Alan Wake

by Rick Burroughs

Alice kissed him back, her lips warm and pouting. “Well, they can’t have it.”

  Alice drove the car off the ferry and onto the dock, past the fishermen lining the railing and people waiting to board. There was a chill in the air now, clouds building up on the horizon. Locals in quilted jackets clomped down the sidewalk, eating ice cream cones, enjoying the sunshine. No seagulls, which was odd, since they usually hovered around the waterfront, looking for scraps and leftovers. No seagulls. Just ravens watching from the roofs and power lines. Wake shivered.

  “It’s nice, isn’t it?” said Alice. “Quaint. No one seems to be in a hurry.”

  “Wait until Deerfest,” said Wake, “the place will be throbbing with activity.”

  “See, I knew you were going to like it here,” said Alice.

  “Don’t get carried away,” said Wake. “I was just kidding.”

  “That’s what I mean,” said Alice. “Your sense of humor… it’s coming back. I’m so happy. These last couple of years you got so serious.”

  “Well, these last couple years, things were serious,” said Wake. “Not today, though. Today, we’re going to pick up the key to our cabin and officially start the vacation, and if you’re good, very, very good, I’ll take you to Deerfest and let you pet Bambi.”

  “You need to take a look around and see where you are, city boy,” teased Alice. “Around here, they don’t pet Bambi, they eat him.”

  CHAPTER 2

  “WHO AM I supposed to get the key to the cabin from?” said Wake.

  “A Mr. Carl Stucky.” Alice stopped at the traffic light, the only one they had seen in the town. “He said he was at the Oh Deer Diner every afternoon about this time.”

  Wake looked around as the car idled, waiting for the light to change. Nothing here but a dozen storefronts of dull, weathered brick, the whole downtown located on one street that ran along the water. Bright Falls was a tidy, small town, with no litter, no graffiti and no parking meters. On one side of the street a hardware store touted deals on chain saws and generators, on the other side a shoe store announced a sale on steel-toed boots. A banner over the intersection declared, JUST TWO WEEKS UNTIL DEERFEST!

  “Welcome to Mayberry,” he said.

  “Don’t be such a snob,” said Alice. “It’s quaint. Very quaint.”

  Wake watched a dog amble across the street. “Quaint means no Starbucks, no deli, no cable, and the film playing at the single screen movie theater has been out on DVD in the real world for six months.”

  “Some people would find that a relief.”

  Wake sighed. “It’s just hard for me to relax.”

  Alice squeezed his hand. “That’s why we’re here.”

  “You’re right.” Wake smiled in spite of himself. “I’m an idiot. I don’t know why you put up with me.”

  “Well… you do have your charms.” The light changed, but Alice ignored it.

  Wake watched her in the soft, late afternoon light. She was long and lean beside him, her movements languid and sensuous as a cat stretching in the sunlight. “Let’s pick up the key and I’ll do my best to make it up to you.”

  Alice glanced over at him. “It’s a deal,” she said, starting through the intersection. A block later, she slowed and came to a stop in front of the Oh Deer Diner, leaving the engine running. “You get the key from Stucky and I’ll pick you up after I get some gas.”

  They watched as a lone parade float drove slowly down the street, a heavy-duty logging truck decorated like a gigantic deer, antlers impossibly large.

  “You’re not just going to drive away and leave me here, are you?” teased Wake.

  “It might do you some good,” said Alice. “Give you a taste of the simple life.”

  “Not without you. What kind of fun would that be?”

  Alice pointed at the news rack beside the door, change glistening on the stack of newspapers. “Look at that. The honor system. When was the last time you saw that in New York, Alan?”

  “Right around the moment that the Dutch settlers swindled the Indians out of Manhattan.” Wake kissed her and got out.

  He watched as she drove down the street toward the single gas pump down the street. A smear of something pink lay melting on the sidewalk, surrounded by tiny black ants. Some kid must have dropped strawberry ice cream off his cone. Wake watched the line of ants streaming from under the diner to the smear, ravenous, more and more of them pouring out from the cracks to feed. He hurried into the diner, stopping just inside the doorway, feeling like a man who had just realized he was standing in the middle of a minefield.

  Not two feet away was a life-size cardboard standup of himself looking haunted and sensitive, a blowup of the author photo that Alice had taken for his last novel, The Sudden Stop. Basic promotion, but in their condescending review of the book, the New York Times had found room to say it—“while Wake’s sleek good looks undoubtedly contribute to his massive sales, the current author photo, so redolent of the archetypal tortured artiste, signals an attempt to cross over into literary territory.” Yeah, thought Wake, next photo shoot I’ll wear a frilly dress and hockey mask so no one thinks I’m putting on airs.

  He stared at his frozen image and thought of the frantic book tour, the missed connecting flights and crowded bookstores, the gushing television and radio interviews. He remembered settling into the plush silence of a waiting limo after a long day, looking out at the world through thick smoked glass and wondering which side of the fishbowl he was on. Worse than all that, though, was the constant sense that the famous Alan Wake was a total fraud. The praise, the flattery, the first-class jets and four-star hotels… it would all come to a crashing halt when the world realized that he hadn’t been able to write a word since The Sudden Stop. He had spent months now staring at the blank sheet of paper in his typewriter. All he had to show for it was the title: Departure. It was just a matter of time until he ran out of excuses to his publisher, his agent, his wife… himself. What good was a writer who couldn’t write?

  “Oh. My. God,” a female voice said.

  Wake wanted to bolt out the door and chase Alice down, wanted to beg her to drive away, back to a city big enough that he could disappear in.

  “Omigod, omigod, omigod,” said a young woman, coming out from behind the counter, wiping her hands on her apron. A pretty girl in a waitress uniform, with light brown hair and a face like an eager mouse. “This is so amazing. I almost didn’t come to work today, if you can believe that. I would have just died if I had missed you.” She pumped his hand like a desperate wildcatter. “I am your absolute biggest fan. Honest.”

  Wake slowly disengaged his hand from her grip. “I didn’t know there was a contest.”

  “I’ve read all your books, Mr. Wake,” she said. “Every one of them.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m Rose Marigold,” said the girl, shaking his hand again. “I got the standup from your publisher. I put it up so I can see you all day while I work.”

  “Nice to meet you, Rose,” said Wake, looking around to see if anyone was watching the scene. They weren’t. The only people in the diner was a park ranger in uniform at the counter, and two white-haired old coots sitting in one of the back booths. One wall was covered with dusty trophy heads—deer, elk, and antelope—but their dull glass eyes didn’t see a thing.

  “Mr. Wake?” Rose peered at him. “I know at the end of The Sudden Stop you killed off Alex Casey, but he’s not really dead, is he? I mean, not like forever dead. Alex Casey’s my favorite character in the whole world.”

  “That’s very flattering,” said Wake.

  “You’re full of tricks, aren’t you?” said Rose, grinning as she wagged a finger. “You can tell me. It’s not like I’m going to post it on my blog. Unless you want me to, of course!”

  “I… I really have to…,” said Wake, backing away. “I’m supposed to meet someone here—”

  “Who?”

  “A Mr.… Carl Stucky,” said Wake. “He’s got the key to the ca
bin my wife and I will be staying in.”

  “You’re staying in Bright Falls?” Rose fanned her flushed face. “This is the best day of my life.” She turned to the deputy sitting at the counter. “Rusty, did you hear that?”

  “Yup. Best day of your life, Rose.” Park Ranger Rusty hoisted his coffee cup to Wake. “Best cup of coffee in town too, sir.”

  “Rusty, this is Alan Wake, the famous novelist,” said Rose. “Mr. Wake, this here’s Rusty. He’s no longer human. Nothing but black coffee under a thin layer of skin.”

  Rusty sipped from his cup, smacked his lips. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Wake.”

  “Back at you,” said Wake. “Do you know where I can find Carl Stucky?”

  Rusty jerked a thumb toward the corridor in the back. “I believe he’s using the facility.”

  “Thanks,” said Wake, starting toward the corridor. As he passed the two old men sitting in the booth, one of them pointed at the nearby jukebox.

  “How about some tunes, mister?” demanded one of the old men, clawing at his white beard.

  “Play B2,” said the other one, a cheerful type with a black eye patch, his lone eye bright and blue as a sapphire.

  “‘Coconut’!”

  His hair was as white as the other man’s, and so was his beard. He had an adhesive name tag on his chest with Tor Anderson scrawled in red crayon. The other man had a similar tag with Odin Anderson on it. “I’d play it myself, but my legs fell asleep.”

  “ ‘Coconut’?” said Tor. “Again? You call yourself a rock and roller? You disgust me, you demented has-been.”

  “Don’t worry about them,” called Rusty. “They wandered off from the Cauldron Lake Clinic, er, Lodge. Dr. Hartman will be by to pick them up any time now.”

  “Coconut, coconut, coconut,” chanted Odin, snapping his fingers.

  “Shut up!” shouted Tor. “Just because we’re brothers, don’t think I won’t strangle you in your sleep.”

  “Come on, mister, be a buddy,” Odin pleaded with Wake. “B2.”

  “What’s the matter, mister, you don’t like music?” said Tor, his opposition to the song evidently forgotten now.

  “B2 will change your life,” said Odin.

  “Change your sheets, anyway,” snarled Tor.

  “Three sheets to the wind,” cackled Odin. “God, we used to get drunk back in the day.”

  Wake put a couple of quarters in the jukebox, punched B2.

  “Hammered,” agreed Tor, stroking his beard. “Hammer of the gods.”

  An elderly woman stood at the entrance to the dimly lit corridor holding up a battery-powered lantern.

  Wake started around her. As Alice had said, Bright Falls was just a quaint little town… filled with senile lunatics.

  The woman squinted at Wake, her mouth a prim line. “I wouldn’t go in the corridor if I were you, young man.” She clutched at him, tried to block his path. “It’s dark in there!”

  Wake kept walking. The corridor was dark and shadowy, lit only by a flickering light in the far corner. “Mr. Stucky?”

  No answer.

  “Mr. Stucky?” called Wake, louder now. Twirls of flypaper hung from the ceiling, dotted with unwary insects. Probably could use a few ant traps too. He pulled open the men’s room door and stuck his head inside. No one there. Just a damp towel beside the sink and a machine that dispensed squirts of cologne for twenty-five cents. He closed the door, turned around, and jerked. A woman stood there, right beside him. A woman in a black dress, wearing a pillbox hat, her face veiled. On her way to church or a funeral, or maybe just another one of the local crazies. “Excuse me,” said Wake, stepping back. “I’m looking for Carl Stucky.”

  “Carl couldn’t make it.” Through the veil it looked like she was smiling. “Poor man was taken sick.”

  “He was…” Wake had a hard time looking at her. He felt disoriented. Even through the veil her eyes were so dark that he felt like he was falling into them, losing himself. “Carl was supposed to give me—”

  “I know what you need. Carl sent me to give you the key to the cabin,” said the woman in black, her voice cracking as though she hadn’t spoken in years. She handed him a key and a map drawn on a paper napkin. Her fingers brushing against him were cold.

  “Thanks.”

  “I hope you enjoy your stay in my cabin,” said the woman in black. “I’ll come by later to see how you’ve settled in. I’m looking forward to meeting that wife of yours.”

  “That won’t be necessary—”

  “No bother,” said the woman in black. “I insist.”

  Wake didn’t intend to argue the point. Her laugh echoing in his ears, he started back down the corridor, back into the light of the diner. He turned around, but the lady in black was gone. He was glad that she wasn’t watching him behind that veil anymore, but it was almost as though she had disappeared.

  The lady he had seen earlier raised the lamp high as he passed her. “You’re a lucky man.”

  “That’s me,” said Wake.

  “You got lucky this time,” called the lady of the lamp. “You can hurt yourself in the dark.”

  Wake looked into the dead eyes of the trophy heads as he headed toward the front door of the diner. One elk had a piece of its antler broken off, and someone had stuck a cigarette into the mouth of one of the deer.

  The jukebox was playing the coconut song while one of old coots, Tor, bounced and bobbed along to the music. The other one, Odin, rested his head on the table of the booth.

  Odin jerked slightly as Wake passed, then grabbed for him. “Tommy! Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have a bottle on you, would you?” he said, speech slurred. “Tommy, you get back here and pour me a drink!”

  “Me too,” mumbled Tor. He pounded a fist on the table. “Barkeep! Set ’em up for me and my baby brother!”

  “Can’t see what’s in front of your nose without a few drinks,” said Odin.

  “Easy, boys,” chided Rusty. “Save it for Dr. Hartman.”

  “Can I get you a cup of coffee, Mr. Wake?” called Rose. “On the house!”

  “No, thanks,” said Wake, heading for the door. His cardboard standup seemed to watch him as he approached. Wake was tempted to draw glasses and a handlebar moustache on the damned thing.

  “Making a big mistake, Mr. Wake,” said Rusty, slurping his coffee. “Rose here serves only a hundred percent pure Colombian.”

  Wake stepped outside and immediately felt better. A cool breeze rolled off the water and he just stood there for a few minutes catching his breath.

  Alice pulled up in the car, giving a happy beep of the horn.

  Wake quickly got in.

  “You get the key?” said Alice.

  Wake nodded.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Just happy to see you.”

  CHAPTER 3

  “YOU SURE ABOUT this?” said Wake, trailing her as they pressed deeper into the forest, trees soaring above them. He was committed now, his shoes filthy, his pants rasped by thorns. Ten miles out of town, Alice had suddenly pulled over, parked the car on the shoulder of the road, and started into the woods with barely any explanation. None that made any sense at least. “Alice, this thing you think you saw… you’re sure it’s not just a mirage or something?”

  “I know what I saw,” said Alice, striding through a spider web shimmering with moisture, the web like a strand of pearls falling to the forest floor. She kept walking, a leaf caught in her hair, cheeks flushed; nature girl in jeans and a light jacket. She turned, evidently sensing his gaze. “What?”

  “You look beautiful, that’s all,” said Wake. “Nobody would guess you’ve perfected the two-finger whistle that brings cabs screeching to the curb.”

  “I wasn’t always a New Yorker,” said Alice, tramping across a carpet of stunted berries. She peered through the thick underbrush. “I think I see it up ahead.”

  Wake led the way in the direction she had pointed, hurrying now, not because he was s
o eager to see what she alone was convinced was there—it was ridiculous, after all—but because it was getting dark, and he wanted to get to the cabin before the sun went down.

  Alice blew right past him, head low to avoid a thick cedar bough. “Yes! I was right!”

  Wake stared, shaking his head, stunned. In the middle of a small clearing stood a wrecked car. A mid-eighties Ford convertible, windshield cracked, its ragtop mildewed and tattered. The undercarriage must have split because a fir sapling grew up from the center, right through the shredded top like a small green umbrella. “That… is weird.”

  “You think?” said Alice, slowly circling the car as she snapped photographs.

  “There must be an explanation.” Wake ran a fingertip across one of the side panels. It came up mossy.

  “Well, it wasn’t driven here,” said Alice. “It’s surrounded by trees… trees that have been here long before it was built.”

  “Might have been a prank,” said Wake. “High school kids disassembled it and put it back together in here.”

  Alice opened the driver-side door, hinges creaking. “Only eleven thousand miles on the odometer. If it was a prank, somebody would have wanted it back. No way it was just abandoned.”

  Wake checked the back seat. He kicked one of the flattened tires, bent down and examined it, then stood up. “Alice… this car… I think it was dropped here.”

  She gingerly touched the branches of the small fir tree sprouting in the car.

  “I thought the tires had rotted from time and weather, but they didn’t rot. They burst.” Wake pointed at the long tear in the sidewall of the tire. “Burst upon impact. That’s only going to happen if the car was dropped from a great height.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Do they have tornadoes around here?”

  “Not in the Pacific Northwest,” said Alice. “At least I never heard of one.” Tiny yellow mushrooms sprouted on the leather seats. Mold had reduced the upholstery to mush. “Maybe… maybe it fell from an airplane. Maybe it was being transported—”

  “It’s still in gear,” said Wake. “Key’s still in the ignition. This car was being driven at the time…” The wind stirred in the trees and he shivered. “We should head back.”