“Well, that’s nice to hear,” said Maine. “Boys, I want to thank you for stopping by. I’ll let you get back to your patrol. Be careful out there.”
“Sure thing, Pat,” said Mulligan.
“Ditto,” said Thornton.
“Did you hear him?” Barry said to Wake. “He said ‘Deerfest’ four times.”
Wake stood in the middle of the living room. “No, he didn’t.”
“Four times,” insisted Barry, taking a drink. “You need to catch up, Al.”
“You have too big of a head start,” said Wake.
Barry stared at the jar of moonshine. “What do they put in this stuff?”
“Packed with vitamins and minerals, I’m sure,” said Wake.
“No wonder I feel so good.” Barry offered Wake the moonshine. “Here, take your vitamins. Don’t want to get scurvy.”
Wake hesitated, then took a sip. He let it burn slowly down his throat, then took another sip. The second one didn’t burn quite so badly. “I think you may be right.”
“Course I’m right,” said Barry.
Wake took another drink. “He definitely said ‘Deerfest.’”
“Four times,” said Barry, giggling.
Wake took a long swallow, held the jar high. “Four times.”
“Deerfest, Deerfest, Deerfest.” Barry looked at Wake, eyes drooping. “Am I talking too loud?”
“I really thought the note was going to be here,” Wake said sadly.
“Yeah,” said Barry, “if you can’t trust a couple of senile, burned-out rock stars, who can you trust?”
Wake sat on the couch beside Barry, passed him the moonshine.
Barry flicked on the television with the remote. The logo for the show Night Springs appeared, a spooky shot of a town at midnight, a full moon overhead. “Hey, Night Springs. Wow, that brings back memories. Hey, remember when I got you that gig? Your first real writing job.”
“I didn’t even get a full writing credit,” said Wake. “It was a start, though.”
“You got paid, didn’t you?” said Barry, passing back the moonshine.
“I got paid,” said Wake.
“You’re welcome,” said Barry. “Hey, is this one of your episodes?”
The narrator announced the name of the episode.
“No,” said Wake.
“Too bad,” said Barry, switching off the TV. “I’ll make sure you get your residuals. I’m not about to let one of my… my cliumps get screwed.”
“Your cliumps?” said Wake.
“CLI-ENTS,” said Barry, enunciating carefully. “Don’t make fun of me, Al, you’re at least four drinks behind.”
Wake took the jar of moonshine back, tilted it, and let clear liquid flow down his throat.
“I’m… I’m still scared,” said Barry, looking straight ahead.
“Me too,” said Wake.
“Glad… to… hear it,” said Barry. “I hate being the scaredy cat of the duo.”
“The duo?” Wake laughed. “What are we, superheroes?”
“I wish we were,” said Barry, slopping moonshine down his shirt. “Superheroes got it made.”
“They have to wear stupid costumes, though,” said Wake.
“Tights,” said Barry. “You don’t want to see me in tights. A cape though… I bet I’d look good with a cape.”
Wake looked him over. “I don’t think so.”
Barry stood up, unsteady. He pulled the cashmere afghan off the back of the sofa, tied it around his neck, and ran around the room, the afghan fluttering behind him.
“I take it back,” said Wake. “You look great with a cape. Of course, I’m drunk, so you might have to get a second opinion.”
Barry staggered to the stereo, out of breath. “Wouldn’t matter if I was a superhero. Rather jump in a shark tank with a raw steak in my mouth than walk in the woods at night.” He looked down at the turntable. “Look Al, a record. Real vinyl.”
“Why would they tell me they left me a note?” said Wake.
Barry switched on the turntable, dropped the stylus onto the record. He sat back on the couch as the needle veered across the record, stopped halfway across, and stuck.
Find the lady of the light, gone mad with the night, find the lady of the light, gone mad with the night.
“Oh, that’s catchy,” said Wake, reaching for the moonshine.
Find the lady of the light, gone mad with the night.
“They didn’t say they left you a note,” said Barry, head lolling on the back of the couch.
“They did,” said Wake.
“In the car…” Barry burped. “In the car you said they left you a message.”
“What’s the difference?” said Wake.
Find the lady of the light, gone mad with the night.
Wake sat up, squeezed Barry’s arm. “You’re a genius!”
“About time you realized that.” Barry took another drink, stared bleary-eyed at Wake. “What… what exactly did I do?”
Wake pointed at the turntable.
Find the lady of the light, gone mad with the night.
“Okay,” said Barry. “I thought… thought you didn’t like their music.”
“The lyrics, Barry. The Andersons are telling us to find the lady of the light. The Lamp Lady, Cynthia Weaver. She was in love with Thomas Zane. She knows about the Dark Presence and what it did to him. Maybe she can tell us how to defeat it.”
Barry nodded. “I am a genius.”
“We should go find her.” Wake stood up, wobbled, and sat down hard. “Maybe later.”
Wake’s fall onto the couch sent the stylus skipping forward, where it caught again.
“Much later,” said Barry.
And now to see your love set free
You will need the witch’s cabin key
Find the lady of the light, gone mad with the night
That’s how you reshape destiny.
“Do you hear that?” said Wake.
“Daylight,” said Barry. “We should wait for daylight.”
And now to see your love set free
You will need the witch’s cabin key
Find the lady of the light, gone mad with the night
That’s how you reshape destiny.
“Cynthia Weaver has the key to the cabin,” said Wake. “She knows how I can get Alice. The Andersons left us a message, just like they said.”
“To the Andersons!” Barry took another swallow of moonshine, passed the jar over.
“To the Andersons,” agreed Wake. He took a drink, passed it back.
“Stay in the light,” said Barry, passing the jar back.
Wake took a drink. “Stay in the light.”
And now to see your love set free
You will need the witch’s cabin key
Find the lady of the light, gone mad with the night
That’s how you reshape destiny.
Barry yawned. “Kind of a catchy tune.”
“It does… kind of grow… grow on you,” said Wake.
Barry took another drink. Wake took the jar back.
“I miss her,” Wake said softly. “I miss her so bad my stomach hurts.”
“Badly,” said Barry.
“I should have been better to her,” said Wake. “Not so angry all the time.”
“I wish I was a rock star,” said Barry. “Must be… must be so cool.”
“I’m going to make it up to her,” said Wake. “Things will be different.”
“Probably too late for me to be a rock star. And with this body, who am I kidding?” said Barry.
Wake stared at the turntable, watching the record go round and round. He didn’t know how long he sat there staring, but it seemed like a very long time. Not that he was complaining. It was like riding a merry-go-round… with music.
Al? Al?”
“I’m right here.”
“Al… next time, can I use the shotgun? I want to blast them.”
“Sure, Barry, you can use the shotgun.”
“You’re a hero, Al. I wish we had video of you onstage blasting away…”
“I’m… I’m no hero,” mumbled Wake. “I’m a writer.”
Barry yawned. “I’m going to take a little nap. Is that okay?”
“No such thing as writer’s block,” said Wake, nodding to himself. “I bet… I bet I could write ten novels in a year. At least ten. And they… they’d all be bestsellers.”
Barry closed his eyes.”You do that, Bestseller. And keep watch while you’re at it.”
Wake’s chin dropped onto his chest. He opened his eyes. The record still went round and round on the turntable, the room safe and bright, very bright and very safe.
Barry snored next to him.
“I’ll keep watch… no problem,” sighed Wake, closing his eyes again.
Rose didn’t know how the strange old lady got in her trailer. And she looked… wrong, somehow. The woman showed her teeth in an approximation of a smile and traced a finger down Rose’s cheek. “Pretty girl,” she said. Rose felt as if she was falling asleep, but her knees didn’t buckle. The crone spoke in a whisper, her words ice-cold and dark in Rose’s ear.
Rose was lost in a dreamland where everything was drawn in black and gray crayons. The old lady had promised her that all her wishes would come true. She would be Alan Wake’s muse. She was smiling so hard it hurt her face. She crushed a bottleful of sleeping pills into the coffee. Deep down inside, she was screaming in terror.
CHAPTER 21
WAKE COULDN’T SEE a thing. Blind drunk, that’s what he was. That was just part of it, though. He had been drunk before, plenty of times, too many times, but it wasn’t like this. Never… never drink moonshine made by crazy people. That was the lesson here.
But where was here?
All he knew was that he was standing up and that he was so angry that his ears ached. He was always angry, seemed like it anyway. He reached out into the smoky-gray haze that surrounded him and felt nothing. The last thing he remembered was sitting on the couch with Barry, the two of them guzzling moonshine as a record skipped and skipped and skipped. Caught in the groove of an old LP was the Andersons’ message to him, a song they had written years earlier, a song that pointed the way to get Alice back. The song had been a message from the Anderson brothers, but their homebrew had been a bonus, a ticket that took Wake back to a place he needed to go.
Light flickered beyond the veil and Wake could hear something now. A voice, faint but still… it was a woman’s voice. Alice’s voice.
“Alice!” His voice sounded like a snarl, revealing not a trace of the relief and eagerness that he felt. In fact, his voice sounded exactly the opposite. “Dammit, Alice, mind your own business!” No, Wake hadn’t said that. He couldn’t have said that… but he had.
The haze was thinning out. He could make out someone standing in front of him. “Just leave me alone!” It was his voice, but it wasn’t what Wake wanted to say, and again he was aware of the rage boiling inside him, ready to explode.
Alice looked up at him. “I… I was just trying to help.”
Wake wanted to embrace her, hold her close, kiss her, but he couldn’t move. Couldn’t control his arms. Or his words. “I didn’t ask for your help.”
Tears ran down Alice’s cheeks, but she raised her face at him, defiant. “That’s your problem, not mine, Alan.”
Wake looked around. It was night and they were upstairs in the study of the Bird Leg Cabin. It was their first night in Bright Falls. Over there under the window was the desk, Thomas Zane’s desk, although Wake hadn’t known it at the time. Wake’s typewriter was on the desk, his old manual typewriter that Alice had secretly brought with her from New York. A surprise for him. Something to please him. The typewriter meant to encourage him to work in this new setting, this new place, away from the pressures and temptations of the city. A fresh start. Not just for the work, a fresh start for them.
Instead of pleasing him, the sight of the typewriter had enraged him. Wake’s selfishness and arrogance had ruined everything, made him lash out at her, accusing her of trying to manipulate him. He remembered the sound of Alice crying out in the dark, remembered running toward the cabin, trying to save her. He had failed that first night, but now… now he had a second chance, a chance to make things right, a chance to stop fighting with Alice and take her off the island.
“I’m tired of fighting with you, Alan.”
“You have no idea what I have to deal with,” barked Wake. “You haven’t got a goddamned clue.”
“Then tell me,” said Alice.
Wake understood now. That wasn’t him yelling at Alice, it was another Wake, the Alan Wake he had been before she disappeared. He was dreaming. He was a ghost in this world, a doppelgänger, unable to speak or to stop his former self, unable to warn him. Wake was trapped in the dream, forced to relive all his mistakes, but maybe, just maybe he could follow the dream to its conclusion and find out what had really happened that night.
Alice took his hands. “Tell me, Alan,” she said gently. “I want to know what’s bothering you. I want to help.”
For an instant Wake actually felt her, felt the warmth of her skin, and he squeezed her hands back, started to speak, to beg her forgiveness, but then the connection was gone, broken.
Wake was condemned to watch as his former self stormed down the stairs and into the darkness. He was carried along with his former self as though on a tether, carried along out the front door and down the long wooden bridge connecting the cabin to the mainland. He stopped at the moonlit footbridge and laughed at his own folly.
Alice screamed, the sound shimmering like moonbeams on the lake.
Wake’s past self turned around just as the lights in the cabin went out, then ran back toward the cabin, running so hard that his feet cracked the worn planks. He ran faster, but it seemed as if the bridge was elongating in the moonlight, slats being added with every step, the cabin receding farther and farther into the lake. Too late, Wake wanted to tell his past self, it was too late when you took the key from the woman in black, a key to a cabin that no longer existed.
“Alan, where are you?”
“Wait!” cried Wake’s past self, and it was his own voice, the words and passion his. “I’m on my way! Stay inside!”
Fireflies flitted across the bridge, flashing a secret semaphore, distracting him as he raced for the cabin. Easy to lose his footing, and once he did… the lake was deep.
“Please… please don’t,” said Alice.
“Alice, I’m coming! Don’t go… don’t go out onto the balcony!”
Too late. Too late. Too late.
“Stop!” shrieked Alice. “Don’t come any closer!”
Wake’s past self stumbled, but kept running. He jumped off the bridge and onto the island, Diver’s Island, the ground strangely yielding underfoot. The feel of the place made Wake queasy, but he hurtled up the steps onto the porch, threw the front door open.
“Alannnnnnn!”
Wake heard the sound of rotting wood breaking. Alice’s scream echoed, then a splash. He ran up the stairs and out onto the balcony. “Alice?” The railing was broken. “Alice?” He stood there, staring into the lake, looking for her. A single firefly made lazy circles over the water, dipping among the stars reflected in the lake, and it was the saddest and loneliest thing that Wake had ever seen.
Wake stood beside his past self as he looked closer. There… there was something in the water, a dark shape, sinking deeper and deeper. Wake dove into the lake, swimming down toward that dark shape that had to be Alice, but she sank faster than he could swim… and he lost her. Just as he had that first night. Wake felt himself floating slowly toward the surface.
Diving after Alice was the last memory Wake had of that night. After that, the next thing he could remember was waking up behind the wheel of the crashed car, his head throbbing and wondering how he had gotten there. He had set out across the woods toward the light of the gas station in the distance, Stucky�
��s gas station. It was on the way to the gas station that Wake had found the first manuscript page. Light-headed now, Wake struggled to reach the surface of the lake. He broke through, gasping, pulled himself onto the dock. He shivered under the stars. Even in his dream he couldn’t reach Alice, couldn’t save her. He couldn’t save anyone.
The dock trembled, then rocked back and forth as a rumbling started deep underwater, the surface of the lake vibrating. Wake staggered up, walked unsteadily on the bridge back to the island, the wooden planks groaning. Large bubbles rose from the depths of the lake, bubbles the size of beachballs, black and shiny in the moonlight. He collapsed as he reached the island, saw the woman in black on the balcony, Barbara Jagger watching him with eyes cold as the lake.
Jagger, or the darkness that wore her face, had been there every step of the way, at the diner, perhaps even earlier. She had orchestrated it from the beginning and she was here now, watching Wake relive it. Jagger walked down the steps to where Wake lay. For a moment her black veil slipped, the horror of her ravaged features on display before she covered herself again. She bent down beside him and Wake smelled toadstools and rotting meat. “Look at the cabin,” she whispered, pointing. “Is there someone in the window? Maybe it’s your wife. Maybe your lovely Alice didn’t drown after all. Maybe she’s inside, alone in the dark.”
Shadows flickered over Wake’s past self.
“Hurry, you fool!” hissed Jagger. “What are you waiting for?”
Wake got to his feet. “Alice?”
“Hurry!”
Wake felt Jagger digging its nails into his flesh, felt it using him, pulling his strings. He knew all this, but he also knew that Alice needed him. He ran up the stairs to the cabin.
Jagger smiled and followed him.
It was dark inside the cabin, streaks of moonlight through the windows the only illumination. Wake looked around, worried.
Jagger was right beside him. “Your lovely Alice must be here somewhere. Maybe she’s upstairs, in the study? Yes! That’s where she is. You can apologize to her for all the ugly things you said. You can tell her how sorry you are, how you’ll never do it again. You’ll laugh about it and put it all behind you.”
Alan Wake Page 19