A handful of officers created a perimeter around Jeremy’s path to the squad car. The shouting people fed off each other, elevating the noise into a blur. There’s gotta be fifty people back here, Jeremy thought.
“Motherfucker!” a woman screamed from the front of the group. She resembled Janae, and he wondered if she was her mother.
Look at the uproar I’m already causing. Jeremy kept his stare on the squad car as he maneuvered toward it.
Then he decided to have some fun with his new fans.
Before he sat down in the car, he looked back at the crowd and grinned as widely and maniacally as he could. The crowd roared, throwing fists in the air, screaming in a chaotic symphony.
The squad car pulled away as the sun broke through the clouds for the first time all week.
38
Chapter 38
Thursday, November 23, 2017
The weekend following the verdict ended up different than any of Jeremy’s previous days in jail. He was stripped of his dark red jumpsuit that was saved for the most dangerous of inmates, his shackles were removed, and he was granted outdoor time, an hour each day.
He was still required to remain in solitary, even during his outdoor time, as there was legitimate concern for his safety among the other inmates. Infamous inmates were always a target. The threats weren’t as likely in a county jail as they might be at a maximum security prison, but they were present nonetheless.
The officers couldn’t care less about his not-guilty verdict, and would continue to be short with him, barking orders in his ear and “accidentally” bumping into him.
Jeremy didn’t know how much control they had over the water pressure, but his final shower in jail felt like an air attack from a nail gun. It shot out of the showerhead in a burning stream; they had to have turned up the heat. Red marks showed across Jeremy’s back as he took his final, naked walk of shame around the shower room to where an officer waited with towels.
Jeremy put all the harshness and cruelty behind him. He knew the officers were pissed with the verdict. Some of them were first responders—or friends with first responders—who had their lives forever scarred by his actions.
“It was worse than the shit I saw in Iraq,” Jeremy heard one officer tell another the week after the shooting.
“How could one person cause all that damage?” asked another.
Police officers understood the dangers of their jobs, but they never expected to see a scene like they saw on March 11, 2016.
After the weekend passed, Jeremy spent his final days in jail plotting his next move. Linda had stopped by to inform him of the next steps.
“You’re going to be transferred to Pueblo on Thursday.” It was Monday morning when she came to see him, leaving him with three more days in jail. “When you arrive at the institute, you’ll be processed into a solitary room. You need to understand that, at first, you’ll be in a straightjacket and a padded room.”
“What? Why?”
“It’s procedure. Since you received the insanity verdict, you’ll be treated as a new insanity patient by the hospital. I’ve sent over paperwork vouching for your good behavior in jail over the last year, so I suspect you’ll only spend a couple days with this arrangement. You’ll also meet your doctor, Dr. Harriet Carpenter. Dr. Carpenter works for the hospital and will be visiting with you at least five days each week. She has been in this line of work for a very long time and will be focused on getting your mind back to a healthy state.”
Now’s the time to tell her. Everything from this point forward needs to be focused on getting me out of the mental hospital.
“Linda, I need to tell you something and I hope you can hear me out. This was all a big plan. I’m not mentally ill. I’m normal. I’ve made very detailed plans to get to this point. I’m trying to expose mental health to the public. I’m going to write a book about my experience in the mental hospital. Insane Like Me is going to be the title."
Linda stared at him blankly. He had spoken in the most formal voice he could muster, the one he used when he needed to bullshit Shelly back in the day.
“Okay, Jeremy, if you say so. Dr. Carpenter will be helping you, you should maybe take this up with her.”
She doesn’t believe me! I’ve been holding this in for more than a year, and now that I tell her she doesn’t fucking believe me!
“Linda, I’m not kidding. I planned all of this out in a notebook.”
“Jeremy, I don’t have time for this. You’ve been diagnosed and are going to get treatment.”
“I’m not lying!” Jeremy slammed his fist on the table.
Linda jumped back in her chair, but didn’t stand. “Jeremy, why should I believe this? I’ve been working on your case for the past year—all of my energy on your insanity defense. We found a doctor who diagnosed you with a serious mental condition, and now you’re trying to tell me it’s all a lie? Pardon my French, but that is pure bullshit.”
“I swear to you.”
“Where is this supposed notebook?” Linda’s face turned to stone as she peered at Jeremy.
“I threw it away at a gas station in Golden.”
“Well, that’s convenient.”
“It’s the truth. Why don’t you believe me?”
“Jeremy, you need serious help. You’re delusional. Have you stopped taking your pills?”
“No!” Jeremy snapped, baffled that she refused to believe the truth. The pills may have started losing their effect, but what difference does it make?
“Why don’t you believe me?” His hands started to shake, and she noticed.
“Okay, let’s pretend for a second that I believe this story of yours. Why are you telling me now? And what exactly do you want me to do with this information? You’ve already received a not-guilty verdict.”
“It will get me out of the hospital faster. My mind is healthy and perfectly fine.”
“Jeremy, you’re not okay. This might all seem normal in your mind, but it’s not. You are insane. Period. For Christ’s sake, the prosecution’s psychiatrist called you insane, and it was his job to prove otherwise! I’ll be sharing this information alright—with Dr. Carpenter. All you’re doing is further proving your mental instability. I’m leaving now. Good luck, Jeremy.”
Linda hung up her phone and walked out of the room.
* * *
When Thursday morning arrived, Jeremy jumped out of bed at sunrise. He’d been waking up energetically for the past few weeks thanks to his late-night workout routine, but the upcoming change had kept him in a light sleep Wednesday night.
Today he would finally leave jail. He couldn’t believe he had managed to execute his plan, despite Linda refusing to believe it.
“Good morning,” Jeremy said to his empty cell. A good morning it was, as he received his favorite breakfast and ate it in peace.
What will the food be like in the loony bin?
He wondered this, along with many other things, about his new home.
The officer on duty informed Jeremy that he would be leaving at ten and his processing would begin at nine sharp. The guards’ resentment was still palpable from the dirty looks and irritated tones they spoke with.
The two officers who arrived at nine to escort him didn’t speak a word. They were two towering men with crossed arms and stern expressions. Jeremy stood from his bed and approached the door with his hands extended to be handcuffed.
The officer with a thick mustache slapped on the cuffs with more force than necessary, while the other unlocked the door and slid it open. Jeremy felt a fluttering within himself. He was soon to be a “free” man.
He was led to a back room, where another officer stood behind a tall desk, clicking and typing on his computer.
“Heston?” he asked as they all entered.
Like you don’t know who I am.
Jeremy grinned at the officer. “Yes, sir.”
“Have a seat while I pull up your file.”
The officer—Clanton, ac
cording to his badge—gestured to the seats across the small room and kept his head down as he typed on the computer. Jeremy’s escorting officers stood in the doorway and waited in awkward silence.
I can’t believe I’m actually leaving this shithole.
Ten minutes passed before Officer Clanton spoke again.
“Heston. I have your things.”
He pulled a plastic bag from behind the desk and plopped it on top.
What things?
Clanton pulled out clothing from the bag and Jeremy’s blood chilled to ice as he saw the black hoodie he was wearing on the day of the shooting. He approached the desk.
“I have one black hooded sweater, one T-shirt, one pair of jeans, one wallet with $26, two credit cards, and a driver’s license, one pair of tennis shoes, and one cell phone.”
Jeremy never thought he would see these things again—but he was being treated like any other prisoner and given back what he had entered with twenty months earlier. He remembered the shoes had blood on them that day, but it had apparently been wiped off. He grabbed his hoodie and could smell the faint scent of his old apartment still trapped in its fibers.
“Please sign here that you have received your belongings.” Clanton pushed across a clipboard with a large X where Jeremy needed to sign, and he scribbled a rusty signature. Months without writing made the pen feel foreign in his grip. If he planned to write a book about his twisted adventures, he would need to shake that feeling off.
Officer Clanton put the items back in the bag and pushed it across to Jeremy. “There’s a changing room in the hallway, you can change into these clothes for your trip to Pueblo.”
“Thank you,” Jeremy said, getting no acknowledgment. He grabbed the bag and headed for the door, where his two escorts still stood. He paused in front of them, waiting for them to move. They both looked down at him, speechless, before moving aside to let him pass. Officer Mustache followed him and waited outside the changing room.
The changing room reminded Jeremy of his solitary room at the courthouse, a small eight-by-eight room with solid white walls and fluorescent lights that buzzed above, only this one had no window. He slid the orange jumpsuit off and watched it fall into a puddle at his feet as he stood in his county-issued boxers, feeling liberated.
Did they give these clothes back to me as some sort of sick prank? A final joke before I leave?
Jeremy pulled up his jeans and slid his feet into the shoes. The pants were a bit tight, but would be okay until he was given his new attire at the mental hospital. He stared at his gray T-shirt and black hoodie, not really wanting to put them on. He could vividly remember putting on that shirt on the morning of March 11, 2016. His mind was sharp and focused that morning as he looked around his apartment for the final time. He pulled the T-shirt over his head, an action he had forgotten after more than a year of stepping into his one-piece jumpsuit.
He picked up the hoodie and looked at it in his hands. It was a hoodie he’d worn often in the winter. Sometimes Jamie had worn it when his apartment was cold and he knew the scent of her perfume and fruity shampoo still rested somewhere within it.
“Heston! Shouldn’t be taking this long!” Officer Mustache barked from the other side of the door, banging on it with a heavy fist. There were no locks and he could have let himself in had he wanted.
“Almost done!” Jeremy shouted back in a cracking voice. He started to feel nervous. Of the many instances throughout this entire process when he had felt in way over his head, his pending transfer to a mental hospital was perhaps the greatest.
He slid his arms into the hoodie and pulled it over his head, pulling the hood back from his buzzed head. He had an instant flashback to that day. The last time he’d put on this hoodie, it had been showtime. That hot sun beat down on him as he stood at the trunk of his car with King Kong—his rifle—and a duffel bag full of loaded magazines.
A surge of power rushed through him once the hoodie was snug around his body. It felt damn good to be leaving a mark on history forever. It was a lonely feeling, but a powerful one.
Jeremy picked up his jumpsuit before opening the door to Office Mustache. He extended the suit to him.
“Take it to Officer Clanton,” the officer said sternly and stepped aside. Jeremy’s head rose just to the guard’s chest, and he saw that his name badge read SULLIVAN.
He took his clothes to Officer Clanton, who still refused to look him in the eyes. “Your car is here early. You’ll be heading out in a couple minutes, as soon as Officer Malone is ready. Have a seat until then.”
Clanton finally looked up, but past Jeremy, and nodded at the two officers standing guard. They returned the nod and left the room.
Only a minute passed before a scrawny cop entered the room. His navy blue uniform was in pristine condition, shoes shined, badge sparkling.
First day on the job?
“Mr. Heston?” Officer Malone questioned. He sounded anxious.
“Hello,” Jeremy said with a smile. He decided he would be kind to everyone he met from this point forward. It could only help accelerate whatever bullshit plan they had for him in the loony bin.
“Car is ready, and so am I. Shall we head out?”
“Yes, sir, I’m ready.”
Jeremy felt adrenaline start to pump, throbbing in his fingertips. His hands trembled slightly at the thought of leaving this God-awful building. He would be stepping out into the real world for an extended period of time, outside of the walls of the jail.
Two hours cruising down I-25. This guy might even let me roll the window down so I can stick my head out like a dog.
“This way, please,” Malone said and turned out the door. Jeremy wondered why he hadn’t been handcuffed for the drive. Did they no longer see him as a threat? Or did society actually see him as an innocent man whose own mind got in his way?
He followed Malone down a long hallway to the back of the police station. Malone signed a form for another officer standing guard at the exit and Jeremy noticed the turkey and pumpkin cutouts that decorated the hall.
It was a Thursday in late November, and after more than a year out of society, he realized it was Thanksgiving.
“This way please,” Officer Malone said as he pushed open the door. A squad car waited immediately outside. He opened the back door and gestured for Jeremy to get in.
“They make you work on Thanksgiving?” Jeremy asked.
“Yeah, just one of the perks of being the new kid on the block. I don’t mind though. All my family is back in Connecticut, and a newbie like me doesn’t have a chance at getting a whole weekend off to go visit them.”
“I see.” Jeremy sat in the back seat of the cop car for the first time without handcuffs and shackles. The divider kept him separate from the front, where the radio crackled with gibberish only cops could understand.
The rookie cop took his seat behind the wheel and buckled his seatbelt. “Let’s get this show on the road,” he said as they pulled away from the station. Jeremy looked out his window until the large brown building disappeared from sight.
I did it. I’m out of there and not going back.
39
Chapter 39
Thursday, November 23, 2017
The drive was quiet and scenic. Once they were outside of Denver, the surroundings were mostly open fields, but the blue mountains in the distance provided a breathtaking view away from the smog of downtown. The patrol car hummed along I-25 at a steady 75. After half an hour, they were far out of Officer Malone’s official jurisdiction, so he lowered the police radio’s volume and turned on the FM radio to the golden voice of Freddie Mercury singing “Bohemian Rhapsody.”
Malone whistled and hummed along while Jeremy stared out the window in a daze. The adrenaline faded away, leaving a twisting sense of anticipation in Jeremy as he awaited his arrival to Rocky Mountain Mental Health Institute.
“About forty-five more minutes,” the young officer said as they passed through Colorado Springs. Jeremy l
ooked out his window and saw Pike’s Peak in all her glory.
The next stretch was treacherous, as the Rocky Mountains disappeared from sight thanks to the rising foothills in the area. The remainder of the drive consisted of dirt and abandoned buildings. They drove into nothingness.
Then signs of life started reappearing. Dirt gave way to greenery, billboards popped up on the side of the highway, and warehouse buildings popped up behind the truck stops.
It occurred to Jeremy that whatever way the trial had ended, he would have been on this same route. The major prison where the big shots were sent was in Cañon City, just a few minutes west of Pueblo.
Pueblo will do just fine. It’s a beautiful city, he lied to himself.
The engine hummed softly as they approached their exit. The turn signal clicked on as the car turned into town, where neighborhoods and a strip mall were now in sight. Officer Malone zigzagged through the city for five minutes before passing a large shopping mall and turning down a side road. A large brick sign welcomed them to ROCKY MOUNTAIN MENTAL HEALTH INSTITUTE: COLORADO DEPARTMENT OF HUMAN SERVICES.
Two flagpoles stood tall behind the sign, one with the Colorado state flag and the taller one the U.S. flag, both flapping furiously in the wind.
“Here we are,” Malone spoke up for the first time in almost an hour. They approached a massive brick building that stood five stories tall. A row of windows ran along each floor that stretched as long as a football field.
The car stopped at the hospital’s front doors, where the electronic doors parted for a group of three nurses and a large security officer.
They were there for him. One nurse held a clipboard beneath her bosom, and the other two waited with their hands clasped in front of them.
This is my new home. The next phase is underway.
There was no press waiting, no news vans parked in the lot, no mourning family members awaiting his arrival. He was officially in the middle of nowhere and no one gave a shit about him here. The drama of the trial was over and he was now an afterthought—a footnote in America’s ugly history of gun violence.
The Burden Page 18
