Alan Wake

Barry fell to his knees and held on to the white porcelain with both hands. He vomited some more, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He flushed the toilet, wincing at the sound as he stood up, unsteady. “I’m never… never drinking again.”

“Last night you wanted to market the Andersons’ special-formula moonshine,” said Wake. “You talked about buying an ad at the Superbowl.”

“I did?” Barry ran a hand through his scraggly hair, nodded. “Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“I need to talk to Weaver,” said Wake. “She’s the one in the song, the lady of the light.”

“I remember her,” said Barry, plucking at his lower lip. “She walks around in daylight carrying a lantern. I thought she was crazy.”

“She’s probably the least crazy person in the whole town,” said Wake. “Shhh!” He put up a hand. He could hear Nightingale and Breaker approaching in the hallway. They were arguing.

“What kind of a game are you playing, Nightingale?” said Breaker. “You can’t arrest people without cause. You haven’t even interviewed Wake.”

“I had some reading to do first, Sheriff,” said Nightingale, talking too loudly, “and let me tell you, it was interesting stuff.”

Wake walked to the door of the cell, craned his neck. He could see them nearby, Nightingale waving the manuscript pages at the sheriff.

“When the reports came over the wire last week, I knew… I knew,” said Nightingale. “Flew out here the same day. Never thought I’d get a second chance…” He sensed Wake watching him, stalked over to the cell. He was wearing the same rumpled black suit, and his tie was undone and spotted with coffee stains, his eyes puffy and bloodshot.

Wake could smell the booze on his breath, as Nightingale peered at him.

“There’s the one responsible for all the problems,” he said, jabbing a finger at Wake. He shook the manuscript pages. “It’s all here, all the evidence, including conspiracy to murder a federal agent. There’s no way you’re walking out of here. You hear me?”

“Agent Nightingale, I intend to talk to your superior,” said Breaker.

Nightingale spun around to face Breaker. “Sure, why believe me? I didn’t believe my partner either. Finn saved my life, saved it a couple times, but when he started spouting all this mumbo jumbo about dark rooms and dark shadows, I told him he needed a vacation—”

“I’ve already put in a formal request to the Bureau,” said Breaker. “Your behavior is totally unprofessional —”

“That’s funny, lady.” Nightingale snickered. “I… I said the exact same thing to Finn. Unprofessional. You’re an agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, I told him. You need…”

Breaker put a hand on Nightingale’s shoulder. “You’re drunk, Agent Nightingale.”

Nightingale shrugged her hand away. “I never… never drank before Finn disappeared. Never.” He dragged the back of his hand across his nose. “Neither did Finn. Never took a drop until he started talking crazy. Other agents used to call us the Righteous Brothers because we always ordered club soda after work. Then Finn started going on about the darkness, and I…”

A deep rumbling shook the night, and the lights in the cellblock flickered.

Wake staggered against the bars, grabbing his head and moaning.

“Al?” called Barry.

Wake closed his eyes. He could see it clearly now, Cauldron Lake, dead calm and black. The water hummed. He looked into the lake, saw the diver, Thomas Zane, falling into the depths. Zane had something in his hand… a light switch. The Clicker. Wake’s childhood shield from his own fear of the dark. What was Zane doing with it? In the dimness, Wake saw Bird Leg Cabin, roots hanging from its bottom like the legs of a monster bird. Through the window of the cabin, Wake could see Alice and Barbara Jagger. Alice was struggling to break free, but Jagger’s long nails dug into Alice’s wrist. Alice became aware of Wake, screamed out his name, but all that emerged were black bubbles rising slowly toward the surface of the lake.

“Al, you’re scaring me, buddy,” said Barry.

“Mr. Wake! What’s wrong?” said Breaker, shaking him.

Wake looked up at her, still dazed. He had fallen to his knees and Breaker was by his side. She looked concerned. He didn’t blame her. The cell door was open. Nightingale remained outside, keeping his distance.

“It… it’s a trick,” said Nightingale. “Wake is up to something.”

The rumbling was louder this time, and deeper. The light bulbs in the hallway blew out in rapid succession, and Nightingale stood alone in the dark. The cell was faintly illuminated by the streetlights from outside.

Breaker gently helped Wake up, her badge brushing against him. “I’m going to trust you, Wake.”

“Give me a break,” said Nightingale.

Wake held on to the sheriff’s slim hand.

“Wake stays behind bars, where he can’t do any more harm.” Nightingale pointed his pistol at Wake.

“Stand down, Nightingale,” ordered Breaker.

“The only way Wake’s walking out of there is over my dead…” Nightingale’s eyes were wide in the dim light. “Wait a minute. I remember…” He fumbled through the manuscript pages until he found the one he wanted. The gun still aimed at Wake, Nightingale started reading out loud.

Nightingale felt the situation veering out of his control, but the gun… the gun at least felt steady in his hands. He was ready to fire, resolved that he would let this happen over his dead body…

Nightingale looked at Wake for a moment, glanced around the darkened hallway.…and yet he hesitated. He had seen this moment before, read it in the pages of the manuscript. He was transfixed by the deja vu and the horror that he was a character in a story…—the page shook in his hand—…a story that someone had written. Then the monstrous presence burst in behind him—

The Dark Presence roared through the darkness, drowning out Nightingale’s voice, deafening them all. It grabbed Nightingale, jerked him off his feet and down the hallway, bursting through the door to the outside and carrying him off into the night. The manuscript pages fluttered slowly to the floor.

Wake, Barry, and Breaker stared at each other, Nightingale’s abrupt, terrified scream already fading.

Sarah was almost starting to relax. Maybe they could turn this into a win yet.

Suddenly, there was a piercing sound, like guitar feedback, and Sarah thought of Barry Wheeler talking about him and Alan onstage last night — he said they were like rock gods as they fought the Taken. Sarah’s smile faded as hundreds of birds made out of shadows flapped out of the night, hundreds of ravens swarming into the rotor of the helicopter.

The chopper bucked wildly and the control panel lit up, telling her what she already knew: they were going down. Wheeler screamed next to her. She glanced over at Alan. He looked back at her, jaws clamped as he hung on.

CHAPTER 23

“OH MY GOD,” Sheriff Breaker said in the sudden silence. “What the hell just happened?”

Wake watched the last manuscript page drift onto the floor, a snowflake in the darkness of the jail hallway. The heavy door that had blown open when the Dark Presence snatched away Nightingale now bounced back and forth in the wind like a rusty gate.

“What was that thing?” said Breaker.

“We need some lights,” said Wake, picking up the rest of the pages.

The roaring sound shook the building. A fire engine raced down the street outside, siren wailing.

“A b-big light,” stammered Barry. “A big, big light.”

“I’ve got flashlights in my office,” said Breaker. “I’ve got all your things in there too, Mr. Wake.”

“Alan,” said Wake. “It’s Alan… to my friends.”

“I’m Sarah,” said Breaker.