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“Wake-up, girlie!” A man with a heavy southern accent drawled, “What did you call yerself? See-cat-ic?”

“Psi-kotic.” the woman mumbled as she tried to sit up. She realized that she was handcuffed to the chair. Her wet spandex costume clung uncomfortably to her body. She struggled to get free of her handcuffs and failed.

The southerner, six foot tall and dressed in an expensive suit, took a step closer to the young woman. “Let’s see who you really are.” He gloated, as he tore off the electric blue mask, revealing the scarred face of Betty Ortiz. “Figures, yer just a dumb Mexican that needs to be put down.”

Beatriz “Betty” Ortiz looked up at her captor and bit back the tears as she thought about the events that had led up to this moment. She thought about her life.

*****

Betty always knew that she was intuitive. Even as a child, she could predict exactly what direction the opposing team would move in rugby and soccer. When she was older, Betty enlisted in the army and served two tours in Iraq. Her intuition helped her and her platoon to avoid mines and roadside bombs and earned her the nickname “Lucky B.” It wasn’t until she came home that Betty’s luck ran out. She vividly recalled, the day she woke up in St. Margaret’s. The day her life had changed. She remembered it vividly.

“¿Que sueñ o mas extraño? What a strange dream.” Betty thought as she opened her eyes. She could feel the starched sheets through her pajamas and could hear the beeping and hissing of machines. Betty looked across the room at the two women dressed in white. One was sitting down and sewing while the other reviewed a chart. They were in the middle of a conversation and had not noticed she was awake.

“I can’t believe it, Aggie. A suicide bomber at our local Bodega.” The first woman said with sadness. “What has the world come to?”

“I don’t know Doris.” Aggie shook her head as she continued to sew. “They say that poor girl will be scarred for life. They say that parts of the bomber embedded itself in the victims. ...”

“Human shrapnel.” Betty murmured. “It’s called human shrapnel.” She was well away of the technique from her time in the war.

Doris jumped out of her seat and cried out. “ Aggie, get the doctor!” Doris then moved to Betty’s side as the other nurse rushed out of the room. The nurse spoke in a quiet voice. “Miss Ortiz. There has been an accident. You were the victim of . .”

Betty slowly sat up in the bed. “A victim?” She said groggily. She looked at her hands, which were covered in white bandages. She then noticed that the bandages covered her entire body. Betty gasped. “¿Qué le pasó? What happened?” Aggie arrived with an older man in green scrubs. “What happened?” She asked again with a shriek.

The doctor moved closer. “My name is Doctor Katinsky, I’m a doctor here at St. Margaret’s. You are in the trauma center. Miss Ortiz, you are lucky to be alive. There was an explosion. Many people were killed.”

“Not enough!” Betty heard a voice say in her head. “Should have killed them all.”

“What?” Betty mumbled as she clawed at her bandages.

The doctor took her hand and the doctor’s bare skin touched hers. Betty could feel a slight tingle. “You are lucky to be alive” Doctor Katinsky repeated. “You suffered a severe head trauma. We had to do a CAT scan.” He gestured to a multi-colored picture on the light board. “The results were unusual, but not life threatening.”

Betty examined the CAT scan and spoke with cold medical precision, “The metabolic rate is highly accelerated. Have you performed a Positron Emission Tomography to confirm the result?”

The doctor looked surprised, “Why yes, that was my prognosis as well. Tomography also showed high metabolic brain activity of 66.6 percent.” He stared at the woman. “I was unaware that you had medical training.”

Betty stared back at the doctor with confusion, “I haven’t. I didn’t even go to college.”

“Then how did you know to do the PET scan?” Doctor Katinsky asked in surprise. Betty continued to stare at the multi-colored chart in silence. Doctor Katinsky let it drop. He took a deep breath. “Miss Ortiz, there was some scarring.”

Betty turned to the doctor. “How bad?”

“We had to do reconstructive surgery.” He paused for a moment trying to find the correct words. “We did the best we could. You are lucky to be alive.”

“You keep saying that.” Betty repeated quietly. “How bad is it?”

Doctor Katinsky gestured and Aggie brought over a mirror. Betty’s once-beautiful face was covered with scars. She looked down and noticed the same scars were on her arms and legs.

“¡Sales! Get out!” Betty screamed as she threw the mirror across the room. Reluctantly, the doctor and nurses shuffled out of the room. Aggie clicked of the light on her way out. Betty sobbed into her pillow until she fell asleep. She was sure that she could hear someone laughing in the darkness.

*****

That night, Betty dreamed of her last trip to the Stop and Shop Bodega. The clang of the door announced her arrival. She pulled her overcoat close to her and tried to appear inconspicuous. She had been casing the place for over a month and did not want to ruin her plan. It took another two weeks for the OWLS to obtain the heavy explosives that were strapped to her body. Slowly, Betty worked her way through the crowds to the center of the store and activated the dead man switch, which was heavy in her sweaty hand.

The door chimed and Betty turned to see who had entered the bodega. A Hispanic woman entered, Betty felt feelings of disgust as she stared at the unclean minority. There was something familiar about her. She was probably an illegal immigrant stealing jobs from . . . . What was Betty thinking? She looked again and realized that she was staring at herself.

Betty turned to look at the security mirror behind the register. She was surprised to see, instead of her usual reflection, that a middle-aged white man with a crew cut stared back at her. Suddenly, She knew his name was James Jefferson and why he was there. The man in the mirror sneered and announced, “death to the unclean!” Then Betty let go of the detonator.

The explosion was overwhelming.

Betty woke up with a scream. She was strapped down to the bed. Aggie put her knitting down on the bed and took Betty’s hand. “Now, now, dear, it was only a dream.” Betty felt a familiar tingle as the nurse’s flesh touched hers.

“Why am I restrained in the bed?” Betty said with concern.

“It was for your own good dear. If you promise to behave I’ll let you sit up.” Aggie unhooked the upper straps and helped Betty up. “And you can tell me what happened and why you did that?” Aggie gestured to the wall.

Someone had scrawled, “Let me out!” in red paint on her wall. Suddenly, Betty realized that it wasn’t paint and then she noticed the bandage on her wrists.

“I did that?” Betty asked with concern. “Yo no se’. I don’t remember.”

Aggie put a reassuring arm on Betty’s shoulder, “Tell me what you do remember.”

Betty spoke nervously as she told Aggie about her dream. When she had finished, she added. “It was so real. I was at the bodega. But, I wasn’t me. It was. . .” She thought about the reflection, “… him.” She looked down at her scarred hands; they were knitting. Somehow, she had unconsciously picked up Aggie’s needles. She had almost completed what looked like a scarf. She stared at the nurse in surprise.

Aggie gently took the needles and scarf, “That’s ok dear, I didn’t want to disturb you. I also knit when I am nervous.” The nurse examined the scarf, “I see that you use the same stitching style as me. My grandmother always said the sequence was a family secret, I guess not.”

“But I don’t know how to knit.” Betty admitted. “I tried it once and never had the patience.”

Aggie gave a warm smile. “Oh, don’t be modest dear. I dare say you are as good as me. And I have been knitting for thirty years.”

A knock at the door startled them both. Doctor Katinsky and an Arab man entered the room. The doctor looked cheerful, “good morning, ladies, I hope I am not disturbing you.”

“I’m afraid I should be going and check on other patients. Try to get some sleep, honey.” Aggie said with a chipper tone as she gathered up her knitting and walked out.

Doctor Katinsky gave a sympathetic look as he picked up her chart. “Nightmares again?”

Betty yawned, “Yes doctor.”

Betty heard a voice, “Serves you right you whore!”

“Excuse me?” Betty said in shock. “Who are you?”

Doctor Katinsky coughed uncomfortably, “This is Doctor Ali. He is a brain specialist: the best in the country.”

“Stupid rag head!” A voice yelled.

“Who said that?” Betty yelled as she looked around.

The voice spoke again, “Great, first a Jew, now this. Where are the Americans in this hospital?”

Betty lost her temper. “Stop it. Shut up!” She slammed her hands down on the bed in frustration. “¡Déjeme en paz! Leave me alone!” Betty screamed as she covered her ears. Suddenly, Doctor Ali grabbed her wrists and forced her down to the bed. Betty could feel her wrists tingle under the doctor’s grip as she struggled to get up. “Let go, let go of me! ??????!” Doctor Ali’s grip slackened, Betty realized that she was speaking perfect Arabic. A second later, Betty felt a sharp pain as Doctor Katinsky jabbed the hypodermic needle into her neck. Nearly instantaneously, Betty could feel the sedative take effect as her eyes rolled up into her head and she drifted into unconsciousness. She was sure that she could hear maniacal laughter as the darkness closed in.

*****

Betty felt a cold breeze as she rocked on the porch swing. She opened her eyes and looked over her farm. She thought about her childhood here. She loved this old house. Betty gasped as she realized she had never been here before. She physically jumped when she realized that she wasn’t alone on the swing. Betty turned to see James Jefferson, the man from the bodega in her dream, sitting on the swing and watching her. “What are you doing to me?”

The southerner smoked a pipe. “Doin to you? Listen girlie, you and Ah need to have us a chat. Ah ain’t to keen on being trapped in here with a deformed Mexican.”

“I’m from Puerto Rico.” Betty said annoyed, “Not Mexico.”

“Same difference.” He said as he blew smoke in her face.

“¡Ay mierda!” Betty cursed. “How are you doing this? What is happening?” Tears began to form in her eyes. She choked them back. Betty would not give James Jefferson the satisfaction of making her cry.

“You tell me.” James said with a chuckle. “Ah went on my mission for the OWLs. It went perfectfully, Ah killed all them inferiors.”

“OWLs?” Betty asked, then she realized what he was saying, she gasped. “You killed those people in that store!”

“Shush, girlie. I’m explaining.” James snapped. “The next thing Ah know, Ah’m trapped in here. Then all of a sudden, Ah know medicine and knitting. Now Ah think Ah’m fluent in rag headese. And you think Ahm the one doing this.” He chuckled as he pulled his straw hat down over his eyes. “At least, Ah get to drive when yer sleepin.”

“I don’t understand.” Betty sobbed.

James quickly moved within a centimeter from her face, which made her jump back, “You job stealing minorities think you as smart as us real Americans, you figger it out.” Then he vanished.

Betty woke up with a start. She was in her hospital bed. She looked down to see her scarred limbs were once again strapped down in leather restrains. It made perfect sense to Betty. After all, it was standard operating procedure to restrain a patient after a violent episode. Betty wondered how she could know so much about hospital procedure.

Betty stared at the ceiling as she lay in the bed. She took a deep breath and tried to piece everything together. She thought about the CAT and PET scan results. They showed her brain was working with 66 percent efficiency. Somehow, she knew that the average person only used ten percent of their potential brainpower.

She didn’t feel six times smarter. Although it was true that before the accident, she was not able to read a CAT scan, knit or speak Arabic. She thought for a moment. She did not know those things after the accident either. It was not until . . .

“¡Claro que sí! Of course!” She said out loud in the empty room. “My skin tingled when I touched them. There must have been a transfer of information.” She was clearly “learning” through osmosis. A week ago, she would not have even known the meaning of the word. Now, all she had to do was touch a person and she learned his or her skills.

“Give the Mexican a taco!” James sneered in her head.

“That still doesn’t explain why Jimbo Clanton is haunting me.” She said sarcastically. She looked down at her scarred body trapped in the leather restraints and immediately realized the answer. “Of course, the human shrapnel!”

“What?” The voice said in surprise.

“You didn’t know?” She could feel James’ annoyance as she called his bluff.

Betty smiled for the first time in days and explained, “Listen, stupid, when you blew your genius asno up. I got little tiny pieces of you under my skin.”

“So?” The voice said in disgust.

“So, I am always touching you. Whatever this ability I have, must be what’s keeping you inside my head.” She said with a trace of fear in her voice as she realized what James had meant when he said he “could drive” when she was asleep. She rationalized that James became the dominant personality when Betty wasn’t conscious and could control her body. She wasn’t about to inform him of this fact.

“Great, so we get rid of the shrapnel and Ah get out of here?” James said with disgust.

Betty became annoyed, “Listen, you dumb hick, you saw the chart. They can’t get it out.” Tears formed in her eyes as she realized the truth. “You are here to stay, mi amigo.”

“Who is here to stay?” Doctor Katinsky asked from the doorway.

Betty turned to the doctor and saw that he had a muscular Asian intern with. Him. She looked up at the ceiling and lied. “I am. Me . . .Betty, in these restraints, you are here to stay. Crazy, hunh? Talking to myself?”

Doctor Katinsky smiled. “I would say truthful. I am going to loosen your restraints. And let you up. But, if you get violent again, Chad here knows martial arts.”

“Great oriental chopsacki.” James hissed.

Betty ignored James, “I’ll behave, I promise. Sorry I lost my temper. I . Uhm... Must have thought of the war when I saw Doctor Ali.”

Doctor Katinsky appeared to believe her and removed the restraints. Betty rubbed her wrists and gave Chad a harmless smile. “So Chad, nice tattoo.” Her fingers ran over the Asian’s ink and she felt a familiar tingle.

The orderly tried not to move away from the scarred hand. “It’s Chinese, it means ...”

“Dragon warrior.” Betty finished his sentence. The orderly nodded in the affirmative. Betty was now fluent in and could read and write both Mandarin and Cantonese. “So you know kung fu?”

Chad spoke with pride. “I am a fifteenth degree black belt.” And now, so was Betty. “Most of the orderlies here have some form of martial arts training.”

“Really?” Betty said with a smile. “I will have to meet them as well.” She turned to Doctor Katinsky. “I want to get better and will do anything I can to make sure no one ever has to go through this again.”

“That is the very positive attitude we like to hear at Saint Margaret’s, Ms. Ortiz.” Doctor Katinsky said with a smile.

“Ah don’t think Ah like this at all.” James said to no one in particular. “Gal sounds like she has a plan.”