Page 30 of The Nightmare's Kiss

So if making things right requires a little bit of rule breaking, then so be it. It’s a risk I’m willing to take. A risk Ihaveto take, for the sake of freeing the Nightmare from his captivity.

The next time a weekend rolls around, I initiate my plan. First, I tell my parents that I’m going on a daytrip to visit an old high school friend in the nearby town of Yuma. I borrow my mom’s car and “forget” my phone at home in case the Facility is tracking it. I don’t even bring my vape, to be extraextrasafe. Then I drive to an entirely different town and ditch the car to catch a taxi paid in cash. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I don’t know how far the Facility’s reach extends, or how far they’re willing to go to protect their secrets. I can’t take any chances.

Next, I buy a burner phone—also with cash—and connect it to a secure Cloud on a local library’s computer. And, since I don’t want to access these files at all while I’m at home, I type up some preliminary notes in the Cloud while I’m there. I write out everything I know about the Nightmare’s history, his behavior during my time at the Facility, and his appearances in my dreams. I lay it all bare, including our intimacy—without the dirty details, of course.

Nobody needs to know about my proclivity for tentacles or the things that long tongue can do.

When I read them over, the notes sound a little like the ravings of a lunatic. A desperate girl in love with a monster. I think again of all those times Ethan called mecrazy,obsessive, and bite the inside of my cheek, hating that a wave of doubt rushes over me. Is that what I’m doing right now? Going off the deep end?

But no.No. IknowI’m right, and I’m not going to let anyone convince me otherwise. The Nightmare is counting on me, and I will not let him down. My words won’t be enough, but my evidence will prove everything.

Thus the need for the phone. Now, I have a cell with no trail and a way to upload the evidence. The next step is to figure out a way to sneak it into the Facility.

I already feel like a criminal, and perhaps a completely insane person, doing all of this. But I reassure myself that it’s all for a good cause. The Nightmare does not deserve to be trapped in that tiny, bare cell and experimented on. I will do whatever it takes to free him, even if it means burning my life to the ground.

After some fervent internet research—again on a public library computer—I head to work on Monday with a plan.

Step one: hide the phone in a potted plant just outside the entrance to the facility.

Step two: leave my normal phone with the guard, along with the jewelry I wore today just for this occasion.

“I’m going out right after work today,” I explain when the guard squints at the over-the-top, shiny metal earrings. He grunts and waves me through.

Then I go through the metal detectors and work the rest of the day as normal, even though every time I think about what I’m about to do, it feels like my heart is trying to fight its way out of my chest.

At the end of the day, it’s time for step three. I gather my phone and other belongings, put my jewelry back on, walk out of the building, and collect my burner phone while the guard is distracted. I hesitate a moment and then rush back into the building. Time for step four, when things get dangerous.

“Um, I’m so sorry,” I say, flashing my brightest, most charming smile at the sour-faced guard. “I actually really have to go to the bathroom. Do you mind if I run back through just for a second?”

The man doesn’t look happy about it, but after a moment he grumbles, “Yeah, just hand over the phone.”

“Thanks so much,” I say, dropping my regular cell phone into his hand without hesitation and rushing through the metal detectors. They send off their beeping alarms, but I whirl, give an apologetic smile, and point at my jewelry. There’s a heart-stopping moment as the man squints at me. Then he waves a dismissive hand and barks, “Hurry up.”

I sprint to the bathroom, heart pounding. Last step: I hide the cell phone in a plastic bag in the top compartment of a toilet and then head back out. The metal detectors go off again,onlyfor my earrings this time. I collect my phone and suppress my triumphant grin until I turn my back on the building. The burner phone is officially inside the Facility.

The next morning, when I head into work, the phone is waiting for me in the bathroom. As I slip it into my pocket and head into the observation lab, I feel both absurdly proud of my criminal masterminding and also scared witless. I have no delusions about how much trouble I could get into for pulling this stunt. I’ddefinitelybe fired, and probably face legal consequences.

But as I sit in my observation chair, open the viewing panel, and look in at the Nightmare sitting on the edge of his bed and waiting for me in his human form, I know I’ve made the right decision. I need to help him; I am the only one who can.

I have to be very careful about this part too. I need compelling, solid evidence to prove that the Nightmare is sentient. Photos, notes, and videos. Not only do I need data that will convince Director Ramsey and other higher-ups in the facility, but I need proof that will also hold up in the court of public opinion if they give me no choice but to release it to the world. It can’t look like it was photoshopped or anything like that.

I also can’t deviate too far from my usual work routine. I still need to make it through my daily to-do list to avoid arousing suspicion, and they’ve been increasing my workload, so it’s not so easy. Plus, there’s the camera in the back of the room.

Luckily, the Nightmare and I have every night to scheme together, planning for how to pull this off quickly and efficiently. We’ve plotted it all, and he’s been practicing his sign language. We are able to work together like a well-oiled machine. He gives me performative reactions to the usual stimuli, rushing through the daily work. As soon as I bring down the privacy screen, he knows it’s time for us to collect some evidence. I keep my back angled to the camera and the phone hidden in front of me, and snap some photos and videos of him in various forms, with focus on his humanoid one. I know that will be the most compelling for people, just like it was for me.

Then—keeping my phone tucked discreetly into a sleeve—I record some conversations. I speak aloud and then translate his sign language. This part was not planned out because I didn’t want any chance of it coming off scripted.

“Hello, Mr. Nightmare,” I say. He smiles like I thought he would. I can practically hear the dark chuckle that features so often in my dreams.

Hello, Mara, he signs back at me while I translate aloud.

“Today, I’d like to record some basic proof of your logical capabilities,” I say.

Yes, ma’am.

For the first day, I keep things simple. I have him count to thirty and then back. I have him perform some basic math and spelling. Of course, he has to add his own bit of dramatic flair, sometimes writing out the answers in tendrils of shadows, often rolling his eyes in exasperation when I ask him something he deems too simple.

It’s good. It’s gold. I don’t know how anyone could watch this and not believe that he’s as capable of thought and feeling as they are. But I know it’s not enough. Still, not wanting to get too greedy and attract attention, I call it a day and head home feeling satisfied.

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