Spring-Heeled Jack (8 page)

A wide smile spread across his face
and he sat up. The warm feeling didn’t last long though. Suddenly,
Atticus felt a sharp tingle run down his spine. He was completely
petrified. It felt as if a thousand eyes were on him. It required
all of his willpower, but Atticus turned around.

He saw a figure standing at least
thirty feet away in the shadow of the English and History building
wearing a long dark brown cloak. No part of the person was visible
except for its eyes, but from a distance, they were impossible to
see.

Atticus felt his heart race and his
hands shake. He reached into his pocket and felt his locket. It
gave him strength. It reminded him why he was doing all of this.
The cloaked figure wasn’t anything to be afraid of.

As he thought that, the cloaked figure
began to leave. Atticus felt its gaze leave him and he could
finally move again. He wasn’t sure what happened. Why was he
frozen? He’d been scared to the point of freezing up before, but
never like that.

Atticus watched the figure disappear
into the shadows and a wave of adrenaline washed over him. He
wasn’t sure what, but a conclusion popped into his head: “A
ghost!”

Nothing could shake the feeling that
the cloaked figure was the ghost Mike asked him about. It wasn’t
anything supernatural, just someone hiding in the shadows waiting
to strike. And Atticus hated that. The dark was the worst. You
never knew what lurked within. You couldn’t plan anything in the
darkness, and worst of all you could never be prepared. The dark
was the ultimate unsolvable puzzle.

But despite all that, Atticus couldn’t
let the Ghost get away. He had to confront him, or at least find
where it was hiding.

Atticus snuck behind the figure,
always trying to keep it at a close enough distance so he could
easily tail it, but far enough so he wouldn’t feel suspicious.
Atticus wasn’t the stealthiest kid, but he figured if he kept his
distance and was silent, he’d be fine. After all, that’s all there
was to being stealthy, right? If so, he figured he was doing a dang
good job.

Atticus continued to follow the Ghost
for several minutes without it ever catching him. At least, he
hoped it hadn’t caught onto him. Every once in a while it would
stop and look around and Atticus would be forced to jump behind a
bush or tree or bench.

The Ghost lead him through all sorts
of dark places between buildings and Atticus started to fear that
it was leading him into a trap.

Finally, at one intersection
between two halls, the Ghost came to a stop. Atticus was about
twenty feet behind, waiting and watching. The cloaked figure looked
left, then right, then left again. Atticus wished his
Queen of Spades
allowed
him to read minds because it was killing him not knowing what the
Ghost was up to.

If he could read minds, he felt this
whole debacle would be solved already, but then what would be the
fun in solving puzzles.

After a few seconds, the Ghost turned
back and faced Atticus. In a panic, he tried to jump back and hide
in the shadows, out of the figure’s line of sight. The sun was at
his back, so he thought that maybe he’d be well enough hidden. But,
he was wrong. The Ghost stared straight at him, right in the eyes,
and once again Atticus was paralyzed with fear. It gestured for him
to follow, but Atticus couldn’t move. His legs felt like they were
made of concrete.

Eventually, the Ghost left without
him, sprinting away and Atticus losing sight of it.

His breathing was heavy and his heart
pounded violently, but he couldn’t let the Ghost get away. No more
stalking and sneaking. Atticus had to make a move no matter how
much it terrified him.

He sprinted as fast as he could in an
attempt to tail the mystery figure, but he wasn’t paying the
closest attention. In his hurry, he crashed into something old and
grouchy, knocking both himself and his professor to the
ground.

“
Mr. Whaelord, what is the
meaning of this?” Varnum shouted.

Atticus leapt up to his feet and
looked all around for the Ghost. Sadly, it seemed that the figure
had just vanished. There was nowhere for it to hide unless it
jumped the fence or climbed a building or tree, but there was no
way it was that fast.

“
Well?”

“
I-I’m sorry professor.”
Atticus offered his teacher a hand, but Varnum swatted it
away.

“
I have had it with your
shenanigans, Mr. Whaelord,” Varnum said. He brushed himself off,
but he never let his glare wander from Atticus.

“
I know professor. I just
thought I saw-”

“
What? A rodent? A nuisance?
Were you chasing a mirror, Mr. Whaelord?”

Atticus didn’t say a word.

“
Goodness gracious! I’m
covered in dirt and grass stains now because of you,” shouted the
professor. “What will the Nelsons think of me now?”

“
T-The Nelsons?”

Varnum let out a frustrated sigh and
said, “Principal Shepard and I are meeting with the Nelsons to
discuss a memorial dinner for their son. I thought it would be a
good way to show how much Fortuna Prep cares for its
students.”

“
But, you don’t care,”
Atticus said. Varnum was silent. “This is just a big publicity
stunt, isn’t it professor? A way to make yourself look good to the
public eye and get the Nelsons some free advertising, am I
correct?”

Varnum’s face turned bright red. If it
was possible for smoke and fire to shoot from one’s nostrils,
Varnum would’ve done it just then. “How dare you accuse me of such
a thing! I don’t have time for such foolishness! I’m already late
and now thanks to you, Mr. Whaelord, I’m highly unpresentable! You
will make this up to me!”

“
How about I stay late after
class tomorrow,” Atticus asked. “And at lunch, why don’t I stop by
and help you grade exams?”

Varnum’s face was starting to return
to its normal color. “That will not be necessary. We’ll discuss it
tomorrow. Now, if you don’t mind.”

Before Atticus could respond, Varnum
shoved past him and made a straight line toward the faculty office
building.

That man is hiding something, Atticus
thought. He is involved in some way.

Atticus made one last glance around
campus, hoping that maybe he could find a hint as to where the
Ghost disappeared to. Sadly, he had no such luck.

Frustrated and defeated, Atticus
plopped down onto the grass, his face in his hands. He was furious.
He found the Ghost; the one Mike was so afraid of, and the killer.
He didn’t have any evidence, but he just knew it. He knew the
cloaked figure was the killer and he had him in sight. But
Professor Varnum had to come up and ruin it.

He got to his feet, brushed himself
off and suddenly the gears in his head clanged viciously. Varnum
had appeared right as the Ghost had disappeared. Varnum vanished
when the body was found. Atticus wondered: perhaps the Ghost and
the professor were the same.

A glimmer caught Atticus’ eye. What
looked like bright white and black gravel lay in a pile where
Varnum had fell. Atticus kneeled down and shuffled the debris into
a small mound and realized that it wasn’t gravel at all, but
instead a broken piece of jewelry.

“
Was this the professor’s,”
he whispered to himself.

Atticus looked all around,
making sure no one was in sight and cupped his hands over the
debris. Atticus shut his eyes tightly and focused. He felt a tingle
on the back of his hand and slowly the
Queen of Spades
began to appear. His
hand began to heat up and he curled his fingers into a fist around
the broken trinket. Soon his hand began to burn. He felt the item
take form in his hands. He opened his eyes, and released his grip.
What used to be a pile of white and black rubble was now a ring
embedded with a design that looked like a “Z” overlapping a “Y”:
The symbol of the Zebulon Corporation.

He picked up the ring and held it in
his palm. Of all things, why a Zebulon ring? What did it mean and
why’d the professor have a destroyed one?

Atticus planned to leave his professor
alone for the rest of the evening, but now he had a special
something to return, and it wasn’t something that could wait until
tomorrow.

Atticus didn’t intend to eavesdrop,
but it happened anyway.

He snuck past the receptionist by
saying he was going to visit with his chemistry teacher, Professor
Banner. He didn’t lie. Atticus actually did have plans to visit his
professor so he could apologize for missing class. He was one of
Atticus’ favorite teachers and he figured he’d
understand.

Banner was a young professor, only in
his late thirties, but he was a brilliant man. He was exceptionally
tall, standing roughly 6”5, but he was a quite slender. He was also
a much more laid back teacher, preferring to wear just a nice dress
shirt and black slacks as opposed to suits or formal
attire.

Atticus confronted him at his desk.
“Good evening, Professor Banner.”

“
Good evening, Mr.
Whaelord.” The professor was hard at work grading exams and reading
thesis essays. He was always doing something to keep his mind
working.

“
I-I just wanted to
apologize for missing class today. You see, I wasn’t feeling the
best”

“
After Mr. Nelson’s passing?
I understand.”

“
Y-Yes,” Atticus said. “You
do?”

Banner nodded, his eyes still glued to
his papers. “I know you two were friends. After a loss like that, I
almost wouldn’t want you to attend class. Bad for the brain, you
know? I assumed that’s why you missed.”

Atticus was at a loss for words.
“T-Thank you?”

The professor dropped his pen and
looked up at Atticus, his eyes peering over his tiny oval reading
glasses. He said, “Mr. Whaelord, Atticus, just make sure you have a
note delivered to me next time. Assumptions can only take one so
far.”

Assumptions can only take one so far,
Atticus thought. That phrase struck his as a rather odd thing for
the professor to say, but perhaps it was just some sagely advice he
wanted to give to his student.

Atticus nodded and said, “Yes,
sir.”

Banner smiled and went back to his
work. “I know it’s hard to lose someone like that. Just promise me
that you won’t blame yourself, alright?”

“
What do you
mean?”

“
Mr. Nelson’s passing,” he
said. “This is a very tough time in most students’ lives. We adults
put so much on your plate and sometimes the weight becomes
unbearable. Tragedies like this occur, and sometimes we don’t’ see
how much someone is struggling until it’s too late.” The professor
took off his glasses and lowered his head. “I know all about that
kind of pressure.”

It dawned on Atticus that Professor
Banner thought Mike killed himself. Why would he think otherwise?
Atticus wanted to jump in and tell him that wasn’t the case, but he
stopped himself.

“
Alright, Professor,” he
said. “Thank you.”

Atticus said his farewells, picked up
his missing assignment and then went on his way. Now that he had an
alibi, it was time for him to find Varnum.

He reached into his pocket and pulled
out the Zebulon Ring. Atticus still couldn’t figure out why the
professor would have one. At first, he figured that since Zebulon
owned Fortuna Prep maybe that’s why; but as far as he knew, no
other teachers had rings. Then Atticus thought that perhaps it
wasn’t the professor’s ring at all. Maybe it was lost on the ground
and when the two bumped into each other, Varnum landed on it,
shattering it into ruble. But that wasn’t possible. Despite the
professor’s boney butt, it couldn’t have destroyed a
ring.

Atticus snuck his way up to the second
floor to Principal Shepard’s office. The door was a standard wood
fame with a glass window pane marked with the principal’s name:
Principal Dorothy Shepard.

Having the principal to one of the
nation’s most well-known schools be a woman was a pretty hot topic.
Most school headmasters, especially for private prep schools like
Fortuna Prep, were men; but Dorothy Shepard showed the whole world
what she was capable of. Since she’d taken over, the school hadn’t
burned to the ground like some had said, but instead flourished.
She was an exceptional leader and speaker. Because of her, students
were more inclined to work harder. She listened to the students as
well as the staff. She also had connections to very fit and abled
professors like Professor Banner whom she’d met when she was a
university professor. Of course, that didn’t make her perfect. She
did still hire Professor Varnum after all.

She was also an advocate for smaller
class sizes and more professors overall. Shepard could easily
negotiate with the Zebulon higher ups in charge of the school’s
budget in order to get that done.

“
If these students are to be
working for Zebulon,” she would say, “then should they not be
taught to their fullest abilities? These students will be Zebulon’s
future, and as such we should spare no expense.”