Detour from Normal (24 page)

When we got back to the house, Tim said good-bye before we went in and left. While we were gone, my youngest brother, Cole, and his wife,
Andrea, had arrived. They had yet to be involved due to heavy family commitments of their own. They have four children, two in college, and on top of that, finances were tight with Andrea's recent layoff. So we didn't see a lot of them. As we all conversed in the family room, I noticed that Cole and Andrea were immensely uncomfortable. I thought that perhaps they were mad at each other.
That's OK,
I thought.
They'll soon feel so much better. They'll have a better relationship than they've ever had.
Dana and I made jokes about new thinkers and old thinkers, knowing that no one else had a clue what we were talking about. I laughed genuinely, but everyone besides Dana rolled their eyes and showed concern.

After a while Beth asked, "Ken, would you go for a walk with me around the block?"

"Sure," I replied. I got up from the rocker in the corner of the family room I'd been sitting in, and the two of us went out the front door. Once outside I took Beth's hand, laced my fingers through hers as I'd done countless times, and held her hand as we walked. She was strangely quiet and sad, but I didn't dare ask why—there had been plenty going on in her mind lately, and all of it had to do with me. Instead of talking, we just walked quietly around the neighborhood in the glow of the streetlamps. It was well after eleven o'clock by then. It had gotten up to 111 degrees that day and was probably still over 105, but a dry, steady breeze blew from the west as it often does that time of year, which at least prevented us from sweating. As we passed the halfway mark around the block, I could hear the rustling of the fronds of the date palm that I'd heard just a few evenings earlier during that one flawless night. As we passed it, I looked up at the grand tree glowing in the beam of the spotlight at its base, but there was no longer anything special about it. I loved the sound just the same.

About a hundred yards from my home, I noticed a police SUV parked across the street. An officer was speaking with my brothers in the middle of the street. It seemed very odd, so as we got close to our home, I released Beth's hand and went to see what was going on. As I approached the officer, Dana whispered something to Beth and she went into the house.

"Hi, officer, can I help you with something? I live here," I said, pointing to my house.

"Are you Mr. Dickson? Mr. Kenneth Dickson?"

"Uh, yes. Is there some kind of problem?"

"Mr. Dickson, I'm going to need you to take a seat in my vehicle, please."

"What's wrong? What's going on?"

"Just take a seat."

The officer opened the rear door of the SUV and motioned for me to get in. "Watch your head," he said and put his hand against the doorframe to protect my head as I got in. Once I was inside, the officer closed the door. He spoke briefly with my brothers again, but I couldn't hear what they were saying. Then they both turned and walked toward my home, never looking back.

Beth's journal, May 25, 2011:

I invited Ken to go for a walk with me. We walked down the street holding hands. It was so wonderful to have my gentle, loving Ken back who would walk quietly with me. The police arrived sometime before
midnight when we were returning from our walk. Dana sent me directly into the house so I didn't have to watch whatever was about to happen. I cried for hours on the rocking chair in the family room. I don't ever recall having felt so desolate and hopeless. At some point I went upstairs to lie down in bed. I don't remember if I actually slept.

Chapter 21

THE PDC

I was sure my brothers would return to rescue me from the police SUV. I begged the officer to wait for them. I begged until it was beyond doubt that they weren't coming back. After patiently obliging me for nearly twenty minutes, the officer turned to me and said, "I'm sorry, sir, we have to go."

I had no idea why I was in a police vehicle or where I was being taken. The SUV was hot and stuffy. There were several air-conditioning vents in the dash of the vehicle but none in the back. I noticed that all but one of the dash vents were pointed at the officer and none were pointed at the few small holes in the clear Lexan panel that separated us. Precious little cool air made it through those holes to me. I reached out to them and was only able to cool the palms of my hands. As we drove to our destination, I dripped sweat onto the smooth, black leather upholstery of the seat. I couldn't help but wonder how many others' sweat had soaked that leather.

It seemed an eternally long ride in the sweltering SUV. I could see very little through the bars and limo tint blocking the view of the night through the vehicle windows—mostly just headlights and streetlamps. I could see no landmarks to give me any idea of where we might be;
the route we took was a mystery. Eventually we arrived at an imposing, single-story, mud-colored brick building. Along the side of the building about six feet from the ground, a row of long, squat, tinted windows glowed ominously in the night. They somehow gave the impression that the building was a prison. We turned off the street and drove behind the building to a lit area. There, a single primer-red canopy protected a gray steel door beneath it. On the door was a white sign with the words EMERGENCY ENTRANCE in red. Right below the sign, a hastily spray-painted patch highlighted what appeared to be a dent from a small caliber bullet. The officer parked the SUV next to the entrance. He radioed his status and then exited the vehicle. Moments later he returned with two men in scrubs. He opened my door and let me out of the SUV.

"You have a good evening, sir," he said to me.

"You too, officer," I said automatically. I couldn't bring myself to thank him, but I also couldn't help but notice that he'd been the kindest to me of any professional in a long while. It occurred to me that I was probably the easiest "criminal" he'd ever had to deal with—I'd given him no trouble whatsoever.

As the officer reentered his vehicle and again radioed in, the two men asked me to follow them. I hadn't noticed much about them through the poor visibility of the SUV windows, but now, standing beside them, I was truly intimidated. Each of them was over six feet tall and built like a football player. One pressed a buzzer on the right side of the door and spoke into an intercom just above it. Moments later the door buzzed. He opened it and motioned for me to enter while the other followed close behind me.

Once inside, the men escorted me through the facility to a small room packed with recliners. The dirty-beige leather recliners were arranged in three
rows of nine recliners each, all facing a large pane of glass at the front of the room. The two rows in the front were so close to each other that when they were reclined, I didn't think it would be possible to walk between them. The third row was a way back from the front two near the back wall of the room. Each recliner in a row was as close to the next as it could get, barely separated by enough space to access whatever levers or other mechanisms might be there to recline them. The room was apparently co-ed. There was a mix of men and women curled up on the recliners under ratty, threadbare blankets. It was just after midnight by that time, and most of them were asleep.

The first man directed me to a recliner at the far end of the front row. "This is your recliner. You'll be here until you're moved to another facility. You can walk around whenever you want, but I suggest that you stay in the recliner as much as possible. Things can get out of hand pretty quickly here. The bathroom is over there if you need to use it." He pointed back in the direction from which we had come. "If you want to call someone, there's a portable phone at the nurse's desk by the bathroom. Just ask the nurse for it. You have to dial nine to get out. There's a blanket on your recliner if you get cold." I looked and saw a thin, discolored, and well-worn blanket folded on the recliner seat. "Do you have any personal items on you? We need to take those now. You can get them back later."

"No." I pulled my empty pants pockets inside out, then turned and patted my empty rear pocket. It occurred to me that I had nothing on me that could tell anyone who I was.

"Do you have any questions?"

"Yes, where am I and why am I here?"

"You're at the PDC. I don't know exactly why you were brought here, but you'll be here for anywhere from a few hours to as much as a week until a bed opens up at another facility."

"What kind of facility?"

"From here you'll be placed in a high-security psychiatric facility where they will evaluate you for a minimum of seventy-two hours. That's all I can tell you, any other questions?"

"No," I said.

"OK then. If you need anything, you can ask us or any other PAs in scrubs." With that, the two PAs went their separate ways, returning to their business.

Not knowing what to expect, I was numb. I picked up the folded blanket and sat down. I looked at the large glass pane a few feet in front of my recliner. Its length was slightly more than the length of the row of recliners. It ran from three feet above the floor to three feet below the ceiling. There was a clock mounted in the center of the wall above the window. Through the glass I noticed another glass pane at right angles to it. Behind that pane was another area of recliners, smaller than ours. I estimated there were fifteen recliners there.

Through the glass directly in front of me was an observation area filled with scattered desks, on which were stacks of paperwork, office supplies, and computer monitors. All the desks faced the glass panes. It seemed there must have been dozens of eyes on us at any given moment, but in reality, most of the time everyone was busy doing anything but watching the people on our side of the glass.

From my vantage point near the corner of the room, I could see nearly everything. I swiveled my head and took stock of my new surroundings. From here it was noticeable that the separation between the back and front rows of recliners created a walkway across the room. At the farthest end of the room from me, near the bathroom, sat the nurse's desk facing out toward the recliners. On my side of the room, there was a
small open area. Near the back of that area was another desk at an angle, also facing the recliners. Over time I noticed that the PAs sometimes used that desk, but it was usually vacant. A short way from my recliner, built into the wall near the large glass pane, was a glass door that gave access to the observation area.

It was soon well after midnight. Another day had begun, May 26. I decided to recline my recliner and attempt to sleep. I searched for a lever on the right side and instead found an unfamiliar mechanical assembly. It was only capable of rotating up, so I rotated it. Once all the way up, a small table fell with a clunk across my recliner above my lap.
I guess that's where I eat,
I said to myself. I folded the table and rotated it back down, then tried my luck on the other side of the recliner. There was a thin wooden lever there, which I pulled and then pushed to no avail. I rocked forward and backward in the recliner while doing the same and still nothing happened. I tried again, harder. All at once there was an audible creak, the footrest shot up, and the back of the recliner slammed full force to the most reclined position. I lay there in triumph for a moment and then tucked my still-folded blanket behind my head as a pillow.

I had gotten out of Phoenix Mercy only twelve hours before, after suffering the worst seizures imaginable, and had only managed to get a few hours of drugged sleep there. Prior to that, I had gone three days straight without sleep. It wouldn't be long before I was in jeopardy once more; I was a ticking time bomb. I tossed and turned fitfully in the chair, unable to sleep. Beyond the discomfort of the recliner, there was just too much noise. The room was not only filled with people with psychiatric or addiction problems, but it was filled with their sounds as well. There was constant snoring, unpredictable outbursts of screaming, frequent
cursing, and fights, which were always followed by a stampede of PAs rushing to regain control.

I could ignore many outbursts in the PDC, but some were impossible to block out. As I lay with my eyes closed, trying my best to sleep, I heard faint wailing. It ceased, and then began anew. From its frail beginning, the wailing grew into nearly a scream before it was replaced by sobbing. I rose onto my elbows and scanned the room for the source of the anguish. It came from a woman sitting up in her recliner with her face buried in her hands near the end of the row behind me. Her long, light ash-brown hair flowed over her arms, and I could not discern her features. Spotting an empty recliner next to her, I slid from my own, walked over, and sat beside her. Though intending to calm her so that I might sleep, I also felt genuine compassion for her.