James Grippando - Leapholes

He paused, but only because it was his nature to be cautious. He. Didn'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.

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.