Spring-Heeled Jack (3 page)

“
That’s right,” he said.
“And you?”

“
S-Sir, I don’t know if you
remember, but my name is Atticus Whaelord, and I’d
been-”

“
Whaelord?” McCloud’s eyes
beamed with a strange sort of enthusiasm. “You’re the boy who’d
sent me all those intern letters, right?”

Atticus felt his body tremble. He was
in so much shock that his body didn’t know how to react. It was
such a strange mix of signals.

“
Y-Yes, sir, that was
me.”

McCloud smile but then his expression
turned solemn. “I’m sorry about your friend, son. I really
am.”

“
Detective,” Brock spotted
Atticus’ discomfort and sprang into action, “what
happened?”

McCloud looked around for any officers
in earshot. He wasn’t supposed to reveal any information with
civilians until he was given the clear. The last thing the police
wanted were rumors spreading around and mass hysteria because one
officer couldn’t keep from gossiping.

However, Detective McCloud wasn’t just
part of the police department; he was Zebulon’s head private eye,
and since the death took place on Zebulon property, he ordered to
Zebulon first.

“
Well, we don’t know much
yet,” he said. “Big chief thinks this was a suicide caused by
stress. Too much pressure for a kid so young, ya know?”

“
And you don’t think that,”
Atticus asked.

McCloud shook his head and said, “Not
one bit. This seems oddly suspicious to be just a suicide. I think
there is something greater at work here.” He looked around again,
keeping an eye out for anyone eavesdropping. “I don’t want to
startle ya, but to me this looks like a murder.”

Atticus’ eyes flared up. “Why do you
think that, detective?”

“
From what I’ve gathered,
the boy was a quiet one,” he said. “He didn’t stand out a whole
lot, so why would he go out and hang himself for all to
see?”

A wave of terror washed over Atticus.
The thought alone was too much for him. So many questions began to
pop into his head: Why would someone go after Mike? Did his family
have some connections with the mob? And then Atticus thought about
what Mike had asked him about the other night: if he believed in
ghosts?

Atticus paused for just a moment as
the thought lingered in his head. Mike was not the kind of guy to
believe in the supernatural. He believed in science, not magic; so
why would he suddenly fear a ghost?

Perhaps, Atticus thought, Mike was
trying to warn him. Perhaps this was just another one of their
puzzles that he needed to solve.

“
Detective,” Atticus said,
“I think you might be right.”

Brock snapped a look at him. “You
really think so, Atticus?”

He nodded.

McCloud smiled and pulled a fist full
of shredded paper from his pocket. “Another thing lad; it seems
your friend left behind a note, but as you can see it’s been torn
to bits. If this really was a suicide, why would he tear it
up?”

“
Detective,” Brock said, “I
don’t want to be rude, but this sounds just like a lot of
assumptions. Is there any concrete evidence?”

McCloud turned to Brock, his
expression a strange mixture between sour and flattery. “This is
still a very early investigation, my boy. As of now, assumption is
all we have to go on. But, once I get some fats under my belt, ya
bet I’ll be on it.”

Brock still didn’t seem so
sure.

As the two bickered, Atticus peered
past and stared at Mike. He wasn’t sure if his mind recognized that
Mike was gone or if this was all just a bad dream. He was so out of
it that he didn’t notice when an officer confronted him and asked
him to leave. McCloud tried to vouch for them, but it didn’t
matter. Students and staff were to evacuate the area as they
cleaned up.

Atticus just continued to stare. As
Brock yanked him back, he caught a glimpse of something dangling
from Mike’s belt loop. It was small, hanging from a tiny metal
chain. It was a brass pendant. As he stared, what he saw nearly
made his heart stop. Engraved on the pendant were two entwined
gears, just like Atticus’ locket.

His heart began to beat violently and
his breath began to stagger. That symbol was his parents’. One gear
his father, the other his mother, and where they entwined was
Atticus. When his parents gave him the locket, they said he’d never
be alone. It couldn’t just be a coincidence that Mike would have
the same locket as him. But, if Atticus wanted to be a detective,
he had to abolish the idea of coincidence.

Atticus snapped himself out of his
trance. “Pardon me detective, but could I see that
note?”

Everyone looked at Atticus.

McCloud shrugged and looked at the
tattered pieces of paper in his hand. “It seems a bit torn beyond
repair, but I think we could still use it in some way.” Atticus
felt his heart sink, but McCloud gave him a confident smile.
“However, I trust ya lad. If you think you can get somethin’ from
this, I believe ya.”

McCloud carefully held out the note.
Atticus anxiously grabbed it, making sure not to drop a single
shred.

“
T-Thank you very much,
detective.”

Atticus shook McCloud’s hand and
gestured at Brock to follow. He didn’t say anything, but Brock
recognized the look. It was a look that said “I need to show you
something important.” It was also the same look Atticus gave before
he went into his detective mode. Whenever Brock saw it, he knew
Atticus meant business.

*****

As the two burst into their dorm room,
Atticus scattered the confetti onto the ground. Brock gently closed
the door behind them before turning to his roommate.

“
Alright, Atticus, what’s
going on,” he asked.

“
I can help McCloud solve
this case.”

“
Case? What case? This isn’t
a murder.”

“
How can you say that,”
Atticus shouted. “Detective McCloud is right, and I can help prove
it!” Atticus lowered his head and began to assemble the shredded
note into a neat little pile. “Brock, I’m gonna show you something
I’ve never showed anyone before and I want you to promise that you
won’t freak out.”

“
Of course.” Brock knelt
down in front of the note. “What’s up?”

Atticus closed his eyes and
took a deep breath. He placed his right hand on top of the pile of
shredded paper. Nothing happened at first, but that changed rather
quickly. A fain chill came into the room and sent a shiver down
Brock’s spine. As Atticus opened his eyes, an image began to appear
on the back of his hand. At first it looked like a blue and gold
mess, but as the image came more and more into focus, Brock
realized it was the
Queen of Spades
out of a traditional deck of playing
cards.

Before Brock even had a chance to ask
any questions, the note slowly began to piece itself together. Each
of the shredded pieces lined up perfectly like a puzzle. In
seconds, the note had completely reassembled itself.

Brock was completely in awe. “Whoa!
What was that?”

Atticus shrugged. “I’m not
honestly sure. I don’t know where it came from or why I have it,
but as long as I can remember, the
Queen
of Spades
has always allowed me to fix
broken things.”

Brock was silent. He stared at the
newly reconstructed note in awe, and Atticus was afraid he’d made a
terrible mistake. He’d just shown his best friend this strange
supernatural power that not even he understood. He was afraid he’d
just scared away the only other person he had.

But he was wrong. A wide smile brimmed
across Brock’s face as he let out a hearty laugh. “That’s amazing!
You have a super power!”

Atticus felt so relieved. He was
afraid Brock might think he was some sort of crazy mutant or
wizard, but instead he was just his regular old self about
it.

“
So,” Brock said, “what’s
the note say?”

Atticus picked up the note and began
to read:

“
I’ve begun to fear this
ghost might be real. I normally wouldn’t believe in this, but I
just can’t shake the feeling that someone is always watching me.
I’ve been hearing its voice calling me and I think my mother might
have been right about the locket. I can’t leave my room or else
it’ll get me, but I have to risk it. I need to give Atticus my
locket.”

Atticus couldn’t believe what he’d
read. He reached into his pocket and gripped his locket tightly.
The cool metal helped calm him down. It gave him strength and
reminded him to be brave.

“
What locket,” Brock
asked.

Atticus pulled his from his pocket and
held it in front of him.

“
This locket,” he said.
“Mike needed to give me his.”

Brock looked confused, so Atticus
tried to explain as best he could. He tried to tell him about his
parents and the symbol of the entwined gears, but Brock just
continued to look confused.

“
I need to get Mike’s
locket. I don’t know why, but he needed me to have both of
them.”

“
But, why?”

Atticus shrugged. He didn’t have an
idea, but that’s what he needed to find out.

He looked down at the
Queen of Spades
as it
slowly began to fade from his hand. He didn’t know what was going
on, but he had to do something. Anything would be better than just
sitting around. His emotions were getting the better of him and his
thoughts were running a million miles an hour, but he had to
focus.

Atticus felt a fire burn deep down
inside of him. He was determined to do whatever he could to find
this ghost, and nothing was going to stand in his way.

The next morning, Brock woke up to the
seven o’clock bell. He groggily rolled out of bed and tried to slap
the sleepiness out of his system. He jumped to his feet and began
to slowly trudge his way to the bathroom. As he walked, he noticed
Atticus had already up and left for the day. Brock could never
understand how Atticus, or anybody else for that matter, could wake
up and get moving so early. Bed was such a cozy and warm sanctuary.
Why would anyone ever want to leave that, he thought.

After he’d finished his daily cleaning
regimen, Brock got himself dressed in his Fortuna Prep uniform,
picked up his school bag and started to make way for class. But, he
felt like something was all wrong. He made one last check around
the room and saw that Atticus’ school bag was still sitting on his
bed. It wasn’t like him to forget that.

Brock wasn’t the best student in the
psychology department, but he recognized abnormal behavior. It
didn’t take a genius to see how badly Atticus was hurting. Brock
decided the best thing to do would be to get Atticus to talk. Even
if it was just something small, anything would help him.

He picked up the bag and made his way
out. Brock knew Atticus well enough to know he didn’t forget his
bag on accident.

Atticus sat silently on a bench at the
campus’ western park staring at Mike’s tree. As other students
walked by, he overheard them talking about the supposed suicide.
News spread like wildfire that it was all self-inflicted and that
there were no outside forces at work. They said he most likely had
too much stress piled on his shoulders.

Students decided to call it “Hangman’s
Tree” almost as if it was some sightseeing attraction; it was like
they saw Mike’s death as just some urban legend or ghost story to
tell around Halloween.

Riddles littered Atticus’ head. He
still had so many that he wanted to share, but he knew the rules:
he had to solve Mike’s first before it was his turn, and Mike left
him with a doozy this time around. Not that it mattered much
anyway. Atticus would never get a chance to tell him any that he’d
thought up or kept on backlog:

“
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.