Spring-Heeled Jack (4 page)

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 his 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.”

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.