It's nothing I can't handle. [She says it calmly, but... Well, she doesn't know that for sure, of course. She's fairly sure if it's something ghostly she can handle it.

Her eyes slide over again, quietly assessing the question and what her own feelings actually are about it, before she looks away again out the window.] I don't mind. It was your memory, after all; if anyone deserves to know what it was about, it's you.

[Typically what she's seen is seen by the person whose memory it is too, but she figures he just wants to make sure--he is a policeman, after all. Or maybe he hadn't seen. She wasn't sure what her powers were doing here anymore] I don't really understand it too well, though. There was a...man. He was... dead. [A huff of laughter, because it seems obvious. Of course the man was dead, especially since--] Flayed? He'd been... [She makes an 'opened up' gesture with her hands, not sure how else to describe it.]

He was on display. Like some morbid art piece.