Hypnotists (9780545503273)

by Korman, Gordon

  Finally, Mrs. Baker, who taught Pre-Algebra, came forward. It took the Amazing Ramolo and his pocket watch just a few minutes to put the teacher into a deep trance. She stood there, eyes shut, awaiting instructions.

  “You are attending a royal ball,” the hypnotist intoned. “Your gown is pure white and glitters like diamonds. The archduke himself asks you to dance. The music has your feet already moving, and you swirl around the floor in a graceful waltz. Now dance, young lady. One, two, three; one, two, three …”

  To everyone’s astonishment, their math teacher began to waltz across the stage, arms clinging to an imaginary partner.

  Tommy elbowed Jax hard enough to break his ribs. “That’s messed up!” Suddenly, his hand waved in the air. “I’ve got to get in on this! There’s no way that guy can make me dance with myself!”

  “Don’t do it,” Jax advised. “All he wants is to turn you into a clown.”

  Mrs. Baker continued to circle the “dance floor,” her expression blissful. Now Ramolo had more volunteers than he knew what to do with. He woke Mrs. Baker and selected six students from the group clamoring to get onstage.

  Tommy let out a whoop when he was chosen. “Watch and learn, Opus. I’m going to be a star!”

  Jax settled back in his seat with a sigh of resignation. There was no stopping Tommy when his mind was set on something.

  Soon, Ramolo had his volunteers in trances and was demonstrating his power over them. Caytha Markakis was sweeping the stage with a nonexistent broom. Rupert Jones was reciting “Mary Had a Little Lamb” with passionate expression. Jessica Crews truly believed she was in a class where she was the only one who knew the answer to a difficult question. She wriggled in her chair, hand raised, waving madly, muttering, “Oh! Oh! Pick me!”

  The audience ate it up, clapping and cheering and calling out the occasional “Don’t pick ’er, teach! Make ’er wait!”

  Then it was Tommy’s turn. Maybe it was the boy’s overeager, slightly goofy face, or how hard he’d fought to get onstage. Whatever the reason, the hypnotist decided to get a little creative with his final victim.

  “Fluffy feathers cover your body, and you strut around the pen, pecking the dirt for stray seeds and small bugs. You are a chicken — a rooster, in fact — and the coop is your castle, the barnyard your domain.”

  With a “Cock-a-doodle-doo!” Tommy was off in a crouch, waddling across the stage, arms crooked to form flapping wings, clucking heartily. Thanks to his flexibility from basketball training, he was able to get his “beak” almost all the way to the floor as he foraged for food.

  Waves of laughter swept over the crowd. Even Jax smiled a little. Well, I warned him, he thought.

  “Look out, rooster!” taunted Ramolo. “The farmer’s coming! And he has his ax!”

  Tommy reacted with terror, flapping around the stage at high speed, knocking over Jessica in her chair. It got screams.

  One by one, the hypnotist brought Caytha, Rupert, and Jessica out of their trances. They returned to their seats to be greeted by high fives and good-natured ribbing. Tommy, however, remained a chicken.

  Jax waited for Ramolo to restore the last subject, but it didn’t happen. There was too much entertainment in a scared rooster running like mad from an invisible ax-wielding farmer. The crowd was on its feet, howling encouragement and laughing uproariously.

  “Faster, Cicerelli!”

  “He’s right behind you!”

  “Naw, slow down! I want to watch him chop your head off!”

  It had its amusing side. Even Jax had to admit that. But there was nothing funny about Tommy’s reaction. He seemed to be in genuine fear for his life, weeping in terror. Clucking turned into sobbing.

  Enraged, Jax stepped to the footlights and glared up at Ramolo. “Hey!”

  The hypnotist glanced down at him.

  “Listen, mister, you’ve gotta cut this —”

  Before he could finish the sentence, he was slammed by another vision — himself at the edge of the stage, seen from a high angle. It was sudden, and so vivid that he forgot for a moment what he was saying, and why. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Tommy, and blurted to Ramolo, “You try the chicken routine and see how you like it!”

  With a loud squawk, Ramolo went hopping across the stage in a near-perfect impersonation of Tommy. It put the crowd over the edge. The students abandoned their seats and rushed up front like the wild revelers in the first few rows of a rock concert. The teachers struggled to restrain their charges, but restraint was impossible. Total chaos reigned.

  It got so loud and rowdy that Tommy snapped out of his trance and looked around, bewildered. He grinned triumphantly at Jax. “See? I told you he couldn’t hypnotize me.” That was when he noticed Ramolo strutting and crowing. “Whoa! Get a load of the goofy guy!”

  To the seventh graders of I.S. 222, it was the best field trip in a long time. If this really was an example of 1920s vaudeville, they were all for it. Only — the Amazing Ramolo didn’t seem to be stopping. As the laughs died down, to be replaced by an uncomfortable murmur, he was still waddling and clucking and flapping.

  The stagehands came out with the hook, but that seemed to terrify him, and he scrambled away from them. It finally took two large men, who were not in 1920s clothing, to corner him and wrestle him, kicking and clucking, into the wings.

  There was a juggler and a contortionist still to come, but no one could settle the audience down after this performance, especially since the squawking could still be heard emanating from backstage.

  “Do you think it’s part of the act?” Jessica asked nervously. “He isn’t even out here anymore!”

  “He’s nuts,” Rupert concluded.

  “Either that, or he hypnotized himself when he hypnotized Tommy,” added Caytha.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Tommy scoffed. “He never hypnotized me.”

  “You did everything but lay an egg!” she shot back.

  Tommy looked to Jax for backup, but got only a sad nod.

  “Not true!” he wailed. “Is it?”

  But Jax was preoccupied. Another vision, closely followed by another explosion of crazy behavior, like the eye doctor and the psychiatrist. Of course, there was always the possibility that Ramolo was just mimicking Tommy as part of his act. It had certainly turned his performance into a showstopper. But wasn’t it time to dial back the poultry imitation?

  These incidents had started off so rare that, at first, it had been easy for Jax to put them out of his mind. But now they were happening every week — practically every day. Something was very wrong.

  But what?

  It took a bucket of ice water to wake up the Amazing Ramolo. Shivering and sputtering, he emerged from his trance to find himself flanked by the theater’s two burly security men, who were holding on to him tighter than seemed necessary.

  “Welcome back,” said the larger one, Joe. “Colonel Sanders called. We told him you’re not interested.”

  “Do you remember who you are?” asked Frank, the partner.

  “I’m the Amazing Ramolo,” said the hypnotist, outraged. His real name was Ray Finklemeyer, but only the accountant who wrote his checks knew that.

  He rushed back to his dressing room and dug out his cell phone.

  What to say? How to explain it? How would he begin to describe the remarkable phenomenon he’d just experienced? With trembling fingers, he dialed the number.

  “It’s me,” he said into the phone. “Something just happened. I’ve never felt the power stronger.”

  The letter arrived at I.S. 222 a week later.

  Dear Principal Orenstein,

  Congratulations!

  We are pleased to inform you that one of your students, Jackson Opus, has been selected as a candidate for our New Horizons program. At Sentia, we look for the best and brightest among our young people. Jackson has demonstrated exceptional skills in the field of communications, and we look forward to developing his talents in a meanin
gful way.

  Our program will not interfere with the excellent education Jackson is presently receiving at I.S. 222. We would require his attendance each weekday after school, as well as every Saturday. We are delighted to be able to offer this exceptional opportunity to Jackson. We hope to begin working with him as soon as possible.

  Yours truly,

  Elias Mako, MD, PhD, DD

  Tommy handed the letter back, frowning. “Since when do you go looking for extra work?”

  “Since never,” Jax said fervently. “I didn’t apply for any special program. Until this showed up at Orenstein’s office, I’d never heard of the Sentia Institute.”

  “Sounds like a bunch of smart people who act all superior because they know more than us,” Tommy commented sourly. “Like what Sentia means, for example.”

  “I googled it,” Jax told him. “Sentia was the Roman goddess who gave babies their first awareness.”

  Tommy nodded wisely. “Those Romans had all kinds of messed-up gods. I think there was even a poop deity, but he probably never got his own institute. How did these guys find out about you?”

  Jax shrugged. “I’m good at communications.”

  “Yeah, right. I barely understand you half the time, and I’m your best friend.” Tommy squinted at the top of the page. “‘Elias Mako.’ Who’s that?”

  Jax smiled. “‘Dr. Elias Mako has devoted his life to New York City education and is an inspiration to every single one of us.’”

  “What are you — his press agent?”

  “That’s what Orenstein told my folks,” Jax explained. “You should have seen them. They were practically on the ceiling. It’s like the proof they’ve been searching for that I’m not nuts.” He slammed his locker shut and slung his book bag over his shoulder. “I’d say ‘See you,’ but I can’t guarantee anything. I’m now busy twenty-five hours a day.”

  “Maybe if you’re late, they’ll kick you out,” Tommy suggested hopefully.

  “I couldn’t get that lucky.”

  The offices of the Sentia Institute were located in a seven-story brownstone on East Sixty-Fifth Street, close to Park Avenue. Winged griffins with angry faces glared down from the roof, and Doric pillars held up the overhang that covered the front entrance. The sign was small and discreet, as if the institute valued its privacy:

  The institute occupied the top three floors. Jax took the paneled elevator up to Reception on five. The place seemed less like a public building than a really luxurious home, at least one from the 1890s. There were, however, things that the 1890s never saw, like computers and flat-screen TVs.

  “I’m here to see Dr. Mako,” Jax announced, holding out his letter.

  “Jackson Opus,” the receptionist greeted warmly. “We’ve been expecting you. Dr. Mako isn’t in the office right now, but he’s so excited that you’ll be working with us.”

  “Uh — thanks,” Jax stammered. “Exactly what kind of work are we going to be doing? The letter said communications, but that could mean a lot of things.”

  “Jackson,” came a voice behind him, “it’s great to meet you.”

  The woman he turned to face would have been the center of attention in a crowd of a thousand people. She was tall, slim, and drop-dead, supermodel gorgeous. Not just beautiful but perfect, from the way her long blonde hair caressed her shoulders to the shadow of her eyelashes on her perfect cheek. Even her conservative business suit was tailored so that it hung on her without a single wrinkle.

  She held out a manicured hand. “I’m Maureen Samuels, assistant director here.”

  As he shook it, he could smell her perfume. “Jax.”

  She peered deeply into his eyes and, for an instant, Jax felt the beginning of another one of his visions. Or maybe it was just the assistant director’s magnetism — she really was a knockout. Whatever the reason, the sensation passed quickly.

  All she said was, “You’re the real deal.”

  “The real deal?” he repeated.

  She straightened her collar, which was, like everything else about her, exactly right. “I’m sure you’re anxious to get started and find out what we’re all about here. Kira, can you show Jax to the testing room?”

  A girl about Jax’s age stepped forward, startling him. He hadn’t even noticed her standing there, so overpowering was the presence of the assistant director. It was like trying to focus on a birthday candle next to the sun.

  “Hi,” she said. “Follow me.”

  Halfway down the long corridor, she turned to him with a look that was half amused, half disgusted. “You may be the new new thing, but I see you have the same reaction to Miss Universe as the rest of the guys.”

  Jax felt his cheeks burning. “What’s the new new thing?”

  She shrugged. “Don’t let it go to your head. The latest is always the greatest around here. Dr. Mako may be a genius, but he honestly believes that every piece of raw talent is going to be the one.”

  “The one what?”

  “You’ll know soon enough,” she promised.

  The walls of the long hallway were decorated with pictures of the many celebrities, sports heroes, and political figures who had visited Sentia. All those famous faces seemed to orbit an impressive dark-eyed man with striking brows and a strong hawklike nose.

  “Is that Dr. Mako?” Jax asked.

  Kira nodded. “He’s a great man. There are a lot of weird things about Sentia, but he’s no poser. He’s going to change the world.”

  Jax frowned as they passed a half-open door. Inside, a lone man sat on a straight-backed chair, hugging his arms and shivering. Jax could actually hear his teeth chattering.

  “Is Dr. Mako changing the world by making it colder? What’s up with that guy?”

  Kira laughed. “Oh, he’s not cold. He just thinks he is.”

  It was the first time Jax had seen her smile. It rearranged her whole face, made it more open, more friendly.

  It didn’t last long. She stepped back and closed the door, serious again. She led him around a corner and into a small windowless office. Sentia’s director smiled down from the surrounding walls, his arms around the two surviving Beatles.

  “Dr. Mako definitely likes having his picture taken.”

  She looked at him disapprovingly. “Dr. Elias Mako has devoted his life to New York City education and is an inspiration to every single one of us.”

  Jax blinked. Orenstein had used exactly those words to Mom and Dad. Not only did this Mako guy have plenty of fans, but they were all on the same page when it came to explaining why he was so great.

  Kira rummaged in a drawer and produced a thick sheaf of papers. The stack made a percussive whump when she slapped it down on the desk. “These are your tests.”

  “The first day?”

  “Psychological tests, mostly. Everybody has to do them. There’s no time limit, but you don’t want to drag it out forever.”

  Resignedly, Jax slipped into the seat, picked up his number 2 pencil, and began filling in ovals. The questions were mostly pointless:

  15) I wake up in the morning …

  a) refreshed and excited for the new day.

  b) still tired and wishing I had more time to sleep.

  c) filled with a sense of dread that something bad might happen.

  d) don’t know.

  87) Choose the statement that best describes your attitude toward food:

  a) I derive pleasure from the variety of foods that make up my meals.

  b) Everything tastes the same.

  Maybe this test would show if a person was crazy or depressed or something. But it certainly wasn’t going to help Dr. Mako “change the world.”

  A deep voice in the doorway announced, “So this is the golden boy.”

  Jax looked over. A tall muscular teenager was sizing him up, and looking not terribly blown away.

  Kira appeared behind the newcomer. “Leave him alone, Wilson. He’s doing his tests, same as the rest of us.”

  Wilson enter
ed the office. There was a swagger in his step, even though he was only moving a few feet. “This guy? What does he have to prove? He’s going to save the franchise. He doesn’t need tests.” He peered down at the finished papers, examining them critically. “Anyone can see he’s special.” With a single motion, he swept the entire stack onto the floor.

  Kira was disgusted. “Real mature, Wilson.”

  Jax leaped to his feet. “Obviously, you’ve got a problem with me. And that’s on you, because I’ve never even met you, man!” He stood toe-to-toe with the bully, glaring into his face.

  Suddenly, Wilson took a step back, and then another. It was a good thing, because Jax felt the beginning of another vision, this time a close-up of his own enraged face. It faded quickly and, by the time he came back to himself, Kira was between him and Wilson.

  “Really, you guys?” she demanded. “You’re going to have a fistfight in the middle of Sentia? Dr. Mako would be so proud.”

  “Just greeting the new talent,” Wilson mumbled, then turned on his heel and stormed off.

  “Thanks.” Jax seethed. “It’s great to be here!”

  “Lighten up,” Kira advised wearily. “He’s just showing you that he was here first. There are about ten others who are going to give you the same welcome.”

  Jax was in no mood to listen. “I know I just arrived today. Nobody has to explain it to me.”

  Kira stooped to gather up the papers Wilson had knocked from the desk. It was a peace offering of sorts, and Jax got down to help her.

  “Look,” she went on. “High achievers are competitive people. Any newcomer is going to be seen as a threat at first.”

  Jax was wary. “How do you know I’m a high achiever?”

  “Dr. Mako knows. He chose you.”

  From the wall, Elias Mako peered down, his arms around Paul and Ringo. He certainly looked like a man who recognized a high achiever when he saw one.