Rick Burroughs - Alan Wake

“Pat Maine here, telling you it’s going to be a clear night, so you folks from the big city might want to look up once in a while and check out the stars.”

Wake winced.

“I just ran into a famous artist on the ferry,” said Maine. “Let’s see if any of you can guess who it was. Here’s our first caller. Hello, Rose.”

“I know who it is,” said Rose, sounding giddy. “I just saw him at the diner. It’s Alan Wake, the famous novelist!”

Wake switched off the radio. So much for keeping a low profile.

“Come on up, Alan!” called Alice from upstairs. “I have a surprise for you!”

Wake took the stairs two at a time.

He found her in the bedroom, half-dressed, her black jeans folded over the back of an overstuffed chair. The windows to the small balcony were open, and he could hear the lake lapping at the island. He slipped his arms around her, cheek to cheek, felt her smooth, warm skin under his fingers.

“I’m not the surprise,” whispered Alice.

“You’re always the surprise,” said Wake, still clinging to her. “That’s why I love you.” Through the window he could see that it was dark outside, stars scattered across the sky. More stars than either of them had seen in years. More stars than anyone could ever wish upon. He held her tighter. “I’m glad we came here.”

“The surprise is in the study,” said Alice, slowly separating from him. “I’ll show you.”

Wake followed her, enjoying the slight bounce of her hips as she walked. She took his hand, led him into the study. A desk sat under two porthole windows overlooking the lake—he could see stars reflected in the dark surface of the lake. It made him dizzy for a moment, as though the lake was as deep as the sky was high.

“Well, what do you think?” said Alice.

Wake stared at the black manual typewriter on the desk. “What’s my typewriter doing here?”

“I brought it,” said Alice.

“I know you brought it,” said Wake. “I’m asking why you brought it.”

“Why are you so angry?”

“I’m not angry,” said Wake.

“I… I thought you might want to write here,” said Alice. “It’s peaceful. No pressure. I thought a change of scenery might—”

“Do you actually think the reason I can’t write is because I need a change of scenery ?” said Wake.

“You don’t need to raise your voice, Alan.”

“I’m not raising my voice.”

“I’m just trying to help—”

“If you want to help, don’t help.”

Alice didn’t back down. Anyone else would have apologized, made some excuse, afraid of the famous Alan Wake temper. Not Alice.

“You don’t eat, you barely sleep, and you’re angry all the time because you can’t write,” said Alice, her eyes steady and concerned. “It’s not just your problem, Alan. It’s our problem.” She took his hand. “I love you. I want you back doing what you love. I want you writing again.” She should have stopped there but she didn’t. If she had kissed him, led him back to the bedroom, there was no telling what might have happened. She didn’t do that, though.

“There’s a doctor in Bright Falls. He has a clinic where he treats people like you… creative people who can’t work. I’ve read his book and he makes so much sense, Alan. His name is Dr. Hartman—”

“Hartman?” Wake stepped away from her, anger boiling inside him. “I met a couple of the good doctor’s patients at the diner. You think I need to be committed ?”

“No, darling, of course not,” said Alice, reaching for him. “Dr. Hartman treats artists—”

Wake pushed her aside. “Play B2, the coconut song will change your life.”

“What?”

“I don’t need a typewriter, I don’t need any more pressure, and I definitely don’t need a shrink!” Wake stalked down the stairs.

“Alan! Don’t go!”

Wake grabbed the flashlight off the kitchen counter, started out the door, but the door was stuck. He had to throw his shoulder against it to force it open.

“Alan!”

Wake walked out onto the bridge, using the flashlight to guide him. He walked along the shore, watching the stars until his anger cooled. It didn’t take long. He couldn’t stay mad at Alice. She had been trying to help him, and he had been an idiot, a prima donna. He started back to the cabin, rehearsing his apology.

“Alan!” Alice’s panic cut through the night. “Alan, where are you?”

The lights in the cabin were dark. The generator must have stopped. Wake raced back along the bridge and toward the stairs, almost fell in his haste.

“No, get back!”

“I’m coming,” shouted Wake, pounding across the bridge.

“No! Get away from me!”

Wake drove the door open, ran up the stairs. As he reached the landing there was the sound of rotting wood giving way. He heard Alice scream again, and then the splash of something hitting the water. She wasn’t in the bedroom.

“Alice! Where are you?”

He ran down the stairs and out onto the back deck. Part of the wooden railing had been snapped off. “Alice!” There was no sound other than his own echo. He peered down as he played the flashlight beam across the black water, thought he saw something. “Alice?” The shape was sinking now, almost out of sight, whatever it was. “Alice!”

Wake dove in after her.

WAKE SANK INTO Cauldron Lake, drifting deeper into the dark water as he searched for Alice, lost in the silence, weighted down with it. He glimpsed something… someone below, a deeper darkness, struggled to reach her, the silence broken now, interrupted by the clack of a typewriter. His typewriter. The old manual Remington with the sticking J-key. He’d recognize it anywhere… even in the darkness, especially in the darkness. He struggled, the water thickening around him as he looked for Alice. He could no longer tell up from down, as lost as she was now. But there was something up ahead. A light? No… more of a glimmer in the water. A shining. He heard a voice, Alice’s voice over the clacking typewriter.

“Alan, wake up!”

Wake struggled to reach the light, tearing at the dark water.

The light was suddenly brighter, and Wake saw a man, a man in a deep-sea-diving suit standing in the middle of the road, a man caught in the headlights, blinking in the glare. The Diver lifted one hand…

“Alan!” screamed Alice.

Wake awoke from the nightmare gasping, out of breath, feeling like his lungs were filled with sand. He sat in the driver’s seat of their car, dazed, his forehead throbbing from where he hit his head on the steering wheel. The airbag hadn’t deployed. Call Barry and tell him to get a lawyer, sue somebody. Not funny. Snap out of it, Wake . His mouth tasted of blood. No Alice. He called her name, the sound croaking out of his dry lips.

“Alice!” he called again as he pushed open the door, staggering out, the sound of glass from the broken window tinkling onto the blacktop like shards from his heart.

He looked around, trying to get his bearings. An illuminated sign for Stucky’s Gas Station loomed on the roadway above, the cone of light reaching down around him. He was on a rocky ledge. The car had crashed through the guardrail of the winding mountain road and gone over the edge, stopped only by a tree on the ledge below. Lucky thing too, otherwise it would have plunged straight down the mountain.

Even now the car hovered on the brink, the tree splintering. Steam escaped from the radiator and he didn’t feel lucky. Stars sparkled through the steam, stars stretching across the sky, and as far as they reached, they couldn’t find Alice either. He pulled out his cell phone. Nothing. He shook it. The battery was dead. He resisted the impulse to smash it to pieces on the rocks. From one nightmare to another and no end in sight.