"It was planned."

There's movement at the edge of the forest – it comes into form as Graham looks to it. A black stag, with high antlers, that turns away and steps between the trees. The other man breaks off from the swarm around the observatory, and staggers through the snow after it.

"All part of the performance..." Their surroundings slip out of focus as he recalls his words to Prurnell. It's just not my performance you're watching.

The light contracts and sharpens over a single space in the darkness, like the glow of a film projector. It takes the shape of a car windshield, dark trees against the night sky visible through it, until a car door creaks, and someone climbs into the driver's seat.

"I was expecting the Chesapeake Ripper," says Gideon, looking back to them. "Or are you he?"

"H-he was an escaped killer," Graham murmurs. "I thought he was someone else. I was seeing – a suspect I'd killed."

Gideon turns back toward the windshield, but his eyes flash to them in the rearview mirror. "You are looking a little peaky, Mister Graham. I may be crazy, but you look ill."

"I had encephalitis. I didn't know it then, but –"

As if on cue, Gideon asks, "Who is your doctor?"

At this, Graham takes a sharp breath, and his grip on the rope tightens.