Unlocked (2 page)

“Who's afraid of appearing foolish tonight?” A majority lifted their hands. “I'll tell you what”—he pointed, and the music in the background softened—“everyone shake your hands high in the air.” Everyone did, including me. “Shake them faster. Higher. Lower. In front of your face. Turn to your neighbor. Who seems foolish now?” The volume of the music increased, and everyone burst into raucous laughter. “And we haven't even started the show yet!” Master Gira shouted into the microphone.

He moved back to center stage, directly in front of me, but he looked beyond me—higher up into the stands. “Grab the hand of your neighbor and extend your arms out straight.” Both Manny and Lily linked fingers with me. The animated hypnotist lifted his arms up and down, and everyone in the crowd followed without hesitation. We all looked ridiculous, but the merriment was contagious.

“Who's ready to have the most amazing time of their life?” The crowd shouted their approval. “Well, the best seats in the house are right up here.” He pointed toward the row of chairs on the stage. “If you want to let go of your fears and feel more relaxed than you ever have, join the show tonight. I have fifteen chairs, and I need them filled boy, girl, boy, girl. Who wants to help?”

Lily tugged me to my feet, and with her other hand, she reached for Jordan. I reminded myself that I was doing this for her. I was nothing like my dad. I could have fun and keep my composure.

Manny hopped up with us. “I'll go, too. When it's over we can do whatever you want.”

“Eat funnel cakes,” I said.

“Funnel cakes it is.”

I gave a quick nod, and all four of us ran up onstage with eleven other suckers. Several stage assistants showed us which seats to take. Manny and I sat next to each other, but they positioned Lily and Jordan at the other end of the row. She gave me an enthusiastic thumbs-up, and he winked at me.

Gira explained to the audience that they needed to be very quiet while he hypnotized us. “Not everyone can be hypnotized,” he said. “If I or my assistants see someone is not fully under, we will excuse them from the show to return to the bleachers. And likewise, if a member of the audience falls under, we may bring him or her to join us up here.”

The lights over the bleachers dimmed, and the spotlights aimed at the stage brightened. I squinted at the harsh beams. The hypnotist stepped in front of the row of chairs and touched each person on the shoulder. His jeans brushed my bare knees, and he paused in front of me with his index finger on my shoulder. I focused on the blacks of his pupils, and goose bumps popped out on my arms. My instincts told me to get off the stage. But the show had already begun. Lily would kill me if I left now. I could just pretend to be hypnotized.

Master Gira shifted his hand in front of me and offered it to shake. He didn't do that with anyone else, and so I hesitated at first, but then I relented and extended my own hand. Without warning, he clutched my wrist and jerked it upward, nearly lifting me out of my chair. He held my palm so close to his face, his breath warmed my skin. He lowered his voice and spoke in a rapid monotone.

“From the tips of your fingers relax your muscles.” He released my wrist and touched my fingertips. Then he trailed his hand down toward my elbow. I was uncertain about how I should react. “Feel an overwhelming sense of peace. Let go of your worries. When I count to three you will slip into a deep resting place of serenity and comfort. One. Two. Three. Sleep!”

He snapped, and my chin fell to my chest.

But I wasn't asleep.

I wasn't snoring. I wasn't dreaming. My eyes were open, and I was aware of everything around me, but my head felt heavy. I played along, and even with my chin down, I could see the hypnotist step to the person next to me. On my other side, Manny tugged at the hem of his tan shorts and bounced his knee. He leaned forward and whispered, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I whispered without moving a muscle.

A stage assistant said to Manny, “Please return to the audience.”

I needed him to stay.

Manny's hand tightened into a fist on his thigh. “I want to continue,” he said.

“No.” The stage assistant nudged his arm.

Manny flexed his fingers and plucked at his blue polo shirt. The assistant led him away, and another assistant guided someone else to Manny's chair. The stranger's chin sank to his chest. My eyes throbbed from straining, but before I closed them to rest, a shadow crept across the stage floor. I took a deep breath and listened to the hypnotist tell more people to sleep. Were they all faking like I was?

“Open your minds,” Master Gira said with a cadence. “Open your minds and listen to my voice. I'm going to count and when I reach ten, you will be in a deep restful sleep, but you will still hear my voice and respond to my directions. As I count, visualize yourself moving down a plush staircase. Each step down brings you closer to true relaxation. Each step doubles your sense of peace. One, you're on the first step moving down.”

I'm doing this for Lily.

“Two. Three.”

I hope Manny is okay.

“Four. Five.”

I am not like my dad. I can stay in control.

“Six. Seven.”

I wish I could see Lily and Jordan.

“Eight. Nine.”

An ant crawled across the stage. It was out of my reach; otherwise, I would have squished it under my flip-flop. I hated those pests.

“I only want you to experience an overwhelming sense of serenity and comfort. Relax . . . Ten. Accept the feeling of immense satisfaction. Gradually lift your heads and open your eyes.”

I lifted my chin, thrilled my neck didn't ache from being in the same position for so long. I stretched from side to side and scanned the audience for Manny, but the bright spotlights kept me from making out the faces. They seemed like distant ghosts instead of living people. I glanced down to the end of the row, expecting to see Lily and Jordan, but they were gone.

“Slowly inhale, expand your diaphragm, and hold it.” I followed Master Gira's instructions, but I faced straight ahead and avoided eye contact with him as he paced the stage. I wanted him to assume I was under his spell. “Gently release the breath out through your mouth.”

The music changed again. A familiar tune, but a few seconds passed before I recognized the anthem of “La Bamba.”

“We're listening to one of your favorite songs,” Gira said. “You love it so much; you want to be a part of it, right?”

Not really, but I was willing to join in for the show.

“Imagine your favorite musical instrument: drums, trumpet, guitar, anything that makes you happy. On the count of three pick up your favorite instrument from your lap and play along with the music. The more you participate, the more relaxed you'll feel.”

I could do that. One. Two. Three. Trumpet up. Lips puckered. Fingers moving. We played our instruments for a few seconds. Then Master Gira quickly said, “One. Two. Three. Sleep.” My body drooped, and my chin sank to my chest. I relaxed.

The hypnotist called on other participants to do random silly things on the stage: pretend to be a duck, pretend to juggle fire sticks, pretend to be naked. Then he had a group of five lying center stage sunbathing. He told them the temperature dropped below freezing. While they reacted and the audience laughed, the hypnotist stood in front of me. He gave more monotonous instructions to the group of sunbathers and told them to cuddle together. The crowd clapped and whistled.

Master Gira swung the microphone behind his back, leaned in close to me, and whispered, “Open your mind and allow your subconscious to hear me. I want only goodness for you. Open your mind and let my voice in. Experience this peace.”

His breath, moist against my ear, smelled of cigarettes. Part of me worried about his intentions, but a larger part of me sensed an overwhelming degree of comfort. I took a deep breath and released the remaining tension from my muscles.

Gira moved back to center stage and suggested to the group that the temperature had become warm again. He counted to three, and an Irish dance song replaced the previous melody.

The hypnotist spoke rapidly with the cadence of the Celtic music and told us how much we wanted to move to it. I had been sitting a long time. I was ready to stand up and stretch. He counted to three, and everyone onstage popped out of their chairs at the same time, including me, glad to do it. We stepped around a bit, and as he suggested, we kept our arms glued to our sides and moved our feet to the music like Irish dancers. It felt energizing to prance around. I grinned and sent a mental message to Lily: This one's for you, sister. I tapped my feet to the rhythm.

Lily's voice rang out from the crowd, “Yay! Hannah!” My smile grew.

Master Gira counted in a smooth-textured voice, and the music changed to a harp.

“You are so relaxed after dancing, the only thing you want to do now is rest. So, float like a leaf, to your chair on the stage, and go to sleep.”

I drifted across the stage, and then I sank into my seat, delighted to rest. The guy to my right leaned into me. I wanted to push him off, but it was too much effort.

“Remain asleep,” the hypnotist said, “but sit up straight and open your eyes.” I followed his instructions and sat taller in my chair.

Gira summoned a guy to center stage. “You're a famous exotic male dancer, highly paid and highly sought after for your perfect physique.”

The music changed to a darker jazz sound with an accentuated beat.

The guy flexed his muscles. The crowd cheered him on, and he shifted from pose to pose.

Master Gira turned to us. “Ladies, you're excited to have this famous performer here tonight. Pull your wallets from your purses and take out all your dollar bills.”

I went along with the fantasy and pretended to find my purse under the chair and pull money from the make-believe wallet.

“The more cash you find in your wallet, the more relaxed you feel. One. Two. Three. Four . . .” He continued counting and moved closer to our chairs. Then he swept his arm forward. “Come on ladies! Show your gratitude for the performer. Tuck the dollars into his shorts.”

We swarmed the guy, and the other girls tucked imaginary money into the waistband of his shorts. One of the girls even offered me some of her pretend cash and encouraged me to participate. In my peripheral vision, the hypnotist watched, so I reached out and tucked the bills into the back pocket of the guy's shorts. Then I clapped and cheered to display my appreciation for his performance. He tugged his shirt up and over his head and flung it out toward the crowd. They rewarded him with whistles and cheers.

But when he unbuttoned his shorts and showed some hip, the hypnotist reined everyone back in. The music changed to a softer melody, and the hypnotist counted everyone down.

“Relax and float back to your seats,” he said.

I glided across the stage, relieved to sit. The guy to my right leaned into me again. After a few seconds, his mountain of a body shifted my balance, and I pressed into the guy on my other side. His posture gave way, and we slid lower on the chairs. Embarrassing. But surely the show was almost over. I could go along with it for a few more minutes. I kept my eyes closed.

“When I count to three, you're going to experience more relaxation than you've ever felt in your life, as if you've had a five-hour massage and an eight-hour nap. When I touch your forehead and say, ‘Awake,' you will be fully conscious and feel amazing. One. Two. Three.” His feet shuffled along the stage. The crowd gasped as he said “Awake” to each participant. The guy next to me lifted his own weight and sat upright when the mystic told him to awake. But when Master Gira reached me, instead of touching my forehead and saying “Awake,” he leaned in close to my ear and whispered, “Open your eyes, Hannah.”

I hadn't deceived him. He moved to the next person, touched his forehead, and told him to awake. I stretched and wondered how he knew my name.

“A big round of applause for our amazing participants!” Master Gira yelled to the crowd. Everyone burst into cheers, and the lights evened out, illuminating the entire tent interior. Rock music, once again, blasted from the speakers. My friends rushed up onto the stage and started talking all at once, but the song was too loud for me to understand a thing they said. Manny looped his arm through mine, and we maneuvered toward the exit.

Once outside with the music behind us, Manny asked, “Funnel cakes?”

“Yes, please.” I took a deep breath, rejuvenated.

We walked toward the fairway and the food alley. Lily chattered on about my hilarious performance and how she felt jilted for getting pulled off the stage.

“Robbed. Just robbed,” she said.

We lingered in line at the funnel cake trailer, and Lily rocked from foot to foot.

“Did the deep fryer spring a leak?” Jordan stepped to the side and gawked.

“I'm starving to death.” Lily kicked the dirt.

“You guys can go get your food,” I said, “and then we can meet over there.” I pointed across the fairway to a covered area with picnic tables.

“I'll wait with you,” Manny said.

“What?” Lily asked. “Are you so codependent you can't let her stand in line by herself?”

Manny narrowed his eyes.

Before he could get into another argument with her, I said, “I'm fine. Go get your food.”

He glanced at Lily, then back to me. “You're sure?”

“Go,” I said. He snaked through the crowded fairway, and a shadow fell across him. I lifted my head skyward to see the cause, but only the moon filled the heavens and the fairway lights blocked out any sign of the stars. I faced forward again and studied the menu: scones, donkey droppings, Indian fry bread, and funnel cakes.

I reached the front of the line and recognized Eugene, a boy from school, working inside the food trailer. He wore penny-sized plugs in his earlobes, a silver ring in his lower lip, and more trinkets on his fingers, in his nose, and in his eyebrows. The pits of his gray V-neck T-shirt were wet, and his cropped black hair glistened in the heat and humidity of the trailer.