Stepping into Psycho

April 1999 Twenty-one-year-old Carissa Nacario had it all. A charming boyfriend. A promising career. A loving family. And now she was old enough to drink, which was exactly what she did the night she celebrated her twenty-first birthday. With Leyton, the love of her life for the last two years, and Clarabelle, her best friend since grade school, she went clubbing at a place not far from where they lived. She didn't have any intentions of getting smashed that night. Just a couple of drinks would have been plenty. But it was her birthday, and people kept buying her drinks, determined to help her celebrate. Hey, one only turns twenty-one once, right? Finding it hard to say no and not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings, she drank what was provided for her. After an hour and a half, Carissa's head began to buzz, and everything seemed so loud yet muffled. Her vision blurred, and for a moment she thought she might be sick. “You okay?” Clarabelle asked. Carissa shook her head. “I think I've had one too many tonight. I hate to be a wimp, but maybe we should leave soon.” “You're the birthday girl,” Leyton said, eyeing her with concern. “Your wish is our command.” And so they agreed to leave and then debated in the parking lot who might be the least drunk and therefore the best designated driver. After a few minutes of debating, it was decided that Clarabelle would be the driver. It was a cold and rainy night, but Clarabelle felt confident that she could get everyone home in one piece. “Just take it slow,” Carissa urged her. “I will.” But that night, Clarabelle's definition of slow wasn't all that slow. The tall, slender redhead with the spattering of freckles she'd always hated drove rather erratically. Sometimes she would creep along really slowly, and other times she would slam her foot down on the gas pedal and they would go flying through the wet night, the car skidding around corners frantically. A bad feeling suddenly gripped Carissa in a vice-like hold. Time slowed down to a crawl, and the next thirty seconds seemed to play out in slow motion. The horns honking desperately… The blur of shiny metal lurching closer… The sounds of screaming and swearing… The sounds of tires screeching like fingernails on a chalkboard… As it would turn out, Clarabelle still may have managed to get everyone home safely had it not been for the truck going the wrong way on a one-way street. June 2017 Carissa became aware of voices and movement around her, but nothing she heard made sense. And what was that horrible smell? Sometimes it smelled like rubbing alcohol, and other times she swore it smelled like urine. But then the darkness would reclaim her before she could figure it out. The next time she awoke, the voices were clearer. She could still smell the usual mix of chemicals. Her brain scrambled to figure out where she was. The only things she was sure of were the voices and the smells. Everything else was a mystery to her. She struggled to open her eyes, but they felt like they were weighed down by an invisible pair of hands. Eventually, she succeeded in getting them open. Everything seemed so bright to her at first. She blinked the ceiling above her into focus. It was an acoustic tile ceiling with a scattering of fluorescent lights. None the clearer as to where she could be than she had been before opening her eyes, she next struggled to move her head to the side to get a better view of her surroundings. She cranked her head toward the left and saw a series of strange machines and tubes, most of which seemed to be connected to her. Her eyes traveled downward, and she found she had an IV in her left hand. Was she in the hospital? She raised her hand a bit to get a better look at it. Why did it look so different? It looked older. A soft movement toward the right. Slowly moving her head in the other direction, she saw a table with a vase of colorful flowers sitting on it. Weren’t those tulips? she wondered to herself. And then she spotted the nurse pushing the curtains aside to let the sunshine into what appeared to be a private hospital room. The nurse was tall and willowy, with shoulder-length blond hair. A second later, she spotted her gazing at her, and a huge smile spread across her face. “Well, hello there,” she said joyously. “Welcome back.” Welcome back? Welcome back from where? The nurse stepped closer. She appeared to be about fifty years old and had very friendly, bright blue eyes and perfect teeth. “I’m Flora,” she said. “It’s so good to see you awake, sweetie.” She patted her right shoulder almost affectionately. Carissa opened her mouth to speak but found it surprisingly difficult to form any words. Instead, all that emerged from her parched lips was a hoarse-sounding moan. “Would you like a drink?” She nodded, and then Nurse Flora poured a glass of water from a nearby pitcher and gently held the cup to her lips. The water felt cool and soothing going down her throat. After a few sips, Flora put the cup down on the table. Before she could make another attempt to get her voice to speak the words that crossed her mind, a man wearing a white coat entered the room. Clearly, this was her doctor. “Wow, what do we have here today?” he said in a chipper voice. “Hey, Doc, look who just woke up,” said the friendly nurse, beaming a smile. The doctor, with a shock of blond hair and hazel eyes, leaned his tall, lanky frame over her. “Hello, Miss Nacario. I’m Dr. Bates. How are you feeling?” Carissa moaned again. “Can you understand what I’m saying to you?” She nodded. “Do you know where you are?” Carissa nodded again. “Do you know how you got here?” She shook her head. “Well, before we talk about that, let’s check you out first, okay?” Carissa remained motionless, not seeing what choice she had anyway. “Do you feel any pain right now?” the doctor asked her. “N-no,” she managed to stammer out. “Good. That’s very good. Now I want you to look at my fingers and follow them with your eyes as I move them while keeping your head still. Think you can do that?” Carissa nodded, then followed the doctor’s movements, surprised to find it more difficult than she had anticipated. The next thing the doctor asked was for her to move her arms and legs a few inches. While they seemed to weigh a ton, she managed to move them a bit. The doctor peeled the blanket back from the foot of the hospital bed, exposing her feet. “Can you flex your toes a bit?” She slowly managed to do this. “Okay, how about flexing your fingers now?” She did this as well. “Good job. Now, who’s the president of the United States?” Carissa thought a moment and then said, “Bill Clinton.” The doctor and nurse exchanged glances. Carissa was getting desperate for more information. “W-what happened? Why am I here?” The doctor leaned on the guardrail of the bed. “Do you remember anything at all, Miss Nacario?” Carissa frowned. “You can call me Carissa. Remember what?” “You were in a serious car accident,” Dr. Bates told her. Carissa took a second to digest this bit of information. “But there are no bandages or casts.” The doctor nodded with a strange yet knowing expression. “It’s been quite a while, actually,” he said gently. “A while? What are you talking about?” “Carissa, you were in a coma for twenty-eight years.”