He'd probably survive. If not, his soul would be forever trapped in the erotic fantasies Ilan had fashioned for him. He'd never remember his name or h...s life, but he would never be unhappy. If he died, Ilan wouldn't feel too guilty. She watched him writhing in his sleep. She listened to his moans. She closed her eyes and made an adjustment to the fantasy. The girls were begging to be bedded now. They needed him buried in their sweet little pockets. Ilan was alive now, and human, but not at all. Parsons (or, more likely, Michelle) could look that up herself. He finished the questionnaire and set it aside. The piece of paper on the bottom was printed in tiny letters, and it was hard to read some of it. Perhaps Dr. Parsons could’ve sprung for a few more pages of paper, so that the information about her trials would actually be readable. There was at least one thing that was clear enough when he read it. ‘500 dollars a day?’ he said out loud. For fourteen days of a trial, that came out. More

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