Leapholes

by James Grippando

  "So many left behind," a man said sadly.

  "Poor souls," said the woman next to Ryan.

  A huge wave smashed into their boat and drenched all the passengers. The rain was letting up, but the wind was blowing even harder.

  "We'll be joining our friends in the icy depths soon enough," said the oarsman.

  The oarsman pulled with all his strength, but the powerful seas seemed to be winning the struggle. The moon again disappeared behind the clouds. The rain returned. The full fury of the storm was upon them once again. Punishing waves slammed without mercy against the side of their little boat. Ryan gripped the person next to him. One more wave like the last one might send them all tumbling overboard. On impulse, he took one last look over his shoulder.

  There was only darkness in the distance. All signs of the William Brown had faded from sight.

  The captain stood tall at the bow of the lifeboat. His cape flapped in the breeze as the rain pelted his face. He cupped his hand around his mouth like a megaphone and shouted, "We're overloaded!"

  Another wave splashed over the side. The boat was rocking and taking on seawater.

  "I say, there are too many aboard!" cried the captain.

  A monstrous wave slammed the boat and completely washed over them. It was too dark and crowded for Ryan to be able to see his feet, but he could feel the cold water in the bottom of the boat. It was up over his ankles. Yet another wave hit them, and the boat took on more water.

  "The plug is out!" a sailor shouted.

  The plug was for a small drain in the hull. Normally, it was opened only when the boat was resting on board ship. A pulled plug at sea meant the boat was taking on water.

  "Someone, quick, find the plug!"

  The water had risen to Ryan's mid-shin.

  "Lord, have mercy! We're all going to drown!"

  One of the crew stuffed a rag in the hole, and the water stopped rising. The boat, however, was nearly swamped. The wind was whistling. Passengers were bailing water with their bare hands. Frantically they fought to keep the lifeboat from sinking. Several women were crying. A young child near Ryan was shivering and turning purple.

  The captain was on his feet again. "Crew, what's the head count?"

  The oarsman shouted, "We are a dozen too many, sir!"

  "Then twelve must go!" the captain shot back.

  Ryan looked at Hezekiah and whispered, "Go where?

  The captain stood at the bow and said, "Everyone, listen to me. There are twelve of us too many on this boat. If we do not reduce our load, we all shall perish. Do I have any volunteers? Is anyone willing to abandon this boat and save the rest of us?"

  The passengers glanced nervously at one another. No one said a word. Perhaps they were too cold and wet to speak. Perhaps they all hoped to make themselves unnoticeable to the captain.

  A black wave seemed to rise out of nowhere. Its foamy whitecap hit the captain squarely in the chest. He was nearly knocked overboard, but he managed to hold on. The water level in the boat had risen above Ryan's knees.

  "You leave me no choice," shouted the captain. "We'll draw lots. The winners will stay. The losers must go. It's the only way, mates."

  The captain directed two of his crewmen to come forward. Then he reached across his cape and tore off one of the brass buttons. He turned his back to the passengers, and then he wheeled to face them. His arms were extended away from his body. Both of his hands were clenched into a tight fist. He stepped toward the first row of passengers, keeping his crewmen at his side.

  The captain looked at the man in the first seat and said, "Choose one!"

  "What?" the man said.

  "This is the way we shall proceed. Choose a hand. Find the button, and you stay. Choose the hand without the button, and may God have mercy on our souls."

  "I refuse," said the man.

  "Then you shall be the first to go overboard!"

  The crewmen grabbed the man by the shoulders and lifted him to his feet. The man struggled and said, "All right, all right! I'll choose."

  The crewmen released him. The man was shaking, Ryan noticed, and with good reason. He was literally making a life or death decision, just as Ryan and the others had been forced to do in the disease control center. It was suddenly clear to Ryan why the William Brown was so important to his own trial.

  The man pointed nervously to the captain's right hand. "I choose that one, sir."

  The captain opened his hand. To the man's great relief, there, in the captain's palm, was the brass button.

  "You may stay," said the captain.

  The man returned to his seat. The captain again turned away to hide the button. Then he presented the next passenger with the same unthinkable decision. "Choose," said the captain.

  The man stared at the captain's fists. Rivulets of rainwater ran down the man's face. Finally, he pointed and said, "I choose the left."

  The captain opened his fist. It was empty. No button.

  "Over you go!" the captain shouted.

  "No!"

  The crewmen grabbed him. The man squirmed in their arms, but the sailors were too strong.

  "Someone, help me!" the man shouted. No one moved. The crew heaved him overboard, and the man soared into the air, arms flailing. Ryan looked away, but he heard the splash as the unlucky man met his fate.

  "This is sheer madness," a woman behind him whispered.

  "It's the only way," another man replied. "Or we'll all go down."

  The captain continued down the row, stopping next at an old woman. He gave her the same choice. She made the correct one. He moved to the next passenger. "I choose the left, sir." Wrong choice.

  "Over you go!"

  The captain and his two crewmen moved methodically through the lifeboat, covering each row of passengers. Everyone was given the same chance. Everyone played by the same rules. The captain treated everyone the same, giving them the same choice. Right or left? Live or die? There were winners, and there were losers. Ryan turned and glanced at the surging seas behind the lifeboat. The losers had already disappeared into the black, churning ocean.

  Finally, the captain was standing before Ryan.

  "Your turn, son," said the captain.

  Ryan took a hard look at the captain's face. His cheeks were red and raw from the winter storm, but there was no emotion in the captain's eyes. He had the self-assured and determined expression of a man who was simply doing his job. He extended his closed fists away from his body, looked at Ryan, and said, "Choose one."

  Ryan stared at his choices. Right or left? He tried to make up his mind, but in his gut he felt nothing but revulsion for the whole process. It was the same feeling he'd had back in the hospital. No one had the right to choose who lives or dies.

  "This is so wrong," said Ryan.

  "Choose one, or you go overboard!"

  The crewmen were at the ready, poised to pitch Ryan overboard if he refused to cooperate. It seemed like a contradiction, but Ryan had no choice but to make a choice.

  "I choose the right," said Ryan.

  The captain breathed a heavy sigh. Ryan couldn't tell if it was a sigh of relief or a sigh of pity. Slowly, the captain opened his right fist and said, "I'm sorry, son."

  His hand was empty. Ryan's heart sank.

  "Crew," said the captain. "You know what to do."

  "Please, no," said Ryan.

  The sailors grabbed him and lifted him from his seat.

  "Hezekiah!" Ryan shouted.

  One of the sailors grabbed Ryan's arm. The other grabbed his ankles. Ryan kicked and squirmed, but the crewmen were too strong. He couldn't believe this was happening.

  "It's okay, Ryan," said Hezekiah. "Virtual legal environment, remember?"

  His words did nothing to put Ryan at ease. Ryan was a skeptic when it came to leapholes, no doubt about it. But this was unlike anything he'd ever seen any computer ever do. This felt too real. The adrenaline rushing through his body was real.

  The pounding of his heart wa
s real. The fear that cut to his core was real.

  "Hezekiah, stop this right now!"

  "I can't stop it!" said Hezekiah.

  The lucky survivors ducked out of the way as the crew carried Ryan above a row of passengers. They were just a few steps away from the side of the lifeboat.

  "Hezekiah!" he shouted, kicking desperately as each word left his lips: "DON'T… LET… THIS… HAPPEN!"

  "Find the leaphole, Ryan. Just find the leaphole!"

  Ryan tried to understand what Hezekiah was saying, but he had no idea what he meant. Find the leaphole? What leaphole? Hezekiah had the leapholes in his jar back in his office.

  The crewmen raised Ryan up over their heads. Ryan gave one last effort to wrest himself free, but it was pointless. On the count of three, the sailors hurled Ryan over the side.

  Ryan was suddenly airborne, caught in the cold north wind. For a moment, he felt as if he were a bird soaring above the ocean. But the sensation of flying soon gave way to the terrifying feeling of falling.

  "Hezekiah!" he called out.

  The old lawyer grabbed a ring-shaped life preserver from the back of the boat. It was identical to the one Ryan had spotted on board ship. It was white with black letters that spelled out the ship's name, The William Brown.

  A sailor tried to snatch the life preserver away from him. "That's for the winners, not the losers."

  "Nonsense," said Hezekiah. He broke free and heaved the life preserver overboard. It soared through the air like a Frisbee and splashed into the crest of a powerful wave. It came to rest on the surface-exactly where Ryan was about to land.

  All of this happened in a matter of seconds, but for Ryan it seemed that the world had switched to slow motion. The life preserver sailing through the air. The white ring coming to rest below him. And Hezekiah's words ringing in his ears: Find the leaphole, Ryan!

  Suddenly, the life preserver didn't look like a life preserver anymore. Instead of bobbing in the water, it began to turn clockwise. The turning became faster. Soon, it was a swirl-a swirl so large and so swift that the water around it began to turn as well. In the blink of an eye, the swirl was a tight whirlpool.

  Ryan tried to change his course and avoid the whirlpool. But it was as if some force had grabbed him in mid air and was pulling him into a hole. He landed feet first. A powerful suction immediately took hold of his entire body, pulling down, down, down, into deep cold water.

  Ryan didn't feel cold. Or wet. He knew he was underwater, or at least he knew that he was supposed to be underwater. Around him there was only darkness, but there was a light above. It was like staring up at the night sky through a telescope.

  The next thing he saw was a pair of canvas basketball shoes plunging through the hole. It startled him at first. Then he recalled his first few moments in Hezekiah's office, when he had been surprised to see the old man dressed in a business suit and wearing basketball shoes. The same shoes were coming toward Ryan now. Hezekiah came right along with them.

  Ryan couldn't speak. Everything around him was a blur. The feeling was exactly like the sensation he'd felt when he and Hezekiah had traveled from his office to the race track, to Wrigley Field, and to that bus in Alabama. Hezekiah was with him. They were speeding through a strange tube of some sort.

  They were headed straight down another leaphole.

  Chapter 15

  When Ryan and Hezekiah finally landed on their feet, they were standing in a long hallway with soaring, cathedral-style ceilings. Tall columns of fluted granite supported sweeping stone arches. The floors were polished marble, and the gloss was so high that Ryan could almost see his own reflection.

  Ryan removed his VLE helmet. His clothes were soaking wet. "Where are we?" he asked.

  Hezekiah took him by the arm. "Come with me. There's not a minute to spare."

  They walked quickly down the impressive corridor to a set of double brass doors. The sign on the door read,

  SOCIETY MEMBERS ONLY.

  "What society?" said Ryan.

  "Never mind that," said Hezekiah. "You're not a member. Quiet now. I could get in big trouble for bringing you here." Hezekiah pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the doors. The heavy door opened slowly. Hezekiah pushed Ryan inside. He took him straight to a locker with an old oak door that bore the name HEZEKIAH. The old man opened it and removed a black robe. It reminded Ryan of a graduation gown.

  "Put this on," he told Ryan.

  "Why?"

  "Just do as I say. We're going to be late!"

  "Late for what?"

  "There's no time to explain. Just put on the robe."

  Ryan removed his wet clothing and pulled the robe over his head. It was a heavy garment made of very fine cloth. Hezekiah helped him with the clasps in back. Then the old lawyer pulled another black robe out of the closet for himself.

  "How do I look?" said Ryan.

  "No sillier than I, I'm sure."

  They shared a quick smile, and then Hezekiah turned serious. "We must go now. Follow me. And hurry."

  Hezekiah led the way. They exited through the same set of double brass doors. At the long hallway, however, they headed in a different direction. Ryan almost had to run to keep up with Hezekiah. Finally, they stopped at another set of brass doors at the other end of the hallway. These doors were even bigger and more impressive than the other set.

  "What is this place?" asked Ryan.

  "The Court of Justice."

  "Why are we here?"

  "For you, of course."

  "Me?"

  "Yes. Your trial is about to begin."

  Ryan gasped. "My trial! But-"

  Before he could finish, Hezekiah pulled him aside, shushing him. "You're ready, Ryan. Trust me. Trust me more than your father and mother did."

  Ryan scrunched his face, confused. "What are you talking about?"

  "I've been waiting for the right moment to tell you this, but I don't think the right time will ever come. So here goes. I wasn't exactly appointed out of the blue to be your lawyer."

  "What was it-magic?" he said, smirking.

  "I have good sources at the Court of International Justice. When I heard you were in trouble with the law, I immediately volunteered to represent you."

  "Why?"

  "I was your father's lawyer."

  Ryan's mouth opened, but the words were slow to come. "No you weren't. I saw his lawyer in the courthouse."

  "That was his new lawyer. Your parents hired me first, but they fired me after a couple of weeks."

  "They fired you? Why?"

  "Your mother thought I was too old. Your father thought I was too crazy, basketball shoes and all that. So they dismissed me."

  "So, you were willing to defend my dad? I guess you aren't one of those lawyers who loses sleep over defending the guilty, huh?"

  "You think your father was guilty, Ryan?"

  "Well, DUH! I was in the courtroom when he pleaded guilty."

  "That doesn't mean he was guilty. It's just like someone who enters a plea of 'not guilty.' That doesn't mean they're innocent."

  "What does it mean?"

  "Courtrooms are as much about proof as they are about truth, Ryan. When people stand up in court and say, 'I'm not guilty,' sometimes what they're really saying is that the prosecutor just doesn't have enough evidence to prove them guilty. Do you understand?"

  "I think so. It's like the time I was in a crowded elevator with my friend Sweaty Colletti. Sweaty let out a real silent but deadly one. Everyone was looking around, trying to figure out who was the silent stink bomber. When I told Sweaty I knew it was him, he didn't deny it. He just laughed and said Trove it.'"

  "Crude," said Hezkiah, wincing, "but you appear to have grasped the concept. A plea of not guilty is like saying Trove it.'"

  "But a man who pleads guilty, like my father, is a totally different situation. What could he possibly be saying other than 'I admit it: I did it.'"

  "Usually he is saying, 'Yes, I did it.' But maybe once in a wh
ile there are other things involved."

  "Like what?"

  "I can't talk about that, Ryan. Even though your father fired me, I was still his lawyer for a period of time. Everything a lawyer and his client talk about is completely confidential. I can't discuss it with anyone. Not even you."

  "But you're the one who started this. You can't just open this box and then slam it shut. Are you saying my father pleaded guilty to something he didn't do?"

  The old man considered it, but he was clearly struggling. "I can tell you this much, Ryan. Had I remained his attorney, I would have advised him to plead not guilty."

  "Is that because he was innocent? Or because you thought the prosecutor just didn't have enough evidence to prove that he was guilty?"

  "Like I said, Ryan. That's all I can tell you."

  They locked eyes, but it was clear to Ryan that Hezekiah would never say another word about it.

  "Enough about your father," said Hezekiah. "Let's deal with your case now. Are you ready, my boy?"

  "Ready as I'll ever be, I suppose."

  "Great. Let's go."

  Chapter 16

  Hezekiah opened the door and guided his client inside. Ryan was immediately in awe of the most amazing courtroom he'd ever seen. The ceilings were at least twenty-five-feet high, and they were coffered with elaborately carved woodwork. There was a row of floor-to-ceiling windows on either side of the courtroom. Beyond several rows of public seating was the judge's bench. It was as big as a house, made of dark mahogany. The judge was presiding over the courtroom in his high-back leather chair. His black robe was similar to the ones Ryan and Hezekiah were wearing, except that he had some kind of embroidery around the collar, which seemed to identify him as a judge. He looked even older than Hezekiah, probably because of the wig. It was powder white, with row after row of tight curls that hung down to his shoulders. It reminded Ryan of the old horsehair wigs that men wore in Early-American history books.

  The judge was scowling, which Ryan did not take as a good sign.

  "You're late, Hezekiah," the judge said in a gravely old voice.