Spring-Heeled Jack (20 page)

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
accustomed 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.”

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.