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“I remember the ground under me vanishing, my legs pumping in midair and…it’s like the river shoots up to swallow me…then I’m choking, flailing in the rushing current, my body pinballing between the rocks, then…it feels like a hammer striking my head, everything goes dark…and I wake up in the hospital…and my father’s looking down at me…”

Carrie Conway stopped, let out a slow breath and stared off at the painting on the wall—a serene garden that she found comforting. She’d gone as far as she could in today’s session, recounting a shred or two of muddied memory from the nightmare she’d been wrestling with for years. She accepted a tissue from Dr. Anna Bernay, her psychologist, who said, “You’ve done well in these past months.”

“All I know is the last true memory I have, the one before running, the river, the hospital and my dad—” Carrie paused “—the last thing I remember is school. Something happened at school.”

Carrie looked down at her hands.

“Why can’t I remember more? So much of it is still a blank page for me.”

Dr. Bernay repositioned her glasses. “With this being our last in-person session, let’s look back on it all. As you’ll recall from previous sessions, we discussed your condition: a type of dissociative amnesia, which doctors suspect arose from the head injuries you suffered while escaping. Your mind is blocking details. It’s a protection mechanism, keeping you from revisiting the trauma, or learning the truth about it. Healing happens in stages and everyone’s process is different. For some, it takes weeks, others, months. And in cases like yours, it can be much longer.”

“But why is that?”

“Your case is complex. You entered the woods with two girls who were murdered, but you fled and survived. And the case remains unsolved, the killer never arrested. You’re also experiencing survivor’s guilt, and prolonged traumatic bereavement. But, Carrie, despite all of this, despite having a lot to deal with over the years, you’ve made progress.”

Touching the tissue to the corners of her eyes, Carrie said, “I’m anxious about moving back to Texas, where it all happened. My dad insists we shouldn’t come home.”

“He’s being protective, which is perfectly understandable.”

“Yes. But he’s sick. We don’t know how much time he has, but sometimes I really don’t know about this move, about what could happen.”

Dr. Bernay leaned closer to her.

“It’s all right to feel unsure. But I’m confident that you will be able to handle it, Carrie. When you get back to Texas, try to build a good support system while drawing on your familiarity with the community. You’ll have your dad, and maybe you can reconnect with old friends while making new ones.”

Dr. Bernay paused, nodding at her notes.

“But real challenges and risks remain,” she said. “Returning to where the attack happened, visiting familiar places, could also unblock painful memories and more disturbing details. And while possibly providing you with answers, some that could even be beneficial to the outstanding case, this could also unleash new fears and anxieties given the nature of the incident.”

“It scares me that the killer hasn’t been caught.”

“Remember, there are ways you can feel safe,” Dr. Bernay said. “One obvious step is installing a home security system.”

“Luke will take care of that.”

“Yes. I’d also suggest you draw on your supportive network, reach out to the people you trust. Building on positive relationships with people in the community will foster a new sense of belonging and safety. It may even give you a feeling of resilience, a sense of control. This could all make you more confident about living in the community again.”

A moment passed. Dr. Bernay removed her glasses and looked up from her tablet. “And you have me.” She smiled. “We’ll have regular video sessions. You can text me whenever you feel the need to talk.”

“Thank you, Anna.”

“It’s going to be okay, Carrie.”