eyes and leaned back against the metal wall. He imagined verdant forests, glistening lakes, towering mountains, and spacious skies. They were all the things he wasn't likely to see in the next twenty years.
During the sentencing, Burnside’s mind retreated so completely that he barely noticed the proceedings. He felt as if his spirit was hovering outside his body, watching the proceedings from afar, as if it was all just a bad television program. His body and mind felt numb as if they belonged to someone else. He heard the judge speaking, but his mind was at his favorite campground in New Hampshire. He was imagining pitching his tent among the trees in a valley surrounded by majestic mountains. The place was real: Gunstock camping ground in Gilford, New Hampshire. He had visited the campground numerous times since he was a kid. First, he went with his parents. Then, with his friends from high school. Then, with his friends from the police department. It was his place. No one could get him while he was in his place. He vowed that he would stay there.
Burnside was dimly aware of being led out of the courtroom after the proceedings. He never lost his blank-eyed stare as they led him out the back door of the courtroom to the waiting prison truck. He remembered very little from court. Vague mentioning of him being a danger to society because of violent behavior. Something about the judge saying his hands were tied and he wished he had more discretion. Something about fifteen years in a maximum security prison in another state.
He was fastened to the restraints in the truck’s rear compartment. Ray fell into a tormented, nightmare-filled sleep as he leaned against the inner wall of the truck. His attempt to escape into a world of imagination during the court sentencing had exhausted him.
Chapter 7
Flight
Burnside assumed they weren't taking any chances with him when they brought him back to the same isolation cell.
I guess it’s hard to get into trouble by yourself.
He was thankful for the solitude. Lying on the metal bunk, he used his folded arms as a pillow and tried to think of something positive. When he couldn't, he decided his only alternative was to go back to reading his only precious book. Reaching under his bunk, he panicked when he didn't feel it. Rolling off the bunk, he got down on his hands and knees to look for it. He felt a wave of relief when he saw it in the corner.
That's my only escape from this hellhole.
Ray gratefully closed his fingers around the soft paperback cover. He read until he finished the book. He didn't know how many hours he read or even what time it was. There were no windows, so it was impossible to know the time of day. He had not seen a living a soul since they brought him back from court. His only companion, other than the book, was the closed circuit television camera hovering below the ceiling just outside his cell. He imagined people on the other end of that camera watching him and he felt less lonely. He fell asleep, he woke up. He didn't know how long he was asleep. It could have been hours or minutes. Time was not relevant here. All he saw were the same bare walls and bars.
Time is change. If nothing changes, time does not exist.
Burnside closed his eyes and tried to transport himself back to pleasant childhood memories. The only problem was that his imagination had already been pushed to the limit and he had nothing left.
Ray stood and began pacing the floor. He took two long strides to the back of the cell and two long strides back to the bars. He tried smaller strides; four steps to the back wall, four steps to the bars. Four steps to the wall, four steps to the bars. He did this for a while without knowing exactly how long. As he paced, his rage slowly began to build.
I have to stop this. This will
During the sentencing, Burnside’s mind retreated so completely that he barely noticed the proceedings. He felt as if his spirit was hovering outside his body, watching the proceedings from afar, as if it was all just a bad television program. His body and mind felt numb as if they belonged to someone else. He heard the judge speaking, but his mind was at his favorite campground in New Hampshire. He was imagining pitching his tent among the trees in a valley surrounded by majestic mountains. The place was real: Gunstock camping ground in Gilford, New Hampshire. He had visited the campground numerous times since he was a kid. First, he went with his parents. Then, with his friends from high school. Then, with his friends from the police department. It was his place. No one could get him while he was in his place. He vowed that he would stay there.
Burnside was dimly aware of being led out of the courtroom after the proceedings. He never lost his blank-eyed stare as they led him out the back door of the courtroom to the waiting prison truck. He remembered very little from court. Vague mentioning of him being a danger to society because of violent behavior. Something about the judge saying his hands were tied and he wished he had more discretion. Something about fifteen years in a maximum security prison in another state.
He was fastened to the restraints in the truck’s rear compartment. Ray fell into a tormented, nightmare-filled sleep as he leaned against the inner wall of the truck. His attempt to escape into a world of imagination during the court sentencing had exhausted him.
Chapter 7
Flight
Burnside assumed they weren't taking any chances with him when they brought him back to the same isolation cell.
I guess it’s hard to get into trouble by yourself.
He was thankful for the solitude. Lying on the metal bunk, he used his folded arms as a pillow and tried to think of something positive. When he couldn't, he decided his only alternative was to go back to reading his only precious book. Reaching under his bunk, he panicked when he didn't feel it. Rolling off the bunk, he got down on his hands and knees to look for it. He felt a wave of relief when he saw it in the corner.
That's my only escape from this hellhole.
Ray gratefully closed his fingers around the soft paperback cover. He read until he finished the book. He didn't know how many hours he read or even what time it was. There were no windows, so it was impossible to know the time of day. He had not seen a living a soul since they brought him back from court. His only companion, other than the book, was the closed circuit television camera hovering below the ceiling just outside his cell. He imagined people on the other end of that camera watching him and he felt less lonely. He fell asleep, he woke up. He didn't know how long he was asleep. It could have been hours or minutes. Time was not relevant here. All he saw were the same bare walls and bars.
Time is change. If nothing changes, time does not exist.
Burnside closed his eyes and tried to transport himself back to pleasant childhood memories. The only problem was that his imagination had already been pushed to the limit and he had nothing left.
Ray stood and began pacing the floor. He took two long strides to the back of the cell and two long strides back to the bars. He tried smaller strides; four steps to the back wall, four steps to the bars. Four steps to the wall, four steps to the bars. He did this for a while without knowing exactly how long. As he paced, his rage slowly began to build.
I have to stop this. This will
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