James Grippando - Leapholes

Just three hours had passed since Ryan and Jarvis disappeared down the leaphole. Dr. Coolidge was not holding up well. She was still recovering from Ryan's first disappearance. Those three days he had gone missing could only be described as a mother's worst nightmare. The only information the police could give her was that a high-school boy had seen Ryan's bicycle collide with a white car. He wasn't in any of the hospitals. No one called to say he was okay. Worst of all, her last words with her son had been an argument over their weekly visit to his father. Three sleepless nights later, the hospital called to say that Ryan had turned up in the emergency room. She vowed never to let him out of her sight again. Then, just a few hours after leaving the hospital, he was gone again.

It was the worst day of her life-even worse than when her husband had gone to prison. At least she knew where her husband was.

The lead detective blew his nose into his handkerchief, then checked his notes. His name was Jorge Gonzalez, and he had a heavy New York accent. A toothpick dangled from the corner of his mouth, and it wagged like the tail of a dog when he spoke. "So let me get this straight, Dr. Coolidge. You're saying that one minute your son and this flat-faced character were standing in the library. The next-poof!-they disappeared into a book."

"Yes."

The detectives exchanged glances. Dr. Coolidge could almost read their minds. "You don't believe me," she said.

"People don't just vanish, ma'am."

"I can't explain it. I'm telling you what I saw. The SWAT team raced into the library like a stampede of elephants. They knocked over all the bookshelves. Next thing I knew, I was struggling with Ryan and this flat-faced man for a metal bracelet that they called a leaphole. And then they were gone."

Detective Gonzalez worked his pencil between his fingers like a miniature baton. "Let me ask you this, ma'am. Other than yourself, is there anyone who can say for certain that your son and this other man were actually in this building?"

"The SWAT team, I'm sure."

He shook his head. "I'm afraid not. No one from SWAT saw anyone inside the office but you."

"That's not surprising. With all the bookshelves falling down, they probably couldn't see all of us. Ryan and that man disappeared just a few seconds before the SWAT team reached the study area."

The younger detective spoke up, the one with no hair. "Let's back up a second. How did you find this building in the first place?"

"My son took me to it. He said it was the office of a lawyer named Hezekiah."

"That's very interesting," said Detective Gonzalez. "We checked this out. No one named Hezekiah has ever been a tenant at this address. It was last rented to a law firm called Dewey Cheatam and Howe. They vacated the space about three weeks ago."

"So, the law books belonged to them?" she said.

"Yes," said Gonzalez. "And according to their office manager, no one has ever disappeared into any of their books before."

"I don't understand this," she said.

Detective Gonzalez leaned into the table and looked her straight in the eye. "I've seen this a hundred times, ma'am. I know how difficult it can be for a mother to admit that her child has run away from home."

"Ryan didn't run away."

"Has he ever run away before?"

"No."

"What about last week? You told the police that you and your son had an argument. He was supposed to visit his father., You came into the kitchen and he was gone."

"Well, I wouldn't call that running away."

"Ma'am, he took off on his bicycle and didn't come home for three days."

"He was in an accident. The doctor thinks he could have had temporary amnesia."

Gonzalez looked at her skeptically. "You're a doctor. How many cases of temporary amnesia have you seen in your entire career?"

"Very few," she admitted. "Maybe a couple."

"A couple. Now, I'm a cop. I probably see a dozen kids a year who claim to have temporary amnesia. Funny thing is, they're all faking it. These kids are just afraid that their parents will punish them for running away from home. So they make up a story."

"Ryan knows he can't fool me. He's not a faker."

"Lady, he disappears for three days. He comes back telling you that he and some magic lawyer traveled back in time to a sinking ship from another century. He may get points for imagination, but he's still a faker."

"You don't believe anything I've told you, do you?"

The detective rubbed his big nose again. "Look, I'm not calling you a liar. You seem like a nice person. I'm sure Ryan isn't running away from you. But kids do this kind of thing when their dad ends up in prison."

"Are you suggesting that this is somehow my husband's fault?"

"All I'm saying is talk to your son. Maybe he's getting teased at school. Kids can be cruel. Ryan's a pretty easy target with his dad in jail."

She folded her arms tightly, a purely defensive gesture. "Ryan knows he has nothing to be ashamed of. His father is innocent."

"I'm sure you and his father tell him that. But innocent men don't plead guilty. Ryan is old enough and smart enough to know that. Believe me, for a boy his age, there's plenty to be ashamed of."

The anger was boiling up inside her, and she feared that she might say something unwise. She rose and said, "Get out of my house."

The men pushed away from the tabfe without a word. Dr. Coolidge showed them the way out.

Standing in the open doorway, the old detective glanced back over his shoulder and said, "Just so you know, we'll be treating this case as a runaway. I'm sure your son will turn up. Probably as soon as he gets hungry."

She watched as they climbed down the front steps. Detective Gonzalez turned and looked back at her one last time before getting into his car. He was shaking his head.

How dare he, she thought as she closed the door. How dare that old detective say that about my son. She felt another surge of anger, but her feelings were more complicated now. As much as she hated to admit it, the detective had managed to plant a tiny seed of doubt in the back of her mind.

Maybe Ryan had run away.

Never before had Ryan seen a river so big. He now understood why they called it the Mighty Mississippi. In the mid-nineteenth century, a levee extended along the Mississippi's right bank for nearly six miles. At old St. Louis, it rose to a limestone bluff almost forty feet high. Wharves, warehouses, and other structures stretched all along the bank, serving a city of over 150,000 people. Ryan and Jarvis watched from a high point on the bluff, looking down on the river. This was the golden era of river boats. Still, the sheer amount of traffic on the waterway surprised Ryan. He stopped counting at 170 vessels, but he saw still more. There were paddle boats, sailboats, steamboats, and fishing boats. Ferries operated between Illinois and Missouri, as there was no bridge. Coursing between the larger boats were rafts, canoes, and rowboats. Some were purely pleasure craft. Others were commercial. They ranged from the old and barely seaworthy to floating palaces with fine Victorian carpentry. They headed up river and down river. At the levee, dozens more unloaded cargo and passengers, making St. Louis one of the busiest ports in the country, second only to New York in tonnage.

Ryan and Jarvis were seated on the grass, eating little green crab apples that they'd picked straight from a tree alongside the road. The sour juices made Ryan wince as he chewed. They weren't exactly tasty. Funny how the mind works, but Ryan seemed to recall from his summer reading that even Huck Finn swore off stealing them. In fact, it was right when Huck and Jim's raft floated past St. Louis that Huck said "crab apples ain't ever good." Huck was probably right. But Ryan was starving, and his belly was grateful for anything that would fill it.