"So, look. Miss Andrews."

"Yes."

"You understand this is a very serious charge to bring against anyone."

"Yes."

"Let alone your own brother."

"Yes."

"It never happened."

"Well, actually, it kind of totally did."

"You are deluded."

"Well, that may be, but I would submit that my mental health history is a result of having stuff like that done to me in the first place."

"You lie."

"I don't, actually. In fact, this is the first time in my life I have ever told the truth. And it has taken me this long just to get here."

"You fantasize."

"Not about this!"

"You are manipulative. What is it you really want?"

"Um . . . Someone to believe me?"

"You're being manipulated; all these therapists have you -- "

"Yes, that is definitely the entire reason for everything. Case closed."

"You brought it upon yourself. You're masochistic. You love the suffering. It's just a constant pity party with you."

"Um . . . "

"You exaggerate."

"I haven't even . . . "

"And, in any case, Miss Andrews, is it not time
to forget the past, and move on?”

"What?"

"No more questions."

Presently . . .

"Good morning, Miss Andrews."

"Good morning."

"So, what exactly is it that you are alleging?"

"I'm not alleging. I'm saying what happened."

"All right."

"On May 28,1968, at approximately 11:00 am, my brother entered my bedroom, in our family's home located at 97 House of Horrors Lane in Resort Area, Boochachusetts, and . . . I don't know how to say this . . . "