The Supposed Terrorist

Chapter 21

While I had been in the wonderful land of darkness, unconscious, a lot of things happened. So when I regained consciousness, I had a lot of listening to do. Which was great, since listening was the only thing my body possessed the capability to do in its state.

Michael Grant and Sebastian Grant had been arrested and were in police custody. Charlotte wasn't actually Charlotte, but Avianna Grant– Michael's daughter.

At some point in her life, her father's lack of presence began to prick her more and more, like a thorn that wouldn't come out. She began to notice the way he lied, dodged telling the truth, the kind of jokes he cracked, comments he made. Under her police training ("She is a police officer?" I had stared. "Not stationed in this city," Artem had commented. "No wonder I couldn't recognise her.") , it just surfaced to her more and more, so she started to keep tabs on him. It was when my case was being aired on the national television and channels that the truth came to her more precisely than before. Michael Grant was testing his 'experiment' and the woman on TV hadn't placed the bombs. That is all she found out, but all she needed to. So, she scratched out and dispatched evidence enough to the advocate who had the most chances of taking such an eccentric case up– Artem Wing. Her original plan wasn't to be involved any further, but alas– conscience!

As Michael Grant was cuffed and arrested in the room he stabbed me in, recordings, files, photographs were unearthed under his possession. From 2016 to 2023. It was my past. The past I was seeking.

Artem promised me 10 times and assured me twice the times that he wouldn't and hadn't watched any of it, and had managed to keep others away from it too. I pleaded to him, pleaded a lot, to let us go through it but the man kept insisting my condition just wasn't good enough for that. How dare he be so considerate! Shame!

A thing was sure without watching any videos though, all the crimes I was being blamed for– Michael had done them. It explained why the blast radius was shorter, casualties were low for a terrorist or desperado organization to do– but it didn't explain the 'why' of it. Only Michael could explain his reasons. But he?

He was trying with all his might to escape. The scoundrel had the audacity to ask his lawyer to make a bail plea! Which was denied. He was now in a limbo.

Any and all court hearings, trials and the entire ordeal was on pause and postponed, because of yours truly's majestic health conditions.

The only thing that was to do now was to wait for me to get better. The wait was proving to be considerably hard. Due to my body, I was practically a toddler in the functioning sense of it all.

"And then, they lived happily ever after!" Avianna nodded sagely, folding the newspaper and placing it on the small table. She sat hunched on the sofa.

"It didn't read that," I said, unamused.

"It didn't, but I fixed it."

The door opened and Artem entered, glancing between us. There was a cloth bag in his hand. "Well Avianna, thanks for keeping her company."

"Oh that's no problem," she replied.

I groaned. "Please stop treating me like a kid. I am like, twenty three, you.. know.."

I trailed off when I noticed they both weren't even listening. Artem was sitting on the footstool, looking through the cloth bag. Avianna casually scrolled through the phone.

Artem adjusted the overbed table in front of me and placed an open lunch box carefully on it. I peered and noticed fruits. Fruit salad.

"Am I supposed to eat this?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "You are."

The doctor did say I could start with a solid diet, but...

"What is it?" Artem raised an eyebrow. "Are there too less strawberries in it?"