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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?