Well, that's concerning.

Dr. Keaton returns. "Mr. Henslowe is downstairs," he says. "I was wondering, since you've shown such interest in Mr. Aarons-- and since, frankly, being seen by four people at once can be rather overwhelming to the insane-- if perhaps some of you would like to talk to him?"

The investigators agree this is sensible and split up: Zoe and Lacie to Mr. Henslowe and Anemone and Carrie to Mr. Aarons, on the grounds that each pair should have at least one person who can definitely talk to people.

The interview room is a simple, cold space with three tables, a chair, and a barred window looking out into the hallway. It smells like chlorine. A burly orderly stands in the corner in case of trouble.

Anemone and Carrie wait for a few minutes, and eventually Dr. Keaton brings them Mr. Aarons.

Lev smells of cigarettes and mouthwash and he's chain-smoking. Dr. Keaton sends the orderly to fetch an additional chair for him to sit in.

"Hello! Delighted to meet you, Mr. Aarons."

"Delighted to meet you too," he says nervously. "I don't get many visitors, being in, uh, Georgia." (He has a slight Yiddish accent.)

"Yes, I'm sure it must be difficult for your friends to visit you out here. Remind me, how long have you been at this particular hospital?"

"Nine years or so? Dr. Keaton arranged a transfer because of our shared, uh, delusions."

"Oh, I see. I don't know what you've been told, but I am here on behalf of an old friend of Mr. Douglas Henslowe, and I'm looking to get a more complete picture of his situation. I understand that the two of you have some sort of shared history?"

Quick eye-flick to Dr. Keaton. "Dr. Keaton doesn't like me to relive those days or to, uh, externalize my fears. He doesn't like me talking about monsters." Slight sad smile. "Unless they're me."

"Now, Lev," Dr. Keaton says, "remember not to practice self-hatred."

Lev nods like he's remembering an old lesson.

"I see. Dr. Keaton, would it be all right to hear Mr. Aarons's account of events, with the understanding that memories of traumatic events do not necessarily reflect reality? I would like to be able to provide Mrs. Winston Rogers with a little more closure about her own father's activities, and that may require hearing the fiction in order to separate out the fact."

"All right," Dr. Keaton says, "but let's not try to focus on the supernatural or the make-believe in this interview, right, Lev?"

"Of course, Dr. Keaton." Lev's hand shakes as he lights another cigarette.

"I understand the events in question occurred sometime in 1924?"

"Even any - concretely natural and social context you could give would be very helpful for us."

"Yes. I-- can't remember much. I'm on nine different pills, you know." Long drag of his cigarette. "Not too big. Blue ones and red ones. Two capsules, the rest are, you know, they're pills-- what was I saying?"

"Context," Dr. Keaton prompts.

"Right. So I don't... remember things, really. It's all a haze, because of the pills. Prompts make it easier, I can be reminded--"

"I see. Did it begin in 1924, or did it start earlier?"

"I met him in 1920? 1921? When I was at UCLA. George introduced us. George Avery? Ayers? I swear, he was my thesis advisor, I can hear his voice, why can't I remember his name? It's all so hazy..."

She takes out a journal and makes a note of the name. "Your thesis advisor. You were studying anthropology?"

"Yeah. I-- I was good at it too? I've always been bad at people but you put a notebook in my hand and give me a script of questions and all of that goes away." He sighs. "People are fascinating. The most fascinating thing."

"Stay on topic," Dr. Keaton warns.