lady. Too many questions can fluster someone.” He turned to Atticus “Why don’t you answer her question first.”

  Atticus didn’t feel comfortable showing Camila his Queen of Spades, but he figured that she deserved to know. He held out his hand and the mark appeared, glowing a bright blue.

  Camila was in shock. She held her own hands to her chest and she looked like she looked like she’d just seen a ghost.

  Brock chimed in and said, “Hey Atticus, do you think your Queen can heal your face a bit?”

  Atticus smiled. “It’s worth a shot.”

  He placed his hand to his nose and the Queen of Spades began glowing. At first, he didn’t feel anything, but then Atticus felt a sensation like none he’d ever imagined. The cartilage in his nose began to pop and crackle back into place, his eye swelling began to dwindle down, and the color began to return to his face. But, it’d exhausted him almost as much as restoring the automaton did.

  Atticus nearly collapsed, but Ace caught him. “Careful there, son. Using your power too much without understanding it can really take it out of ya.”

  Atticus looked up and suddenly he realized that he still knew nothing about the man and shook himself out of his grip. “Enough beating around the bush,” he shouted. “What is this mark, and why do I have it?”

  “That, kid,” Ace said, “is a Gambler’s Crest: a magical mark that grants its user phenomenal power depending on the face it represents.”

  “Magic?” Atticus normally didn’t believe in the supernatural, but looking down at his Queen of Spades, knowing that it could magically repair broken objects, as well as thinking about McCloud’s Jack of Clubs turning him invisible, magic didn’t seem quite so farfetched.

  “Yeah, magic,” Brock said. “That makes sense. Now, why don’t you explain to us why McCloud wanted to Kill Atticus.”

  “That is not something we should discuss here,” Ace said. “Besides, Atticus can explain it to you just as well as I could.”

  “What? No, you have to answer my questions,” Atticus ordered. “If you’re really with Mekanile-”

  “Don’t worry, Atticus,” the man said. “We will meet again. Of that, I know for certain. But for now, I need you three to get out of here.” And then, with the snap of his fingers, a flash of light blinded the three. Then, when they came too, the man was gone and they were huddled together within the custodial closet.

  The three arrived back at the cafeteria just as the chaos was beginning to disperse. Police officers and paramedics had arrived on the scene, helping those who were injured as well as questioning those in good condition. Atticus half expected to see Detective McCloud on the scene.

  A group of officers asked the three to take a seat and wait for permission to leave, and they figured it would be best not to argue. None of them said anything for a long while. They just waited in silence for the storm to blow over.

  Despite getting the tar beaten out of him, Atticus saw that Camila looked the worst of the bunch. She kept looking at Atticus’ hands and then back at her own. His mark had long vanished, but she kept staring.

  “Hey, are you gonna be okay,” Atticus asked.

  “Yeah, I’ll be
fine,” she said weakly.

  He reached out and held her hand in his. He didn’t know why he did it, but it felt like the right thing to do. Hers was so much colder than his own.

  “I need you to promise me that you won’t tell anyone about it, okay?”

  She nodded, blood rushing to her cheeks. “Of course.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “Y’know, I still owe you a movie.”

  Camila laughed and gave him a smile. “That sounds wonderful.”

  Chapter 19

  A week passed since the charity event, and for the most part, everything went back to normal. Classes went on as scheduled and students went on with their normal lives. Atticus had explained to Brock and Camila what happened with McCloud and how Zebulon wanted his locket. He tried to explain everything as best he could, but he still didn’t have all the information, so there were plenty of questions they all shared.

  Professor Varnum had long since disappeared from the school. According to police reports, the professor confessed to being Mike Nelson’s killer and then staging the whole event in a desperate attempt to further his career. He refused to give the names of any accomplices. An interview with the Las Vegas police said that Detective McCloud saw the professor fleeing from the scene during the charity event and quickly apprehended him. Unfortunately, in the scrap, the detective suffered a terrible injury to his eye.

  The paper also mentioned Atticus by name. Apparently, McCloud had cited him as a critical factor in discovering Varnum’s identity. “Without Whaelord,” McCloud was quoted, “the murder would’ve, without a doubt, gone unsolved.”

  A rather back handed comment, Atticus thought. The murder wasn’t solved. McCloud was the real killer, and he got to walk away scot-free; Varnum simply took his place. But all that being said, Atticus had never been more popular at school. His peers praised him as a real detective. Even popular students like Justin Drasken heralded him as a hero. No matter where he went on campus, students would always stop and talk to him like he was some sort of school celebrity.

  Everybody thought everything was wonderful, except for Atticus. He’d solved the mystery, but he couldn’t expose the truth. The only who actually knew the truth were he, Brock, and Camila and none of them had the authority to claim McCloud was the real killer.

  However, somethings did get brighter. Atticus and Camila finally got to see their movie together. In fact, the two had seen a lot of each other since the incident. The two had study sessions nearly every day after class. Of course, they didn’t need to study, but it made a good excuse to see one another.

  One night, as Atticus lay asleep, he had a familiar dream. He was back in the nothingness. It was completely silent, and he was alone. He began to fear what he might see. He feared that he’d get another vision and see one of his friends getting attacked by McCloud, but that wasn’t the case. Instead, it was much worse.

  Again, he heard the rustic squeak of the bike chain. He looked all around, but there was no sign of the Gray Man anywhere. He wanted to run, but he held himself back. He wasn’t going to be afraid of a dream ever again, he told himself. He’d fought, and almost got killed by, Detective McCloud; there was nothing his mind could do to scare him anymore.

  He was wrong.

  From the shadows of the abyss, the Gray Man appeared riding his old broken down bicycle. His appearance frightened Atticus more than it ever had before. Nothing about the man was different. He still had leathery gray skin and wore his ragged old tuxedo; but his cheshire grin and pure white eyes were even more awful. In the blackness, the man’s teeth and eyes were blinding.

  “You’VE dONe well, mR. WhaELOrd.”

  Atticus was frozen. His mouth went dry and he couldn’t even muster up a scream.

  The man laughed his horrible cackle of a laugh. “HOw fuNNy! DEspITe EveRYthiNg you’VE bEeN ThrOuGH, facing mY favorite AsSAssiN, YOU sTIll cower BeFORe little oL’ ME.”

  Hearing the man’s voice smacked some sense back into Atticus. “W-What do you mean your assassin? You mean McCloud?”

  The Gray Man stared with his blank eyes; a gaze far worse than anything he’d experienced with McCloud. “ThaT iS ExACtlY WhAt i said, bOY. mCclOud woRKs fOR Me. I control hIm. i Give hIM every oRDer AND He foLLows without fAil.”

  “Y-You’re The Master,” Atticus said. “The one he and the others all talked about.”

  “It lOOks LiKE wE hAvE a wINNer,” the Gray Man said. “yeS, I aM the MAsTer oF ZeBUlon, aND SoOn, thE conQUeRoR oF tHIs mEASly WorLD.”

  Atticus tried to force himself awake, but to no avail.

  The Gray Man found that quite amusing. “WhAT’s tHe mATteR, BoY? You hAvE The GranD ArchITect of AlL Your PaIN BEforE yOU, aNd yoU doN’t Even wANT tO QUEstIon me? WhaT KINd of dETectiVe aRe yoU?” The man laughed, and then resumed. “ThiS IS yOuR head, AtTICus. You cALl thE Shots.”

  “Shut up,” Atticus snapped. “You want questions? Fine! Tell me who you really are!”

  The Gray Man hushed up and his smile faded. He hobbled off of his rusty old bicycle and stood, hunched over, on his own two feet. Then, dark purple light began to glow from the back of his hand. A Gambler’s Crest, Atticus remembered Ace had said, but he couldn’t make out the shape.

  Then, the dark purple light changed into a familiar blue, and the shape on his hand became much more visible: The Queen of Spades. The darkness began to swirl around the man like smoke, and his wicked smile returned. His skin began to change from gray to a more human-like tan, and his greasy black groomed itself and changed to a pale blond. The tattered old tuxedo he wore transformed into a charcoal suit jacket with a black tie and vest. He also became much, much younger. Whereas before, he was ancient, afterwards he looked like he was in his early thirties. However, his blank white eyes and pearly grin remained exactly the same.

  It was hard to believe the man standing before Atticus was the same Gray Man from before. He stood straight up, his posture was perfect. He had an aura about him that demanded the spot light. Atticus thought that if the man was in the circus, he’d have no trouble being the ringleader. But, there was something horribly familiar about him. Atticus recognized him from somewhere.

  And then it dawned on him: he had seen the man before. He’d seen pictures of him in his history books and in the papers, and a large portrait of him hung in the Zebulon Headquarters.

  “My name,” he said, “is Yliaster Zebulon.”

  The man let out one final squeal of laughter and the dark smoke around him shot out and grabbed hold of Atticus. He tried to fight it off, but it dragged him deep into the abyss. For a moment, Atticus thought he might be trapped in his own dream and that waking up would be impossible. As the smoke dragged him deeper in deeper into the darkness, Atticus looked up and saw Yliaster staring down at him. He heard the words, “So Say I,” ring through the darkness and then everything went black.

  Atticus thought he was dead, but luckily, he realized he’d just woke up face first in his pillow. He rolled over, his face covered in sweat, and looked over at Brock who was passed out on his bed. He continued to roll over onto his back and stare up at the ceiling. Yliaster Zebulon, the Gray Man called himself. It couldn’t have been the same Yliaster who founded the Zebulon Corporation, Atticus thought.

  Regardless, Atticus couldn’t go back to sleep. His heart was racing too fast and his head was pushing out thousands of thoughts a second.

  He snuck out of his dorm, making sure not to wake up Brock, and made his way back to Mike’s tree. He’d found his murder, like he’d promised, and he even got a little bit of insight about the lockets; but now another mystery was on his hands.

  Finally, for the first time since Mike’s death, Atticus cried. He didn’t want to, he hated crying, but he just couldn’t help it. He’d lost one of his best friends to the man who he always thought was a great man. Not only that, but the same man was responsible for the disappearances of his parents. This entire time, he’d hoped that they just went missing and that one day he’d find them. He w
ould be their hero.

  Atticus sat down at the base of the tree and tried to dry his eyes. He tried to think of those who made him happy: Brock and Camila, Principal Shepard and Professor Banner; but then his mind began drifting off to Ace, the strange man who saved him and called himself the “Captain of the Mekanile.”

  As he sat thinking, Atticus felt an all too familiar tug in his stomach. The sensation came from behind the tree.

  Atticus bolted up to his feet. “Who’s there?”

  “No need to be afraid, Atticus,” a voice said. “It’s just me.”

  Atticus recognized the Voice. From the shadows emerged a man with a white trench coat and a pair of black sunglasses: Ace.

  “W-What are you doing here?”

  Ace smiled and said, “It’s been a while since our last meeting. I think now would be a good time to talk.”

  Atticus nodded. “Good, because I have a lot of questions.”

  “As one would imagine. Ask away.”

  “First things first;” Atticus reached into his pocket and pulled out the locket. “Why does McCloud want this so badly?”

  “Yes, the locket,” Ace said. His gaze shifted up to the sky. “Zebulon has plans, Atticus, to destroy everything we hold dear, and they need the lockets to do so.”

  “And that’s why my parents founded Mekanile,” he said. “To stop them.”

  Ace nodded and said, “Your parents gave up much, but they did it because they loved you. If Zebulon goes unopposed, then everyone will be at risk.”

  Atticus thought that sounded too ridiculous to be true. Why would the Zebulon Corporation want to “destroy everything” like Ace said? And why would they need his locket?

  “W-What’s Zebulon’s plan?”

  “A little over ten years ago,” Ace said, “Zebulon developed the most powerful weapon to ever touch the Earth. It was the weapon that singlehandedly ended the Second World War: Bahamut, the Sky Ziggurat. They want to conquer the world, and using Bahamut, Zebulon will crush anyone who opposes them.”