American Criminal (3 page)

   
They look nervous. Good. They should be.

    “We can keep him strapped down, right?” the older officer asked.

    “I couldn’t tell ya. My job is to bring him here. You guys are on your own now,” the EMT said, smiling as she left the room.

    “You’re not leaving too, are you?” the gray-haired cop asked the orderly.

    “Sorry, guys, gotta go,” the orderly replied as he darted out the door.

    “Thanks, we appreciate your help,” the older cop said, scowling.

    A middle-aged female tech with short black hair entered the room. She stared at Burnside with wide brown eyes.

    “Is he….dangerous?” she asked the officers.

    “Don’t worry Ma’am,” the tall, powerfully built officer said. “We’ll make sure he cooperates.”

    Burnside thought the explanation didn’t satisfy the tech as she stepped back, glaring at him as if he was a serial killer. The other officer, the middle-aged cop with the graying black hair, stepped over to the stretcher and fumbled with the strap holding down Burnside’s left wrist.

    “We’ll start with the wrist straps, cuff him, then do the legs,” he instructed the younger officer.

    “You can’t put handcuffs on him,” the tech said. “The metal will interfere with the machine.”

    “That’s why we brought these,” the older cop said, producing a set of plastic ties.

    The muscular cop approached the stretcher and began to methodically undo Burnside’s right wrist strap. Before he completed the procedure, he pulled out a set of plastic ties and prepared to snap them on one-handed. As the leather strap was released, he slid the plastic cuff on smoothly and snapped it shut. Burnside didn’t put up a fight. He continued to lie on the stretcher staring vacantly at the ceiling.

    The middle-aged officer removed the left strap and used his body weight to hold down Burnside’s arm as the young cop tied his other wrist. Despite the sweat he saw beading on their foreheads, Burnside thought the operation went quite smoothly. He continued to lie passively while they undid the leather restraints and replaced them with plastic leg straps, which were wider than the hand ties. He complied as the cops each grabbed an arm and lifted him up.

    The officers were forced to tie Burnside’s hands in front of him because he had to lie on his back in the MRI machine.

   
Big mistake.

    Burnside knew the procedure was dangerous because he could still manipulate his arms enough to cause serious damage. If he had to, he could even use the plastic restraints as an instrument of strangulation. He had seen this very thing done to another cop with metal handcuffs. After that incident, he never allowed a prisoner to be cuffed with his hands in front again.

    Burnside used his powers of restraint to keep from lashing out immediately. He needed to wait until the time was right. He remembered how he felt when he was a cop guarding dangerous psych patients who were under arrest in the Emergency Room - often accompanying them on excursions like this one. He remembered the tension of not knowing if or when an unstable patient would explode during a routine procedure and start swinging. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling and at this moment he had no intention of proving these officers right by flying off the handle.

    At least not yet.

     Burnside thought it was bizarre that he was experiencing the same situation from the other side. Never in his wildest dreams could he have predicted a one-hundred-eighty-degree role reversal. How could he know, when he was guarding dangerous patients, that he would eventually be the dangerous patient? It was like a bizarre, turned-around déjà vu. He grinned as he contemplated the absurd irony of it all.

    They escorted him to the massive scanning machine with its hollowed-out center. Burnside had to move his feet in an awkward shuffling motion to prevent his legs from being tangled in the leg restraints.

    “Lie down there,” the older cop instructed him, pointing down at a long, flat panel, extending out from the hollowed-out area of the machine.

    Burnside complied and thought the officers looked relieved when the tech arrived to take over the operation. They stepped back to let her in, but still looked ready to pounce if he made the slightest move.

    “You need to keep perfectly still for the machine to work,” the tech told him as she placed his head in a brace that would minimize any head or neck movement. “So you can’t move at all. Okay?”

    Burnside’s answer was a barely perceptible nod as he stared at her calmly, as if bored by the whole routine.

    “This panel you’re lying on is going to slide into the MRI chamber. You might feel a bit claustrophobic, but you must remain absolutely still. It’s also going to be loud. Okay?”

    Again he barely nodded. The tech didn’t look convinced and glanced nervously at the officers as she walked to the nearby control panel. She typed on a keyboard and the panel began sliding into the hollow opening. The officers moved away from the machine and stood against the back wall behind the tech. Burnside thought they looked as if they had a superstitious fear of the machine.

    Burnside closed his eyes as he slid into the bowels of the MRI scanner. He opened them when he felt the panel stop moving. Looking up, he saw a curved white surface directly above. The white surface appeared to be completely pristine and pure, no imperfections. His mind needed an escape and this machine was it. Maybe the MRI would cleanse him of his imperfections and make him the person he was before the conviction. He didn’t like who he was becoming, but he saw no other alternative. Burnside tried to let his aggressive feelings wash away as he stared at the smooth white surface.

   “Don’t move at all,” the nurse’s muffled voice spoke faintly to him as if she was far away at the end of a long tunnel.

   
Why would I want to move? I’m being cleansed.

    Burnside shut his eyes and thought about the pure white surface above him. He heard a loud mechanical humming as the machine went into operation. He relaxed as he imagined all the negativity of the past few months dissipating.

    
Maybe this is all a nightmare and I’ll wake up to find myself in my former life; going to work, living with my girlfriend, going out with friends, following the rules.

    Burnside let the white wash over him, cleaning away all the anger, aggression and negativity in his system. He imagined he was metamorphosing into a being of pure spirit that could not be influenced, hurt, or coerced by any physical thing in the environment. For the first time in months, he felt safe and free.

    Drifting. Floating.

    Burnside enjoyed the feeling of freedom from the flesh while he listened to the loud humming of the machine that drowned out any background noise. After a while, the humming stopped and the panel began moving again. He opened his eyes and saw himself traveling down the pristine white tunnel toward the gateway to reality. It was not a place he wanted to go. A sudden terror seized his mind.

   
They’re going to send me back to jail with the most violent and debauched human beings in society.

    In the machine, he was free. Out there, people would continue to abuse him with their accusations, punishments, and persecutions. A seething rage boiled in his mind as he thought about leaving the purity of the machine to return to a cynical, dangerous world. Burnside felt all his muscles tense as he remembered the drab gray walls and black iron bars of the jail he had been held at for the last four months.

   
They're not going to drag me back to that hell for something I didn't do.

    Burnside looked up to see the two officers standing above him like scientists observing an unstable laboratory experiment.

    “Okay, pal, we need you to sit up,” the younger officer instructed as he grabbed Burnside’s left shoulder.

    The officer’s touch inspired movement far beyond any that he might have anticipated. Burnside’s upper torso shot upward as if he had been filled with a thousand volts of electricity. His fists shot out with the momentum of his body, striking the younger officer in the forehead. Burnside’s cuffed fists smashed into the officer’s skull with a sickening thud. The officer’s eyes rolled up in his head as he slumped to the floor. The older officer stood frozen in a state of shock. When he finally recovered his wits, his instinct was to move away from the prisoner, rather than make any attempt to restrain him.

    The light of sanity drained momentarily from Burnside’s eyes. His face contorted into a spasm of animal rage as he glared at the panic-stricken officer. He tracked the officer’s movement like a predator stalking its next meal.

    Burnside slid smoothly off the panel, scanned the room, and realized the female tech had fled. He took a long stride forward and suddenly realized his feet were shackled only inches apart. The ties on the ankle restraints tightened before he could move his legs, plunging him toward the floor. Burnside’s adrenaline-heightened reflexes kicked in and he thrust his arms in front of him. His hands smacked against the floor and he pushed hard. He did an improvised push-up and moved to a squatting position.

    Burnside saw the officer fumbling for his gun. He thrust out with his arms and pushed upward with his legs, lunging like an uncoiling spring. His cuffed hands slammed into the cop’s neck. The momentum sent the officer reeling backwards as the gun flew from his hand. The cop tried to regain his balance, but toppled hard and hit the floor with a thud. Burnside fell on the officer, pinning him with the weight of his body. He pressed the plastic restraint into the soft, yielding skin of the cop’s neck. The officer choked and gagged as he fought for breath. Burnside glared maniacally into his panic-stricken face with an expression of intense satisfaction.

    Suddenly, his expression changed as an image flashed into his mind of a psych patient attacking him in a similar manner.

   
What the fuck am I doing? Am I really going to kill this guy?

    Burnside remembered the fear when the madman pinned him to the floor. It had taken two EMTs and two nurses to pull him off. The vivid memory made him cease the strangulation and draw back as if he had touched a live wire. The officer coughed and gasped for breath as the restraint was removed from his throat. Burnside pushed himself up and stood over the fallen man, staring down at him.

    Did I almost kill that guy? What am I turning into?

    Burnside staggered back to the MRI panel and sat down.

 
  The last thing I want to do is kill one of my former brothers.
  

    Another part of his mind disputed the assertion.

   
But
the bastard is going to drag me to prison for something I didn't do!

    His conflicted mind tried to reach a compromise.   

   
It doesn’t matter. There will be other opportunities to escape where I won’t have to kill anyone.

    Burnside sat on the MRI panel as he watched the fallen officer slowly push himself up with one hand, while he clutched his neck with the other. Looking for his partner, the cop saw him lying on the floor on the other side of the suspended machine panel.
He pulled a radio from his belt with a trembling hand.

    "Officer Jones to any available back-up," the cop said as he released his grip on his neck, picked up his gun from the floor, and leveled it on the prisoner. "The prisoner has broken loose. He's taken out Daniels. I'm in the MRI screening room in Metro-East Hospital. I need back-up. I repeat, the prisoner is loose and I need back-up," he paused to await a response.

    "1745 is en route from Prospect Street," an unknown officer's voice replied over the radio.

    "Officer Burke en route from the ER," another voice spoke from the radio

    "1738 on the way from downtown."

    "1752 on the way from the south side."

    "All units en route to Metro-East Hospital. Eighteen-forty three."

    The cop held his 9MM trained on the prisoner with a trembling hand. He returned the radio to his belt and moved back a few steps until he was leaning against the wall for support.

    Burnside felt exhausted as his adrenaline high faded. Closing his eyes, he lay back on the panel. He tried to imagine the pristine white surface inside the machine. He tried to imagine all the blackness inside of him breaking apart and evaporating. He ignored the sound of running footsteps in the hall as he concentrated on the pure image of white in his mind.

Chapter 4