by Laura Quimby
The concept of misdirection wasn’t too hard to grasp—it was all about attention.
Attention was focused on one thing to distract from something else. Jack simply had to focus Mussini away from the basket and from T-Ray. He glanced over his shoulder to Boxer, and the two boys advanced. Boxer brushed Jack with his shoulder, and then Jack bumped into him and so on, until they resembled pinballs slamming into each other.
“Hey, watch it, buddy!” Boxer yelled at Jack, shoving him into T-Ray’s basket, sending it flying to the ground.
Jack turned around and pushed Boxer. “You watch it, you big dork. And I’m not your buddy.”
“Don’t push me! I’ll squash you like a bug.” Boxer cocked his arm like he was about to hit Jack. Mussini grabbed Jack and pulled the two fighting boys apart.
“Cool off, you two!” Mussini barked. “What are you two messing around for? The show starts any minute.”
Jack sneered at Boxer. That second, Boxer spun around and elbowed Jack square in the nose, causing a glorious fountain of blood to spray all over Runt, Mussini, and T-Ray. Jack wailed in pain and clutched at his face. “You jerk! Ouch, ouch!” Jack hocked a loogie onto the floor between moans of agony.
“Gross!” Runt yelled. “That’s disgusting. There’s blood on my costume.” Runt frowned and wiped at the splattering across his vest.
“It’s broken. I bet his nose is broken.” T-Ray shielded the basket with his hand and tried to avert his eyes.
“I guess you won’t be coasting by on your good looks anymore, eh, kid?” Mussini said as he inspected Jack’s bloody nose.
“I feel queasy,” Runt said, pulling off his bloody vest and clutching his stomach. “I can’t stand the sight of blood.”
Mussini handed Runt a handkerchief. “Wipe off your face.”
“I think I’m gonna barf.” Runt swayed unsteadily and started dry heaving like a cat about to hack up a hairball.
“Suck it up, kid. You’re on.” Mussini pushed Runt onto the stage and glared at the rest of them. “Clean up and get ready. No mistakes out there tonight, or heads will roll … literally.”
After stumbling onto the stage, Runt proceeded to barf into his megaphone, but being the true professional that he was, he tossed it aside, cleared his throat, and bellowed out the introductions at the top of his lungs.
Over the years in foster care, Jack had learned that blood and agony were two of the best distractions. A cleverly placed blood pack and a little screaming, and no one would be looking as T-Ray dropped the paper animals into the basket. A bloody perfect misdirection.
As the night progressed, each act was a triumph as loud, confident voices carried across the stage. Jack’s voice boomed the loudest during his act. Perhaps it was the knowledge of his impending freedom—he felt loose and easy on the stage that night, as if all his secrets had been told, and he had nothing left to hide. Violet glided onto the stage during the act. The violet letter was pinned to her blouse like a beacon—a shimmering violet V sewn to her fairy bandit costume. Jack’s stomach did a somersault as he quickly escaped three sets of planted cuffs. They were going to make it.
Finally, the moment had come—the finale.
The finale began as it normally did, with T-Ray dropping the animals all around and Mussini doing his little dance on the stage, followed by the animals springing to life. Except this time the animals just kept springing and springing and springing, until the theater was a zoo. Overhead, birds fluttered and squawked, shedding feathers like confetti down on the masked heads of the audience. The aisles were crammed with small herds of sheep and goats. A group of hairy, long-armed monkeys swung from the curtain. A lion roared and hungrily eyed an agile gazelle leaping over a bench—right over the heads of the audience. Jack hoped the animals didn’t start eating one another.
T-Ray was the first to leave, weaving through the heavy curtains backstage. Violet kissed him on the cheek and pulled up his coat collar. Boxer hurried up behind her, and she jumped a little when he touched her back; he had been so quiet. The look of anticipation spread across his flushed cheeks with a grin. They were so close to leaving. Jack was next. He left the handcuffs in the wooden box Mussini had lent him. It was similar to the dirt-filled box the professor had in his office, only smaller. Jack didn’t like it. The magical box connected the magician and the curious boy; it reminded Jack why the professor picked him in the first place, because he loved magic, but Jack didn’t want to be anything like Mussini.
Jack felt a thrill rising in him, and his heart beat madly in his chest. Leaving felt like he was lighting the end of a fuse and watching it catch the gritty trail; at the end there was a pile of dynamite—Mussini. Jack hurried backstage, trying not to walk too loudly on the old, wooden planks. He was so close to getting out of Mussini’s grasp. Once outside of the camp area, they would make a run for the woods, getting lost in the forest of trees just long enough to escape.
Everything was going perfectly. Jack rushed up on his friends. Boxer and T-Ray both had their jackets and masks on. T-Ray gave Jack a nod when he pushed through the trunks backstage. They were ready to go. Jack squeezed Violet’s hand, the coolness making him shudder. He was so excited that he almost forgot that she was staying behind. She looked at him as if she knew what he was thinking.
“I don’t want to say good-bye. So go, all of you, just go,” Violet said.
“Wait. Where’s Runt?” T-Ray asked, pushing his fox mask up on his forehead.
Violet glanced around the backstage area. “He’s so forgetful.”
“How could he forget this?” Jack asked. “We can only wait a few seconds, and then we have to leave or he’ll blow it for all of us.”
“Oh, please, Jack. Please wait for him. I’ll never forgive myself if poor Runt gets stranded here,” Violet pleaded with him.
Jack couldn’t say no to her. “OK, we wait for Runt, but he better hurry up.”
“I’ll go look for him out front. Maybe one of the dead held him up.” Violet rushed past the boys and back out to the front of the theater.
“Hurry, Violet!” Jack called after her.
T-Ray stroked the tiny head of the neon green snake, Linguini, who was curled around his wrist, while Boxer and Jack peered through the curtains. The theater was in chaos. Pigeon fights erupted over the heads of the spectators, showering the audience in feathers. Goats nibbled on clothes as they paraded through the aisles. Weasels raced underfoot, and women let out high-pitched screams as they leaped up to avoid the scurrying beasts.
“See anything?” Jack asked, gritting his teeth. “That kid better not ruin this.”
“Nope. No Runt. But the animals are going wild.”
“What’ll we do, Jack?” T-Ray asked. “We’re losing time.”
“I know. I know. But I promised Violet.”
They all stared at one another as Mussini’s booming laughter grew closer and closer. Boxer dropped the curtain. They had to go now, before it was too late. T-Ray gasped. The bright green serpentine body of Linguini slid from T-Ray’s wrist and fell to the stage floor.
“Linguini!” T-Ray yelled. He snatched up his pet, now just a paper shell of a snake. “He’s dead.”
Jack knew instantly what that meant. “The show’s over!” Jack yelled. “We gotta go.” He pushed T-Ray toward the forest, but it was already too late. The dark silhouette of the Amazing Mussini appeared on the other side of the curtain. Suddenly it swung open, and Mussini strode backstage.
“What do we have here? Looks like lambs to the slaughter.”
The boys froze. Mussini’s stare was like a tractor beam, locking them in place. He propped his massive boot up on one of the trunks while he lit his pipe. Thick gray smoke trailed into the air. Mussini waved out the match and exhaled the smoke right into Jack’s face.
“My little lambs. Did you really think you could escape me?”
“Nothing’s going on here. We’re all just cleaning up after the show,” Boxer said, trying to cover.
&
nbsp; “Lying’s not your game, kid. Don’t insult me.” Mussini’s dark gaze pierced Jack right down to the bone. “Did you really think you could defeat me?”
“I took my chances,” Jack said.
“The bloody nose was a nice touch. Very theatrical.”
Mussini took three huge steps and pulled three earth-caked sacks out from behind some trunks, dropping them onto the ground at their feet. Mussini had found their stuff and dug it up. He’d known about the plan the whole time and was just toying with them. They were just a big joke to him. Jack clenched his jaw. Since the magic book had been in Jack’s sack, Mussini must have taken it back, and now he had nothing to trade the Death Wranglers.
“Your little menagerie was no match for me.”
Jack pushed past the others to face Mussini. “Where’s Jabber? Did he tell you we were leaving? He’s a coward if he did!” Jack yelled. Someone must have given them up. It was the only way Mussini could know so much.
“Ah, the ringleader. I should commend you. It was an ambitious plan, using my own trick to try and escape. Commendable. But not ambitious enough. And no, it wasn’t Jabber who gave you up.” Mussini’s black eyes gleamed and he bit down on his pipe.
“Who? Who gave us up then?” But Jack barely got the words out before he saw Violet push back the curtain with a disappointed look. Then he knew full well who had done it. Jack’s stomach sank. Runt cowered by her side.
“Runt.” Jack’s anger drained, replaced by bewilderment. “How could you do it? How could you tell Mussini?”
“Because I don’t want to go, that’s why. I don’t want to go back to the real world. I hate it there. I like it here with Violet and Mussini, and you, too, Jack. I’m never hungry or cold or lonely here. I start the show. I’m special. And I’m never going back to that other place.” Tears streamed down the boy’s cheeks, and he buried his face in Violet’s skirt.
Mussini placed his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Don’t you see? We’re a family. I love all my children. I couldn’t bear to lose any of you.”
Jack couldn’t tell if it was sarcasm or truth coming out of Mussini’s mouth. Did he really love them? Mussini put his massive arm around Violet’s shoulder. Sorrow filled her face.
Everything had been planned so perfectly, but it had never occurred to Jack that Runt had no one to go back to, no one waiting for him on the other side. The poor kid. Who could blame him? Jack knew all too well about the forgotten children of the real world—he was one of them. Maybe he was an idiot for wanting to go back. What did he have to go back to, anyway? More foster homes, more bad schools, more trouble.
Still, there was Mildred. Had she even realized he was gone? If so, she was probably worried sick, and she got hives when she worried. And then there was the professor, who had gotten him into this whole mess. Were they looking for him? Were they trying to bring him back?
Jack knew as he stared at the Amazing Mussini that whatever fire fueled him, he was getting out of there and back to the real world. He wasn’t about to give up, not even now.
Breaking down, packing gear, and setting up became a familiar routine each time they left one town and moved to another. “No roots” seemed to be the motto of life on tour. Each town offered new opportunities and a fresh start. After two botched escape attempts, failure was becoming second nature to Jack. So it was time to change tactics. The last thing he needed, while figuring out his next escape plan, was Jabber and Mussini breathing down his neck, so he needed to make them believe that they had defeated him and that he was resigned to staying in the forest. Jack rarely toed the line, but he wasn’t about to let his pride ruin his chances of getting out this time. He did what he had to do to survive—if that meant performing well in the show, so be it.
In order to keep Mussini happy, Jack had to come up with bigger and better performances to satisfy the insatiable appetite of the dead. The audience craved new and dangerous tricks, and even though his handcuff tricks were good, they weren’t going to pack in the crowds for long. Jack needed a real showstopper. When he finished his chores with the horses, he made his way back to the latest camp. Jack had a new idea for a trick, and he needed Boxer’s help if he was going to pull it off.
That night, Jack stood in the center of the stage with his back to the audience as the lights gradually illuminated the theater. A low rumble emanated from the crowd, curious mumblings from behind many masks. Violet drifted onto the stage. Black eye makeup streamed down her face as if she had been bawling her eyes out. She twisted a damp handkerchief in her fist and stared out into the audience, frantically looking for someone.
“Has anyone seen the Kid?”
The audience stared at her in bewilderment.
“Please, please, won’t anyone help me find him?” Violet begged as tears carved thin black trails down her powdery cheeks. Her skin looked extra pale against her mournful black dress starched stiff as a board. Finally, a member of the audience lifted his mask and yelled up to her.
“Do you mean him?” The man pointed to the spot where Jack stood. “The Kid is standing right there, miss. Can’t you see him?”
“Tell him to turn around and show us his face,” shouted another brave audience member.
Violet spun in tiny frantic circles like a scared rabbit unable to find a hole to hide in. She looked up at the audience, staring dramatically over their heads to the back of the theater.
“That’s not the Kid—not anymore. Not after what happened to him.”
That was Jack’s cue. He shifted sluggishly from side to side; his head bobbed, and his chin rested on his chest. Lost in his own tortured thoughts, he ambled around the stage, and then turned to face the crowd. A collective gasp filled the theater.
“What happened to him?” the audience member asked.
“Who did this to him?”
Jack’s eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles. His face was paler than a ghost’s, and his hair was a matted nest on his head. Groans rose from his chest. He stumbled on the stage and fell to his knees.
“This boy you see before you isn’t the Kid. True, he looks like the Kid and seems so much like him in manner and grace. At first, even I thought it was him when he stumbled into camp. But the real Kid must have gotten lost in the woods at night.” Violet twisted her hankie.
The audience groaned. “Oh no, poor boy.”
“Not the woods at night.”
“The dead of night,” Violet continued, stroking Jack’s hair as he kneeled on the stage in a mad stupor. “We all know what lives in the woods at night. The horrible creatures that lurk in the darkness.”
“He was such a nice kid, a good kid,” someone said from the first row.
“Creatures so lost and aching they search for souls, and they hunt the lost boys who wander into the woods. Last night they found the Kid, and they plucked out his soul, and look what they left us with,” Violet said to the distressed audience.
“He’s gone mad.”
“The Amazing Mussini took pity on him. He will let him stay in our camp and live here in this very theater,” Violet said.
“Mussini is a great man! A great and gracious man!”
“But wait!” Violet held up her hanky to silence the crowd. “There was a condition to Mussini’s kindness, as there always is.”
“What? What was the condition?” an audience member yelled. The audience was on the edge of their seats, breathless with anticipation. Behind their glitter and fur-covered masks, they looked like a pack of make-believe animals, eager for the story of which they were a part. Jack looked at them with unfocused eyes. The act was going even better than he’d planned. Violet winked at him and raised her arm.
“The condition is that he can never take off the jacket!”
“The jacket!” the crowded yelled. A spotlight focused on Jack. The crowd gasped. For the entire time Jack was on the stage, stumbling in near-darkness, he had been wrapped up tightly in his straitjacket. His arms were securely twisted around his own body,
the buckles done up the back. Violet eased her way toward Jack, tentatively pulling on the jacket to show the crowd how tight the binding was. Of course, being the great assistant that she was, Violet had left Jack just enough wiggle room to work with.
“Oh, I assure you, he cannot get out. Mussini locked him up himself. It is the finest straitjacket available—no one has ever escaped from it. Not even one of the dead.”
The crowd nodded with assurance. Violet paused dramatically and then continued, “But whatever you do, do not let him out of the jacket. I can only imagine what he might do if he were to escape! For whatever it was he saw last night in the forest, it has certainly driven him mad.”
“We won’t let him out.”
“The poor boy’s gone mad with fear!”
A frightful laugh rattled Jack’s body. Violet stumbled away from him. Jack rose to his feet and stumbled around the stage yelling, “You can’t hold me! Nothing can hold me!” Jack violently wrenched his arms side to side, trying to free himself from the straitjacket. This was the hardest part for Jack. He had to get enough slack to get his arms free. He didn’t need to act this part, because it was a real struggle. Violet raced around the stage.
“Help! Someone help! Please stop him before he hurts himself!”
That was Boxer’s cue to pull the rope. Jack fell to the floor and wiggled around in the jacket as if trapped in a tight cocoon. There was a rope fastened around his ankles and when Boxer yanked on it from behind the stage, the rope hoisted Jack up into the air so that he dangled perilously high above the stage.
“No one go near him!” Violet yelled. “It’s for his own good.”
Jack had gotten enough slack while wiggling around on the floor, and with the help of gravity from hanging upside down, he was able to get his arm up and over his head. Jack gasped, finally able to catch his breath. The blood rushed to his head. He swayed from side to side and had to rest for a second to get his bearings. Jack wondered, as he stared down at the stage, what it had been like for Houdini when he had dangled above the hard cement of New York City. The crowd had swarmed below him, undulating like a black river of suits. Did they look like insects, craning their necks to see the great Houdini dangled forty-five feet above them from a steel girder, only the tender loops of rope to hold him up?
