Wake started toward the deputy when the front door to the station burst open, and a male deputy dragged a handcuffed man inside.
“Hey! Hey! I need more light in here!” bellowed the handcuffed man, his speech slurred. “Goddammit! More lights! I don’t like the goddamn shadows in here!”
“What’s wrong with Snyder this time, Mulligan?” said Deputy Grant. “I thought he quit drinking for good.”
“No such luck,” said Deputy Mulligan, trying to hold the handcuffed man upright. “Snyder here went on a bender and beat Danny pretty badly. He started shouting like a wild man the moment he woke up.”
“Hey!” shouted Snyder, staring at Wake. “You going to help me? It’s too damn dark in here. Give me some light!”
“Come on, Snyder,” said Deputy Mulligan, pulling him through a door marked CELLS. “Try to cooperate for once.”
“Do something, mister!” Snyder screamed at Wake. “I need more light!”
The door to the cells slammed behind Snyder and the deputy.
“Don’t mind Snyder, Mr. Wake,” said Deputy Grant, handing him the suitcase. “He’s always been a mean drunk.”
A man in matching beige slacks and open-necked shirt strode up to the desk. The neatly-buttoned white cardigan he wore was probably meant to suggest a relaxed, friendly attitude, but his stiff manner and pinched expression was all wrong for it. He looked familiar, and the fact that Wake couldn’t place him was faintly unsettling. Maybe the doctor was right about the effects of a head wound.
“I’m afraid I’m here to pick up the Anderson brothers again,” the man said. “I can assure you, Deputy, my staff has been reprimanded for letting them wander off—”
“Any recommendation for a place to stay?” Wake asked the deputy.
“The cabins at Elderwood National Park are pretty nice, Mr. Wake,” said the deputy, looking relieved at being able to ignore the man. “You can make arrangements with Rusty at the Visitor Center.”
“Wake? Alan Wake?” The man narrowed his eyes, then thrust out a hand. “I’m Dr. Emile Hartman. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Wake stood motionless.
Hartman pulled his hand back. “I understand completely. Human touch can be upsetting to many creative people.” His eyes were dark and cool and utterly unreadable. “Mr. Wake, I’d like to invite you to stay at Cauldron Lake Lodge as my guest.”
“You’re the one my wife talked to,” said Wake, remembering Hartman’s face from the book he had found among Alice’s things. “The shrink.”
Hartman’s thin smile could cleave a diamond.
“You’re the reason we came here,” said Wake, face flushing.
The man idly ran a thumb along the collar of his shirt, assuming Wake was paying him a compliment. “Yes, I’ve had the pleasure of discussing your… problem with your lovely wife on the phone several times. I’ve read two of your books in preparation, and I think together we can overcome your—”
Wake punched him, knocked Hartman backwards against the counter.
Sheriff Breaker was walking out of her office as Wake hit Hartman. She grabbed Wake’s right arm as he went to hit him again. “Enough.”
Hartman straightened up. Smoothed his trousers. “Quite… quite all right, Sheriff. I’m as used to volatile personalities as you are. Occupational hazard.” He pursed his lips. “I think your problems extend far beyond writer’s block, Mr. Wake. I can help you, but not without your trust, or willingness to acknowledge your—”
“You can’t help me with anything,” Wake said quietly as the sheriff continued to keep a grip on him.
“Al!” Wake turned at the commotion from the front door.
“Hey, get your hands off my client!” Barry Wheeler, Wake’s New York literary agent, bustled in, a short, stocky man looking faintly ridiculous in new hiking boots and a bright red parka. He wagged a finger at the sheriff. “You’re asking for a lawsuit, lady.”
“What are you doing here, Barry?” said Wake.
The sheriff laughed. “You know this Red Butterball here, Mr. Wake?”
“I’m Barry Wheeler,” Barry said to the sheriff, “I represent Mr. Wake.”
Hartman rubbed his jaw. “No harm done, Sarah. I won’t be pressing charges. Clearly, Mr. Wake has a lot on his mind.” He smiled again at Wake. “My offer of accommodations at the lodge still stands.”
“You have a car, Barry?” said Wake.
“I didn’t hitchhike,” said Barry, “and they don’t have subways out here.”
“Take care of yourself, Mr. Wake,” said the sheriff. “We still have a lot of things to clear up. When you’re more rested, of course.”
“Of course,” said Wake.
“Sheriff?” called the deputy, listening to someone on her headset. “We just got a call from the foreman at the number four logging camp. Vandals hit the site again last night. This time they pushed a trailer into the ravine with a bulldozer.”
Wake picked up the suitcases. “Let’s get out of here, Barry.”
Some of the Taken retained echoes of their former selves, but these were just the nerve twitches of dead things. They were puppets filled with darkness and nothing else. In most cases the Taken were enough for the purposes of the Dark Presence, but for anything more elaborate, as with the writer, more was required. It needed his mind. And so, rather than taking the writer over completely, it merely touched him.
CHAPTER 8
WAKE TOSSED THE suitcases into the back seat of Barry’s rental car, a big orange SUV with maps and fast food wrappers strewn around the floor.
“What the hell was that all about with you and the guy in the Mr. Rogers cardigan, Al?” said Barry as they got in. “We don’t need a replay of your bout with the paparazzi. I thought lady law was going to lock you—”
“Alice’s been kidnapped,” said Wake.
“You’re shitting me,” said Barry, his fingers frozen on the ignition key.
“Drive,” said Wake.
“What are the police doing about it?” said Barry.
“I haven’t told them,” said Wake. “Now drive.”
Barry drove. He kept glancing over at Wake, trying to start a conversation, but Wake remained silent. When they were out of the city limits, cruising along the two-lane road through the forest, Barry couldn’t contain himself any longer.
“Aren’t you at least going to tell me why you got a bandage on your head? You get a lobotomy or something?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ve been running around Hicksville looking for you for two days now,” said Barry. “I’ve got time.”
“I was in a car crash,” said Wake.
“You got checked out by a doctor?” said Barry. “A real doctor, not some local quack?”
“Stay on this road until we get to a gas station,” said Wake. “Stucky’s gas station. When you see it, pull in.”
“I don’t need gas,” said Barry.
“I hid a revolver and ammunition there early this morning,” said Wake.
Barry glanced over at him, then back at the road. “O-kay.” He shifted in his seat, the down parka rustling. “Some people would say, ‘Thanks for checking up on me, Barry. Thanks for flying out from New York because you haven’t been able to reach me for a week and you were worried about your friend.’ Not you, though, not my pal, Al. You just want to stop off and pick up a handgun. Nice. Very nice.”
“Thanks for coming, Barry.”
“You mean it?”
“I mean it.”
Barry hummed happily to himself, his round cheeks pink as a baby. A hard-driving, deal-making, lawyer-siccing baby. “You know, Al, it’s not a very good idea to shoot the kidnapper. Not until you get Alice back. Then there’s the whole legal issue— ”
“I’m not going to shoot the kidnapper. I’m going to pay him whatever he wants.”
“Then what do you need a gun for?” said Barry. “Guns make me nervous.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told yo
u.”
“Great,” said Barry, checking the rearview mirror, “that kind of answer does wonders for my ulcer. You listen real hard, you can hear my bile ducts squirt. Really, just take a moment.” He glanced around at the evergreens that came almost to the edge of the road. “You think there’s enough trees here, Al? Enough pollen in the air? I got more allergies than the Bubble Boy.”
“Stucky’s gas station is about another mile,” said Wake.
“Thanks for the sympathy.” Barry sneezed. “You’re all heart.”
Wake stayed silent.
“You know who kidnapped Alice?” said Barry.
“No.” Wake rolled the window down, let the cool wind blow over his face.
“How much did the kidnapper want for her?”
“You want me to dicker, see if I can get a deal?” said Wake.
“Hey,” said Barry, voice cracking, “I’m not the enemy here, Al.”
“You’re right,” said Wake. “Sorry.” Stucky’s gas station was still closed. He pointed. “Pull in behind the building.”
Barry did as he was told. Wake hopped out, sidled over to a trash can overflowing with oil cans. He looked around, reached into the can and pulled out a large paper bag, then got back into the car. Barry drove off, leaving rubber on the pavement.
“I feel like we’re in a spy movie,” said Barry, sweat beading his upper lip.
“I’m sure the parka helps,” said Wake. “Not that you don’t look very chic in down. Mt. Everest chic.”
“I didn’t appreciate that Red Butterball crack the sheriff made, by the way.”
“Take the next turnoff. LAKE DRIVE,” said Wake.
“I thought we were going to Elderwood—”
“First I’m going to prove to you that I’m not crazy,” said Wake.
Barry glanced over at him but didn’t answer.
Wake told Barry everything on the drive to the lake. Told him about Bird Leg Cabin, the fight with Alice, and her disappearance. He told Barry about the Taken, and how they disappeared without a trace when he killed them. Wake even told him about the manuscript pages he had found, pulled them out of his jacket, and showed them to him. He had to tell somebody, and while Barry could be an asshole, Wake trusted him. Barry hadn’t said a word the whole time Wake talked, just kept his eyes on the winding road, wiping his nose once in a while.
Wake and Barry stood on an outcropping of rock bordering Cauldron Lake. “It was there,” said Wake, pointing at the water. “Bird Leg Cabin. Alice and I… we stayed there.”
“I believe you, Al.”
Wake jumped down onto the sand, started walking back and forth, head down.
“Al, come on, there’s no need for this!”
Wake bent over, got onto his knees, and started scooping sand away. Something caught his attention. He looked over the edge and scrambled down a short overgrown path to the remnants of an old bridge. “See? This… this was part of the bridge that led from the shore to the cabin.”
Barry followed him down and kicked at one of the worm-eaten posts. “Al…this thing hasn’t been a bridge for years.”
“It was… it was here, Barry. This is the last place I saw Alice.”
Barry patted him on the back. “We’re going to find her, Al.” He stepped back. “Let’s check into that cabin at the park and the both of us get some rest. Okay? Al? Okay?”
Wake nodded and trudged back to the car. He was utterly exhausted, drained of hope, filled with doubt. No wonder the sheriff had refused his demands this morning to take him to the site. She had known there was nothing there.
He stopped himself from that line of thought. No. Wake wasn’t crazy. He had been to Bird Leg Cabin. He had held Alice in his arms there. Had fired up the generator to turn on the lights. He had seen a lovers’ heart carved into the stump of a tree. He had been there. They had been there. Because if Wake was wrong about that… he was wrong about everything.
Tonight… tonight he would meet with the kidnapper. One way or the other, he’d get Alice back.
Wake closed his eyes as Barry drove and when he opened them again, he saw a bullet-holed road sign up ahead: ELDERWOOD VISITOR CENTER, 5 MILES.
“Turn off here.” Barry sneezed and made the turn. He glanced over at Wake.
“Don’t get mad at me, but I think we should fly to Seattle and have you seen by a neurologist.”
“I don’t need to see a neurologist.”
“You’ve been in a car wreck, Al. We should make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m not okay,” said Wake, “but I know what I saw. Look at me, Barry. Look at me.” He waited for Barry to turn his head. “What I told you was the truth. Every word of it. Do you believe me?”
“No.” Barry shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, though. Writers… you’re all nuts.” He blew his nose, driving with one hand on the wheel. “But I believe that you believe it, Al, that’s all that matters to me. Anything you want, anything you need, I’m here for you.”
“Thanks.”
“You want my advice though? My professional opinion?” said Barry. “I wouldn’t tell anybody else about these… Taken. You wouldn’t want to upset them.”
“And you wouldn’t want them to commit me.”
“Hard to type in a straitjacket,” said Barry. He must have seen Wake’s distraught expression. “Alice is going to be fine. She’s smart, you’re tough, and I can talk anybody into anything. We’ll get her back, don’t worry.” Barry smiled as he pulled into the Visitor Center parking lot. “Then we can discuss your next book. Those manuscript pages are a good start. I smell bestseller.”
They got out of the car and headed up the stone steps of the Visitor Center, a huge log structure with soaring ceilings and panoramic windows. Rose, the waitress from the diner, was coming out the double doors as they approached, wearing her red uniform, her hair up.
“Mr. Wake! Oh, this is so cool,” gushed Rose. “Barry, you found him!”
Wake looked at Barry. “You know her?”
“Like I said, I’ve been asking all over town for you ever since I arrived,” said Barry. “How are you doing, beautiful?”
“Better now,” Rose said to Barry, blushing. “I’m so glad you’re okay, Mr. Wake.”
“I’m fine,” said Wake. “If you happen to see my wife—”
“I’ll call the sheriff,” said Rose. “I heard she was missing on the radio this morning. That is so creepy, but I’m sure she’ll turn up. All kinds of weird things happen in Bright Falls… it’s like we’re in some kind of Night Springs vortex or something.”
“What are you talking about?” said Wake.
“Just… stuff,” said Rose, eyes downcast. “Last night, Rusty’s dog Max got all torn up, and…” She looked flustered. “I got to go or I’m going to be late for work. I only came here to bring Rusty his coffee. You know how he is about our Oh Deer Diner special brew.” She gave Wake a quick kiss on the cheek. “Bye, Mr. Wake, bye, Barry!”
Barry watched her leave. Watched her butt, anyway. “How come the writer is always the one getting kissed, and the agent is always getting just a hello and goodbye?”
Wake pushed through the doors, into the Visitor Center, and stopped in the foyer, looking around. The shelves nearby were lined with maps, souvenirs, postcards, and tourist items like miniature snowshoes and jars of mountain honey. The knotty pine walls displayed wildlife posters and maps of Bright Falls, Deerfest, and Cauldron Lake. The most impressive sight was a huge skeleton of a woolly mammoth standing in the main room. Wake walked over and stood in front of it, read the sign: BUCK-TOOTHED CHARLIE, COLUMBIAN MAMMOTH, MAMMUTHUS COLUMBI, WASHINGTON STATE OFFICIAL STATE FOSSIL.
“That… that’s one ugly beast,” said Barry, looking up at the massive skull, the enormous curved tusks.
Through the panoramic windows, Wake saw Rusty on the back deck, the ranger bandaging the leg of a dog that rested on top of a wooden picnic table. “I’ll be right back, Barry. I’m going to check us into a cabin.”
“You think this thing’s for sale?” Barry said, pointing at the skeleton of the mammoth. “Dumbo there would look great in my office.”
“Yeah, that’ll bring in the clients,” said Wake, going out onto the deck.
Rusty looked up as Wake approached; so did the big dog on the table, some shaggy mixed breed with a long snout. Rusty had his sleeves rolled up, his hat on the bench beside him. A thermos rested beside the hat, probably filled with Rose’s coffee.
“Howdy, Mr. Wake,” he said, going back to the dog, his movements delicate as he continued bandaging the animal’s leg. “Glad to see you. Folks have been looking for you. Chubby little fella in a red parka—”
“I already checked in with the sheriff, but thanks,” said Wake. “I’m interested in renting a cabin.”
“What happened to your head?” said Rusty as he finished taping up the dog’s leg.
“Cut myself shaving.”
“Is that a joke?” said Rusty.
“Yes.”
Rusty grinned. “New York humor, huh. I get it. Sure I can rent you a cabin. Got only one left. It’s kind of out there, though.”
“No problem.” Wake petted the dog’s head. “What happened to Max?”
“Ran into something in the woods last night,” said Rusty, shaking his head. He put the gauze and antibiotic cream back into the first-aid kit. “Ripped him up pretty good too.”
“Has that happened to him very often?” said Wake, rubbing the dog’s chin.
“He got a snout full of porcupine quills once, but nothing like this before,” said Rusty. “Max is usually pretty careful.”
“Any idea what it was?” said Wake.
Rusty shook his head. “Wish I did. I’m not even sure it was an animal.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. I don’t mean nothing. What else could it be?” Rusty looked up at him. “You got a real nice way with animals, Mr. Wake. Even with a mutt like Max. Lot of you city slickers, no offense, don’t take to anything other than fancy little purebreds the ladies can carry around in their purses. Designer dogs for designer pocketbooks.”
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