When Jack woke up the next morning, his entire body ached. He hobbled into the bathroom and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Despite the pain radiating from his body, with a black crescent moon carved under his eye, he looked really cool, very butt-kicked. He liked it. But thinking of the fight reminded him of the kids in the park, which made him think of the professor, which brought him to the trunk. After seeing the professor's clandestine maneuvering of the trunk into his office, Jack suspected that the professor was hiding something. An investigation of the office and trunk was the only way to be sure.
The day started out pretty normal. Both the professor and Concheta were being extra nice to him since the incident the day before. They had no idea that the fight was no big deal, but he enjoyed the chocolate chip pancakes Concheta made and the Star Wars movie marathon he and the professor watched while sprawled on the settee, their socked feet propped up on the coffee table. Concheta came in every hour on the hour, bringing snack trays heaped with tiny egg rolls and pizza bites and filling up their drink glasses with frothy root beer.
After watching movies, Jack practiced his straitjacket escape, albeit painfully. Getting out of a straitjacket was really hard. (That was the point.) With his arms hugging his own body, a wave of claustrophobia cascaded over him. Jack's face flushed; his nose pressed into the hardwood floor. The professor observed, giving him tips.
"It's all in the arm, get it over your head," he said as Jack floundered around on the floor. "Slack, my boy, you need to make it more slack."
Finally, Jack got his head wedged under his arm and said breathlessly, "Got it." After he got his head loose, he went to work on the buckles, and he was home free.
"I made certain to get the correct size so as to not give you an unfair advantage if the jacket was too loose," the professor said.
For the first time Jack had a real coach, a mentor, just like Mildred said, only he didn't think getting tips on escaping from a regulation nut suit was what Mildred had in mind. Still, it was very cool of the professor. That made it harder for Jack to suspect him of keeping unsavory secrets, but he had to get more information to be sure.
Finally, at around five, Jack got his chance. The professor went to the university to get some work done. Jack strolled into the kitchen. Concheta slapped a meat loaf into a pan, popped it into the blazing oven, and set the timer. "I've got to take Little Miss B. to the vet. She ate something that made her sick."
"B. might have accidentally bumped into the platter of egg rolls earlier." Jack shrugged. "Sorry. She's fast when she wants to be. She scarfed down three egg rolls before I could grab the tray."
"Jack!" Concheta raised one of her thin penciled-in eyebrows at him. "Your dinner is in the oven. Remember to take it out when the buzzer dings." Concheta picked up a sluggish Little Miss B. in her dog carrier and headed out the door, leaving Jack with the whole place to himself.
Jack eased down the hall toward the professor's office. He stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed that the door to the office had been left open, just a crack. His first instinct was that it was a trap. It was just too easy for him to get in and snoop around. Then a wave of guilt rolled through his stomach when he realized that maybe the door was open because the professor trusted him. He touched the cool metal doorknob. For Jack, trust was earned, and the professor hadn't earned his trust yet.
He had given the professor his word that he wouldn't touch anything in the office, and if he got caught, the professor would probably kick him out for good; then where would he go? Mildred would be devastated if he screwed up again so fast, so for her sake, he couldn't get caught. Jack's fingers trembled slightly as he stared at the trunk; he wanted, no, he needed to know what was inside.
Jack crept into the office. The desk lamp cast a dusty halo of light across the carpet. Pulling the trunk away from the desk, Jack realized it was much heavier than it looked. A padlock dangled from the metal clasp. Jack slipped the lock pick from its usual hiding place in his shoe and made short work of the Home Depot special. The lock dropped to the floor with a thud. No turning back now. He heaved open the lid. A bone-chilling groan emanated from the box's rusty hinges. A flourish of goose bumps cascaded over Jack's skin when he peered inside.
Suddenly, a shrill buzzing rang through the house. Jack jumped, slamming the trunk shut. He skidded down the hallway to the kitchen and hit the timer and sighed with relief. He pulled the steaming meat loaf out of the oven. It was getting late. The professor or Concheta would probably be home soon.
Jack ran back to the office and knelt beside the trunk. A moldy smell rose up that he hadn't noticed before. The box was heaped full of dirt. Reaching down into the trunk, Jack dragged his hand through the rich black earth. The dirt was cold to the touch. Disgusted, he brushed his hand off on his jeans.
Jack inspected the cakey soil and shuddered. There could be human remains or mouse bodies or something really gross in there. He grabbed a pencil off of the desk and dragged it through the dirt. The tip of the pencil stopped, hitting something. Wedging the pencil deeper, Jack lifted a piece of what looked like cardboard to the surface. He snatched it up quick and brushed the dirt off. It was a card, like a birthday party invitation, with printing in bold black type:
Jack dropped the card. It had to be a joke the professor was playing on him, probably trying to teach him a lesson not to pry into other people's trunks. He picked the card up again, but this time a new line magically appeared:
He jerked his hand, and the card fell to the floor. Quickly, Jack grabbed the card and reburied it. This was definitely a trick, perhaps another gift, or more likely a trap to catch him snooping. He was so busted. For the first time since his arrival, Jack was afraid. He shut the box and fastened the lock.
In an effort to keep his mind off the card, Jack ate a thick slab of meat loaf for dinner and practiced with his cuffs. The metal bracelets called to him, and he could always count on them and their logic—a skill he could master and control. He twisted his hands behind his back like he had a thousand times before and closed the steel around his wrists.
As far as picking went, Jack was partial to the shim. He visualized the inner workings of the lock before inserting the slim metal tool. That's how doctors do it in the emergency room when they're trying to get a guy's windpipe open and slide tubes in so the guy can breathe. The doctors imagine the trachea with its soft pink walls and visualize the tube going in. The esophagus runs straight. Sword-swallowers really did swallow the sword. Jack visualized the lock mechanism in his mind's eye. He saw the ratchet—the toothed wheel inside the lock—the simple way it worked like a turnstile in a subway. He followed the shim going in and rounding the small metal corners of the lock, wedging its way in; overriding the catch, he pulled. Click. He didn't need to see it now to know that the lock had released.
Too antsy to stay cooped up, Jack had the sudden urge to go outside and run to clear his head. He didn't lock the door to the house. Jogging along, he was almost invisible in his black T-shirt and navy sweatpants, slipping in between parked cars and telephone poles, trading places with the dark. He made a game of it, trying to stay in the shadows, dodging a sudden flood of headlights. Throwing himself on the ground, he crawled on his belly till the car coasted by. He ran through the playground and through the small tangle of woods.
He felt alone, but alert, cautious. This was how animals must feel. People always liked to make it seem like animals had families, moms and dads and babies. But it wasn't true. Sure, they technically did, but most animals were left to survive on their own pretty early. Once, he saw a nest of baby rabbits that the mother had already left—and they barely had their eyes opened. If those baby rabbits could survive, so could he. They don't wait for their mothers to say good-bye to them. Jack kept running, like an animal in his leafy and tangled kingdom. He was a star in his own deep dark sky. His destiny was bigger and brighter than this journey of survival.
The card irked him—the strange invitation seemed so real, somehow feeling alive as it had trembled in his hands. The words had moved. Was the invitation really from the mysterious magician Mussini? But the carnival was so long ago—when the professor was young. There was no way that Mussini was still around. The professor probably had a normal explanation for everything. Mildred would have never placed him with a dangerous guy. Weird was one thing, but not dangerous.
Still, Jack needed answers, and he would have to face the professor sooner or later if he wanted to get them.
An entire week went by. Jack was still as jumpy as a baby rabbit. He waited day after day for the professor to confront him for snooping in his office. Surely he had left some incriminating evidence behind—some dirt on the floor or on his clothes. But so far, the professor said nothing about his office, the trunk, or the card. Jack's deception was exhausting. His head ached. Regret spread through him more and more each day. Why did he break his word? Why did he have to screw everything up?
Saturday morning, Jack sat cross-legged on the living room floor, shoveling heaping spoonfuls of cereal into his mouth. The horrific moans of a violin oozed out from under the professor's office door, as on every Saturday morning the professor listened to classical music. Jack turned up the television, hoping that the high-pitched mania of his cartoons would drown out the screech of strangled cats the professor called masterpieces. Suddenly, the music stopped, and Jack jumped to turn the television down.
Jack slurped up the chocolaty milk-soup of his cereal while his eyes followed the professor walking around the room, circling him. The professor stared at him; the look of suspicion caused dread and guilt to roll around in Jack's stomach.
"When were you going to tell me?" The professor began gathering up pages of newspaper from the coffee table.
"Tell you what?" Jack asked, resting his cereal bowl on the floor. He tried not to panic; the less he said, the better. The professor didn't seem that angry; maybe he would let him off easy for sneaking into his office.
The professor glanced down his nose at Jack. "That's not a very good answer. Try again."
"I was never going to tell you," Jack said, hoping his blunt yet honest answer would at least gain a few points. He could still feel the cold earth slip between his fingers when he opened the trunk, and he could still see his name printed clearly on the card. He was the guest of the magician Mussini. He had opened the trunk when he knew he shouldn't. He broke his word to the professor and Mildred by sneaking into the office. And now he just sat there, pathetically waiting for his punishment. A lump formed in his throat.
"Never! But if you never told me, then we couldn't go." The professor stood in front of the television, focusing Jack's attention.
Go where? What was he thinking? Jack stared at the professor.
"I'm not sure I want to go." Jack wiped his mouth off on his pajama sleeve; his chin still ached from the fight in the park. If the kids were right, then Jack and the professor were off to the psych ward, which might not be so bad as far as punishments go, compared to where they might be headed.
"Well, as your legal guardian, I am insisting that you attend." Swiftly the professor wedged the newspapers under his arm and rummaged into his pocket. He pulled out a piece of paper and dropped the creased leaflet onto the carpet in front of Jack. "Concheta found this stuffed in the pocket of your jeans when she was doing the laundry."
Jack snatched up the yellow slip. It was the carnival flyer he found in the park! A wave of relief washed over him, and he jumped to his feet. He had forgotten all about it.
"All you had to do was ask." The professor smiled. "As you know, I love carnivals and was thrilled when Concheta showed it to me. I think you'll find we have many things in common."
"That's a relief," Jack said. "Um, I mean, I'd love to go."
"Tonight is the last night to attend." Jack grinned and the professor walked out of the room.
If the professor didn't know that Jack snuck into the office, then Jack wanted to keep it that way.
