Atticus shook his head in confusion. “But, why kill Mike?”
McCloud shrugged. “The Nelson family may have been working with Mekanile. Perhaps they didn’t uphold their end of a bargain, and as punishments, a Mekanile agent, this Ghost, was sent to kill their son. Mekanile is not above killing children.”
Atticus thought about his dream with the Ghost and Professor Varnum. The Ghost had said that Varnum, “Defied The Master’s orders.” Atticus wasn’t sure who they were referring too. He wanted to ask the detective, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk about the nightmare.
As he thought, Atticus spotted something on the corner of McCloud’s desk mixed in with a jumble of papers and files. It was small and brass. Mike’s locket!
Atticus pointed to it and asked, “Detective, where’d you get that?”
McCloud looked at the corner of his desk and saw the locket. He picked it up, dangling it by the chain, and said, “This here? I found it on the Nelson boy. This has been my only evidence to solidify my theory that Mekanile is involved.”
“W-Why?” Atticus reached into his pocket and felt his own locket.
“You see, lad,” McCloud said, “this symbol here, the entwined gears, is the symbol of Mekanile. The bandits use it as an identifier so they know who to trust.”
Atticus felt his heart stop. It wasn’t possible. His mind instantly drifted back to when he got his locket: his parents had given it to him. His father had told him it was extremely important.
“D-Detective, are you sure that’s what the symbol means?”
“Most definitely,” he said. “Where ever Mekanile causes trouble, these gears always follow. What confuses me, however, is that this locket is a rare one. Only three exist, and Mekanile wouldn’t just vive one of them to some mere acquaintance. Only a higher up would own such a thing.”
The locket in Atticus’ pocket seemed to be heating up. If what McCloud was saying was true, then would that make Atticus’ parents higher ups? That couldn’t have been true.
Atticus thought about his mother, Isabel; a plasma engineer who’d worked for Zebulon for years. She was sweet and docile. And then there was his father, William; a clumsy clockwork artificer who just wanted to make goofy little toys. They weren’t criminals, they couldn’t have been. Atticus couldn’t imagine them that way.
But, was that why they vanished all those years ago, Atticus thought? Were they just putting up a fake demeanor to hide themselves? Despite everything McCloud had said, and everything Atticus was thinking, none of it sounded right.
“Detective,” Atticus said, “you’ve worked at Zebulon for a while, correct?”
McCloud nodded. “Aye son, I’ve been working for them nearly fifteen years.”
“Did you ever know my parents, William and Isabel?”
McCloud went silent and looked down at the papers on his desk. “Yes, I knew your parents,” he said. “They worked at Zebulon well before I got there. Brilliant minds they were. Your mother was a leading member of the plasma committee, if I remember correctly. She was a truly gifted scientist.”
“And my father?”
A wide smile spread across McCloud’s face. He began to chuckle and then looked up at Atticus, his eyes almost red as if he was going to start crying.
“Your dad and I didn’t quite see eye-to-eye,” he said. “But, he was a brilliant toy maker, that’s for sure.”
Atticus was happy to hear such good things about his parents. He never heard much about them and their time at Zebulon. His grandparents never wanted to talk, and no one seemed to know anything special. But, hearing McCloud made his heart feel warm.
Just then, a light above the office door lit up and a buzz rang through the room.
“A message for me?” McCloud stood up from his seat. “Come in!”
The receptionist from earlier slid the door open and hesitantly walked into the office. “I’m sorry to bother you detective, but Sergeant Beauregard would like a word with you about the robbery down on Oakey Boulevard.”
The detective’s face calmed down back to its regular serious demeanor. “Sorry lad, but we’ll have to end our meeting for the day. Duty calls.”
“B-But, detective-”
“Now don’t worry, we’ll have plenty of time to talk more another day.” The detective’s smile was so genuine it was hard for Atticus to get upset. But, maybe it was for the best. All this about Mekanile and the lockets was causing him to doubt everything he’d known and was working for.
McCloud escorted Atticus outside and shook his hand. “It was a pleasure to talk with you, Mr. Whaelord. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you.”
Atticus blushed and said, “Please, you did all the thinking.”
“Nonsense! You found all the evidence. You helped put all the pieces together. We shared our knowledge and got one step closer. Neither of us could’ve done it without the other, lad.”
McCloud smiled and said a quick farewell, but Atticus wasn’t ready to be done just yet.
“Detective, could I ask a request?”
The detective looked out to a squad of officers waiting for him. “Alright, but make it snappy. I’ve got to get down to Oakey Boulevard quickly.”
Atticus nodded. “I was just curious if, perhaps, you could give me a tour of the Zebulon Headquarters sometime. I’d like to see how things work there.”
It seemed rather sporadic, but Atticus felt that he could learn something from the Zebulon Corporation. If this Mekanile was out to sabotage them, then maybe he had to learn why.
The request definitely took McCloud by surprise, but he shrugged and said, “I don’t see why not. Tomorrow is Saturday, correct? Why don’t you head there around noon and ask for me? I’d be delighted to give you a little tour.”
Atticus nodded and smiled back. “Alright, that sounds like a plan.”
He said goodbye, and as he watched the detective and the officers drive off, he had an awful feeling in his gut. His parents left him a locket that was apparently linked to some band of criminals working against Zebulon. But, his parents worked for Zebulon. Were they secretly planning on taking the corporation down from the inside? Or was it all just coincidence?
Or, perhaps there was something the detective didn’t know. Atticus tried to feel ecstatic about this realization. As much as he liked the detective’s theory, there was something about it that didn’t seem right. He had loads of new puzzle pieces to help solve the mystery.
All he had to do was to assemble the last few bits and everything would fall into place.
Chapter 12
Another day, another night Atticus spent thinking about the case. He’d returned back to his dorm, but not before stopping back by the Magister Theater to see if he could catch the rest of the movie and apologize to Camila. She’d long left the theater, and he’d felt terrible for it. He thought maybe she’d understand, but what could he possibly say to her? He never knew what to say. He was always so afraid of saying something that would make the situation even worse.
But, Camila seemed like a pretty down-to-Earth girl. As long as Atticus told her the truth, she’d understand. But, could he tell her the truth? Would she believe him? If she did, would her opinions on him change? Would she feel in danger? Atticus couldn’t shake the feeling that he was in deep water no matter what he did.
Atticus picket up the 10/1/3/11 document and rested on his bed. He tried to read through it again. He tried to use his new found information to see if he could debunk it any easier, but it seemed like nothing. I & E was code for “Invade & Execute” according to McCloud, but that didn’t quite seem right. Why so many names and locations? If it really was about invading Fortuna Prep and killing Mike, why would it need to be so long?
Perhaps, Atticus thought, that was what the 10/1/3/11 meant. It was clearly a code, but for what? A birthday? Maybe an old address? Regardless, Atticus hadn’t the slightest clue.
As he stared at the folder, the door flung open and Brock waltzed in.
> “Hey, how was the date,” he asked.
Atticus sat up and shrugged. “It was okay.”
“Just okay? What happened?”
“Not much.” Atticus felt his stomach sink. “It got kind of interrupted.”
“Well, do you think there’ll be another date,” Brock asked. He tried to sound optimistic, but Atticus shook his head.
“If she’s as smart as I know she is, probably not.”
Brock was his best friend, and Atticus wanted to tell him the truth, but how could he word it so he didn’t sound like a complete jerk. He couldn’t just say he up and ditched Camila because he was afraid. What kind of guy does that? Besides, he knew how badly he messed up.
A change of subject was needed. Atticus hadn’t told Brock about the folder at all since he found it, and he figured that then would be as good a time as any. Plus, he needed a second opinion.
He closed the folder and tossed it to Brock. “I found that earlier today in Varnum’s office.”
“But, Varnum wasn’t in today?”
“I know,” Atticus said. “I did a bit of snooping.”
A mischievous grin spread across Brock’s face. “I see I’m starting to wear off on you, eh?”
“A little bit.”
Brock opened the folder and began to skim through it. “So what is this? Answer keys to the next exam?”
Atticus shook his head. “I’m not completely sure. I did some research on it, and apparently it’s called an Invade and Execute order or something.”
“So what do you think it means,” Brock asked.
Atticus leapt off his bed and pulled out his locket. He held in his hand, the symbol of the entwined gears facing outward
“In my research, I discovered something a little scary. My locket is connected to a criminal group called Mekanile.”
Brock shot him a scared look. He closed the folder and set it behind him on the desk. “What do you mean a criminal group?”
Atticus took a deep breath. He tried his best to explain as much as he knew without revealing that he’d gone to see Detective McCloud.
“So,” Brock said gloomily, “you think your parents may have been working with this Mekanile?”
“I don’t know.”
Brock looked up at Atticus. His face showed his worry. “Hey, I don’t know if it’s smart to get involved with all of this.”
“But, I’ve come too far. If I give up now-”
He could see the fear in Brock’s eyes. If he really was getting involved with criminal affairs, then there was no telling what would happen. Perhaps that’s what Principal Shepard had meant when she told him to stay out of it.
“Atticus, are you okay?”
He wasn’t sure what to say. “I-I’ll be fine.”
Atticus couldn’t lie to Brock. He wasn’t a naturally gifted liar anyway, but having to do it to his best friend who could read him better than anyone around made it nearly impossible.
“I know this is a big deal,” Brock said, “but why don’t we just catch some sleep. Maybe that’ll help clear your head?”
Atticus decided not to argue. Brock was probably right. Sleep tended to be the best thing to do when one was stressed out, but after the last night, Atticus wasn’t so sure. But, there was nothing else he could do. No matter how much he didn’t want to do it, Atticus knew sleep was the best choice.
He hadn’t realized how tired he was until his head hit the pillow. Quickly, his vision faded. He’d heard brock say something that sounded vaguely like “Good night,” but it was all gibberish. Atticus had already drifted away to dreamland.
*****
Atticus’ dream that night wasn’t a nightmare like the night before. But, it was something that made him feel just as awful. He dreamt of his tenth birthday; the last day he ever saw his parents.
In his dreams, he was just waking up to the sounds of crashing fireworks outside his window. He was in his little ten-year-old body, wearing his old pajamas. He rolled out of bed and felt the soft carpet against his feet and decided to make his way to the kitchen.
The house wasn’t exactly his old home, but instead his grandparent’s home in Boulder City that he lived in after his parents left. Two bedrooms, a small kitchenette, a dining room, a bathroom, and the world’s smallest living room. He wasn’t sure why he was back in his grandparent’s home, but it was a dream so it didn’t need to make sense.
But, one thing from his old home remained. In the dining room there was a doorway that lead down into his parent’s basement workshop. It was always his parents’ dream to open up a local toy shop, and the basement was where it all started. Both his mother and father would spend countless hours tinkering and experimenting with new toy ideas. Atticus was never allowed down there by himself; there were too many dangerous and breakable things. But, he never wanted to explore it anyways. It was too dark and scary for him. Even at a young age, Atticus was a scaredy cat.
He walked into the kitchen and saw his mother, Isabel, doing some last minute preparations for his birthday. The sight of her was so real. She was exactly how he remembered her: olive skin, jet black pixie cut hair, and bright red lips. She was so much different from other moms. She was always working, but that never stopped her from making family time.
She turned and looked at him with her warm brown eyes and gave him a smile that no one else could match. “Good morning, birthday boy.”
Atticus wanted to rush up and hug her until his arms fell off, but his body wasn’t listening. Instead, he just stood and stared at her like an idiot.
“I-Is breakfast ready?”
She laughed. “Quite the demanding little booger now that you’re ten, aren’t you? Not even a ‘Good morning, mom?’”
Atticus blushed and mumbled back a good morning.
“Gracias,” she said. “And to answer your question: no, breakfast is not ready yet.”
“But, mom,” Atticus playfully complained.
“Oh hush. You weren’t supposed to be up this early.” The two laughed and it was wonderful. For a moment, Atticus forgot he was in a dream. He was just so excited to be back with his mother. He’d forgotten how much he loved her voice, her random Spanish expressions, and her laugh.
As their laughter died down, Atticus looked all around. “Where’s dad?”
“He’s in the workshop,” Isabel said. “He might have a special birthday present for you if you want o get it a little early.”
Atticus’ eyes beamed. Isabel urged him along to go down into the basement, and he gleefully did so. He sprinted to the basement door, but froze up before he could open it. Despite being in a dream, Atticus still couldn’t open the door. But, feeling his mother’s hand on his back and her reassuring voice gave him the confidence.
The workshop was, for lack of a better word, chaotic. Tubes of condensed plasma ran across the ceiling and the walls, illuminating the room. Dozens of boxes, crates, containers, and cabinets contained a wide variety of springs, gears, wire, tools, and other contraptions. Buzzing electric conductors held what could only be described as bottled up plasma. It was the glorious laboratory of a mad scientist, and at the center of it was, passed out at the workbench, Atticus’ father: William.
Atticus quickly ran up and shook his father awake. “Dad, wake up!”
His father, still in a sleep induced daze, jumped to his feet and quickly turned to his son, nearly falling in the process. Atticus inherited both his scraggly mess of blonde hair as well as his bright blue eyes.
“Why good morning! You’re sure up awfully early, scamp.”
“Dad, it’s not that early.”
William looked like he’d barely slept that night. He rubbed his face and pulled out a little silver pocket watch. After flipping the cover, he saw that it was just barely turning nine o’clock.
“Oh dear,” he mumbled as he shoved the watch back into his pocket. “I overslept!”
He turned back to the workbench and hectically boxed up whatever he was working on. Atticus
assumed it was the special present his mother had mentioned, but he couldn’t get a good peak.
“Darling, did you really not finish it in time,” Isabel asked.
William gave her an unassured smile. “I want to make sure it’s perfect.”
“And sleeping will make it perfect?”
“More so than working on it half asleep!”
Isabel gave him a disappointed sneer, but William fought back with a mischievous smile.
“C-Could I get a peak,” Atticus asked.
Both William and Isabel averted all their attention to their son.
William said, “I’m sorry son, but we want it to be a surprise!”
“Yes, and it’ll be well worth the wait,” Isabel said. “We promise.”
“Well, I can’t really promise.” Atticus knew that making promises was not something his father was keen on. He didn’t like making them out of fear he’d break them.
Atticus’ head fell. He wasn’t that sad, but he thought that maybe if he looked sad enough, especially on his birthday, it would convince them to give him at least a little peak. However, both his parents stood their ground.
William reached out and patted him on the head. “I’m sorry, Atticus. I really am. But, I’ll have you know that it will be done very, very, very soon!”
Atticus didn’t look to convinced.
William looked up at Isabel with a concerned look. She returned it with one that said: “This is your fault. You fix it.”
He figured he couldn’t just give his son nothing on his birthday, so he improvised. He turned back to his workbench and began to rustle through some of the drawers, eventually finding a very familiar brass locket.
Everything was silent for a minute. Atticus remembered it very clearly.
“Darling, no,” Isabel said. “You can’t give him that.”
But, William smiled and said, “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”
Suddenly, Atticus was back in his regular body. The workshop had faded into nothing but a black abyss, and both his parents stood across from him.
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