Two nurses swept in and took charge. A third was right behind them, then a doctor.
There was little to be done except stick a depressor in Josh's mouth to prevent an injury to his tongue.
When Ron couldn't watch any longer, he backed away, into a corner, and looked at the surreal image of his badly damaged son lost in a crowd of helping hands while the bed still shook and rails still clicked. The seizure finally relented, and the nurses were soon washing his face with cool water and speaking in childlike voices.
Ron eased from the room for another mindless hike through the corridors.
The seizures continued off and on for twenty-four hours, then abruptly stopped. By that time, Ron and Doreen were too weary and frazzled to do anything but stare at their son and pray that he remained still and calm. Other doctors arrived, all grim faced and uttering incomprehensible words among themselves. More tests were ordered, and Josh was taken away for hours, then brought back.
Days passed and blurred together. Time meant nothing.
On a Saturday morning, Ron sneaked into his office at the Gartin building. Both clerks were there, at his request. There were twelve cases to decide, and Ron had read their brief summaries and recommendations. The clerks had their own little docket prepared and were ready for the roll call.
A rape conviction from Rankin County. Affirmed, with a unanimous court.
An election dispute from Bolivar County. Affirmed, with seven others.
An extremely dull secured-transaction brouhaha from Panola County. Affirmed, with a unanimous court.
And so on. With Ron preoccupied and showing little interest in the work, the first ten cases were disposed of in twenty minutes.
'Baker versus Krane Chemical' a clerk said.
'What's the buzz?' Ron asked.
'Four-four split, with everybody throwing knives. Calligan and company are quite nervous about you. McElwayne and his side are curious. Everybody's watching, waiting.'
'They think I've cracked up?'
'No one's sure. They think you're under a great deal of stress, and there's speculation about some great cathartic flip-flop because of what's happened.'
'Let ' em speculate. I'll wait on Baker and that nursing home case.'
'Are you considering a vote to uphold the verdicts?' the other clerk asked.
Ron had already learned that most of the court's gossip was created and spread by the network of clerks, all of them.
'I don't know,' he said. Thirty minutes later, he was back at the hospital.
Chapter 38
Eight days later, on a rainy Sunday morning, Josh Fisk was loaded into an ambulance for the drive to Brookhaven. Once there, he would be placed in a room at the hospital five minutes from home. He would be watched closely for a week or so, then, hopefully, released.
Doreen rode with him in the ambulance.
Ron drove to the Gartin building and went to his office on the fourth floor. There was no sign of anyone there, which was precisely what he wanted. For the third or fourth time, he read Calligan's opinion reversing the verdict in Baker v. Krane Chemical, and though he had once agreed with it completely, he now had doubts. It could have been written byjared Kurtin himself. Calligan found fault with virtually all of Baker's expert testimony. He criticized Judge Harrison for admitting most of it. His sharpest language condemned the expert who linked the carcinogenic by-products to the actual cancers, calling it 'speculative at best.' He imposed an impossible standard that would require clear proof that the toxins in the Bowmore water caused the cancers that killed Pete and Chad Baker. As always, he caterwauled at the sheer size of the shocking verdict, and blamed it on the undue passion created by Baker's attorneys that inflamed the jurors.
Ron read again the opinion by McElwayne, and it, too, sounded much different.
It was time to vote, to make his decision, and he simply had no stomach for it. He was tired of the case, tired of the pressure, tired of the anger at being used like a pawn by powerful forces he should have recognized. He was exhausted from Josh's ordeal and just wanted to go home. He had no confidence in his ability to do what was right, and he wasn't sure what that was anymore.He had prayed until he was tired of praying. He had tried to explain his misgivings to Doreen, but she was as distracted and unstable as he was.
If he reversed the verdict, he would betray his true feelings. But his feelings were changing, were they not? How could he, as a detached jurist, suddenly swap sides because of his family's tragedy?
If he upheld the verdict, he would betray those who had elected him. Fifty-three percent of the people had voted for Ron Fisk because they believed in his platform.
Or did they? Perhaps they had voted for him because he was so well marketed.
Would it be fair to all the Aarons out there for Ron to selfishly change his judicial philosophy because of his own son?
He hated these questions. They exhausted him even more. He paced around his office, more confused than ever, and he thought of leaving again. Just run, he told himself.
But he was tired of running and pacing and talking to the walls.
He typed his opinion: 'I concur and agree with Justice Calligan, but I do so with grave misgivings. This court, with my complicity and especially because of my presence, has rapidly become a blind protector of those who wish to severely restrict liability in all areas of personal injury law. It is a dangerous course.'
In the nursing home case, he typed his second opinion: 'I concur with Justice Albritton and uphold the verdict rendered in the Circuit Court of Webster County. The actions of the nursing home fall far short of the standard of care our laws require.'
Then he typed a memo to the court that read: 'For the next thirty days, I will be on a leave of absence from the court's business. I am needed at home.' The Supreme Court of Mississippi posts its rulings on its Web site each Thursday at noon.
And each Thursday at noon quite a few lawyers either sat before their computers in nervous anticipation or made sure someone did so for them. Jared Kurtin kept an associate on guard. Sterling Bintz watched his smart phone at that precise hour, regardless of where in the world he happened to be. F. Clyde Hardin, still a caveman with technology, sat in the darkness of his locked office, drank his lunch, and waited. Every trial lawyer with a Bowmore case kept watch.
The anticipation was shared by a few nonlawyers as well. Tony Zachary and Barry Rinehart made it a point to be on the phone with each other when the opinions came down. Carl Trudeau counted the minutes each week. In lower and mid-Manhattan dozens of securities analysts monitored the Web site. Denny Ott had a sandwich with his wife in the office at the church. The parsonage next door did not have a computer.
And nowhere was the magical hour more dreaded and anticipated than within the shabby confines of Payton amp; Payton. The entire firm gathered in The Pit, at the always cluttered worktable, and had lunch as Sherman stared at his laptop. On the first Thursday in May, at 12:15, he announced, 'Here it is.' Food was shoved aside. The air grew thinner, and breathing became more difficult. Wes refused to look at Mary Grace, and she refused to look at him. Indeed, no one in the room made eye contact with anyone else.
'The opinion is written by Justice Arlon Calligan,' Sherman continued. 'I'll just skim along here. Five pages, ten pages, fifteen pages, let's see, a majority opinion that's twenty-one pages long, joined by Romano, Bateman, Ross, Fisk. Reversed and rendered. Final judgment entered for the defendant, Krane Chemical.'
Sherman continued: 'Romano concurs with four pages of his usual drivel. Fisk concurs briefly.' A pause as he kept scrolling. 'And then a twelve-page dissent by McElwayne with Albritton concurring. That's all I need to know. I won't read this piece of shit for at least a month.' He stood and left the room.
'It's not exactly a surprise,' Wes said. No one responded.
F. Clyde Hardin wept at his desk. This disaster had been looming for months, but it still crushed him. His one chance to strike it rich was gone, and with it all of his dreams. He cursed Sterling Bintz and his harebrained class action. He cursed Ron Fisk and the other four clowns in his majority. He cursed the blind sheep in Cary County and throughout the rest of south Mississippi who had been hoodwinked into voting against Sheila McCarthy. He fixed
