"Was there a time, before the gun..? I don't think so... I'm sorry, I've made a mess. Memories scattered everywhere and dripping like the blood on the floor..."

Interesting that the amount of blood didn't make her realize the suicide succeeded. Memories are inaccurate and fuzzy things, she might think it's an exaggeration, maybe? But. They really aren't.

Distress: not conducive to this particular ritual. She is starting to get a little distressed.

"No... There wasn't," she says. "Let's end this here. Focus on the sound of my voice." Push those memories away, bring blue light and tranquility, the sea, a warm soft bed. "You'll walk after my voice, one step after another. I'll count from five. When I'm done counting, we'll be back outside.

"Five.

"Four.

"Three.

"Two.

"One."

"Wake up."

Muh?

Blink, blink.

She takes a few seconds to orient, still kind of dazed.

The part of her that isn't in control rises back up to meet the rest of her, bringing with it what that her experienced -

Blood everywhere on her hands on the wall on the floor and her head hurts so much and -

"Are the eldritch spooks terminal, doctor?" she says, because. What else can she do, really?

What else is there to do about this, but make a joke out of it?

James has to snicker, at that.

Dunn manages a little sad smile, himself. That was very obviously distressing, and it speaks well of her that she can turn around and immediately crack a joke.

(He wishes she hadn't had to, though.)

"Quite the opposite," she sighs, settling down into her own chair as her hair quickly rearranges itself into the braids and the bun. "There was no trace of anything wrong with your mind. The memories are just... gone. Just like Mr. McGovern's and Ms. Bannister's spirits. And the spirits in the house don't recognise you, either, even though the neighbours and the housekeeper did.

"I've never seen anything like this before."

Dunn hasn't, either.

"I'll send a telegram to the central church," he offers, a little uselessly. "Maybe they've heard of something like this, but..."

"You don't have high hopes," guesses Elaine, a little woodenly.

"No. I'm sorry."

Sometimes you just don't get answers to questions.

"But on the bright side!" says James, clapping his hands together. "If there's nothing wrong with you, then there's nothing wrong with you. No otherworldly being taking a free ride in your mind, no possession, nothing. Whatever happened yesterday took your memories and was satisfied with them.

"You are a completely mundane, nonmagical, non-cursed civilian."

No, she's not.

Yeah. He knows.

Daly tilts her head from side to side then shrugs. "He's not wrong. Whatever happened is over. If there's anything mysterious still attached to you, it's hiding completely, and not likely to rear its head with no warning."

"... Yaaay...?" she attempts. "... I think mostly I'm annoyed that it didn't even give us any hints to where the damned book responsible is."

Feels a bit like she stirred up terrible memories with no gain, even though - there was gain, a lack of information is information in itself, she knows.

But it's not reassurance that this will never happen to anyone ever again, now is it.

"We do have other ways of attempting to track it down. You can even help with some of them, if you'd like."

"Really angling to have a historian on staff, huh? Is the paperwork that bad?"

"We're always understaffed."

Which is also a yes.

"Think about all of the Fourth Epoch relics that are a complete secret from the public which you'll have access to," says James, wiggling his fingers. "No other historian will see them..."

"Hmmmm. You do know how to make it sound tempting. What's the pay like?"

"For a civilian staff member, at the start, three pounds a week."

This is almost twice what Benson makes a week.

To start.

For a civilian.

"Yes okay I'm sold, where do I sign?"

James laughs. "Not going to take a while to think about it? Just like that?"