Spring-Heeled Jack (5 page)

They swiftly packed up their things
and without a moment’s hesitation, they bolted out the door.
Atticus wanted to tell Brock about his dream. He figured Brock
would know something about psychoanalysis, being a psychology
student and all, but whenever he tried to say something, he got
shivers.

As the two walked across the
courtyard, they heard the loud purr of the plasma labs all the way
across campus. The clinks and clanks from the clockwork labs were
just as loud, as were the revving engines and the whistles of
steam. The school was just as bustling and busy as ever.

Fortuna Prep’s science department was
definitely its pride and joy. It was the most highly publicized
department as well as the most sought after. Students from across
the country with any desire to go into the sciences at all were
sent to Fortuna Prep for even the slightest chance to work for the
Zebulon Corporation. At Zebulon, everybody could be a somebody.
They were always in need of workers.

When Atticus and Brock reached the
main gate, they unfortunately bumped into their favorite history
professor: Varnum. He was wearing is standard tan suit and his dark
tinted glasses.

“
Well hello, Mr. Whaelord,”
he said. “Your insults just don’t stop: first you cheat on my exam
and now I find you skipping class? I should report you to Principal
Shepard and have you expelled!”

“
H-Hey, I didn’t cheat,”
Atticus mumbled. “You just need to make tougher exams.”

Atticus instantly reared back. He
didn’t mean to snap, but people assuming he was a cheat was a huge
peeve.

He couldn’t see it, but Atticus felt
the professor’s hateful gaze. “You think my exams are easy, do
you?”

Atticus felt his heart pound against
his chest. He wanted to butt in and argue, but he couldn’t find the
words. Luckily, Brock was there to bail him out once
again.

“
Well, he’s not wrong
professor. Not even I broke a sweat. Maybe you should raise the
difficulty on your tests after all. This is a private academy after
all.”

“
I wouldn’t sound so high
and mighty, Mr. Mackenzie,” said the professor. “You might change
your mind once you see your grade.” Varnum turned back to Atticus.
“So, where were you today, Mr. Whaelord? Any reason you didn’t send
your friend here with a note explaining your absence?”

Atticus didn’t want to lie, but he
didn’t have to tell the whole truth. He bit his lip and said, “I’m
sorry sir, but I wasn’t feeling very good today. I’m still kinda
torn up about Mike.”

“
Mike?” Varnum asked, “Who
are you talking about?”

“
Mike Nelson. He was
in-”

“
Oh, the boy who hung
himself? Right, very sad.”

The two students knew the professor
didn’t care. He was probably more upset that Mike skipped class
rather than his death.

“
Yeah, him,” Atticus said
glumly. “I felt sick this morning so I didn’t go to class all
day.”

“
And now you’re up and about
feeling just fine? All howdy-doody-doo? I see where your priorities
lie, Mr. Whaelord.”

“
Actually,” Brock chimed in,
“it was my idea that Atticus get some air. I thought it would help
clear his head.”

Slowly, the weight was lifting from
Atticus’ shoulders. He wasn’t a good liar under pressure and in the
presence of the professor he was even worse. If not for Brock, he
didn’t know what he’d do.

Varnum shifted his gaze from one boy
to the other. “Where are you two off then?”

“
The police station,”
Atticus blurted.

“
What? Why?”

Both Varnum and Brock looked at
Atticus with shock.

“
I-I need to speak with
detective McCloud,” Atticus said. “It’s for a summer
internship.”

At the mention of McCloud, Atticus
noticed a slight twitch on Varnum’s face.

“
Really? McCloud you say?”
The professor looked all around him as if saying something would
get him in trouble. “Well, then go ahead. I won’t stop you. I need
to get back to business anyway.”

Varnum shouted one final threat of
expulsion at Atticus, but it didn’t matter. Both students knew it
was just a hollow threat. As far as they cared, Varnum was just a
snooty professor with a severe case of bighead syndrome.

As he walked into the distance, Brock
turned to Atticus and said, “I don’t trust him. He left class not
to long before Mike’s body was found.”

Gears began to turn in Atticus’ head.
“He just left?”

Brock nodded. “He looked up at the
clock, I remember, and then declared he had to go ‘take care of
something.’ Then he came back about fifteen minutes later. Class
was totally confused.”

“
If that’s the case,” he
said, “then we have a suspect. You saw how he acted when I brought
up McCloud. Maybe he’s the killer?”

Brock shrugged. “I don’t know. We
don’t’ have anything solid to go on.”

“
But it’s a start,” Atticus
said. “Maybe he’s not the killer, but he’s involvedin some way. I
can feel it.”

Brock didn’t like assumptions, but if
that’s all they had then he couldn’t argue. What mattered to
Atticus, though, was that he finally something to go on.

*****

The city of Las Vegas was
breathtaking. When you live there you used to its majesty, but to
new eyes it was the greatest. It wasn’t a concrete jungle like New
York City or Chicago, but a beautiful landscape filled to the brim
with bright and flashing lights. Now, there were a few colossal
casinos, hotels, and skyscrapers; but the one that stood out above
the rest was the Zebulon World Headquarters. It was a mighty
building, standing over eight stories tall at the heart of the
city.

The Las Vegas night life was nothing
short of breathtaking either. Casinos lined the streets, filling
the city with lights and music. Students from Fortuna Prep, and
several other high schools, would always try and sneak out at night
to see the famous Las Vegas Strip. They were almost never
successful and most students didn’t want to risk getting caught so
late after curfew, but there were still the daredevils amongst the
schools.

To help get across the city in a
timely fashion, a company called the Las Vegas Skyway created the
skyrail network. To explain the skyrail one would imagine a large
subway system, but instead moving above the city’s skyline. The
skyrail covered the whole city and had dozens of shuttles moving
around at all times of the day. Far more effective than
busses.

The Police Station was a beautiful
work of Las Vegas architecture. It towered nearly three stories
tall, was made of smooth orange and gray concrete bricks, and was
riddled with windows placed in elegantly carved grooves. A large
staircase lead up to the station’s front entrance, and a bronze
plaque was posted next to the door that read:

LAS VEGAS METROPOLITAN
POLICE DEPARTMENT

IN MEMORIAM TO ALL THE
CIVILIANS OF THE BEAUTIFUL

CITY OF LIGHTS

HOME TO THE ZEBULON
CORPORATION

Atticus and Brock made their way into
the station and into the main reception area. At the back wall,
there was a small window with a young receptionist woman sitting
behind, filling out mounds of paperwork. To the left of the window
was a doorway leading to the heart of the station. The floor was a
glossy hardwood floor that gleamed in the light. Above them,
lighting the room, were patented Zebulon Corp Plasma Tubes. Said to
be cleaner and longer lasting than the traditional light bulb.
Atticus made his way up to the wooden counter and signaled the
receptionist for assistance.

“
How may I help you, young
man,” the woman asked.

“
Hello ma’am, I was curious
if anybody had turned in a brass locket recently? I lost mine
yesterday.”

The woman took out a small notepad and
pen and began to jot down notes. “Where do you think you might have
lost it?”

“
Fortuna Prep, near the west
park.” The woman looked up from her notepad. “I-I lost it during
the investigation around Mike Nelson. I think someone might have
picked it up on accident thinking it was evidence.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “I’m
sorry young man, bit if it does happen to be in evidence I can’t
give it back at this moment.”

“
Well, could you check that
it’s there at least? It was a gift, and if I know where it is I’ll
at least feel a little better.”

The woman sighed and looked back down
to her notepad. “Can you describe it to me?”

“
It’s a small round brass
locket with two gears entwined around one another.”

When Atticus brought up the gears, the
woman stopped writing. Her eyes widened up and she looked at the
boy. Atticus was afraid he may have done something wrong, but the
woman just shook her head and went back to writing down the
description.

“
E-Everything alright,” he
asked. The woman didn’t say anything. She just went on
writing.

She tore the note out of her little
booklet, pinned it into a small tube, and then sent it through a
small chute in the wall.

“
It’ll be just a moment,”
she said. Atticus smiled, thanked the woman and went back to join
Brock who was still standing near the door. The two then sat down a
small bench and awaited the news.

“
Nice fib,” Brock said.
“How’d you think of that?”

Atticus shrugged and said, “I just
thought to myself, ‘what would Brock do.’”

Brock laughed. “Wow, what an
honor.”

It was quiet. The only sound was the
hum of the plasma tubes above, and the tapping of the
receptionist’s pen as she filled out more paperwork. Atticus began
to feel nervous. He couldn’t stop thinking about how the
receptionist acted when he described the locket. Why? What was so
alarming?

He leaned over to Brock and whispered,
“Do you think we’ll get in too much trouble if we get
caught?”

“
What would they do,” Brock
teased.

“
I don’t know,” Atticus said
frantically. “We’re tampering with evidence. Do you know the
punishment for that?”

Brock shrugged. “Death, I
assume.”

Atticus rolled his eyes. He wasn’t in
a joking mood. He was starting to think his idea wasn’t a very good
one. He should’ve just stayed on campus instead of wanting to get
involved with professional affairs. He could really mess something
up.

Suddenly, the door next to the
reception window opened and out walked an officer followed by the
couple from Atticus’ dream: The man in the green suit, orange tie,
and goggles; and the woman with the golden dress. Atticus couldn’t
believe it.

Brock gestured over to them. “Who do
you think those schmucks are?”

“
I-I’m not sure.”

“
Why do you think they’re
here?”

Atticus shrugged and said, “They
probably want to sue someone for being poor.”

The officer began talking to the
couple, and the two students tried to listen in. “We’re very sorry
for your loss, Mrs. Nelson. We really are.”

Atticus shot a glance a Brock. “The
Nelsons!”

Brock clasped his hand over Atticus’
gaping maw and shushed him. They then resumed their
eavesdropping.

“
It’s quite alright,” she
said. Her face began to swell as tears formed in her eyes. “I just
wish we could have done something to help him.”

Mr. Nelson scoffed and turned to the
officer. “Where are my tax dollars going? Las Vegas’ finest? I beg
to differ.”

“
I’m sorry sir, but there is
nothing we can-”

“
Nothing? You idiots aren’t
even trying!”

“
Now, Clayton,” Mrs. Nelson
said, “you heard the detective. He said he’s looking into
it.”

The man scoffed. “I don’t trust that
McCloud for a minute, Pearl! I trust the police, not some Zebulon
lap dog!”

Atticus jumped to his feet, startling
Brock, and made his way to the Nelsons. “Excuse me, you’re the
Nelsons, correct?”

The two looked down at the young man.
They had no idea who this boy was, nor did the really care. But,
Mrs. Nelson’s lady-like behavior shown through.

“
Yes, we are.”

Atticus nodded, and in his head he
wore a smile of delight. If these really were Mike’s parents, he
knew he could get some information out of them.

Mike didn’t talk about his parents
much. He said they were all business and no play. They owned a
private machinarium in Las Angeles. According to Mike, their
business was going through some tough times. This was not a good
time for the family.

“
I would just like to say
that I’m very sorry about what happened to Mike. He was my friend.”
Atticus extended his hand. “My name’s Atticus.”

The man sneered. “Thank you very much
for your concerns young man, but we don’t need a reminder of what
happened to our son.”