"It's only the last three words we weren't allowed to say. He just made sure we knew how to pronounce it right and said that when we got there we'd just. Know. I thought it was typical for, you know, avant-garde directors, but--"

"Either it's unnecessary, in which case he's just making people's lives more difficult for no reason, or it is, and-- I don't even know what that would mean, or why you would put it in a play?"

"It's-- Hastur. Three times, all in unison. He was very careful to make sure we never said it more than once before the final performance. Some kind of... theatrical superstition?" she says uncertainly.

...It's certainly not one he's heard of. He laughs brittlely. "You know directors, trying to make sure the actors don't ruin the effect somehow by being comfortable with what we're going to say." He hopes he sounds like he believes it. He's not sure he does.

"Yeah," she says. "Yeah, he's just-- impossible to work for."

She sounds like she's desperately trying to convince herself to believe that that's it.

He's going to make a note to very strenously avoid Talbot Estus, in any case! "If there's something I can do to be helpful, let me know. There's not much I can do-- It's hard enough when the way you pay rent is dealing with impossible people like that."

"It's-- it's not anything, I don't even know what it could be. I was high-strung and in a weird fugue state and had some nightmares and I need some time in the country and he's an odd avant-garde director and it's hardly-- the most embarrassing job I've ever had--"

He nods sympathetically. "And as much as it would be satisfying to run Estus out of town, it's not really practical."

"Maybe there was carbon monoxide in the theater, or I've been drinking too much absinthe--"

"The first would explain the audience, at least." ...and maybe why Oscar passed out...?

"Yeah." She nods. "Probably carbon monoxide. Someone should tell Mr. Noble-- if Talbot Estus didn't pump it into the theater himself--"

"It sounds unfortunately in character for him."

"So there's a perfectly logical explanation," she says, not believing at all that there's a perfectly logical explanation.

"Perfectly logical," he says, hoping that it is logical, except that it would imply that Mr Estus tried to poison his actors, which should be the worse option.

"Anyway," she says. "I'm sorry to just-- dump all this on you-- what did you want to talk to me about?"

"--I was going to compliment you on your performance, and then try and pick your brains about how you did it, but seeing as you don't remember it...?"

"It felt like something was speaking the words through me, even before I went into a fugue."

"That just shows you're very talented at getting in character."

"Yeah. Of course. But I don't know what I did. I was trying to avoid thinking about it as much as I could between rehearsals, because it helped with the nightmares."

"Very understandable."

"And, uh. Drinking a lot."

"There are way, way worse solutions, honestly."

On the afternoon of the 28th--

The hotel concierge arrives in the lounge with Dr. Aarons and tea.

"Hello! I'm Dr. Aarons, from St. Agnes Hospital. I don't believe I have the pleasure of your acquaintance...?"

Technically they have met, but he does not need to know that. "I'm William Jing, an actor. Pleasure to meet you."

"Salinger Digby."