Page 25 of The Nightmare's Kiss

I clasp my hands in my lap. “Of course. Though I’m not sure how much insight I can provide, given that I record all of my observations as per the facility guidelines.”

Dr. Wright’s lips lift in averyslight smile.

“And we’re very pleased with your notes,” Ethan says, dripping with fake sweetness. “Our questions pertain to your experiences outside of the Facility.”

My brow furrows. I stare at him, perplexed. “I don’t have any experiences with the subject outside of the Facility,” I say slowly.

“None at all?” Ethan asks.

“Am I being…accused of something? Because I don’t—”

“We’re talking about dreams.” Now, for the first time, the older man speaks up. His voice is a gruff bark that makes me feel like I’m being told off, even though his words aren’t explicitly aggressive. “Are you dreaming about the subject?”

It’s such a strange question that I’m not sure how to respond. I look at Dr. Wright, who gives me another tiny, encouraging nod.

“Well?” the man prompts, impatient.

“I… I mean, yes,” I admit, flustered. It feels like a strangely private question, even though I’m certain there’s no way they can know about the content of these dreams. I can feel my cheeks growing hot, and I’m sure one of them is going to suspect, and ohGodI need to start thinking about something else right now before I get even more flustered and give myself away. “Sorry, I’m not quite sure how this is relevant to my work.” I pause, and after recovering some of my courage, add, “Nor do I believe what I dream about in my free time is any business of my employer.”

The man’s eyebrows draw together and his lips dip in a displeased scowl. I brace myself, but it’s Dr. Wright who speaks.

“You are, of course, under no obligation to disclose anything you do not wish to, and I am sure Director Ramsey did not mean to imply anything to the contrary,” she says, but with a pointed look at the man beside her.Director Ramsey; I commit the name and important title to memory. I remember Ezra mentioning that Ethan is his protégé of sorts, and another piece of the puzzle slides into place. “But it may be important evidence as to the nature of the subject.”

I will myself to end this here, to tell them I don’t feel comfortable disclosing anything and walk out—but I’m too curious. She’s snagged my attention with that last bit of information, dangled like a worm on a hook, as I’m sure she’s planned to. “How so?”

“I’m afraid we would need to hear the content of any dreams you’re willing to share before we tell you more. Otherwise, there is a risk of the information contaminating your recollections.”

I gnaw on my bottom lip, considering that. It’s frustrating, it’s surely bait…but it does make sense when I think about it. If I assume they’re asking because it’s part of the nature of the subject…and that means that others before me have dreamed of the Nightmare…of course they would want to collect that data. But if they reveal too much, it would be impossible to tell if I was only saying what I think they want to hear.

I sigh, my shoulders slumping, and all three of the people on the other side of the table perk up noticeably as they wait to hear my response.

“I dream about it every night,” I admit.It,nothim, because I don’t want them to catch on to how I’ve started to think about the subject. “I thought it was just work bleeding into my mind at night.”

“When did the first dream occur?” Dr. Wright asks. Dr. Ramsey gives her a meaningful look, and after a moment, she lets out a small sigh and grabs a pen and clipboard from the table in front of her.

I think back. “Well…the night after my first day here, I dreamed thatIwas the one locked inside the cell and being observed. But it was the next night when I started to dream that the Nightmare was visiting me in my bedroom.” The night after I brought down the privacy screen and he saw my face for the first time, I remember in a moment of uneasiness.

They question me for hours. I’m asked to describe my dreams in excruciating detail, sometimes multiple times, while Dr. Wright takes detailed notes and the men occasionally murmur to each other in a way that makes me want to stab something. But I don’t. I force myself to be patient, taking my notes from Dr. Wright’s obsequiousness. It isn’t lost on me that she is clearly more highly qualified and experienced than Ethan, but is still the one stuck taking notes; I don’t have to question why. Everything about this Director Ramsey guy screamsold schoolin the worst kind of way, and his silent judgment speaks to a position of power.

So I answer the questions. Most of them, at least. I don’t admit to the content of some of those dreams. The…intimate ones. I don’t think I could force myself to describethosedreams even if one of them were holding a gun to my head. Sometimes, Dr. Wright’s scrutiny makes me feel like she suspects I’m holding back, perhaps even has an inkling ofwhatI’m holding back. But before I can squirm too much, she always returns to her notetaking without questioning me. Nor does anyone lift an eyebrow the few times I slip up and call the Nightmarehiminstead ofit.

Finally, I sink down in my chair, drained. I’ve recounted everything that I’m willing to disclose: the apparition I’ve seen in dreams of my bedroom, the way he first frightened me but eventually started having normal conversations, and how curious he seemed about me. Now my own curiosity is burning.

“I take it I’m not the first one this has happened to,” I say when the questions finally stop coming. The two men are engaged in a quiet conversation behind their hands again, but Dr. Wright turns her full attention to me.

“No,” she says, setting her pen aside and folding her hands in front of her. “Anyone who has worked closely with Subject X-13 has experienced the dreams. We did not warn you, just like we did not warn any of them, because we did not want to risk contaminating the data with expectations. But as it stands, anyone who has observed the subject has dreamed of it the following night, and every night they spend in close proximity.”

“So I wasn’t here to conduct experiments. I was here to be a part of one.” Anger rises within me, but as they only give me indifferent looks in response, that fire drowns under a wave of anxiety. They don’t care, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I shut my eyes for a moment, sick at how absolutely helpless I feel. As much as I want to continue being angry, I guess I have to focus on being practical instead. “Does…does this mean I’m going to dream about it forever?” My voice shakes despite my best intentions. Even though my feelings toward X-13 are complicated, I’m not sure I like the idea of him haunting my dreams for the rest of my life.

Dr. Wright shakes her head. “The effect has always faded with time and distance.”

I take a deep breath and nod. “So what does it mean?” I ask. When Wright looks to Director Ramsey for an answer, my anxiety cranks back up to eleven again. “Is he actually there? In my dreams? Can he— it—”

“It can’t hurt you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Dr. Wright says. “There is no evidence that it can affect you physically. But there does appear to be some sort of…mental connection, or bridge, that allows it to visit your dreams.”

“So it can see me and hear me in them?” I ask, wanting to be sure. They’re being frustratingly vague, and this is more important to me than I can admit. “Will it remember the things that I dream?”

“Yes,” Director Ramsey answers, and the way he looks at me brings up memories of old, bitter teachers who never liked me. “It will remember the things you reveal, the things you dream. Your fears and your secrets. It will use them against you if it can.”

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