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Time for phase two. She was outfor about five minutes, which was ample time for me to choose the programs I wanted from the chair’s menu. When she showed signs of coming to consciousness, I went over to the cabinet on the far wall and slipped a very special CD from its case. I put it into the slot in the back of the chair and hit play. … ‘Hiya Barbie’… ‘Hi Ken!’… ‘Wanna go for a ride?’… ‘Sure Ken!’… Jessica woke up and spat around the gag in her mouth. ‘You don’t like this song? Don’t worry, we’ll fix that.’ She spat again. I frowned. ‘As well as some other things. Especially that attitude of yours. Girls like you should never spit.’ I pressed the black button on the remote, the one embossed with the curvy letter ‘B.’ The chair started to vibrate and the headphones closed over her ears. It would provide her a more…intimate…link to the song, as well as pump the subliminals directly into her brain. For the first time, her eyes showed fear. She had realized that I was serious, that I. "I was thirty-one years old and living in New York City, when I fell asleep driving home from working twenty-four straight hours on a project at work. I woke up in the body of a ten year old girl. She was killed in an auto accident, because her mother was a lush, and her father is a bastard."When I woke up I wanted to scream bloody murder, so I did, and the nurses took it as shock and grief from the accident and doped me up. Her – me – you know – Angel's father (sperm donor is more like it) showed up the next afternoon pretending to care, full of 'I'm so sorry' and 'You'll be fine.'"Everything I've ever known was taken from me, and in its place is that huge mansion and crazy people who think I'm this way because of losing my mother."The reality was sinking in. Angela really was like me.I interrupted her momentarily to interject some truth into her rant. "Angela, you realize that their reaction is the only thing that keeps you safe from being locked up as a mental case or taken away by.
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