Chapter 58: The Ultimate Bait
The air in the Springwood Police Department's interrogation room was thick enough to choke on.
Harsh fluorescent light glared down from overhead, casting Edward and Alan's shadows across the cold metal table.
Lieutenant Donald Thompson—Nancy's father—sat across from them with a haunted expression, holding a pen but not writing a single word in his notepad.
His mind was still reeling.
The locked door. The impossible wounds that appeared on Glen's chest. And that soft golden halo floating above this kid's head... As a veteran cop who'd spent thirty years dealing with real-world crimes, his entire worldview had been completely shattered tonight, then stomped into dust.
"So," Donald's voice came out hoarse and raw, and he rubbed his bloodshot eyes, "you're telling me that Freddy Krueger is now some kind of... dream demon, hunting down the town's kids?"
"Pretty much, though 'demon' isn't exactly accurate."
Edward leaned back in his chair, relaxed as if he were sitting in a Starbucks. "He's more like a collection of pure rage that hijacked the power of dreams. The rules of reality don't touch him, but in dreams? He's God."
"A malicious spirit who gets off on playing with his victims and feeding on their fear," Edward added.
Alan sat beside him, quietly observing.
She'd seen countless twisted souls and vengeful spirits through mirrors, but someone like Freddy—who could bridge dreams and reality—was a first.
"Who the hell are you two?" Donald's gaze fixed on Edward. "Don't tell me you're some priests the Church sent—you don't look much older than Nancy."
"We're... freelance monster hunters," Edward replied with complete sincerity.
That answer almost made Donald snap his pen in half.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm.
Whoever these two kids were, they'd just saved Glen's life.
That light, that power—it was real.
"How's Glen doing?" Alan asked, breaking the tense silence.
At the mention of Glen, Donald's expression softened fractionally. "Paramedics patched him up. The wounds are deep but not life-threatening. Course, they can't explain how the hell the injuries appeared, so they're calling it... self-inflicted." He paused, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "This is insane. Tina's death, Rod getting framed, and now Glen... it's exactly like the nightmare Nancy's been describing."
"So, Lieutenant Thompson, you believe your daughter now," Edward stated. It wasn't a question.
Donald was silent for a long moment, then finally nodded with defeat. "Don't have much choice, do I?"
"Good. Then we can skip the convincing part and cut to the chase." Edward leaned slightly forward. "Call Nancy in. She's the key to ending this."
"No!" Donald practically shouted. "I'm not letting her anywhere near this shit again!"
"She's already neck-deep in it, Lieutenant." Edward's tone stayed calm but carried undeniable weight. "Freddy's already marked her and her friends. You think locking her in her room and keeping her awake will keep her safe? People can't stay awake forever. Running just lets the fear build up, and fear is Freddy's fuel. He'll get stronger and stronger until the moment Nancy finally crashes—and he'll drag her straight to hell."
Every word Edward spoke hit Donald like a hammer to the chest. Deep down, he knew it was the truth.
"Then... what do we do?" For the first time in his career, he felt completely helpless in front of someone half his age.
"Bring her in, and we'll work out a plan together," Edward repeated. "We're here to help her, not get her killed."
Donald stared at Edward for a long beat, then finally grabbed his radio and had someone bring in Nancy, who'd been anxiously waiting outside.
A few minutes later, Nancy walked into the interrogation room. When she saw Edward and Alan, her eyes filled with gratitude and cautious hope.
"Have a seat, Nancy," Edward gestured to the empty chair.
Nancy sat down obediently, glanced at her father, then at Edward, waiting.
"Freddy Krueger," Edward began without preamble. "Everyone on Elm Street should remember that name. A child killer who murdered over twenty kids in that boiler room. But the DA screwed up the warrant—case got thrown out on a technicality. So the parents took justice into their own hands, cornered him in that boiler room, and burned him alive."
As Edward slowly recounted this buried history, Donald's face went stone-cold. Clearly, he'd been one of those parents.
"How... how do you know about that?" Donald's voice came out strangled.
"Doesn't matter." Edward didn't elaborate. "What matters is his rage didn't die with him. It fused with the kids' fear and with that boiler room itself, giving him power over dreams. He's back now, taking revenge on the children of the parents who killed him."
Nancy's face went pale as she listened. She finally understood why that monster was torturing them.
"Then how do we stop him?" Nancy asked, summoning every ounce of courage she had. Her voice still trembled, but the hysteria was gone—replaced by grim determination.
"In dreams, we can't kill him permanently. But in reality? He's just a burned-up corpse," Edward laid it out plainly. "So the plan is simple."
He looked directly at Nancy and spoke each word clearly. "You need to go into the dream, find him, and the second he tries to attack you—grab him. Then you force yourself to wake up and drag his ass into the real world."
The entire room went dead silent.
"NO! Absolutely fucking not!" Donald shot to his feet, slamming his hand on the table. "This is insane! I asked for your help, not for you to use my daughter as bait!"
"Dad!" Nancy stood up too, meeting her father's eyes. "This is the only way, isn't it? We can't let anyone else die! Tina's already gone, Rod got blamed, Glen almost... I can't keep hiding!"
"But—"
"Dad, please. Trust me." Nancy's eyes held steel he'd never seen before. "And trust them. They saved Glen. They know how to deal with this thing."
Donald looked at the unprecedented resolve in his daughter's face, then at the unnervingly calm young man beside her. His internal struggle was written all over his face. Logic screamed this was crazy, but reality was forcing him to believe.
"Can you guarantee her safety?" Donald finally turned to Edward, almost pleading.
"I guarantee it." Edward's response was immediate and rock-solid. "I'll be right there with her. Freddy won't touch a hair on her head."
That promise broke through Donald's last line of defense. He slumped back into his chair like all the air had been knocked out of him.
"Alright... fine," he said with difficulty. "What do you need from me?"
"Good. We need some prep work." Edward's mouth curved into a slight smile, like a magician about to perform his best trick. "First, I need your strongest holding cell—preferably one built for maximum security. Concrete walls, one reinforced door."
"We've got one. Cell Block C, Number 3," Donald nodded immediately.
"Second," Edward held up another finger, "I need epinephrine injections. The kind paramedics use for cardiac arrests."
"Epinephrine?" Donald blinked. "What for?"
"Freddy can trap people in dreams—even create false awakenings. When Nancy grabs him, we need the most powerful 'alarm clock' possible to make sure she wakes up instantly and drags Freddy completely into reality," Edward explained. "The intense physiological shock from epinephrine is our best shot."
Donald understood the logic—even if it still sounded batshit crazy. He grabbed his radio and started barking orders.
"Clear out Cell Block C-3, move everything out! And get down to County General's ER—tell them we need three high-dose epi pens, police business, right now!"
As the orders went out, the entire Springwood Police Department began quietly mobilizing.
Nancy watched this calm young man orchestrating everything, and the fear in her chest was slowly being replaced by something else—hope.
"When do we start?" she asked.
Edward glanced at the clock on the wall. The hands showed 3:17 AM.
"No rush." He stood and stretched. "Get some rest first. Once everything's ready, we'll begin. After all, if you want to catch a big fish, the bait's gotta be fresh."