Memory Maze

by Gordon Korman

  Past the platform and starting down, Jax knew he would only get one chance. Maintaining his purchase on the meat with his left arm and gripping hard with his thighs, he shot out his right hand and thrust it inside Braintree’s jacket. The old man’s weight nearly tore him off the carcass, but he squeezed with every muscle in his body, and somehow managed to hold on. As they descended, Braintree succeeded in turning himself around enough to clamp a fist around a beef rib.

  “Nice job, Axel! We did it!”

  Braintree looked right through him.

  He doesn’t see me! He’s still bent!

  “Axel, snap out of it! Right now!”

  It was definitely not the best time to rouse a subject and throw him for a loop — hanging off a slimy beef carcass over a cement floor. But if anyone was equipped to handle such a rude awakening, it was the president of the Sandman’s Guild. Braintree was fully aware of what had occurred at the meat-packing plant, so the only reality for him to adjust to was the fact that Jax was there.

  “How did you follow me?” he demanded as the conveyor chain lowered them to the floor.

  Jax dropped Braintree, and then stepped off himself. “I didn’t,” he explained. “I was with you the whole time.”

  Braintree understood immediately what that meant. “You hypnotized me?”

  “Can we talk about this later?” Jax’s voice was strained. “Those are Sentia guys back there. Two of them are probably out of commission, but Wilson won’t stay bent for long. Let’s just get out of here, okay?”

  They burst through the heavy double doors, scrambled down the cement stairs, and made it out to the street. Jax started for the Avenger, but Braintree’s attention was on the pickup.

  “Do you think this is their car?”

  Jax shrugged. “Probably. It’s the only one on the block besides yours.”

  The old man pulled out a pocketknife, and methodically slashed all four tires. “We can’t risk being followed,” he explained as he and Jax climbed into the Dodge with the dented fender.

  They squealed away from the curb and, a few twists and turns later, were merging onto the highway. Jax kept his eyes glued to the side mirror, scanning for signs of pursuit. There were none. At last, he collapsed back into his seat, trying to clean his hands on his jeans, which were just as greasy with beef fat.

  “I may never eat another hamburger.” He turned to face the driver. “Axel, are you mad at me?”

  Braintree never took his concentration from the road. “I told you to stay home. And what did you do? The polar opposite of that. After all the sandmen did to keep you safe, you put yourself in danger.”

  Jax nodded, contrite. “I’m sorry. And I’m sorry we didn’t find Evelyn. But what I meant was — you know — are you mad about how I was able to do the polar opposite?”

  There was no answer, but Jax could see a crooked smile playing at the corner of Braintree’s mouth.

  “And I did rescue you,” Jax dared to add.

  “Quit while you’re ahead, kid.”

  Jax turned solemn. “That was Wilson DeVries, and probably a couple of other hypnos from Sentia. I keep wondering why Mako didn’t come himself.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t like to get his hands dirty. Or maybe those honor students are working for themselves this time. Or for someone else entirely.”

  Jax was mystified. “Who else would be after me?”

  “Anyone who knows what you can do,” the old man replied readily. “How about Avery Quackenbush?”

  “He doesn’t need to chase me,” Jax observed. “I show up on his doorstep five days a week.”

  “I don’t pretend to understand what goes on under the hood of a muck-a-muck like that. But if he tracked you down, there must be others who’ll try. You rigged an election, and you’re not even thirteen yet. The sky’s the limit for what you might be capable of.” Braintree let out a long breath and relaxed his grip on the wheel. “Whoever’s holding Evelyn and the others, their purpose is to draw you out of hiding. And you just came out and waltzed right into their roach motel. Now they know that you’re close, and that you can be reached through me. Not smart.”

  Jax bit his tongue and settled back in his seat for the drive home. Maybe Braintree was right. But when he thought about his mentor at the mercy of Wilson with a meat gaff, he was confident that tonight had all been worth it.

  The signature on the painting read Vincent. Jax was no expert, but it looked like a genuine van Gogh to him, probably worth tens of millions of dollars. Avery Quackenbush wasn’t the type to put fake art on his walls.

  Jax had been left in a waiting room several times at the mansion, and it was never the same one twice. Maybe Zachary was giving him the grand tour one day at a time. If he was trying to impress Jax with his employer’s wealth, it was unnecessary for the kid who had already spent so many hours inside the billionaire’s head.

  Four days had passed since he and Braintree had gone into battle in the meat-packing plant, but the repercussions were still being felt. Yesterday, Jax’s clothes from that night had come up in the laundry. Mom was not accepting the excuse that the stains were the result of a science experiment at school.

  “But this looks like blood!” she’d protested.

  “We’re doing a unit on dissection.”

  “What did you dissect — a hippopotamus?”

  They’d had the good fortune to make it home from the Bronx before the Opuses’ movie let out, but there was no explaining the beef odor and fat residue that a person got from riding a carcass around a giant refrigerated warehouse.

  “And you!” She had turned on Braintree. “That jacket you took to the dry cleaner. It smelled the same way. You’re supposed to be helping Jax, not getting him into trouble.”

  “I advise him on hypnotic matters; I’m not his parent.”

  The retort had been surprisingly sharp. Normally, the old man was infinitely patient with Mrs. Opus’s nagging. He smiled and nodded through her complaints regarding his personal habits, and tried to ignore her dire warnings about his driving. Lately, though, things had been a little tense. Mom wasn’t any different. The big change had been inside Braintree. Saturday night confirmed his worst fears about his sandmen. They weren’t just being flaky; they were being kidnapped. And whether Mako was behind it or not, there was no question that the purpose was to find a way to get to Jax.

  It was a terrible dilemma. How could he stay on the sidelines in Connecticut while his people were under attack? Yet how could he abandon Jax, and take the risk of that much mesmeric potential falling into the wrong hands? In his efforts to stay on top of both situations, he was driving himself crazy. He had more throwaway phones than pockets, and spent all day keeping tabs on every sandman he could think of. The problem was every time someone didn’t pick up for a few hours, he assumed the worst and freaked out all over again. To make matters worse, the estimate for his car repair came in at over three thousand dollars. It was more than he could afford, but he was unwilling to use hypnotism to secure himself a better deal. After all, that was what the Sandman’s Guild was all about — living an honest life without cutting corners.

  Jax stood up as Dr. Finnerty came into the room.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting. Mr. Quackenbush will be ready in a moment.”

  “Thanks.” Jax had been rehearsing his speech all day at school, but his lines deserted him and he blurted, “I was wondering if it would be okay if I … I really want to quit this.”

  The doctor looked surprised, but said nothing, so Jax continued. “My parents are worried about me. My mom says I look awful, and I have no free time to myself. It would be okay if Mr. Quackenbush was getting better. But that’s not happening. Is it?”

  The doctor shook his head gravely. “He’s becoming weaker by the day. Of course, no one ever expected you to cure him, merely to prolong his life until the treatment is ready. However, that doesn’t seem to be the case either.” He hesitated. “Still …”

  “Still … ?”
Jax waited for the other shoe to drop.

  “I can’t put my finger on it, exactly. My medical opinion is that he’s failing. But my own eyes tell me that the only thing keeping him alive is the hope that you bring him. I know it’s not logical, but I believe it to be true.”

  Jax bit his lip. How could he drop out now?

  “I’m not angry that you put your cell phone through the wash, Tuck! I’m angry that you didn’t tell me!”

  Late that night, the paper-thin walls of the little house rang with Braintree’s strident voice. Gone was the affable, soft-spoken little man Jax had first encountered in a New York pizza parlor around the corner from the Sentia Institute. The crisis of disappearing sandmen had amped the guild’s founder up to fever pitch. Jax barely recognized his mentor anymore.

  Next came the warning knocks against the ceiling. Mom. Now that Braintree was keeping tabs on his group at all hours, she kept the broom right next to her bed.

  “No, I’m not your parole officer!” These days, the old man had no volume control. “Our people are getting kidnapped! If I can’t reach you, I have to assume you’re the latest victim!”

  Jax lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Considering his exhaustion level, he was finding it harder and harder to fall asleep. He could not seem to shut off his racing mind, which was overloaded with an extra ninety-six years of memories from Quackenbush. His own recent experiences had been just as turbulent, if not more. His family was in danger. He was in hiding, pretending to be someone else, living a lie. People who had helped them were being abducted in an effort to smoke him out. And what was his line of defense against this threat? A power that had gotten his ancestors arrested, committed to lunatic asylums, and hanged for treason. A power he didn’t understand and was largely afraid to use.

  The one person who could help him was falling apart at the seams. Jax never would have believed that mellow oddball Axel could become so nervous, distracted, and ineffective. And right when Jax needed him most. The hypnotic sessions to slow Quackenbush’s decline were falling short. If anyone might be able to figure out what to do, it would be Braintree.

  The founder of the Sandman’s Guild shook his head sadly. “There’s nothing more for me to teach you. I can’t help you do this thing.”

  “Of course you can!” Jax urged. “You know more about hypnotism than anyone alive — except maybe Mako. And I’m sure not going to ask him.”

  Braintree had never looked older and more tired. “You’ve surpassed me. When you bent me last weekend —”

  “I shouldn’t have done it!” Jax interjected quickly.

  “It’s the natural order of things. The student eventually becomes the teacher. You were always destined to reach a level of mesmerism beyond my comprehension.”

  “But I don’t want that!” Jax exclaimed.

  Braintree was adamant. “It was written in your DNA.”

  With a tired sigh, Jax got out of bed and opened his laptop. If Braintree couldn’t continue his hypnotic education, he would have to get it on his own.

  He tried searching for the name Opus, but could find no mind-benders in the endless pages of links churned up by Google. The keyword Sparks was even less successful. That yielded a steak house, a woman’s basketball team, a city in Nevada, and a barbershop quartet. No hypnotists.

  It wasn’t surprising. Mind-benders often affected the course of history, but they usually did it from the background, pulling strings in their own quiet way. They preferred to influence the big players rather than becoming big players themselves. After all, most mesmeric connections ended with the command “You will remember nothing of this….” It was in this manner that Frederick Opus had convinced Alexander Graham Bell to abandon his dream of an electric fondue pot and concentrate on inventing the telephone. There was no Frederick Opus anywhere on Google, but Bell’s name generated thirteen million hits.

  Next Jax tried the keyword hypnotism, which brought on a landslide of responses. He began to sift through the sites, his brow darkening in frustration. Quit smoking today! Miracle hypnotic cure! blazoned one. Another promised: Overcome your fear of flying through hypnosis! Jax was disgusted. These weren’t real mind-benders; they were phonies, claiming the ability to fix everything short of a rainy day. Weight gain, asthma, forgetfulness, dry mouth, shyness, any kind of mental block. Are you obsessed with Justin Bieber? Dr. So-and-So can help!

  There were web pages for stage hypnotists who could be hired to perform at weddings and bar mitzvahs, and biographical sites dedicated to Franz Mesmer, Rasputin, and Svengali — a fictional character who hypnotized an ordinary girl into becoming an opera star. This would be impossible in real life, of course. A mind-bender might make a woman sing, but could never give her talent she didn’t already have.

  He was about to give up when he stumbled on a site with the warning POSERS AND QUACKS NEED NOT APPLY!!!

  Oh, sure, Jax thought dubiously. Paper-train your puppy through Hypnosis Dot-Com. He was about to browse away when the Web address caught his attention for a site marked Benders Only.

  He frowned. Only real hypnotists called themselves mind-benders. None of the pretenders even knew the term.

  He clicked on the link.

  Wide-eyed, Jax scanned his computer screen. Could this possibly be the real thing? Hypnotists were normally so secretive. Yet Benders Only was right out there on the Internet where anybody could see it!

  It had to be a scam — the kind of thing Braintree’s sandmen were famous for. Jax searched diligently, but couldn’t find any trace of a money-making scheme. There was no place that asked for a credit-card number, no address to send a check to, no form to enter personal information. Instead, there were articles that could only have come from genuine mind-benders. “Post-Hypnotic Suggestions That Really Work” … “Reaching the Difficult Subject” … “I See the PIP; Now What?” … “Hypno-Ethics and You.” There was a calendar of events, listing meetings in places like San Francisco and Brisbane, Australia. There was even an advice column, Ask Penelope.

  Jax scrolled down the page.

  Jax was astounded. The hypnotists he’d worked with treated their talent like a deep, dark secret. But here, complicated mesmeric procedures and paranormal phenomena were swapped like recipes for homemade brownies. Penelope alone handed out more information than he’d ever received from all the mind-benders he knew combined, except for Braintree. She was practically the Axel of the Internet, dispensing advice and reminding people not to go overboard using their abilities for frivolous purposes or personal gain. Come to think of it, that’s what Benders Only reminded him of — a kind of online Sandman’s Guild for hypnotists all around the world.

  An odd thought occurred to him. If Braintree was unavailable, why not post a question on Ask Penelope? He mustn’t reveal too much, of course, and he definitely couldn’t use his real name. But how could he pass up the chance to help Mr. Quackenbush? The tycoon was ninety-six and declining fast. Who knew how much time he had left?

  Feeling a little bit foolish, Jax began to type:

  He signed it: Trying to Help

  Over the next two days, Jax checked the Benders Only site constantly. At school, he slipped into the library during every class change to hop on a computer. Nothing.

  Penelope was definitely on the job. She posted answers to Heartbroken, who was looking for his missing wife, in whom he’d planted a post-hypnotic suggestion to “Leave me alone,” and to Bears Fan, who was considering bending the quarterback of the Green Bay Packers. But for Trying to Help — who had a chance to save a life — there was nothing.

  “Hey, what’s this? Some new kind of Facebook site?”

  Jax exited the page with a hammerblow to the ESC key. Peering over his shoulder was Felicity.

  “Who’s Penelope?” she asked him. “Your girlfriend back home?”

  “This is my home,” Jax gritted. “You should know that, considering you’re always spying on us.”

  Instead of defending herself, she commented in a
concerned tone, “Your uncle seems kind of uptight lately. How many phones does he have?”

  He sighed. “I don’t have a girlfriend named Penelope. I don’t have a girlfriend named anything.”

  “You’re so lucky,” she said. “I’m not allowed on Facebook.”

  He almost bit her head off. “It wasn’t Facebook! I’m just … surfing, that’s all.”

  “Looking for a dentist who won’t make you go every day?”

  Jax was grateful when the bell rang. It was the only way to turn her off.

  He didn’t get another chance to visit Benders Only until after he got home from the Quackenbush mansion. He clicked on Ask Penelope and there it was:

  Directly below was a link to another part of the Benders Only site. Jax was redirected to an article entitled “Improving Your Craft: Level Six — Boost the Bend.” He devoured it with the velocity of a speed-reader. It was written by a Russian hypnotist named Yevgeny Bobrov, who claimed the mesmeric experience could be intensified by bending your subject while the two of you sat between two mirrored walls. The author didn’t understand exactly how it worked. But he believed that the endless reflections acted as a mental lens that magnified the hypnotic effect in much the way that an optical lens worked inside a microscope or telescope.

  Jax dialed the switchboard operator at the mansion. “I need to talk to Mr. Quackenbush. This is …” He hesitated. The tycoon knew his real name, but there was no point advertising it to anybody else. “Jack Magnus.”

  A few seconds later, Zachary came on the line. “Yes, Mr. Jack, what can I do for you?”

  “I know it’s late, Zachary, but I need to talk to him. It’s urgent.”

  It seemed an eternity before Jax heard the feeble onionskin voice. “The last person who tried to drag me to the phone at this hour was President Clinton. But I guess I need you more than I ever needed him. What’s up, kid?”