• I start by repeating the only set of facts I know to be true, the only process that has kept me sane in the past eight years.

    “My name is Nevada Williams. I am seventeen years old. I have multiple personality disorder. I was accused of the murders of two men when I was nine years old. I was acquitted of the charges due to mental instability. I was sent to solitary confinement when I turned ten. I was transferred to a permanent mental ward when I turned fourteen. I am being released into the public today,” I say.

    When I finish, I look to the cot where my clothes have been laid out for me. I slide into the black skirt and lacy top, and then stare at my reflection in the mirror. Anna, my psychiatrist, steps through the doorway, and smiles at me. She says, “You look beautiful, Nevada”. I smile weakly at her, and nod my head in agreement. But when I look back to the mirror, all I see is a skinny girl with hallowed cheeks and tired look in her eyes. For an instant, the reflection changes, and it isn’t me who stares back.
    The reflection winks at me, and I draw back my lips in a snarl, and whisper sharply, “Go away, Lauren”.

    Anna says then, “Nevada, we should go now, they’re waiting for you”.
    I turn, and say, “Okay,” and diligently follow her out the door of my room. We make our way through the hallway, past other hospital rooms filled with other mental patients. She herds me into the backseat of a black SUV, and gets into the passenger seat. Anna looks to the driver, and says, “We’re ready”. The man, a burly middle-aged Latino, nods, and puts the car into drive. We leave the hospital.

    I stare at the passing outside world with quiet wonder. Anna tries to hold a conversation with me, as she always does, but I do little to respond to her, “Nevada, how do you feel?” or “Are you excited?” I simply smile lightly, and respond with one word answers. I don’t want to talk, I want only to sit in quiet, but I humor her.

    The car pulls to a careful stop in the driveway of my childhood home. Anna looks back at me excitedly, and grins, saying, “We’re here, Nevada!” I nod in agreement, and smile a little. Some excitement does manage to work its way into my brain, but I mostly feel indifferent. I open the door of the car, and step out carefully onto the paved ground. As soon as both my feet touch the ground and I shut the door behind me, my family appears from the house.

    The first I thing I notice is my mother. Her long, beautiful light brown hair no longer has the sheen I had so adored when I was younger. Her hair is pulled back into a taught bun, but some of it is hanging loose at the sides of her head. There are tired lines etched under her eyes, and she has a worn look about her. But when she sees me, standing there in a skimpy skirt and lace top, her eyes light up, and she races forward. My mother sweeps me up in a hug, crying and laughing all at once. I embrace her back, and tears start to flow. She calls out, “My baby, my sweet, sweet baby”.
    Tears threaten to overwhelm me, and the only sentence I can manage I says back to her, my voice choking, “I’m home, Mom”.

    When we finally manage to break free from our embrace, my dad comes next, and then my little sister. Anna looks on proudly, at the miracle she has created. Before Anna came along, I was destined to stay in prison until I was at least sixteen, and in the mental ward till twenty one. My parents called her a miracle worker, although I’m sure what to think. I’m herded into the house, where my aunt, uncle, two cousins, and an assortment of other people wait for me. They all congratulate me on my ‘success’ story, and offer me food. I put on a happy face, and chat lightly with everyone. More then once, I feel lost with my limited social graces, but Anna comes to my rescue, thankfully.

    But one encounter puts me almost completely off line. A teenage girl, who looks about the same age as me approaches. She raises a hand in greeting, and says, “Hey Nevada, it’s been a while.”
    I internally have a minor panic attack, but I put on the same tired smile as I had been, and reply, “Hey”.
    The girl chuckles, and says, “I guess you don’t remember me, but my name is Rachel. We were friends before you…went away”. Her silence is uncomfortable, but memories strike me. Rachel; my former best friend. We had spent hours together, playing in my room, playing in her room, making jokes, going to school together. One memory of our friendship strikes me as odd in particular.

    Rachel pulled my hair jokingly, squealing with laughter. I cried out in pain, and swatted her hands out of my hair, and said, “Ouch! That hurt, Rachel!” She ignored me, and pulled on my braid again, and this time I pushed her away with more force.
    Rachel frowned at me, and said, “Gosh, Addy, why can’t you let me re-braid your hair? Why do you have to be such a wimp? Just pretend!”

    I manage a small smile as the memory leaves a sour taste in my mouth. I say, “Oh yeah, Rachel. Sorry, its been a long time.”
    Rachel nods, and replies, “Yeah, it has. So, are you going to go to high school?”
    I shake my head, and say, “I don’t think so. I have my GED already”. Rachel raises an eyebrow, but then I turn away, called into a conversation with Anna, to my relief. Rachel gives me the creeps, I decide, and then try to forget about the encounter.

    ---------

    That night, I sit in my old bedroom. The posters of horses and kittens I had my mother tape up are long gone, ripped from the walls by my crazed hands. The walls have been repainted, from the bluish-purple, to a lilting green color that makes me feel calm. The same bed sits pushed against the wall, covered in a thick coverlet and more pillows then I have seen in a long time. There are a few unopened boxes of my old playthings. I have brought nothing from the hospital.

    My mother pokes her head through the doorway, and says, “Nevada, I’m going to bed. Are you all set for the night?”
    I look to her, and reply, “Yeah, I’m fine”. She smiles a little, and I catch a glimpse of the old spark in her eyes, which comforts me. She steps away then, headed for her bedroom. I stay sitting on my bed for a few more minutes, practicing my breathing like Anna taught me. It relaxes me.

    I wash my face in the bathroom, and brush my teeth. A great mirror sits on the wall, and I watch myself brush my teeth with slight amusement at the normality of the action. After I spit into the sink, I start to brush my hair, when the reflection changes. I look up startled, to see the reflection looking at me with blatant contempt. I shut the bathroom door quickly then in alarm, and hiss, “Go away, Lauren.”
    The reflection rolls her eyes, and then, she speaks, “You know they still think you’re crazy, Addy”.
    She spits out my nickname with a hint of venom, and I snap back, “They only think I’m crazy because you keep coming back.”

    Lauren flicks her hair, and shrugs at me through the mirror, and replies, “I’m here to protect us, Nevada, because you’re too much of a weakling to do it by yourself.”
    I narrow my eyebrows at her, and say, “You are a monster. You killed those men, and you’re going to ruin any chances I have at a normal life if you don’t go.”
    Lauren chuckles, and replies, “I did what needed doing. And you’re going to appreciate that when I do it again.”

    Suddenly, Lauren is gone, and I’m left staring at my own reflection. Her last words grip me with terror, and I slam my fist against the mirror in frustration and fear with a cry.

    Anna told me that I’ve only developed two other personalities, but I don’t really know for sure. She showed me a video once of her speaking with the personalities. Watching Lauren terrified me, as she threatened to do terrible things to Anna, and the entire mental ward. I have horrible nightmares when Lauren takes over. Dreams of violence, people being shot, arms being ripped out of their sockets, and once, terribly, a man in the process of being beheaded. Lauren got me locked up, I found out, when the police came for me, and showed me terrible video.

    The video showed me walking into a gas station, only nine years old. I looked through the aisles for a few moments, and then produced a pistol, and shot the dirty-looking cashier straight through the chest. The man dropped to the ground, and I turned right around, and shot his equally dirty looking friend in the head. But only, it wasn’t me.

    Someone knocks on the door, and asks, “Are you okay, Addy?” I turn around, and open the door, to see my sister, the expression on her face one of concern.
    I unclench the fist I had slammed against the mirror and nod my head, and reply, “Yeah, I’m fine”.
    She reaches for my hand, and takes mine in her own little hands, and looks at me, before saying, “Please don’t go away again, Addy. Mom and Dad are always so sad without you here.”

    I manage a weak smile for her, and push away the sick feeling Lauren has left in my mouth, and reply, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not crazy anymore, the hospital fixed my head.”

    My sister puts on a confused face, and releases my hand, and says, “You were crazy? Mom and Dad said you were put away because something bad happened”.
    I frown, and shake my head, and say, “I was crazy. But not any more, I promise you.” She nods at me, and then turns to leave, but the expression on her face reveals to me that she’s started to wonder about what happened to me.

    My sister disappears down the hallway, headed back to her bedroom, and I return to mine, unnerved. The house no longer feels as safe as it had that morning, but I sit myself down onto the bed, and pull the covers up over me. I decide to try to sleep, but the instant I close my eyes, I know it will be a bad night.

    The nightmares are worse then they have in a long time. My mind is filled with visions of people being shot left and right, my face being spattered with blood, my hands stained a brilliant bright red.


    Weeks pass by with relative ease, to my relief. Anna comes to see me four times a week, which both helps me, and annoys me at the same time. My parents slowly appear to come back to life. My dad looks happier then ever, his permanently furrowed eyebrows starting to loosen up. My mother has turned into almost a completely different person from the pitiful woman who came to visit me every two months; her laugh could be heard ringing around the house for the first time in what I imagine is years.

    Even Anna looks more relaxed. One day, during one of our sessions, I notice a diamond ring on her ring finger, and I smile a little. She catches my smile, and then I say, “You’re engaged?” Anna nodded, her face flushing red, and that makes me smile even wider. Anna deserves to be happy, after the hell Lauren and I have put her through. I say, “I’m happy for you”. Anna thanks me, and tries to move on from her personal life, and I catch the hint. I won’t be invited the wedding. But that doesn’t bother me much. Getting all dressed up for a wedding doesn’t interest me much, either. I’m a thin girl, a survivor of anorexia. Every day, I see a little more of my striking ribs slightly covered up by muscle and fat, but there is nothing I can do to hide the broken look that still shines bright in my eyes sometimes.

    One morning I wake up to find blood in my bed, and I am paralyzed with fear. Lauren, I realize, must’ve taken over during the night. I stand up, and head into the bathroom to wash my face before I make for it, when I realize simply that my period has started.

    I take care of the mess I’ve made, but when I return to the bathroom to brush my teeth, Lauren is there, in the mirror, waiting for me. She says, “Trust me Nevada, when I do things, I’m smart enough not to leave blood on us. I’m the smart one, remember?”
    I shut the door, and speak, almost begging, “Please, just go away Lauren. I don’t need you. My life is finally going back to normal, just leave me alone.”
    Lauren frowns. She replies, flicking her hair arrogantly at me, “Oh Addy, you silly girl. I’m not going to leave you, all by yourself. I protect us, and do the right thing, can’t you see?” I’m so angry and frustrated that I want to scream, but some sort of common sense prevents me from doing so. I steel myself against my anger with some of the techniques Anna taught me, and I stalk out of the bathroom, away from Lauren and my demons.

    Later that day, Anna comes to see me, on a day we don’t have a session, to my surprise. She sits me down in the living room, and crosses her legs, before speaking, “So, Nevada. I got a call this morning asking if you would do an interview with the state-wide news station on your condition.”
    A seizure of panic overcomes me, and Anna reads my expression quickly, concern growing in her eyes, but I reply, “Do they know about my case?” Anna shakes her head. My parents had my lawyer get my files and case sealed from the public, and thankfully, the nasty part of my story didn’t get out. But the idea of a young girl with multiple personality disorder had grasped the public, and when I was younger, reporters were always coming to my cell and asking for interviews.
    Anna replies, “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want too. I already told your parents. This is completely up to you, Nevada.” I lean back in my chair, weighing my options. Maybe it was a good thing, to get awareness of my disorder out into the public. There were plenty of others who were the same as me; I had met many while in the mental ward. As long as the murder trial didn’t get out, I couldn’t be hurt.
    I nod my head, and reply, “I’ll do it”. Anna smiles at me, and all at once, she’s gone, talking with my parents. Anna’s practically become my manager, as well as my psychiatrist, and therapist.

    It is only when I’m sitting in an overly plushy chair, with a reporter sitting facing me, with cameras all around that I realize the dangers of what I’ve allowed myself to get into.

    The reporter smiles at me, she’s a pretty woman, in her mid-thirties, who looks strikingly similar to Anna. Her smile is full of overly-white teeth that hurt my eyes, but I manage a small smile back at her. The reporter clears her throat, signals to the camera men, and suddenly we’re rolling, and the interview has begun. She looks straight at the camera, reading a script, and says, “I’m here with Nevada Williams, a seventeen year old patient with Dissociative Identity Disorder, also known more commonly as multiple personality disorder. She has been in treatment for her disorder since her tenth birthday, and she was only released into the public about a month and a half ago. Glad to have you with us, Ms. Williams.” She smiles that overly-white smile at me, and I nod my head, and smile at the camera. My mother and Anna always tell me I’m, beautiful, but I still only feel like that hallowed out, dead-eyed girl from the hospital, especially as I sit under the bright lights and cameras.

    The reporter continues, “So, Nevada, how did you first learn of your disorder? Were there signs?”
    I take in a deep breath, and then reply, “I think it started when I first entered the third grade. I started to black out at strange times, and wake up hours later, in different places. I asked my parents about it, but they said I was acting normal, so I ignored it at the time.” The reporter nodded enthusiastically at me, totally engrossed in my words.

    “What was the tipping point at which you were transitioned away from home?” asks the reporter, and I realize we’re hitting dangerous ground.
    My palms go clammy and my head pounds and I look to Anna for reassurance, before replying, “I, uh, hurt a classmate while one of my other personalities was in control”.
    The reporter nods, and asks a follow up question. The interview continues to go smoothly from there, and I slowly work up the nerve to attempt to be charming. We talk for ten minutes, and then fifteen, twenty minutes, and thirty minutes. We take a short break after we hit the thirty minute mark, and I get some water, while my parents and Anna tell me I’m doing great. I eat a peach in the mean time, and then we’re back.

    Everything continues to go smoothly, until the reporter asks a question that makes my hands go clammy again, and I squirm a little, in fear. “So, how many personalities do you believe you have developed?” she asks.
    A look from Anna calms me a little, and I reply, “Anna tells me there are two who appear frequently, but there are five who come and go randomly.”
    The reporter prods, “Do they have names?”
    Anna buts in then, and replies, “The personality that appears most frequently is a woman named Lauren, who appears to be mentally about twenty-five or so. The other dominant personality is a teenage girl, Nevada’s age, named Veronica.”
    And it is her last question that makes me want to run from the interview as fast as I can. “Do you think I could talk to Lauren or Veronica?”
    I shrink back into my seat a little, and shake my head, and reply, “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”
    The reporter raises an eyebrow, “Aw come on, don’t worry about it.” I look over to Anna, but she nods at me encouragingly. And internally, I can feel Lauren’s mind pressing up against mind, commanding control of my body.
    I frown a little, and then reply, “Just for a little bit, though.” The reporter grins a little, and I relax somewhat, and then go black temporarily as Lauren takes control.

    I watch the next on goings from one of the mirrors attached to a camera. Lauren leans forwards in the chair, reaching into the tall, knee-high boots I had pulled into that morning, and produces a pistol.

    Shouting erupts as she clicks the pistol once, and then fires the gun into the chest of the reporter, and then into two camera men, and into Anna before she is tackled to the ground, the gun clattering from her hands.

    Lauren laughs, looking straight at me through the mirror, and says, “I told you, Nevada, I always do the right thing.”

    The world goes black.