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. ”

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.

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