Alan Wake

by Rick Burroughs

  Wake back stumbled, and Stucky rushed him as he scrambled up. He felt the pipe wrench slam into his shoulder, and almost dropped the flashlight as his whole arm went numb.

  “Changing a spark plug is not as simple and safe as you might think,” said Stucky, swinging at Wake again, just missing him. “It can be dangerous.”

  Wake shined the flashlight on Stucky, saw the man’s… the Taken’s face boiling like hot tar. Stucky backed up and it was Wake who advanced now. The flashlight flickered. Died. Wake smacked it against his leg, and the light came back on. He still had no feeling in his hand, his shoulder aching.

  Stucky stepped into the trees, an arm thrown over his face.

  Wake heard him crashing through the underbrush, then saw Stucky burst from the thorn bushes behind him.

  Wake ran for the gas station, his side aching from the effort, stitching up on him.

  “Even with the hood open, the engine block takes hours to cool,” shrieked Stucky, getting closer.

  Wake kept running, but the gas station was too far away. He’d never reach it in time.

  “You should always leave the job to a professional,” howled Stucky.

  Wake whirled, saw Stucky not more than a few steps behind, the pipe wrench raised with both hands. He slashed the beam of the flashlight across Stucky, watched him twist away.

  “Change your oil!” bellowed Stucky, charging hysterically, swinging the pipe wrench as the flashlight tore the shroud of darkness that covered him.

  Wake shot Stucky, close enough to see him stagger, his eyelids fluttering in the glare. He kept the beam on Stucky, pinning him as he shot him again and again and again. Shot him until the revolver clicked on empty cylinders and Wake still kept dry-firing it, even after the Taken had dissolved in the night.

  Wake finally lowered the revolver, staring at the spot where Stucky had been. There was no trace of him, though when he briefly closed his eyes he could see the glowing afterimage of a man on fire.

  He turned and hurried toward the bright lights of the gas station. Stucky’s gas station. Wake could still hear the man’s last words ringing in his ears, demanding Wake change his oil.

  Brambles tore at Wake’s arms and legs, but he ignored the pain in his haste. When he finally emerged from the woods and onto the outskirts of the station, he had to resist the impulse to kiss the blacktop. He walked forward more slowly now, as if he moved too fast the gas station and all his hopes would fade away.

  A Deerfest float was parked on the outskirts of the station, right on the edge of darkness. The same one that he and Alice had spotted when they got off the ferry yesterday. The giant deer head on the float looked menacing in the darkness, its eyes burning with a weird light as it stared back at him.

  The front of the gas station looked peaceful, a deserted, well-lit station in the middle of nowhere with three pumps and an upright soft-drink machine. A large sign read STUCKY’S. A smaller sign announced, PREMIUM CABINS FOR RENT. A NON REFUNDABLE RESERVATION DEPOSIT REQUIRED. Wake didn’t care about those two signs, what grabbed his attention was a countdown banner over the gas pumps: DEERFEST IN 7 DAYS! The number was a separate, changeable Velcro patch.

  Wake rubbed his forehead. Deerfest had been two weeks away when he and Alice had arrived. If the day count on the banner was correct, Wake had lost a whole week between the night they got to Bright Falls and now. If the banner was correct, it meant that Alice had been missing for a week.

  Wake hesitantly touched the banner. It was real. He jumped, as a radio close to the front door suddenly squawked to life, spitting static. A sign on the door said CLOSED, but the lights were on in the shop, the garage doors wide open.

  Wake gently turned the radio dial, wanting to hear a human voice, any voice.

  “This is Pat Maine, your host at KBF-FM, The Night Owl. Well, I was just outside for a breath of fresh air, and what a night!” crackle of static “…but if you’re still up and around, take a moment! Step outside for a spell and breathe in deep. The weather is absolutely still” static “…like the forest is quietly breathing along with you. On nights like this I wish I wasn’t cooped up in the studio, but here I am, and who’d keep you company all night long if I weren’t? Oh, and looks like I’m not the only one staying up late. Caller, you’re on the air.”

  Wake stayed in front of the radio, listening.

  “Hey, Pat, it’s Maurice Horton.”

  “Hello, Maurice. What’re you up to?”

  “Well, I was just taking my dog, Toby on a walk—”

  “Isn’t it beautiful out there tonight?”

  “S-sure. But Pat, the reason I called is that Toby heard something rustlin’ in the undergrowth and took off after it, and I couldn’t find him.”

  “Probably a rabbit.”

  “Okay. Sure, Toby loves rabbits. Anyway, I figured that, you know, if anyone runs into Toby, they could grab him? My number’s on his collar.”

  “And Toby’s a friendly dog?”

  “Oh, Toby loves people. Usually he comes back, but we were pretty far from home and it sounds like he went pretty wild there.”

  “Well, Maurice, the word’s out there now. Hope Toby comes home soon. You have a good night—”

  Wake walked into the open garage. The place was half-lit, illuminated only by the glow of a TV. A real mess, too. A puddle of oil gleamed on the concrete floor, and someone had knocked over a workbench, scattering tools and repair manuals. A car in one of the garage bays had a smashed windshield. Someone had either trashed the place, or there had been some kind of fight.

  Wake started to walk into the office, stopped in front of the TV. The picture kept flipping, but there was something about it that drew his attention. He smacked the side of the TV and the picture stabilized.

  On the screen, a man in a wood-paneled room hunched over a desk. The shot was from the rear, the collar of the man’s coat was turned up. Wake rubbed his head. He slowly reached out and turned up the sound. Tap-tap-tap. The man was typing. The picture started flipping. Wake slapped the side again,

  I’ll write, the voice-over said as the man continued to type away. I’ll keep writing… Static from the TV, the voice cutting out and in.

  Outside only darkness. I can feel her presence… smell her perfume. I’ll fix it… bring her back. The picture went snowy. Wake banged his hand against the TV. The image went black. If I stop… the audio faded.… she’s lost. The TV went dead.

  Wake stared at the TV and knew there was nothing he could do, no amount of pounding on it that would bring the show back. He took a last look around the garage and stepped into the office. No sign of a struggle in there. Nothing out of place. A bright Nordic Walking poster was tacked to the wall with the slogan: “Incontestably proven health benefits.”

  A framed newspaper article showed a picture of Stucky smiling in front of the gas station. He had been proclaimed “Bright Falls Businessman of the Year” for expanding his gas station to include cabin rentals and bringing in tourist trade. Wake remembered the last time he had seen Stucky, seen the Taken he had become, writhing in the flashlight as Wake pumped bullets into him.

  The thought made him sick.

  Wake turned away from the picture. Through the window, he could see the sun just beginning to come up, a red glow edging over the horizon.

  Wake picked up a soda bottle on the counter. The bottle wasn’t cold but there was still fizz in it. Beside the bottle was another manuscript page.

  The page shook in his hand as Wake picked it up. He shoved it into his pocket. He couldn’t bear to read it now. Time enough for that later. He sat down, more exhausted than he could remember ever being. He picked up the phone, the receiver almost too heavy to lift, and dialed 911.

  Rose knew that Rusty was in love with her, and she liked him too. She liked him a lot. He treated her well, made her smile, made her feel good. But Rusty wasn’t the prince of her dreams, and that tended to underline the unbearable truth: she was no closer to that Hollywood magic than he was. />
  CHAPTER 7

  “YOU TOOK QUITE a blow to the head, Mr. Wake,” said Dr. Nelson, his fingers lightly bandaging Wake’s forehead. “Deputy Thornton found your car a couple hours ago at the bottom of a ravine. You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “Yeah, I feel really lucky, doc,” said Wake, blinking in the golden sunlight pouring through the windows of the conference room in the sheriff’s station. Called in from trout fishing and still in his fishing vest, lures poked through the brim of his hat, the old country doc had been examining Wake for the last twenty minutes, taking his temperature, checking his reflexes, his pupils, his balance.

  “Are you sure you haven’t had any hallucinations or double-vision?” said the doctor, snipping off loose threads of the bandage.

  Wake remembered the Taken dissolving in the beam from his flashlight like exploding dandelions. “No.”

  “I heard you were going on about an island in Cauldron Lake—”

  “I said no.”

  “I’d still like you to go to Templeton Hospital to get an MRI,” said the doctor, putting away his instruments. “It’s only an hour drive, and—”

  “I’m fine,” said Wake. “I’m lucky, remember?”

  “You’re a lousy patient, Mr. Wake.” The doctor squeezed his shoulder, stood up. “I’m the same way.” He snapped his bag shut, started for the door. “I’ll tell Sarah that you’re ready to talk.”

  “Sarah?”

  “Sheriff Breaker,” said the doctor. “We’re pretty informal around here.”

  Wake watched the doctor close the door behind him. The conference room was a plain, thinly carpeted room with a long, rectangular table and a dozen mismatched chairs arranged around it. An American flag stood in one corner, while an elk head stared blankly at Wake from the far wall. The only other decorations in the room were a bulletin board with pictures of prize-winning pigs and calves from the local Grange, and posters warning of the dangers of forest fires. Wake closed his eyes in the warm light. He was tired. He was beyond tired.

  It’s dark, Alan, said Alice, clinging to him.

  I’ll check the fuse box, said Wake. All the remodeling they’re doing in the building… the electrical system keeps overloading.

  I’m scared, said Alice.

  He tried to leave, but she held him tight, and he didn’t push it. She felt too good. It was almost midnight. They were in their New York City apartment, standing in her studio. She had been working on some photographs for the jacket of his next book. Good shots, too. The hard part was deciding which one fit the mood of the book. Then the lights had gone out and she grabbed on to him, her face hidden in shadow, only her wide eyes visible. Alice was terrified of the dark.

  It’s so dark here, Alan.

  I know. Let me go and I’ll take care of it.

  You must think I’m crazy.

  You know better than that. I used to have nightmares when I was a kid. The dark really spooked me too. When it got so bad I was afraid to sleep, my mom gave me this old light switch. She called it the Clicker.

  The Clicker, huh?

  Wake heard her chuckle. If I ever got scared of the dark, I could just flip the switch and a magic light would scare the monsters away.

  What I wouldn’t give for something like that.

  It’s somewhere in my office. You can have it. Maybe it’ll help you too.

  Too late, Alice whispered.

  Never too late, said Wake. Let me go and I’ll turn on the lights.

  Don’t leave me, said Alice.

  Come with me. He took her hand.

  I can’t, said Alice.

  He squeezed her cool hand, tried to warm her. Why not?

  It’s too dark. I can’t see a thing.

  I’m here with you.

  No, sobbed Alice. No you’re not, Alan.

  “Mr. Wake?”

  Wake opened his eyes, saw Sheriff Sarah Breaker standing over him. She was a pretty woman in her early thirties, wholesome in that small-town way, her uniform crisp, the sheriff’s badge gleaming. Intelligent eyes. She’d need to be smart to make sheriff in a town full of outdoorsmen who probably thought women belonged in the kitchen. She looked concerned.

  “Doc said you shouldn’t go to sleep for at least eight hours, Mr. Wake,” said Breaker, sitting in a chair facing him, “in case there’s a hemorrhage or swelling of the brain.”

  “I… I wasn’t sleeping,” said Wake. “I was dreaming.”

  The sheriff smiled. A nice, open smile, probably useful in diffusing trouble, calming an angry drunk. “If you say so.”

  Wake rubbed his eyes, stretched. “Are you going to help me find Alice?”

  “I’ve already started making inquiries,” said the sheriff. “Rose at the diner is talking to everyone who walks in the door, and Pat Maine’s put out an announcement over the radio. Everybody in Bright Falls listens to Pat.”

  “We were on the island in the lake,” said Wake. “Bird Leg Cabin. I just left her for a minute—”

  The sheriff held up a hand. “There is no island in Cauldron Lake. We’ve already been over that. Several times.”

  “We were there, Sheriff.”

  “The only island in the lake sank during an earthquake in nineteen seventy-three,” said the sheriff. “Don’t you remember me telling you that? Doc said you might experience hallucinations—”

  “It wasn’t a hallucination,” said Wake. “I was at Bird Leg Cabin with Alice…”

  The sheriff shook her head. “No, Mr. Wake, you’ve been someplace for the last week, but you weren’t at Bird Leg Cabin.” She looked concerned again. “You were in a car accident, Mr. Wake. You hit your head. You’ve refused further medical attention, which is your right—”

  “I just want to find Alice.”

  “That’s what we all want, Mr. Wake.” The sheriff handed him his cell phone. “Looks like we have the same phone so I charged this up for you. I pulled up your wife’s number, but it’s out of service.”

  Wake gripped the cell phone. “She’s afraid of the dark.”

  “You told me that.”

  Wake was glad he hadn’t told her about the Taken, hadn’t mentioned the men who couldn’t be killed with bullets alone, men who dissolved in the light. When she had driven up to Stucky’s gas station at sunrise she had been solicitous, done minor first aid on his head wound, put antibiotic cream on the scratches on his hands. He wanted to reveal what had happened, but as desperate as he was, he knew better than to tell her the whole truth. Not after seeing her face when he had talked about Bird Leg Cabin.

  “We’ll find her, Mr. Wake. There was no body in your wrecked car, so she must have survived too—”

  “She wasn’t with me in the car. Haven’t you been listening?”

  The sheriff nodded. “I understand. Still, you’re rather… unclear about the details of last night. The doc said temporary memory loss and confusion are common in injuries like yours.” Her voice was calm and reassuring. Steady.

  Sheriff Breaker was used to dangerous situations, natural disasters, mud slides and snowstorms, hair-trigger loggers beating each other senseless. She handled things. Wake liked her. More than that, he trusted her. Trusted her with everything but the truth.

  “Your wife might have been equally disoriented after the crash,” said the sheriff. “I’ve got my deputies and teams of volunteers searching the woods right now.” She leaned back in her chair. “You didn’t see Carl Stucky at the gas station last night, did you?”

  Wake hesitated. “No. No, I didn’t.”

  The sheriff stared at him. “I called him this morning, wanted to ask him to be on the lookout for your wife, but he wasn’t at the station. That’s not like him. The garage was pretty trashed too. That’s not like him either.”

  The cell phone in his hand vibrated and Wake jumped. “Excuse… excuse me.”

  “Quit talking to that damned lady cop or you’re going to be the famous writer with the dead wife,” said a voice on the phone.

  “Are
you alright, Mr. Wake?” said the sheriff.

  “Fine… just a business call,” said Wake, backing toward the door. He walked out into the hallway, moved someplace quiet and pressed the phone against his ear. “Who are you?”

  “Alan…” said Alice. “Alan—”

  “Alice?” Her voice sounded distant, disembodied, and Wake imagined her drifting down into the cold darkness of Cauldron Lake. “Alice, where—?”

  “That’s enough of that shit,” said the man on the line.

  “I want to talk to my wife again,” ordered Wake.

  “We all got things we want, pal. Me, I want a thick steak, a new car, and for you to keep your mouth shut.”

  “Look, I’ll pay you anything—”

  “Meet me at midnight tonight at Elderwood Park. Place called Lovers’ Peak. Kind of sweet, isn’t it? And, pal?”

  “Yes?”

  “No cops. Your wife wouldn’t look nearly so beautiful with a bullet in her head.”

  Wake didn’t know how long he stood there listening to dead air before he broke the connection. He checked the number, but it was blocked. He thought about going to the sheriff, but couldn’t risk it. She was clearly competent in dealing with local problems, but this was different. Even the feds didn’t usually get the victim back alive. No, the secret was to play the game. No tricks, no high-tech tracking. Just meet the man and do whatever he wanted. Pay whatever he asked. As long as Wake got Alice back.

  Near the front desk, Wake spotted the elderly lady he had seen carrying a lantern in the diner that first day. She had the same lantern with her now, light blazing. She flicked the light switch in the hallway off and on, off and on.

  “It’s working,” the lantern lady called to the female deputy behind the desk. “Can’t be too sure.” She started for the front door.

  “Thanks, Ms. Weaver,” said the deputy, a brassy redhead with thick glasses and eyebrows plucked so thin they were practically invisible. She glanced over at him. “Mr. Wake? I’m Deputy Grant. I’ve got your suitcases.”