He opened the car door, jerking it back at the last second when he heard the small metallic tap of metal against metal. He eased the door closed slightly, sliding from the car. He was careful this time not to ding the other car, but he sucked in his breath, holding his bag out from his body.
“You good?” Bismarck asked, looking amused. There was plenty of room between the driver's side door and the concrete pillar, making Ryan suspect the parking job was intentional.
He nodded, waiting for Bismarck to move. His professor watched him carefully, but Ryan remained silent. He wasn’t going to say a word about the lousy parking, but he couldn't help hiding a grin when the man sighed as if supremely let-down, and led them into the hospital.
He could see such a large hospital would overwhelm an unfamiliar visitor, but having once been a patient in the ER after knocking heads during a heated soccer match, and another time visiting a friend who was in a car accident, he was familiar with its layout.
Bismarck took a winding route, past the hospital hotspots: cafeteria, coffee cart, and into the center of the hospital. They went up four floors by a path so circuitous he struggled to remember the way back.
Finally, they arrived at a locked set of double doors. There were no signs to tell them which specialty this wing was devoted to, only the name: Pomeroy 5. Professor Bismarck pushed a button and waited, flashing him a reassuring grin and then rocking back and forth on his heels while swinging his leather satchel.
“Psychiatric.” Ryan's face must have registered his shock because Bismarck whispered, “It's a locked ward with more security than the others...”
“Yes?” a staticky voice interrupted him.
“Eric Bismarck here to visit a patient.”
“Come in,” the voice replied, followed by a loud buzz and click signifying the doors unlocked.
What at first appeared to be a typical hospital wing, on closer inspection, showed heavy bolted doors along with extra security personnel. Ryan looked around curiously. Each door had a small glass window near the top of each doorframe, hashed with metal, and glazed, in case someone tried to shatter it.
The nurse at the station smiled at them. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it when a loud bang echoed along the corridor followed by an ear-piercing screech. She waited a moment and then asked, “Can I help you?”
“We’re here to see Nora Leslie.”
In an instant, the nurse’s face changed. The friendly, questioning look replaced with annoyance and distaste.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” she said in a tone implying she was not sorry. “That patient isn’t allowed any visitors.”
Ryan began to wonder what Nora Leslie was like. Perhaps she was the one screaming, or maybe she said something confirming her guilt, shocking and horrifying the nurses.
“We’re not visitors,” he heard Bismarck answer. “We’re her lawyers.”
The nurse scrutinized Ryan, taking in his jeans and Chucks.
“Your names?”
His professor answered patiently, spelling out their names while the nurse consulted a file. “This way,” she said, like she was doing them a favor.
She led them through the halls, passing a door rattling in its frame. Ryan could hear something slamming against it over and over. As they walked by, a glob of spit hit the small window and he cringed.
The further down the hall they moved, the quieter it became. The nurse stopped at the last door in the hall, unlocking it and holding it open for them. “Hit the buzzer by the bed and we’ll come let you out. If it’s an emergency, hit the red one and security will come, too,” she said the last bit while staring inside the room. He got the feeling the information was not for their benefit.
Hesitantly, Ryan followed his professor inside the room, tripping over his feet when he spied a figure in the bed.
A girl, not much out of her teens, struggled to sit when she saw them. She had a riot of golden brown hair curling in all directions around her head, like dandelion fuzz, or a lion’s ruff. Her face was pale, though when she was healthy she probably had darker skin, hinting at a biracial background. As she got herself situated on the pillows, she winced.
“Miss Leslie. Please. Don’t get up.” Bismarck stepped forward quickly, hand outstretched. “You called Legal Aid?”
The girl nodded and clasped his hand. Ryan saw him squeeze it gently before stepping away. “My name is Eric Bismarck, I’m the attorney assigned your case, and this is Ryan Valore, a prelaw student and my legal intern.”
Startled, Ryan stared at his professor in disbelief before glancing back to the girl. He saw a quick smile appear and then disappear on her lips. She caught onto his surprise.
“You can call me Nora.” She continued to struggle against the mattress, and without thinking, he stepped forward, offering her his arm. She met his eyes, reaching out a hesitant hand. He reached behind her to adjust her pillows and then helped her lean back.
“Thanks.” Her cheeks were pink, either from embarrassment or strain.
“So, Nora,” Bismarck began, pulling a chair closer to her bed. It was the only chair in the room. Rather than buzz the nurses to help him find one, he walked over to the other side of the bed and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “Before you tell us what’s going on, I need you to sign this bit of paperwork here agreeing I will be your counsel, and anything said between us, and my intern here, is confidential.”
The girl took the sheaf of papers from him. She squinted at the paper as she read, slowly flipping through before taking the pen Bismarck offered and signing her name.
He smiled at her and stuffed the papers back in his bag. “Thank you, Nora. Now please, tell us what’s going on.”
The color fled Nora’s face. Her hands gripped the sheet over her, pulling it and adjusting it nervously.
“I, uh…”
“This is all confidential, Nora. What you say won’t leave this room.”
She glanced over at Ryan, and then away quickly.
“Do you want me to go?” he asked, keying in to her discomfort.
She shook her head, still not meeting his eyes. “No. It’s… I’m not really sure.”
“Why do you need a lawyer, Nora,” Bismarck prodded. “Let’s start there.”
“I think— no—I know the police believe I was involved with the shooting.” Once she started speaking, the words came faster. “They think I asked Reid to shoot those people, or I was part of it somehow, but I wasn’t.”
“Why do they think you were involved?”
“I don’t know!” Her voice grew louder, and seemed to reverberate through the room. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to yell.” She glanced at Ryan again, as if apologizing to him personally.
“You’re fine,” he reassured her.
“What did they tell you, Nora?” His professor brought them back on-task.
“The detective…”
“Detective Vance?”
She nodded. “Yes, Detective Vance. He said I wanted to be a hero, or I made Reid angry. He said I did something to goad him.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him I didn’t—I hadn’t seen Reid in years.”
“Really?” His obvious disbelief made Ryan wince.
Clearly, Nora interpreted his tone the same as Ryan. Two high spots of color appeared on her cheeks. “Really.”
“You haven’t seen your brother in years?”
“Foster brother.” She seemed to be getting angry. “I get how it sounds. I do— but it’s the way it goes with foster kids. We see each other, we say hi, and we don’t go out of our way to keep in touch. If I counted the ones who stayed where I did, do you know how many foster brother and sisters it would be?” She started at the ceiling as she calculated. “Twenty-seven. If I count the ones I lived with for more than a year…thirteen. Besides…” She played with the sheet again, picking at it. “They weren’t trying to find me, either.”
I’m sorry, was on the tip of Ryan’s tongue,
but he held back. Platitudes were wrong, or hollow, in this situation. What good would it do this girl? Unsure how to proceed, he said nothing, which was an equally crappy thing to do, and waited for his professor to speak.
“Tell me about the shooting.” The question was asked so quietly Ryan almost didn’t hear it.
“What’s the point?” she asked tiredly. She shifted on the bed, her face growing paler by the second. Her aura of defeat was tangible; from the way she shook her head, to the way she tried to tuck her hair behind her ear and winced. Watching her struggle with the simplest of movements reminded him she’d been shot, and hearing her story made something inside him crack. She was alone. Sure, she had some insane number of foster brothers and sisters, none of whom kept in touch, but it didn't mean anything. In this situation, Nora was adrift.
Pushing away from the wall, Ryan slowly eased himself onto the bed, careful not to jar her. When he was settled, he met her gaze. He took a deep breath, and opened his mouth before shutting it again. Years of conditioning himself to keep his thoughts private and his opinions locked away fought against this new impulse: help her.
He rubbed the back of his neck, his stomach rolling with nausea as he formulated his words and finally pushed them out of his reluctant mouth.
“I believe you, Nora. Tell me what happened. You can trust me.”
***
Nora brought a hand to her head. She had a hard time keeping her thoughts straight as the pain in her side grew worse.
You can trust me, Ryan said.
She still hadn't answered his question. From an early age, she learned only to rely on herself. Building up the courage to trust this guy—she wasn't sure she could.
“How?” The words slipped from her lips.
Surprisingly, Ryan didn’t answer right away, He didn't talk fast or answer quickly. He wasn’t trying to wheel and deal her, or sell himself. He took his time. Every move he made, everything he said, struck Nora as deliberate. Except for telling her to trust him, though. If his face was any indicator, he’d shocked himself when those words escaped him.
After a long moment, the two of them staring at each other like they were playing chicken with soul-bearing truths, he began to speak. “My name is Ryan Valore. I'm a senior at Brownington College, and a prelaw student. I'll be starting at Calvin Coolidge School of Law in the fall….” He hesitated. “Those things don’t really tell you anything about me, do they?”
He ran his hands through his hair before reaching for the same string she fiddled with earlier. “When I was a junior in high school, my best friend was in a drunk driving accident. We were at a party the night of Homecoming. I was wasted. He was wasted; and I was sure I saw him and his girlfriend drive away from the party.” He took a deep breath. “His car hit a tree on the way home. Neither one of them wore a seat belt. They were ejected from the car. His girlfriend died at the scene. I was so sure I saw him get in the driver’s seat. When the police asked me later what happened, I told them I saw him driving.”
Nora waited; his next words were so quiet she was the only one who heard them. “I was wrong.” He finally met her stare. His eyes were a dark green, and so sad she couldn't help reaching out for his hand.
“The police arrested him in the hospital, even though he swore he hadn't been driving. It didn’t matter. Everyone believed me, and he went to trial, then he went to jail.”
Seconds passed, and he left his hand under hers. Nora found herself hanging on his words, waiting breathless for the rest of his story. She wanted so much for it to show she could trust him. “At the end of my senior year, someone found a video on their phone. My friend was drunk, but the person who got into the driver's seat wasn't him. It was his girlfriend. The one who died. My friend lost two years of his life because I was so sure I was right I wouldn't allow anyone to doubt me. I stood firm. I testified against him and I thought it was justice when he went to prison.”
Slowly, Ryan pulled his hand away from hers and curled his fingers into his jeans. “I was wrong.”
Feeling bereft, she pulled her hands into her lap, folding them together. She searched for words to comfort him, but couldn't find any.
“A lot of people know the story, but they don’t know my part in it.”
Guilt was written all over his face. There must have been something else, something worse. “Weren’t there other reasons?” she asked. “They don't send a kid to jail based on one guy's testimony.”
“They do when the person who died is loved by the community, and the entire town is in mourning. When people are hurt, they'll believe whatever they need in order to stop the hurt.”
What he described was happening to her. Reid was dead, and they wanted someone to blame. She was the perfect scapegoat. She had no one to protect her, no one to speak for her. Suddenly his story took on another, darker meaning. “I didn't think it was possible, but I feel worse now.”
Ryan's face flushed. “I didn’t tell you the story to make you feel worse.”
“In that case,” Bismarck added drily. “Please clarify the purpose of this story, will you?”
He was silent. Nora could see him considering Bismarck’s question. “The point is I'm careful. I learned the hard way not to judge quickly. I learned sometimes it is more important to listen than to act.”
Some of the tension left her shoulders.
“I had to learn a lesson at someone else’s expense. I want you to trust me because if you are innocent, then I will do everything in my power to protect you.”
“Ryan…” Professor Bismarck’s voice scolded.
“I didn’t help him,” Nora said, closing her eyes and jumping off the cliff. She hoped Ryan caught her. “I’ll tell you everything I remember, everything I know. I’ll answer your questions, but I didn’t do this.”
He nodded. “I believe you.”
Four
Someone New
Seok Jheon pulled off his hearing protectors, and ran a roughened hand over the smooth pine board he’d been sanding.
He and his friend, Apollo, had collected pallets from the back of the super center at the edge of town. He’d measured, planed, and sanded before gluing the wood together. What he had now were boards two inches thick, three feet wide, and six feet long. The repurposed pallets differed in shades of color, with a striated appearance he decided he really liked. When it was finished, it would be a large entertainment center.
His roommate, Cai, wanted one for the youth center where he worked. This one would fit the kids’ Xboxes, and PlayStations, and any other technology they could shove onto six shelves.
Needing to check if the surface was level, he squatted low at one end; eyeballing it before reaching for his winding sticks. A loud clang made him startle, stand, and bang his elbow on the wood. He forgot he’d placed his phone on the large metal tool chest. The vibrating text alert took a year off his life.
Seok read the messages and sighed, thumbing into the phone and typing his response. He pulled the earmuffs from around his neck and placed them carefully on their hook. Giving his project one last longing glance, he turned off the light and tramped up the stairs.
His roommates, Cai Josephs, Matisse Boudreau, Apollo Morris, and Ryan Valore gathered around his kitchen table. It had been a piece of crap he found by the side of the road, but after stripping, staining, and glueing on new legs, it could pass for an antique mission table. It had thick boards, stained dark, and a trestle running its length.
His best friends didn’t acknowledge his presence; their gazes stayed on Ryan. He had to school his features to mask his surprise. After taking out the kerchief he used to tie his hair out of his face, Seok sat.
“Ryan?” Cai prompted as soon as Seok was settled.
Ryan’s face flushed, causing a shiver of unease to run up Seok’s back. For Ryan to call them together was monumental. He was the observer, the one who acted in small, quiet ways. He’d never needed all of them to come to the table before.
“I want to inv
ite someone to stay with us.”
This is the issue? His unease disappeared and he stood. As far as he was concerned, the matter was closed. “All right.”
Ryan lifted a hand, stopping him. “Let me explain.”
He eased back into the chair, resting his hands on the table and rubbing his fingers along the smooth surface. He glanced at the others who waited for Ryan to continue, each of their faces reflecting his own worry.
“My Criminal Law professor asked me to intern with him today.”
“That’s great!” Apollo enthused.
Ryan nodded. “He has a new Legal Aid client…”
Seok saw where this was going and leaned back. This sounded more like something Cai would do—and had done—than Ryan, but he was still fine with it, until he caught the end of his explanation.
“She’s a suspect in the high school shooting and she has nowhere to go.”
Despite spending most of his life in an English-speaking nation, for a moment Seok assumed he’d made a mistake in his translation. One glance around the room showed him he’d been correct. All his friends wore similar shocked expressions.
Approaching the topic logically, Seok asked, “How would it work for you to have your professor’s client living with you? Wouldn’t it be a conflict of interest? Or whatever it is a lawyer will call it?”
“She won’t go to trial,” Ryan said firmly. “She had nothing to do with the shooting. The police are leaning on her because they need a scapegoat. She’s lost her job and her apartment, and everything she owns was taken as evidence.”
Seok ran a hand through his hair, flipping it back from his face and leaning forward again. He dragged his palms along the smooth wood again before meeting Ryan’s gaze. “You need to do this?”
It was what they asked each other when one of them needed the others’ support. He was asked this question when he’d left school for three months to build houses in Haiti, and then in Nepal. His friends rallied around him and supported him, providing a buffer between him and his family, and even paid his mortgage on this house.
Finding Honor (The Searchers Book 1) Page 3