Charles Logan’s body lay in the intensive care unit, but his mind was elsewhere.

He had once been the President of the United States of America. The most powerful man in the free world.

Oil was in danger of reaching $100 a barrel. I couldn’t allow that to happen.

It had seemed like a good justification at the time. Everything President Logan had done could be justified, one way or another.

Not any more. His imprisonment had taught him to reflect, to take responsibility for his actions. People were skeptical when he tried to explain that. They didn’t understand how confinement changed a person.

Jack Bauer understood.

Now that was ironic.

Charles wasn’t even handcuffed to the bed. The authorities must have determined that he was too weak to attempt an escape. That was not a good sign.

If you are ready to take me, Lord, I accept your judgment.

The Lord, apparently, wasn’t ready. Not if twenty-first century medical technology had anything do with it.

As the days passed it become evident that Charles would survive. There was no Heavenly Kingdom awaiting him. Not yet. There was no bright white light or loving embrace, just the infernal beeping of monitors and the tangle of tubes that ran in and out of his various orifices.

My time on Earth is not yet finished. I still have the opportunity to make amends.

TWO WEEKS LATER:

Martha sat down and picked up the heavy, old-fashioned black phone.

“You look beautiful.” Charles didn’t mean to sound sarcastic. Martha’s hair, which had once been carefully groomed, was now in a state of frizzy disarray. She would look better with some makeup. She may have put on weight, it was hard to tell.

Yet she was beautiful to him.

Martha grunted. “Orange is not my best color.” She gestured vaguely to her jumpsuit.

“You won’t be here long.” Charles said. “I’m sure your lawyer is working on having you transferred to a more suitable facility.”

“You mean the nut house.”

“The term is psychiatric institute. I think it would be the best place for you.”

“You must be happy, Charles.” Even through the thick glass that separated them, Charles could feel the waves of the former First Lady’s hostility. It was frightening.

“Why would I be happy, Martha?” He asked

“You’ve been trying to have me committed for years. It looks like you finally succeeded.”

“I didn’t ask you to stab me, Martha. You did that all by yourself.”

“You provoked me.”

She’s crazy. Why am I trying to talk to her?

“Why did you come here?" Martha demanded.

Because I still love you.

“I wanted to say thank you. You were able to convince Anya. She, in turn, convinced Suvarov to do the right thing. You served your country well, Martha. Although I would have preferred it if you hadn’t tried to kill me first.”

“You should be on this side of the glass after what you’ve done,” Martha spat.

Charles lifted his left wrist to display his monitoring bracelet. “It wasn’t easy to arrange this visit. I’m still under house arrest, Martha.”

Martha snorted. “You’re in ten-thousand-foot mansion and I’m in an eight-by-ten cell. Don’t expect me to be impressed.”

“This is your chance for redemption, Martha. Your chance to find your faith. Now you can find your inner voice without distraction. You can find your salvation.”

“What?! Charles, get over yourself! How dare you come in here and…preach to me about redemption.”

Martha was growing hysterical. Charles could see all the signs.

Martha stood up in the narrow cubicle. “You can’t fool me, Charles. You haven’t changed at all. You’re still a monster. I wish I had killed you, you bastard. I wish Jack Freaking Bauer had killed you when he had the chance, you miserable piece of…”

By this time two burly female guards had arrived and moved in to restrain the now-histrionic Martha.

“Let’s go, ma’am,” One of them said.

“Hey, that’s the former First Lady of the United States of America. You treat her with some respect,” Charles shouted after the guards.

The guards paid no attention as Martha was handcuffed and led away. It hurt Charles to see her like that.

That could have gone better, Charles concluded.

Charles stood up and regarded the Secret Service agent who had been assigned to him. The agent had done his best to remain impassive but he was clearly uncomfortable with what he had just witnessed. He shifted his weight from one leg to another, the closest thing to fidgeting he would allow himself.

The man reminded Charles of another federal agent he once knew.

“Let’s go.” Said Charles. He couldn’t help but speak as if he was still the one giving orders. Humility was something he had to work on.

The agent led Charles to the passenger seat of the black car.

Back to his home. Back to his prison. Charles thought of the Crucifix and the Bible waiting there for him, and he was comforted.

Charles closed his eyes and offered up a quick, silent prayer.

I tried, Lord. I tried.

END

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