Leapholes (2006)

by James Grippando

  It was the day of his father's final court appearance, the worst day of his life. Many months had come and gone since then, but the memory still burned in Ryan's mind as if it had all happened yesterday. He closed his eyes, and even though he was still lying in a hospital bed, he could see the car pulling into their driveway. He could see the woman dressed in the gray business suit walking to their front door. It was all coming back to him again, playing in his mind's eye like an old movie from which there was no escape.

  The doorbell rang, and Ryan knew it was the lawyer.

  From the very beginning, Ryan's father had assured him that he was innocent of the charges against him. Ryan wanted to go with him to the court hearing. He needed to be there when his father looked the judge in the eye and told him that he'd done nothing wrong. For some reason, however, his parents told him to stay home. Courtrooms were open to the public, so Ryan couldn't understand what they were trying to hide from him. At three-thirty in the afternoon, his parents got in the car with the lawyer and drove to the court hearing, leaving Ryan with his grandmother. Ten minutes later, Ryan snuck out of his room and bicycled to the courthouse.

  It was impossible to approach the Justice Center and not get the immediate impression that something important was going on inside. It was an imposing limestone skyscraper more than eighty years old. Visitors had to climb not one but two long tiers of gray granite steps made smooth by decades of foot traffic. The fluted columns in front were at least fifty feet tall. Heavy brass doors at the entrance were encased in marble moldings. Ryan's teacher had taken him to the courthouse on a field trip once before, so he knew that the criminal trials were on the first floor. Ryan quickly chained his bike to the rack and scampered up the steps, and he was still trying to catch his breath as he entered the building. He hurried down the long corridor and peeked into a few empty courtrooms before he found the right place. Without a sound, he slipped into the last row of public seating. No one seemed to notice. His father and the lawyer were standing before the judge, their backs toward Ryan.

  The judge was seated high on the bench, rocking back and forth in his big leather chair. On the wall behind him was a brass plaque with the scales of justice. His hair was the color of ash, and he was quite possibly the oldest living person Ryan had ever seen. The judge peered over the top of his wire-rimmed glasses and asked, "Mr. Coolidge, how do you plead?"

  Ryan's heart raced. He'd arrived just in time. You tell him, Dad. You tell him that you're innocent.

  Ryan's father glanced at his lawyer, then lowered his head and said softly, "Guilty, Your Honor."

  It was as if the air had suddenly been sucked from Ryan's lungs. Guilty? What do you mean, guilty?

  The judge said, "Mr. Coolidge, do you understand that by entering a plea of guilty, you are waiving your right to a trial by jury?"

  "I do, Your Honor."

  "Do you enter this plea of your own free will, without any pressure or coercion from any person?"

  Again Mr. Coolidge glanced at his lawyer. "Yes, Your Honor."

  "Very well, then. The court will accept the plea of guilty. Does the state attorney have any recommendation as to sentencing?"

  A man rose. He was wearing a pinstriped suit, and the bright ceiling lights reflected off the perfectly round bald spot on the crown of his head. He cleared his throat and said, "Yes, Judge. The government recommends that Mr. Coolidge receive a sentence of--"

  "Wait!" shouted Ryan.

  All heads turned, and Ryan immediately felt the weight of their collective stares. Ryan was on his feet, alone in the back row, not sure what to say. His shouting had been completely involuntary, a gut reaction brought about by absolute shock.

  The judge banged his gavel. "Young man, there will be order in my courtroom. I won't tolerate outbursts from anyone, least of all spectators. Who are you?"

  Ryan's mouth opened, but the words didn't come. He'd heard the judge's question--Who are you?--but he couldn't answer. Ryan's gaze slid across the courtroom, from the judge to the prosecutor to his father's lawyer. His mother was seated in the first row of public seating, and the pained expression on her face seemed to say, Good gosh, Ryan, what are you doing here? Finally, he made eye contact with his father. Ryan searched in vain for a silent explanation, some signal from his father that this was all a mistake, a terrible misunderstanding. But Ryan sensed only betrayal.

  Once again, the judge's gravelly voice filled the courtroom. "Young man, 1 asked you a question. Who are you?"

  Ryan couldn't speak. It wasn't enough to say My name's Ryan Coolidge. He needed to say, My name's Ryan Coolidge, and my father is innocent. But not even his father was willing to say that much. He'd told the judge that he was guilty, and Ryan had heard it with his own ears.

  "For the last time!" the judge said. "Who are you?"

  A bitterness rose up in Ryan's throat, and the words seemed to leap from his lips, something beyond his control. "I'm nobody!" he shouted.

  Then he turned and ran from the courtroom.

  Chapter 4

  For breakfast Ryan ate blueberry waffles with butter and extra maple syrup. To drink, he had a chocolate milkshake. A whole pitcher of milkshakes, and another one with whipped cream, and the pitchers were never empty, no matter how many glasses he filled.

  Then he woke, and there was nothing but hunger in his belly.

  He'd had no food since breakfast. Even then he'd managed only a few bites of toast and some cereal before his anger had driven him from the kitchen. That painkiller from the nurse had promptly sent him off to dreamland, and the dreams were only making him hungry.

  "Man, what does it take to get something to eat around here?" He was speaking aloud but to no one in particular.

  The plastic curtain slid open, and suddenly Ryan was no longer alone. A girl was in the cubicle beside him, lying in a bed just like his. With the curtain thrown back, it was suddenly as if they were sharing a room. She said, "I have a granola bar, if you want one."

  Ryan looked at her curiously. She seemed nice enough, with light brown hair, a dimple when she smiled, and hazel eyes

  that sparkled. Girls that pretty often made him nervous, especially when they looked older than him.

  "I'm Kay lee." She reached across the gap between them, offering her granola bar. "Go ahead. I have more."

  "Thanks." Ryan took it and tore off almost half of it in one bite.

  "You're Ryan, right? Ryan L'new?"

  "L'new?" said Ryan, his mouth full of granola.

  "That's what it says on that chart over there."

  Ryan glanced toward the busy work station in the center of the ER. A big white board on the wall had all the patients listed, their names written in colored grease pen. The box for ER bed number twelve read: Ryan LNU.

  Ryan thought for a moment, and then it came to him. "Oh, you think my name is pronounced L'new? That's just an abbreviation. LNU--Last Name Unknown."

  "Lucky you. L'new is a pretty goofy sounding last name."

  Beats the heck out of Coolidge, thought Ryan. "Yeah. I guess so."

  "So, what's up with you? Can't remember your own name? You got amnesia or something?"

  Ryan chewed off another bite of granola bar. "Something like that. I just can't remember."

  "Well, maybe I can help you."

  "I don't think so."

  "No, really. I'm good at these kinds of things. Let's try it this way. I'll bet you like knock-knock jokes, don't you?"

  Ohy yes. And Barney and Teletubbies, too. Ryan said, "To tell you the truth, I hate knock-knock jokes."

  "Work with me on this."

  "No. I mean, I really hate knock-knock jokes."

  "Trust me," said Kaylee. "This just might work. Now, you start."

  "All right," he said with a sigh. "Knock-knock."

  "Who's there?"

  "Ryan."

  "Ryan who . . . She made an exaggerated gesture, as if that were supposed to trigger his memory.

  Ryan shook his head. "It's not
working."

  "Hmm. This is going to be tougher than I thought. Well, to heck with your name. Maybe I can just make you laugh. I'll start this time. "Knock-knock."

  "Can we do something else? I'm just not a knock-knock person."

  "Knock-knock."

  "Kaylee, please."

  "Knock-knock."

  "Come in!" he said. His tone had a certain finality to it.

  Kaylee paused, not quite sure what to say. Then a smile came to her lips. "Knock-knock--Come in!" She snickered and said, "Cute. I like that."

  Ryan returned the smile. "Works every time. It's the perfect knock-knock buster."

  He rolled the empty granola bar wrapper into a ball and shot it into the waste basket. Two points. "So, what happened to you?"

  She sighed, then glanced at her leg. "I got hit by a car."

  "Really? Me too. How did your accident happen?"

  "Well, I was out jogging, because my dance instructor says I need to improve my wind. Anyway, I was crossing the street when this car seemed to come out of nowhere."

  "What did it look like?"

  "I think it was a white station wagon."

  "You've got to be kidding," said Ryan, his voice racing. "Did you see the driver?"

  "Yes. But not at first. The car cut right in front of me. It didn't exactly hit me. It was more like a bump or a glancing blow. Knocked me right to the ground."

  "And then--don't tell me--a guy with a flat face jumped out, right?"

  "How did you know?" she said.

  "Because that's what happened to me! I was riding my bike, and this white station wagon came out from nowhere. Then this strange-looking dude got out and put me in the back of the car."

  "Yeah. Except that when he opened the back of the car, it didn't look like a normal car. It was more like . . . like an ambulance."

  Ryan's mouth was agape. "We're talking about the exact same guy! Did he do that finger-waving thing to you?"

  "Yes," she said. "Back and forth, like a windshield wiper. And then I blacked out."

  "And the next thing you know . . ." Ryan paused and gave her a chance to catch up. Then they finished his sentence together: "I'm waking up in the ER."

  They locked eyes but said nothing. They'd been through the same experience, the same strange accident. The fact that it had happened to someone else was comforting on one level. But in some ways, it made it even more bizarre.

  "Except I'm not having any trouble remembering my last name," said Kaylee.

  "Well, maybe you didn't bump your head like I did."

  She glanced at the bandage on Ryan's elbow. "Yeah, sure. Head injury, huh?"

  Ryan smiled nervously, sensing that perhaps she was beginning to see through his little LNU-charade. The doctor showed up just in time, before Kaylee could probe any further.

  "Hello, I' m Doctor Morales. How are we doing here today, Ryan?"

  "Pretty good, I think."

  Dr. Morales checked Ryan's chart, speed-reading from top to bottom. She had a round, full face, and her short black hair was in tight, efficient curls. Ryan saw only concern in her dark brown eyes. No scorn, no ridicule--no clue as to who he was.

  She laid the chart aside. "How's that memory coming along?"

  "I thought it was getting better, but now I don't remember."

  She smiled, realizing that it was a joke. "Do you know your last name yet?"

  "No."

  "Well, don't worry. I'm sure it will improve with time. But I want you to know that we've notified the police that you're here. As soon as your parents get worried enough to file a missing persons report with the authorities, we'll be able to link you up, okay?"

  "Okay, great."

  "I'll check back with you in about an hour," the doctor said as she walked away, moving on to the next patient.

  Ryan's head settled back into his pillow. A missing persons report. Wonderful. Ryan hadn't figured on that. He had no plan, and running away from home was a pretty stupid idea. But he wasn't ready to go back. He didn't want to cause his mother too much heartache, but the fact was, both his parents had lied to him. They'd both assured him that the criminal charges were bogus. For the first time since his father had pleaded guilty and gone away to prison, Ryan wasn't a part of the Coolidge family. It felt good, and he wanted to keep that feeling going,' at least a little bit longer.

  Kaylee said, "You don't want to go home, do you, Ryan?"

  "What makes you say that?"

  "Instinct. Intuition. I don't know. Something tells me you like being Ryan L'new better than Ryan whatever your name is."

  Ryan didn't answer. He just looked at the big white board, toward the name penned in beside bed number twelve. Ryan LNU. A little goofy, but he'd heard worse. His gaze drifted toward the EXIT sign over the ER's double doorway. They were automatic doors, and people seemed to come and go at will. His elbow still hurt a little, but his legs were fine. He could ask to use the bathroom, walk out those doors, and just keep going. His mother would find him when he was ready to be found, not when she filed that missing persons report and the police came to get him.

  "Hey, Kaylee."

  "What?"

  "You think anyone named L'new has ever been to prison?"

  "I don't know. Why do you ask?"

  Ryan drew a deep breath, then let it out. "Just wondering."

  Chapter 5

  Ryan's plan was working like a charm. The automatic doors closed behind him, and he was cruising down the hall away from the ER. The bathroom was around the corner, first door on the left, the nurse had told him. Ryan didn't really need to use it, but he stopped there anyway. His clothes were in a bag that he'd concealed under his loose hospital gown. He ducked into the bathroom and made a quick change. He used the sharp corner of the paper towel dispenser to cut off his plastic hospital ID-bracelet. Two minutes later he was back in the hallway, dressed in his street clothes, headed for the hospital's main exit. His bicycle accident had left a small tear at the knee of his blue jeans, but that only made them cooler. His sweatshirt covered the bandage on his elbow. No one gave him a second look. This was almost too easy. He even waved to the receptionist as he breezed past the radiology department.

  "Hey, how you doing?" he said.

  Cool. So cool. Just act like you know what you're doing, and people assume that you own the place.

  He kept walking, following the directional signs that pointed to "HOSPITAL MAIN ENTRANCE." The corridors were long, cold, and brightly lit, and of course that sterile hospital smell was everywhere. Ryan reeled in the urge to sprint for the exit. Absolutely no running, he told himself. So long as he walked at a normal pace, no one would ask questions. He couldn't help but smile, however, as he turned the final corner and spotted the hospital's main lobby, dead ahead. It was just beyond the final set of sliding glass doors. He was a mere twenty feet away, fewer than ten steps to freedom. This was going to be fun. He could be Ryan L'new as long as he wanted.

  And then an alarm sounded.

  It was a shrill, pulsating alarm, so loud that it drowned out every other sound in the hospital. Ryan stopped dead in his tracks. The security guard sprang from his chair. He was an imposing figure with rock-hard biceps that bulged from his tight shirt sleeves. He was standing between Ryan and the hospital's main entrance, and he looked at Ryan suspiciously. Ryan wasn't sure who had sounded the alarm. His plan had been working perfectly, but obviously someone had figured out what he was up to. Or maybe someone had discovered that he was a Coolidge. Yes, that had to be it. They were afraid he had stolen something and was trying to sneak out of the hospital.

  Ryan took a long look at the security guard, and the big man returned the glare. Whatever was going on, Ryan didn't want to have to explain himself to the Incredible Hulk. He turned and ran in the opposite direction.

  The guard may have yelled at him, but Ryan heard only the blaring alarm as he raced down the hallway. Doctors and nurses suddenly emerged from behind closed doors. In a matter of moments, the corridors wer
e flooded with people. They were standing around, looking at one another in confusion, trying to make themselves heard over the screaming alarm. Ryan never broke stride. He wove through the crowded hallway, arms and legs pumping. With so many people in his way, it was like running through an obstacle course. He didn't know where he was headed. It only seemed logical, however, that the hospital would have another exit, probably at the other end of the hall. He had no intention of stopping until he found it, but he nearly screeched to a halt as he rounded one last corner.

  Thick, black smoke was pouring from the cafeteria.

  "Fire!" a nurse screamed.

  Suddenly, it all came clear. The hospital was on fire! The alarm hadn't been for him after all--unless they thought Ryan had started it.

  Oh, great, thought Ryan. They think I snuck out of the ER and started the building on fire! They do know Vm a Coolidge!

  A human stampede emerged from the cafeteria. Scores of people flew past Ryan, their clothing covered with soot. Many were coughing and trying to catch their breath. Others screamed and ran as fast as they could. Ryan had no time to get out of the way, and they trampled him in their hysteria. A man stepped on his leg. A woman stepped on his hand. Ryan tried to get up, but he was immediately knocked back to the floor. His head smacked against the tile, and it hurt almost as much as when that car had hit him and he'd flown into the windshield. He was dizzy, and the smoke was making it even harder for him to get his bearings. Ryan was on his knees, his body pressed against the wall, as the crowd whisked past him. Finally, every last one of them was gone, and he was able to climb to his feet and focus. As he rose, he could see the flames poking through the open door to the cafeteria. Smoke was creeping down the hallway like a ghostly gray snake. Ryan cleared his lungs with a deep cough, then turned and ran. The crowd was well ahead of him. He knew where the exit was, but if he didn't outrun the smoke, he might never find it. Suddenly, the alarm blared even louder, and water was squirting from the ceiling.

  Sprinklers! Ryan was sprinting around a corner at full speed just as the water hit him. He slipped on the wet tile, his feet went out from under him, and he slammed into the wall like a NASCAR crash. Water from the sprinklers continued to rain down on him, but it wasn't nearly enough to extinguish the raging fire. Smoke was pouring from the cafeteria. He picked himself up, but before he could take a step, someone raced past him and knocked him to the floor again.