Confess." Her voice seemed so faint and distant.She reached for the handle again."Pleeease, stooooop!" I whined."Confess" she urged. "Confess, and it ...ill end!" You will burn me at the stake! I can't confess! Please stop torturing me! I'm not a warlock! I don't have any unholy poweeer!" Then, suffer!" shouted Kirsten into my face. She gave me three harsh turns, and I felt the spike impale me with reviving strength. I shrieked in my agony."No, pleeeease, it’s killing meee!" I cried. He kept looking over Dr. Sloane’s shoulder. ‘How do you feel?’ said Dr. Cohen. ‘Bored.’ ‘Your head. Does it hurt?’ ‘A little bit when I move around.’ ‘You’ve had a mild concussion.’ ‘How long was I out?’ ‘Fifteen minutes.’ ‘A first for me.’ ‘See,’ said Dr. Sloane. He held up the brain-wave tapes. Dr. Cohen took them and peered at them, squinting through black horn-rimmed glasses. ‘You see,’ he was pointing at something on the tapes. They muttered and murmured, studying the tapes. Then Dr. Cohen. More

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