Page 20 of The Nightmare's Kiss

“We make no assumptions at the MRF Center,” Dr. Wright says. “There are only facts. I can tell you that your X-13 has been contained here since 1952, and in that time, it has been responsible for the deaths of over a dozen personnel who attempted to connect with it. During its brief escape from confinement in ’85, it killed eight people.”

That stops me short. Those rumors about disappearances in Ash Valley…they were true after all. Cold fear curls in my chest before settling in my gut. I was warned there’d be risks involved with my work, but it’s still shocking to hear that they placed a new employee with somethingthatdangerous, even if it’s locked in a cell during our interactions. I clear my suddenly dry throat. “How did it kill them?”

She meets my gaze. “Do you really want to know?”

I hesitate.Wantis a strong word; the sinking feeling in my stomach warns me that I’m not going to like what I’m about to hear if I agree. Yet more than wanting, I think Ineedto hear it—because there’s still doubt lingering in my heart. I know I will never fully believe her without some kind of proof. And if that proof exists, then I need to be convinced.

My throat is too tight to speak, but I nod.

I expect her to spin out a grisly tale for me. Instead, she leaves the room and returns with a briefcase. I dimly register that she was prepared for this scenario. Her friendliness, the brunch spread, the casual conversation—they were all a farce. She must have suspected from the moment I contacted her what I was going to say. And she was already prepared to refute me. While I’m still reeling from that, she pulls out a file and slides a series of photographs across the table to me. I reach for them automatically, not really understanding what’s happening, but stop as she settles a hand lightly on my wrist.

“These are disturbing,” she says, “but I believe it’s important for you to see them.”

It takes me a moment to understand what is happening. I won’t be hearing the evidence from her lips. I’ll be seeing it for myself. As she lets go of me, I slowly lower my eyes to the stack of photos and flip the first one over. Bile rises in the back of my throat, but I press a hand to my mouth and keep looking. I look until the image is burned into my eyelids, and then I push it to the side and stare at the next.

I understand now why Dr. Wright chose to give me photographs instead of explaining.

Howwas my question, and it’s not one that’s easily answered in words. Even if she had managed to paint the picture, I’m not sure I would have believed it if I didn’t see it with my own two eyes.

Most of these pictures are hard to identify as bodies at first glance. They’re destroyed brutally, utterly. Torn limb from limb, some with visible teeth marks, others so twisted it’s impossible to tell what did the damage. There’s a man with gaping black holes where his eyes should be. Another with all ten fingers broken and his ribcage torn out like it burst open from within.

I look at every single photograph in the stack because I feel that I owe it to these people who died so horribly. I have to see. To understand. To avoid repeating their mistakes.

When I look up at Dr. Wright again, tears blur my vision—so I can’t tell if my distress has her satisfied, or grim, or anything at all.

But when she speaks, there’s no emotion in it. “I trust you understand now why the work we do is necessary and the security measures important.”

I nod and sit in numb shock while she retrieves the photographs, places them into her briefcase, and clips it shut in short, brisk movements. “You made the right call in coming to me with these concerns, and I advise that you not bring them up to anyone else.” She sets the briefcase aside and looks up at me. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

I shake my head and mumble some excuse about having to go. She walks me to the door. I still feel numb, distant, like I’m watching this happen from somewhere outside my body. I can’t even manage a smile or an appropriate goodbye, but Dr. Wright acts like everything is perfectly fine.

As we reach the door, she stops me with a hand on my arm and squeezes it in a surprisingly gentle motion that breaks through my daze.

“Mara, please don’t forget that I personally sought you out as a hire,” she says, looking me in the eyes. “It’s important to me to build better connections with localsandto bring more women into the MRF. I believe you can do good work with us, so please, don’t let me down.”

Oddly, I have the sense that she means it. If she didn’t, it would probably be easy for her to dismiss me from my job right now.Unsuited to a high-stress work environment, I think distantly, remembering Ethan’s words. That helps me pull myself together, and I manage a weak smile and a small nod.

“I understand,” I say. “Thank you for the advice, Dr. Wright.”

“My pleasure,” she says.

Still, as the door shuts behind me, I’m left feeling utterly alone.

13

Chapter Thirteen

Sunday passes by too quickly. I finally get a chance to sleep in, and I take full advantage of it, dozing until well into the afternoon. Even when I manage to pull myself out of bed, I luxuriate in my freedom to do nothing. When my parents get back from their weekend hike, I’m on the couch in my pajamas, eating a bag of chips and binging true crime documentaries.

“Oh, hi, honey,” my mom says, hovering in the doorway while my dad heads into the kitchen to start making dinner. “No big plans this weekend? New work friends?” She eyes me in a way that is probably meant as worried but feels judgmental.

“Um…” I swallow a thick mouthful of chips and self-consciously wipe my greasy hands on my sweatpants. “I had brunch with a new work friend yesterday, actually.”

Friendis a very strong word for Dr. Wright, and I feel a twinge of guilt for lying, but the way my mom’s concern dissipates is worth it.

“Oh, that’s great,” she says, beaming at me. “I’m so glad you’re settling back into town.”

I force myself to smile back and agree to eat dinner with her and my dad, even as uncertainty grows like a weight in my gut. I don’t want her to be concerned, but honestly, now that I’m thinking about it,I’ma little concerned about myself. I’ve been self-isolating, obsessing over work…acting almost as crazy as Ethan once accused me of being. Self-doubt creeps in and makes a home in the back of my mind, but I do my best to push it down. At least Dr. Wright shut down my delusions before they could go any further. And Iwilldo better this week. I’ll be normal. I will not screw up the only goddamn opportunity that life has handed me.

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