Spring-Heeled Jack (18 page)

He shed no tears. He wasn’t
sad. At the time, more than ever, he was angry. Angry that he
wasn’t able to help his friend before it was too late. He
hated
The Jack
and
he hated Mekanile for everything they’d done. He’d never thought
anything like it before, but he was angry at his parents for being
associated with them. He hated his locket. He wanted answers, but
he felt he could never get them. No matter where he looked, he was
always blind, and he hated that most of all.

*****

Then, it was Saturday. Varnum had
instructed all volunteers to meet in the school gymnasium at noon.
The event took place at seven o’clock sharp, but there were so many
preparations to be done. Students, faculty, and volunteers alike
were all rushing around trying to get everything set up, but under
Varnum’s leadership, it was a rough ride.

The professor had a very weak grasp on
what he was doing. Constantly, he would just change what someone
else was working on and claim it was wrong, despite that being
exactly what he said to do. Jobs included, but were not limited to:
Rearranging the tables and chairs so that the hall was symmetrical
and professional looking, preparing silverware by folding them into
overtly extravagant napkin shapes, placing dishware at each and
every seat at every single table, and making sure that all of the
ridiculous looking center pieces were placed to perfection. The
centerpieces alone took hours to prepare.

Some students were even forced to help
out in the kitchen: Washing dishes and silverware if they sat out
too long and got dusty, running errands to the store to make sure
they had enough food, and some were even in charge of taking record
of how much food they had and would use.

It was so unorganized and one could
chalk that up to the fact that Varnum was not a prepared man. He’d
had less than two weeks to prepare everything, and despite
Principal Shepard’s request to delay it until the end of the month,
the professor insisted that it needed to take place as soon as
possible. But, it seemed like Varnum was just trying to sabotage
himself. It seemed like just when everything was going according to
plan and working out just fine, he would throw it all in the trash
and start again.

Atticus and Brock were stuck helping
the dining room prepare the centerpieces for the tables. It wasn’t
the hardest job, but like all things, Varnum continued to shift it
all around. At first, he wanted the centerpieces to be in small
glass vases filled with red and white roses, but later he said that
it would clash with the other decorations, so he made someone run
to a nearby florist and get blue and yellow daisies
instead.

All of that being said, Varnum never
actually did any work himself. All he did was walk around the
cafeteria and yell at the students and faculty, pointing out
everything they were doing wrong but never telling them exactly
what to fix. Whenever someone asked, he would scamper away and say
that he was too busy. Principal Shepard gave him the title “Event
Director” but most just called him the “Event Dictator.”

As they worked, Atticus noticed the
director’s chest pains flaring up every now and again. He tried to
bring it up, asking the professor if he needed anything, but the he
would either refuse to say anything or just say it was stress from,
“All the idiots,” he had to deal with. Atticus didn’t believe that
for a minute.

The day had flown by. It was quickly
approaching go time, and several people noticed that Varnum had
just up and vanished. Atticus overheard a few of his classmates
laughing about how he probably had to go powder his nose and then
go kill a baby kitten.

Brock overheard the commotion as well
and decided to jump on the bandwagon. He turned to Atticus and
asked, “What do you think Varnum’s up to?”

“
Nothing good.” Atticus
lowered his head and pulled Brock to the side. “This whole event
has got to be a big ploy to cover up something.”

“
You certain?”

“
He knows something,”
Atticus whispered. “I need to know what he’s hiding.”

“
The Jack
and Mekanile,” Brock asked.

Atticus looked around at the cafeteria
that they’d spent the whole day preparing. “Don’t you suppose it’s
a bit strange that a man as grumpy and selfish as him decides to
throw this huge charity event, but then goes and basically tries to
ruin the whole thing?”

Brock agreed. Everything seemed a bit
out of place. “Do you suppose he left? Like maybe he just needed
everybody gathered here and now something bad is going to
happen?”

“
No, that can’t be,” Atticus
said. “He needs to be here.”

Then without warning, Atticus felt a
tug in his gut. It was the same familiar sensation he got when he
was searching for Camila. He couldn’t explain it, but it felt
instinctual. He just had to follow it. He turned around and through
all the hectic workers and decorators, he stared down a hallway
that lead to a custodial closet. It was just a regular old closet
with brooms, mops, and other cleaning supplies Atticus assumed, but
the feeling in his gut said that there was something
more.

He began to make his way down the
hall, Brock following close behind. He tried to ask questions, but
Atticus was silent. It was almost like the tugging was literal,
pulling him to the small room.

Before Atticus could open the closet
door, Brock stopped him.

“
Atticus, enough! What are
you doing?”

“
This room,” he said.
“Something is in it.”

He pushed past Brock and opened the
door. Much to his surprise, it was just a regular custodial closet,
exactly like he’d assumed. But still, something didn’t feel right.
The tugging in his gut was still pulling him inward. He took a step
inside and began searching all around for something amiss. Brock
tried to convince him that he was going crazy, but Atticus wasn’t
listening. He fell to his knees and began to crawl around, scouring
the floor for something. He didn’t know what he was looking for,
but he knew that something was there.

Finally, Atticus found a small knob on
the floor, easily overlooked. He twisted it and felt the floor in
front of him give way, revealing a small trap door. He peaked down
and saw a ladder leading about thirty feet down into
darkness.

He looked back at Brock who was just
as awestruck.

“
I-Is this a secret door,”
Atticus said.

“
At this point, I’m willing
to believe anything.” Brock took a step into the closet, but
Atticus cut him off.

“
No, you stay out there,” he
said. “I’m going in, and if anybody asks where I went, tell them
I’m in the bathroom.”

“
Atticus, you’re crazy if
you think I’m gonna let you go into this creepy hole by
yourself.”

“
You have too!” Atticus
didn’t want to go alone, but he didn’t want to risk Brock getting
hurt. Plus, if there came a moment where he had to run, Atticus
didn’t want to hold anyone back. He didn’t even let Brock respond
before he started climbing down the ladder.

The hole was definitely dark, that was
to be expected, but it was far deeper than Atticus thought. From
above, it looked just about thirty feet, but it felt like he
descended for an eternity. When he reached the bottom, Atticus
looked up and couldn’t even see the top. It had to be a trick of
the light, he thought. But, he couldn’t get distracted. The tug in
his gut had resided and now he had to find whatever it was that
compelled him down into the abyss.

Atticus followed a long hallway
leading down into the depths of the school. It wasn’t pitch black,
but it was close enough. Dim, barely working plasma tubes hummed
throughout the long corridor and made the whole place feel like an
abandoned prison cell. It was easily the most terrifying moment of
his life.

As he made his way down the maze-like
corridors, Atticus began to hear what sounded like mumbling. It was
faint, and against his better judgment, he followed it. The lights
got dimmer and dimmer the deeper into the tunnel he went, but
eventually Atticus came across a large metal door. He heard the
mumbling on the other side, and he gently creaked the door open and
peaked inside to see Professor Varnum, hunched over a small wooden
table littered with papers; his back to the door.

Atticus couldn’t quite hear what the
professor was saying. He pressed his ear to the door and listened
closely.

“
I was wrong, I was wrong,”
the professor muttered. “I’ll never escape. He sees me! He sees
right through me!”

Atticus’ curiosity glued him to his
spot. He couldn’t move. Whatever the professor was rambling on
about, he needed to know.

“
The Master’s plan, I have
my part. I was wrong to go against The Master, and now I’ve paid
the price. I’m sorry, Master! I was wrong, Master!”

Atticus took a step back from the
door, accidentally nudging it. A faint squeak echoed through the
corridor. Varnum tensed up, and suddenly everything went silent.
Atticus didn’t dare move. He didn’t even want to breath. He
continued to peek inside and watch the professor, hoping that maybe
the madman would just shrug it off.

“
I-Is that you, sir,” Varnum
called out. Atticus didn’t respond. “I-I didn’t expect you to be
here already. I swear that n-nothing will go wrong. I’ve done
everything you’ve asked.” Still, Atticus said nothing.

Then, Varnum snapped. “Would you give
me something? Anything? I swear I’m not going against The Master’s
will!” Varnum lashed out, smacking the table and sending the papers
sprawling across the floor. A long bloody gash appeared across the
professor’s knuckles, but he didn’t seem phased by it. “What must I
do to regain your trust, you dog? If you’re too cowardly to kill
him, I’ll do it myself! You don’t overlook anything, huh? You see
right through things? Well good! Then you’ll see just how loyal I
am to The Master!”

Varnum hurled the table across the
room, smashing it on the floor. He went into a berserk state,
howling and pounding his fists on the walls. Atticus backed away,
hiding in the shadows, but still trying to keep an eye on his
lunatic professor.

“
Do you hear me,
Jack
,” he shouted. “It
was me! I’m the one who found the lockets here! And, I found their
son as well! You’re too busy hiding in the shadows while I do all
the dirty work! Well, if you’re too scared to kill Whaelord, then
I’ll do it myself!”

Atticus leapt back, his heart beating
violently, and his legs started moving without thought. He had to
get out of there as soon as possible. He heard Varnum continue his
screaming in the distance. The professor had completely gone off
the deep end.

But, worst of all, thanks to
Varnum’s insane ranting, Atticus knew exactly who
The Jack
was. He knew
exactly what his mother meant when she said
The Jack
lies. He’d been wrong all
along and his heart felt broken.

He sprinted down the corridor and
vigorously climbed up the ladder back into the closet. He slammed
the trapdoor shut and ran off to find Brock.

Atticus found Brock near the entrance
to the cafeteria. He and a few other students were getting prepped
by Principal Shepard who said that some guests would be arriving
soon. She went on to name a few before getting pulled aside by
another faculty member.

Brock saw Atticus looked terrified.
“Hey, what happened?”

“
That hole I found,” he
said, “it leads to a maze-like basement. But that’s not important;
what is important is that I found Varnum down there mumbling some
crazy stuff to himself. H-He kept saying that he was wrong and kept
calling out to some ‘Master,’ talking about a plan that he played
part in, and how he’s in trouble and paid the price, but there
is-”

“
Atticus, calm down,” Brock
said. “You’re speaking a mile a minute. Just tell me what the
professor said.”

Atticus was completely flustered.
There was so much ne needed to say, but his brain wasn’t
cooperating. He took a few deep breaths and tried to regain his
composure. Atticus pulled Brock to a corner and huddled up. In a
feint whisper he did his best to explain everything he’d heard the
professor say.

“
Atticus, that crazy old
coot says he wants to kill you,” Brock said. “If he’s serious, you
can’t just stick around.”

“
He said
The Jack
would be here.” Atticus
pulled his locket out of his pocket. He stared at it for a moment.
“I know who it is.”

“
Y-You do?”

Atticus nodded, but before he could
say anything, a crotchety old shadow loomed above them.

“
So, what gossip is going on
over here, pray tell?” The two students looked up and saw Professor
Varnum giving them both a cold stare through his dark tinted
glasses. The two nearly jumped out of their skin at the sight of
him.

Atticus caught a glimpse of the
professor’s hand. He’d expected it to be all bloody, but it was
completely healed.