Grant
"The world has forgotten me. And anyone who remembers me hates me."
Grant
The
cell was spinning when ex-Ambassador Seamus Grant woke up for the second or
fifth time. This cell was different than the one he shared with Mark Mann on
the International White Collar Crimes floor in the Cretan Super Prison. He had been unconscious for most of the
journey but had remembered broken conversations about the prison closing. This cell had tall, baby-blue cotton curtains
that swayed lazily to and fro. The blue
cotton walls were made up of single curtains that met the ceiling at plastic
rings like shower curtains.
Grant
felt no pain in his head this time as it had the first time he woke up in a
prison hospital. But a pain in his gut
sent his hand out to grab his side instinctively. Cold steel refused the gesture as the other
end of the hand cuffs were locked around the side of the bed. He was here because an inmate had hit him
during the riot that in part cause the closure of the Cretan prison.
A
cord from a catheter dangled beside the bed and ran up and under his thin white
blanket. The other end of it met a
skinny stainless steel machine on wheels next to his bed. It made no noise
except for a quiet hum. The tangle of
cords that came from the next machine over were disconnected and unused. They hung off of it like synthetic branches
from a weeping willow.
He
woke up again when a woman was over him taking notes. She wore plain clothes beneath
a long, loose, white cotton jacket. A sleek
moist shine on her forehead contrasted her cool and calm gestures. He silently watched her check his pulse,
blood pressure, and press a series of buttons on the machine. The slow and exact movements made her seem
more like a force of nature than a human being.
She exited saying nothing and only offered a slight smile. He had moved
his hands when he tried to say something to her but when the cuffs caught his
hands he gave up.
He
was sick of hand cuffs. Plastic hand
ties, large metal doors, prison humor, and most of all he was sick of getting
injured and attacked. He was framed by
someone for being an international high-profile spy. He had been shot by someone who had only just
stopped another person who was about to shoot him too. He had been ignored by his own country and
any legal aid that could save him. The
prison psychologist had him pegged as insane.
The world has forgotten me. And anyone
who remembers me hates me. But his fiancé,
Nancy Hope Rodreguez Sabotcka, was still out there and that gave him hope. But
just then when his brother walked in from between the cotton curtains it wasn’t
hope he felt.
The
anger made blood go to his head but the fact that his brother stood in front of
him made him light-headed. How could I forget: this all started from a
perfectly orchestrated prosecution against me by my own brother.
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| © Claudio Carraro | Dreamstime Stock Photos |
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