Emily’s eyes slowly open. Disoriented, she found herself strapped to a worn-out bed with rusty bars. “What the hell is this place? She yelled, panic rising. “How did I get here? I don’t remember anything!” Nurse Jenkins entered in her clean uniform, remaining calm.

“Please, calm down,” the nurse said matter-of-factly. Emily struggled against the straps.

 “Why am I here? Why am I restrained?” she demanded, eyes watering.  Nurse Jenkins produced a syringe.

“This will help you relax.” Defiantly, Emily yelled,

 “No! Wait! Where am I?”

 The nurse answered “You are at Red Rock Correction Facility. You were hurting yourself, so transferred you here for safety.” Grabbing her arm, she injected the needle. Emily’s mind was confused, her vision blurred, and Nurse Jenkin’s voice faded.

“Correctional facility…?” she slurred, “I need to…”, Emily whispered, before dozing off.

Emily woke up a couple of hours later, calm, and called out, “I am awake! Can someone please take these straps off?” Her voice was heard in the halls and Nurse Jenkins entered the room.

“Can I trust you to be safe?” she asked plainly.  

“Yes. Now what did I do?” Emily asked.

 “I will leave that for you to talk about with your doctor,” Nurse Jenkins said, “Here he comes now.”

A man walked in her room as Nurse Jenkins walked out, pulling a chair up next to her. Emily’s eyes widened in fear.  “Scoot back!” she demanded. The doctor moved the chair about one foot back. Emily relaxed.

“I’m Dr. Johnson,” he replied, “You arrived here yesterday. I would like to get to know you before discussing that. May I ask you some questions?” Emily nodded.  Dr. Johnson asked, “Where do you live? Do you have family here in California?”

“California?” Emily said abruptly, “I live in Texas with my girlfriend!”

“Texas huh?” Dr. Johnson asked puzzled, “Do you know what year it is?”

“2013, why are you asking?” Emily questioned.

“Because it is 2024. We found you in San Fransisco,” Dr. Johnson replied.

“San Fransisco?” Emily asked stunned, “Oh no, it’s happened again.” Emily sighed.

“What happened again?” Dr. Johnson asked, confused.

“I don’t remember things well. I move around, and somewhere I am somewhere else, sometimes years later,” Emily admitted, “I can’t explain it.”

“That sounds like dissociation, or a dissociative fugue. There is also dissociative identity disorder, where trauma causes a person to fragment into separate identities with their own characteristics, which sounds like what happened to you. Do you know of any abuse or trauma in your life?” Dr. Johnson asked.

“Some, but I don’t remember much of my childhood, and even most of my life. I just get older without knowing about it. How old am I?” Emily asked anxiously.

“What is your birthday?” Dr. Johnson asked.

“August 10^th, 1978,” Emily replied.

“Well, let’s see…that would make you 46. How old do you think you are?” Dr. Johnson asked.

“35,” Emily sighed.

“Do you hear voices in your head?” he asked curiously. Emily looked down at her lap sadly.

“Yes, but I thought if I told anyone, they would say I am crazy,” Emily said softly.

“Hearing voices inner voices doesn’t equal psychosis. Only external voices do.

“Could a fragmented part of me commit the crime?” she asked, fearful. The silence was heavy. Emily distress grew, weighed down by the unknown. Eleven years passed, and she was accused of murder. Emily feared her memory gaps would lead to disaster, but murder? Unthinkable. Yet, the unknown haunted her. One thing was certain: she had to find the truth or face a life sentence. “Who was it? How can I find out?” she asked herself, determined to discover the truth.