Leapholes (2006) (8 page)

Ryan suddenly felt something scurry over the top of his foot. He withdrew quickly, his heart in his throat. He looked around, but he saw nothing. Whatever it was, it had disappeared in a flash. He hoped it was a large cockroach. He feared it was a rat. He wished his dog were with him. Sam was a gentle giant, but Ryan always felt safer with him around.

"Pssssst

Ryan froze. He thought he heard a snake hissing.

"Psssst."

There it was again. This time, however, it sounded more human. It was coming from the next cell. "Who's there?"

"Not so loud," she said. "It's me. Kaylee."

Ryan moved all the way to the bars, but he couldn't see her. A solid brick wall separated the two cells. Iron bars ran across the front of Ryan's cell, and they were too close together for Ryan to stick his head out and peer into the next cell.

"Is that really you?" he said, his voice slightly louder than a whisper.

"Yes. They brought me here last night, while you were still asleep in the ship's brig. I was worried about you. I'm so glad you're okay."

"Yeah, I guess I'm okay." He scanned his bleak surroundings and added, "If you call living in a dungeon okay."

She fell silent, and Ryan wondered what she was thinking. Finally, she said, "I'm sorry."

"For what? You didn't do anything."

"I heard that they're planning to put you on trial. For manslaughter."

"Looks that way. Are they putting you on trial, too?"

"No."

"Then why are you here?"

She paused, then said, "You shouldn't be talking to me."

"Why?"

He couldn't see her, but he could hear her sigh in the darkness. "Because this is a trick."

"What kind of trick?"

"The detective put me in the cell next to yours for a reason. I'm supposed to get you talking. He hopes you'll slip and sa
y s
omething incriminating. Then I'm supposed to testify against you at trial and repeat all the damaging things you say."

Ryan scoffed. "It's hard to imagine how I could say anything that would make things worse than they already are."

"Things can always get worse. Take it from somebody who knows."

"I'm not so sure," said Ryan. "This may be one situation where it's about as bad as it gets."

"This is so unfair. You were just trying to save me. Why do I always do this? It seems like every time someone does something to help me, it ends up getting them into trouble."

She sounded genuinely upset. Funny, thought Ryan. When they'd first met in the ER, Kaylee had struck him as the kind of pretty and popular girl whose biggest challenge in her perfect life was trying to figure out what to wear every morning. Sometimes, first impressions could be way off the mark.

Ryan said, "Don't go blaming yourself. I know why they're doing this to me, and it has nothing to do with you."

"What's it about then?"

Ryan took a seat on the floor, his back against the brick wall. The sound of Kaylee's back sliding down the opposite side of the same wall told him that she, too, had taken a seat on the floor. But for the bricks and mortar between them, they would have been sitting back to back. Strangely, Ryan took some comfort in that. "You don't want to know the truth," he said.

"Does it have anything to do with Ryan L'new?"

Ryan bristled. This Kaylee was one smart girl. He drew a circle on the dirty floor with his fingertip. He was just doodling,, not sure if he should tell her.

"You can talk to me," she said. "I'm not going to tell thos
e j
erks anything."

He spoke softly, trying to bite back some of the anger in his voice. "My father's name is William Coolidge. He's in jail."

They were in separate cells, in almost total darkness, looking in completely opposite directions. Still, Ryan felt certain that she was seeing him in a completely new light. People always did, once they found out that his father was in prison.

Kaylee said, "Do you think they're out to get you because your father is in jail?"

"Of course. That's the way people think. You know that old saying, The apple doesn't fall far from the tree?' People know my dad's a criminal, so they treat me like one, too."

"I'm sorry about your dad," she said. "I really am."

Her tone surprised him. It was soothing, as pleasant as it ever had been. She didn't seem to be judging him. Maybe she'd never heard that old expression, "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree." Or maybe she was different from most people.

"Thanks," he said.

"What did your dad do?" she asked.

"He was a journalist. An investigative reporter for the Tribune."

"No. I meant, what did he do to end up in jail?"

"They say he stole something."

"What?"

Ryan shrugged. "I don't really want to talk about it."

"Sorry. Didn't mean to be nosy."

"It's okay. That's the way it always is. Once people find out that your dad's in prison, that's all they want to talk about."

"I won't bring it up again, okay? If you want to talk about it, we'll talk about it."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Then we won't."

"Good." Ryan was glad to have that part of the conversation behind them, but it hadn't gone as badly as it might have. For the first time since his father had landed in prison, he felt as though he'd found someone who understood--someone he could talk to, if he wanted to.

"Ryan, I'm not going to repeat any of this to anyone. You know that, right?"

"I think I do.

"I wasn't trying to get you into trouble when I told them what happened in that conference room. I spoke up only because I thought they were going to give you a medal or a reward. What you did was so courageous. I never dreamed they were trying to build a criminal case against you. You do believe me, don't you?"

He paused, but only because it was his nature to be cautious. He
. D
idn't really doubt her sincerity. "Yes, I believe you."

The burning torch was flickering. The dungeon was getting darker. Kay lee's voice tightened. "Ryan, I'm scared. This place is creepy. What if there are rats or snakes?"

He didn't tell her about that thing--whatever it was--that had scurried over the top of his foot. "Try not to think about that."

"I can't stop. I'm afraid."

There was silence, total stillness. Ryan could hear only the distant drip of water in another damp cell.

"Ryan?"

"Yes?"

"Will you hold my hand?"

He glanced toward the bars. There was barely enough light to see his own hand, but hers almost seemed to glow in the darkness. She had reached through the bars of her own cell and slid her hand across the floor toward his. Ryan reached through his bars and took her hand.

It was cold in the dungeon, but her hand felt warm. His heart was beating a little faster, and it was a good feeling. It washed away a lot of loneliness, and not just the loneliness of his cell. It was the loneliness of lost friends at school, teachers who didn't trust him, parents who didn't want him staying in their house for sleep overs with their children. All those terrible things happened when your father was locked behind bars. This, however, had a way of making it all disappear.

It was the feeling that nothing else mattered.

They stayed that way, silent, their fingers interlocked. Ryan's thoughts turned to the four unlucky ones: Flu Lady, Sling Man, Head Case, and Coach Jenkins. He'd forgotten their real names, but he would never forget their faces. He said a silent prayer for each of them. He prayed for Kaylee, too.

The burning torch flickered. The flame weakened, fighting for survival. It shrank to almost nothing. Ryan caught his breath. Kaylee squeezed his hand.

The flame went out. Their cells were in total darkness.

Ryan said another little prayer. For courage.

Chapter
11

Ryan woke the next morning. Or was it the afternoon? He had no way of knowing. The cell was completely dark, night or day. Then he heard noises--faint at first, then louder. Footsteps! And they were coming toward his cell.

It had been a difficult night. Kaylee had made him promise not to fall asleep before she did. Ryan always kept his promises.

The corridor that led to his cell was growing brighter. Someone was coming. He could hear them. He could see the glow of their torch.

"Kaylee," he whispered into the next cell. There was no answer. He tried again, a little louder this time. "Kaylee, wake up."

Suddenly, the glowing torch appeared on the other side of the bars. The flame was harsh on Ryan's eyes, but it was sorely welcome. The iron door opened, and a guard entered his cell.

"Kaylee is gone," he said.

"Where did she go?"

"Detective Malone sent her home. You're the only one charged with a crime."

Ryan felt sad that she was gone, but he knew he was being selfish. Any home, even his own, had to be better than this place. "What happens now?"

"Let's go," said the guard.

"Time for my massage already?" said Ryan. Yet another joke. He was at it again, looking danger in the face and trying to defuse the situation with humor. Just like his dad.

"Time to meet your lawyer," the guard said.

"I don't have a lawyer."

"The court of justice appointed one for you. Now, come on. Move it."

Ryan followed the guard out of the cell and down the long, stone corridor. The thought of climbing out of the dungeon and seeing the blue sky and sunshine made him eager with anticipation, but he was soon disappointed. They weren't going upstairs. The guard stopped at a large wooden door at the end of the corridor. The painted sign on the door read, LAW LIBRARY.

Ryan said, "This is where I meet my lawyer?"

"Yup. This is where his office is."

"His office is in a dungeon?"

"The Court of International Justice goes to great lengths to make sure that all prisoners are given a fair trial. There is a law library here on the premises. All court-appointed lawyers are given an office in the library where they can meet with their clients."

"I'd be happy to relocate. I mean, if that would make my lawyer happy."

The guard shot him a nasty look, and then he knocked hard on the door. No answer. The guard grabbed the brass knocker and gave it three loud bangs. They waited. Finally, a reply came.

"Send the boy in!"

"He's expecting you," the guard told Ryan. He opened the door and gave Ryan a little shove. Ryan stumbled into the library, and the door closed behind him. The guard had no
t c
ome with him. Ryan was alone, and he was simply awestruck by the surroundings.

"Wow, this is so cool." He was speaking to no one. His words were like a reflex.

He was standing in the center of a five-story atrium. It was like one of those cavernous lobbies in the big-city hotels where you could see all the way up to the top floor. Here, however, none of the floors had hotel rooms. Each level had only bookshelves, row after row of bookshelves. They were stacked with books from floor to ceiling. The volumes had to number in the thousands, at least. Ryan felt as though his head were on a swivel. He was looking up and all around, admiring all the books.

"How do you do, young man?"

Ryan turned to greet the voice. "Fine, thank you. You must be the lawyer."

"Yes, that's me. Hezekiah is my name."

"Pleased to meet you. My name's Ryan."

They shook hands, which made Ryan feel good. It was nice to know someone was on his side. Actually, everything about Hezekiah was strangely reassuring, though a bit quirky. He was a very old African-American with bushy white eyebrows that nearly joined at the bridge of his nose. It was as if a long, white caterpillar were crawling across the top of Hezekiah's eyeglasses. The glasses, themselves, were a relic from the past. They were black and horn-rimmed, with thick Coke-bottle lenses that made his eyes seem larger than life. They were dark, expressive eyes that sparkled when he smiled. His hair was a frizzy mess of long, gray strands that practically stood on end. "Wild" was the word that came to mind. The overall appearance was an eclectic cross between Thurgood Marshall and Albert Einstein, two very famous men whose photographs were in Ryan's dictionary. Hezekiah's clothing was only slightly less peculiar. He wore a navy blue suit and a white shirt, which were standard for a lawyer. Hezekiah's suit was completely wrinkled, however, as if he routinely slept in his work clothes. The skinny neck tie was straight out of the old black-and-white movies that Ryan's mother liked to watch on television. The shoes were the biggest surprise of all. Ryan did a double take, but sure enough, the old lawyer was wearing canvas, high-top basketball shoes.

"You were expecting wingtips?" said Hezekiah.

Ryan smiled, realizing that he must have been staring at the man's shoes. "Sorry. I don't know many lawyers who wear basketball shoes."