Leapholes

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 not come 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."

"That's because there aren't many lawyers like me." He smiled again, then gestured like a tour guide to show off the surroundings. "How do you like the library?"

"It's awesome."

The old man flashed a boyish grin. "It is, isn't it? That's one of the things I like most about handling cases before the Court of International Justice. I just love their library."

"Are these all law books?"

"Yup."

"Why do you need so many?"

"Because that's how our law is made."

"With books?"

"No. Not with books. With people."

Ryan looked up, then down, roaming the shelves with an inquisitive gaze. "All I see are books."

"That's all most people see. But when you've been trained as I have, you see much more. These are case books. Every time there's a legal case, that means someone went to court. Every time someone goes to court, that means somebody wins and somebody loses. Someone goes to jail, someone goes free.

Every single case reported in every last one of these books is a piece of someone's life."

"I never thought of it that way."

Hezekiah shrugged, as if he weren't surprised. "You hungry?"

"Yes."

"How hungry?"

"Enough to eat a book."

"Good. Take your appetite straight back that way, then turn left to the kitchen. Help yourself to the refrigerator. When you've had your fill, you can get out of that hideous orange prison jumpsuit. Your jeans and sweatshirt are in the closet."

"What about my basketball jersey?"

"Darn, I was going to keep that for myself. Goes well with the shoes." He winked to let Ryan know he was kidding. "Come get me when you're finished. I'll be on the second floor. I have a ton of research to do."

"Thanks," said Ryan.

"You're welcome."

Ryan was starting to like this Hezekiah better by the minute. He followed the old man's directions and found the kitchen. His stomach growled as he opened the refrigerator, and he nearly flipped when he saw what was inside. Not only was it packed with food, but it contained only the food he liked. Cheeseburgers, mac and cheese, yellow cake with chocolate frosting. Raisin bread, chocolate milk, and vanilla-flavored cola. Hezekiah even had his favorite sports drink in his lucky citrus-cooler flavor. Ryan grabbed a little of everything, cleared a spot on the table, and then proceeded to eat and drink until the-thought of swallowing one more bite made him sick to his stomach. He pushed away from the table and found his clothes in the closet. They'd been washed and were neatly folded. It felt good to put on his favorite jeans, sweatshirt, and sneakers. And the basketball jersey always brought him good luck.

A sudden crash from inside the library wiped the smile from his face.

He ran out of the kitchen and took a quick look around. Everything looked normal, but then he heard another crash upstairs, in the atrium. It sounded like books tumbling to the floor. Finally, his eyes locked on a huge mess on the second floor. One of the bookshelves had been overturned. It was exactly where Hezekiah was supposed to be doing his research. Ryan raced up the stairs and headed straight for the pile of books.

"Hezekiah!" he shouted, fearing the worst.

The pile of books was enormous, taller than Ryan and almost fifty feet long. The entire row of shelving had collapsed. Books were piled on top of books. Somewhere beneath the rubble, Ryan feared, was his new friend Hezekiah. Ryan started tossing books aside, digging furiously.

"Are you okay?" he shouted. No one replied. Ryan kept digging through the pile.

"Hezekiah! Are you-"

The old man's head suddenly popped up through the pile. He was laughing.

"Hezekiah?"

"Oooooh boy. That was a close one."

"Are you hurt?" asked Ryan.

He struggled to push his way up from the bottom of the pile. Ryan helped him to his feet.

"I'm fine, just fine. That happens every now and then."

"What happens?"

"Oh, the re-entry can be a bit rough sometimes."

"Re-entry? What do you mean, re-" Ryan stopped himself.

He noticed Hezekiah's clothes. "How did you get all soaking wet?"

"Research, of course."

"You get wet doing research?"

"Sometimes. It depends on the case."

Ryan made a face, confused. "What are you talking about?"

Hezekiah dug through the pile. He found the right book and turned to a certain page. "Here it is. This is what I was researching."

It was an old case. The pages had yellowed with age. The date was 1842. Ryan read the case name aloud. "United States versus Holmes."

"That's right," said Hezekiah. "I was doing research to prepare your defense at trial. This case-United States versus Holmes-will be very important to your defense."

"Why?"

"Because that's the way the law works. Judges rely on old cases to decide new cases. They're called legal precedents."

Ryan was still confused, but he was also curious. "What is this Holmes case about?"

"Oh, it was a terrible case. Just awful what happened to those poor souls." Hezekiah was trembling as he spoke.

Ryan was almost afraid to probe, but he asked anyway. "What happened?"

"A long time ago, a ship called the William Brown was sailing across the North Atlantic Ocean. It was carrying passengers from Liverpool to the United States. It hit an iceberg off the coast of Canada. The ship went down in a matter of minutes."

Ryan thought of the movie about the Titanic, another ship that hit an iceberg. It gave him chills. "That does sound awful. But what does a sinking ship have to do with my case?"

"Everything, my boy. That's what I've been trying to tell you. These cases are about people. To understand them, you have to get in to them. In to them, I tell you."

Ryan wasn't sure what to make of the old man. "Wait a minute. Are you saying that the reason you're all wet is because Hezekiah nodded slowly, flashing a mischievous grin. "Now I think you're beginning to get the picture."

"Nah," said Ryan, scoffing. "No way. You can get into books, figuratively, I mean. But you can't literally get in to them. Nobody can do that."

Hezekiah chuckled to himself. "What do you think happened here, then?"

"Looks like you pulled these bookshelves over and dumped a bucket of water over your head."

"Do you really think that's what happened?"

"I don't know. But that's a heck of a lot easier to believe than you jumping inside a book and getting all wet doing research about a ship that sank in 1842."

Hezekiah nodded, as if he expected Ryan's reaction. "What if I could prove it to you?"

"How are you going to do that?"

"Simple. I'll show you how I do my research."

Ryan took a half step back.

"What's the matter?" said Hezekiah. "You scared?"

"No. I'm not scared."

"Of course you're not. There's nothing to be afraid of, is there, Ryan? I'm just a crazy old man who pulled down the bookshelves and dumped a bucket of water over his head. Right?"

"Maybe."

"Or maybe not," said Hezekiah. "Come with me, Ryan. Do a little research, and learn for yourself."