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oceanview (different path) || β lost in mist for days and days, now you see the sunny seas. β
In Night Springs, a solar system in your soup
'Cause in Night Springs, we're just looking for the thrill
All your nightmares come true
Lost in mist for days and days, now you see the sunny seas
Night Springs
πΊ β introduction by warlin door.
πΊ β episode one: songbird.
βlake lodge.
Who would have thought a simple piece of paper that seemed to glow in the night would lead her to such a place? A construction of a town that seems to truly exist somewhere else; recreated from memories as opposed to accuracy. Even the lodge that looks over a dark lake comes from the mind of someone as opposed to the shape it truly is in reality.
A reality.
Elizabeth looks up from the luminescent paper in her hands. A man--the Champion of Light--would come to rescue the imprisoned woman with odd powers. Her gaze narrows. The notion is far too familiar and far too accurate to be anything but inspired. Which means someone knows some sort of echo of a reality that should no longer exist. A city, a man, lives unlived. She would have thought the Lucteces had in their hands in such a thing if she wasn't keenly aware of their thought processes.
No, whoever wrote this is someone else entirely. ]
The Champion of Light... [ a tilt of her head, ] and the Herald of Darkness. Fighting in a place called "Night Springs"? Hmm.
[ Which means this must be Night Springs.
Elizabeth's sky-blue eyes raise once more to look at the ceiling of the room she finds herself locked in. A bedroom that seems it belongs to a patient in a clinic more than anything. She folds the paper and places it under her corset before moving to the door. Locked, of course. Solid heavy wood. ]
And not a hairpin in sight. [ She sighs at herself and turns back to the room. ] I suppose I'm to play along for now.
[ Which hardly means she'll simply stay put and wait to be rescued.
She moves to the chair at the desk. With a grunt of exertion, Elizabeth raises the chair. A motion that sends her weight forward and the chair makes contact with the door. Again, she strikes it. Either the door will cave in or the chair will break. Or, this supposed "Champion of Light" will make an appearance. ]
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Well, aside from finding his way out of this story and getting home. It's a crazy idea, the one he's running with: the one that put him into an episode of Night Springs, and the one that made the location of said episode a lodge from his past... the not-so-distant past.
The lodge is every bit as unpleasant as Alan remembers, and he knows he wouldn't be here at all if not for that unfinished business waiting for him, whatever it is. Eventually, his path leads him down another hallway that takes a turn to one side and then leads to another set of doors. There's one door in particular that catches his eye. The doorknob looks like it's about to fall off, and the hinges look like they've seen better days, but closer inspection tells Alan that the door isn't about to open on its own.
There's a broken off beam on the ground that looks like it might have snapped off and fallen from the ceiling, and he slides a hand around it as if testing its weight. It's not too heavy, but he still needs both hands to lift it.
Before he strikes the door, he pauses. What if someone's on the other side of the door? What if he clobbers them with the beam by accident? Maybe he should take this slowly.
Holding what's left of the beam in his hands, he pokes one end of it against the door, almost like a battering ram without the battering motion. There's a creak on his side, and a dull thud on the other, and Alan feels the door slide just a bit. So he pokes at it again, and it opens just a crack.
... Well, here goes nothing. He leans against the beam, pushing it further against the door, trying to get it to open the rest of the way. Whatever he's been looking for has to be inside. Or maybe nothing's inside, but he has a good feeling about this. ]
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[ Elizabeth manages to stop midswing. The door moves. She steps back, chair in hand, head eyes moving to the door. A familiar rush comes to her at the sight of a door opening. Whatever this manuscript page describes is perfectly recalling events and causing emotions to come to the surface. They're not quite the same, but, the variables are strikingly obvious to her.
A chair instead of a book. A piece of wood instead of a key.
She hurriedly puts the chair down and rushes to the door. Small hands curl around the edge before pulling it open further. She grunts as the door budges more towards her. Enough that she can be seen on the other side. Blue eyes, brown hair as a frayed bob, a lace choker with a bird brooch nestled neatly on it. A blue dress and brown jacket can be seen as well. A pair of vintage boots with lace on her feet.
Elizabeth looks at the man on the other side of the door. Taller than her, brown hair, gray eyes. A jacket made of tweed with another underlayer with a hood attached, worn denim pants, and a pair of boots. A beard and long unkept hair. She knows in an instant this is the man that the manuscript page mentioned. The man looking for her. ]
Help me open the door! [ She speaks up. Her small frame shows that opening a wedged door could prove difficult with the state of the building. ] It was locked on my side. How--how did you get it open?
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He doesn't stop in his efforts just because the door is moving. He wants to open the door completely so that he can step inside, or- Wait, are those fingertips around the door? Is one of those fingers missing part of it? Alan's eyes narrow as he watches. Finally, the door moves just enough to reveal the person on the other side, and Alan's breath leaves him in a rush.
This has to be the "something" he was trying to find, except it turns out that she's a "someone". If he had to guess, he'd say she was one of those period actors who dresses up, but the way she seems to just fit into the clothes she's wearing tells him she's not an actor. But who is she? He feels like he should know her, or at least know her name.
After all, she's the one he's been trying to find, isn't she? She tells him to help open the door, and then he remembers what he was trying to do. ]
Yeah, I- One more second. [ The beam in his hand drops to the floor with a clatter as he leans forward to press his weight against the door until it moves and opens enough to let her through. ]
I don't know if it was locked on my end; it looked like the door had been... bent... wedged in a certain way. [ On purpose, or accidentally? ] I had to force it to open with that. [ He nods at the piece of wood he discarded on the ground. ]
Uh... [ For a second, Alan looks lost. Maybe there's even some loneliness in his gaze. He's been alone, more or less, and he knows he doesn't like it. ] I think I was- I think you're who I've been looking for. [ Well, one person, anyway. ]
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Although "place" seems to be very subjective.
Elizabeth lets out another sigh before properly looking at her would be savior. His attire is one thing. Everything else says another. Hands settle on her hips. A famous missing author who has found himself trapped in this same place. The "place" is not this Lodge nor the dark lake below. Not even the town that must be adjacent to them. That place is grander, larger. ]
Bent? [ Her gaze turns to the aforementioned door, then to the surroundings. ] ... Oh.
[ The Lodge has been ravaged. Not simply by weather but it seems almost deliberate. Someone or something had broken in and meant to set the place a mess. The door was simply another element of that. She frowns at the sight before casting her eyes back to the taller man. ]
Not many good things come from looking for me. Are you sure that you were? [ Elizabeth turns to him proper now with her hand still resting on her hips. ] I would say it's very unwise to try and find me... but you already have. Mr...?
[ The question is a formality to play along with the apparent script that has whisked her away. She already knows who he is. Famous missing author Alan Wake. ]
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His eyes immediately take in the clothes she's wearing, and while he doesn't see people dressed like her every day, the fashion doesn't strike him as odd or foreign or anything. His mouth opens as though he wants to say something, or make some kind of comment, but before he can really figure out what to say, she gets there first. ]
Well, I don't know if you'd say that I'm good, but... I'm not bad, either. I know that's far from reassuring, but trust me: there is way worse stuff out there than some strange guy who breaks down doors. But yeah, I'm sure I was looking for you.
Unwise, though? [ He huffs out a laugh. ] I'd say "unwise" is my middle name at this point.
[ He rolls a shoulder idly and cracks the knuckles in both hands as he responds. ] Wake. I'm Alan Wake, and I think... well, actually, I guess I don't know your name. Unless Songbird means something to you.
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The price of freedom is high.
Not good, not bad. Just a man. ]
Why were you looking for me, Mr. Wake? [ Eyes narrow in suspicion. ] "Bring us the girl and wipe away the debt"?
[ She hopes this story has not decided to replicate that fact as well. Otherwise, she may have certain words with the author. Although, isn't she looking at the author? A slight tilt of her head back.
Yes, Alan Wake is the author of this story. But, he's... unaware of it? He's written it. Now he's living it. Projected into the story? If that's the case then he wouldn't remember the beats of the story he has written.
What a strange reality.
She sighs before lowering her hands from her hips. A dramatic gesture is made to her person. What name to give him? Both names apply. One name is what she prefers. That name, however, is something almost sacred to her. Special. Something she shared with two people who she will never see again. One person she never knew. ]
Elizabeth. [ She settles for her name given to her in the city in the sky. The name given to the reborn daughter. Just as her "father" had been reborn. ] You can call me Elizabeth, Mr. Wake.
And, yes, the title would mean something to me. [ Another gesture is given to the broach around her neck. Then, she looks around them. ] Where are we?
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Bring us the- What? No, that's not it. There's no debt involved. I was looking for you because... because... You're going to think it's insane.
[ It sounds insane because it is insane, at least as far as Alan's concerned. But he's desperate, and desperate people do desperate things. Insane things, even. ]
Elizabeth. Okay. It's nice to meet you, Elizabeth. No, it really is, even if the situation might not make it seem that way.
[ She says the title of Songbird means something to her, but she doesn't offer an explanation, and Alan decides not to ask for one. He simply files that away for later. ] Where are we? Well, this place is called Cauldron Lake Lodge. I'd call it something else, but that's just me.
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[ Her arms cross as he explains. Cauldron Lake Lodge. There is a place that is called that. A place that is echoed in this odd reality this story has somehow created. A story that she has been pulled into. ]
And what would you call it?
[ Elizabeth begins to walk ahead of him. The way that he came.
The entire building is in shambles. Tables and furniture turned over. Windows blown out. Decorations upside down or pulled off the wall. Some are even damaged. There seems to be a face of a rather important man on one. Some sort of... promotional image? The image has been badly damaged, so, discerning who it once was is impossible even for her. ]
Huh. [ Elizabeth comes to a stop at what would have been the front desk for the Lodge. She reaches over the front to pull up a stack of papers. Eyes scan over it as she turns to face Alan. ] This ledger calls it the "Night Springs Lodge." I suppose there is a difference in names for a reason.
[ She lifts her eyes up to him before holding the ledger out to him. The names are present of people that had once called the Lodge a temporary home. ]
Names of the people who had stayed here at one point or another. Well, "names" is a generous way of putting it. Look. [ A gesture with the hand to the ledger reveals an interesting detail. ] They're not names... descriptions of people. Titles. "The Painter", "The Rockstars."
[ A tilt of her head with her eyebrows raised. ] "The Writer."
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A messed up place run by a maniac. [ "Hell" was the first word that came to mind, but he opted for a different description at the last minute, because maybe that's too strong of a description, even if he still thinks it fits. ]
If it was up to me, I'd bulldoze the whole place.
[ He keeps following after her until she reaches the front desk, or what's left of it, and pauses when she reads off the stack of papers. ] Night Springs? Well, that tracks. It's fitting, too. Are you familiar with Night Springs?
[ If she says no, well, he'll explain, but he just figures he'll ask and find out how much she's aware of.
Once she starts off reading the descriptions, Alan huffs out a dry laugh. ] I think they'd think those names boring, especially the Rockstars. Gods of Rock n' Roll is more like it, I think. But I guess it works, if you're going for a straight-to-the-point description.
[ She reads off the title that he knows is meant for him, and again he pins her with a questioning look. ] Do you know what all of those have in common?
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[ Eyebrows turn upwards for a small moment. ] No, I'm afraid not. It would seem we're here in it. Wherever "here" might be.
[ Elizabeth lowers the ledger from him and looks over it once more. She can see that she (rather, the Songbird) is not listed as a resident. At least not publicly. Alan's reaction only confirms that he is indeed "the Writer" in more ways than one. Not only that, but he was here at some point. He knew the people that are listed as well. ]
"Gods of Rock and Roll" seems rather... pretentious. Is their music truly that good?
[ A small toss of the ledger back onto the front desk. Arms fold underneath her bust once more before she turns to survey the area once more. ] Creativity. Every single one of them must have had an artistic talent related to their title. Which, given that, I'm certain you could gather as to why they would want to contain me here.
Which means they were collecting artists of all sorts here for some purpose. [ She turns and begins slowly walking to the front doors. They would have been wooden and glass, however, everything has been bolted down. Sealed from the outside. Yellow hazard tape makes an "X" with a large notice printed on it. A logo is also present on it.
Elizabeth leans forward to read it: ] "This site has been condemned by the Federal Bureau of Night Springs. No trespassing. Violators will be found held and tried in the court of law." Huh... there's no date for when the building was condemned. Though, I'm guessing we'll need to find another way out. How did you get inside?
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No, I'm pretty sure that if this place got knocked down, no one would miss it.
[ He folds his arms in front of him and starts in on his explanation. ] Night Springs is a TV show about paranormal things. I wrote for it, back in the day, and it looks like things are going full circle. Jury's out on how well they're working, though.
[ At least, his hunch thus far is that this is something he's written to resemble a Night Springs episode, containing echoes of the world he knows but adjusted to fit into that fictional, paranormal world.
It seems to him that when he's in the middle of the story, he can't see where events are going, and that only makes sense. The character in a story can't be all-knowing, after all. ]
Is it that good? Yeah, it's that good. People went nuts for them back in the day. They're old now, but they can still put out some good music.
[ He's still eyeing her but this time, there's something like admiration in his gaze. ] Smart, huh? I mean, I guess that's not too hard to figure out. Creativity, art, whatever you want to call it. That's what the guy who ran this place was looking for. At least, the real lodge, not this one. But what's "real", anyway?
Let me guess, you fall into the category of an artist too. Well, as far as I'm concerned, their days of "containing" people are done.
[ He laughs dryly. ] There was a purpose involved, and that was to use art to change reality. Crazy, right?
[ He keeps following after her as she walks to the front doors, and that's when he notices that they're bolted down. Sealed. Then she asks how he got in, and he has to pause for a second or two. ]
Well- let's just say that there was a trail, I followed it, and... there might be a broken window or two around here somewhere.
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[ A frown curls on her face. His anger is understandable. The spite and the need to lash out at those who have destroyed an aspect of a life. It may not feel as satisfactory when all is said and done. ]
Well, this Night Springs seems to be an actual place. Not just a show to be enjoyed. [ She turns on her heel and begins to walk back the way they came. An invitation for him to lead her the way he came. ] Huh. I've never heard of them. Maybe I'll look into them once we're out of the Lodge.
[ A shadow passes over her face. Change reality. Suddenly, the picture becomes clear to her. This is why she has been pulled into this story. Nothing more than a means to an end. Change the reality of the story to... what? Escape? ]
I'm not certain you could call painting and singing in a casual manner as being an artist. [ Her tone is suddenly withdrawn as she follows him. ] Changing reality is far from crazy. Farther than you would think.
[ She starts to twist the thimble on her pinkie. ]
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Well, reality is a lot more bendable than people think it is. That's how it seems, anyway. [ He might be the one making things happen, or nudging them along, but he hardly claims to be an expert about any of this. ] My recommendation? Get a record player. It sounds better.
[ He sees her expression change, and he figures then that she's caught on. She's worked out what's happening here. Is that a good thing? Who knows? ]
If it produces art, you're an artist. [ But he thinks he's catching on too, and so he asks, slowly as if he's worried about how she might react: ] But I'm guessing that's not all you can do. That's not the limit of what you can do, is it?
[ What is it about people who can do things being pushed together? Alan wonders that question to himself, and then he wonders another thing: is it coincidence that he keeps meeting people who can make things happen? ]
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[ A gentle sound of a laughter comes from her. ] A record. We had a way to record our voices... where I grew up. Records as well. Maybe if we can find a recording we can listen to it here. After all, whoever operated this place had the Rockstars here.
[ "If it produces art, you're an artist."
She thinks of the paintings of Paris. Paintings of other places. The hymns and songs she learned to sing--songs that Fink's brother had stolen from other places. She doubts any of her artistic abilities would shine anywhere as bright as what she is capable of doing because of what she has become, rather than who she was born to be. ]
No, Mr. Wake. It's not all I can do.
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[ In his case, anyway. He's not foolish enough to speak for all cases everywhere. He watches her for a brief moment while she seems to pause to think, but gradually his gaze shifts to look around at their surroundings. It's almost surreal being back here, when he thought he'd never have to see this place again. Why would he want to? It's not exactly associated with good memories. And yet it's not the fault of the place that he doesn't like it.
Elizabeth speaks again, and his attention immediately returns to her. ]
Will you tell me, or am I not allowed to know? [ There's no annoyance or accusation, just an honest question. Alan knows he's not entitled to information, especially if she doesn'tw ant to share. ]
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[ Still, she continues after him, even as he stops to look around the Lodge they find themselves in. She wonders if he has realized that it's not quite the same as the one he may remember. More like a recollection of what the true Lodge looked like. Recalled from memory and written from a fictional point of view.
Does he realize he's even written what they are doing? ]
I think you already know. After all, you have your own special way to see reality. Don't you?
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[ Well, maybe it has a little to do with it, but he's not saying that. And he has begun wondering if what's right in front of them isn't exactly as it appears. It looks like the Lodge, but there's small details that seem odd enough to someone who knows that makes it stick out in his mind.
As for the rest, well- he's still figuring things out. ]
Yeah, I... [ He tilts his head to one side, eyeing her before he responds. What does he have to lose in explaining? Nothing, really, so he just plows on ahead. ]
I see things sometimes. Yes, "things". They're visions or dreams or images, but they all mean something, even if I don't always know what it is right away.
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[ Not anymore.
Her head tilts as they come to a stop in front of the wall that would normally show the scenery of the area beyond the Lodge. However, night has fallen, and a thick fog has hidden any natural beauty. Her eyes move to the window panes before falling on the Writer once more. ]
Are these "visions" real? Or, are they simply how you see things that happen?
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[ He looks at the windowpanes himself, but he can't see anything outside because of the fog that's covering everything. ]
I'm not sure if we should stay here very long. There could be- well, something could be lurking in the fog.
As for the visions... they feel real when I see them, but maybe they're more like what you say. Maybe all I'm doing is observing, but it doesn't feel like that. It feels like what I'm seeing are things that could happen. Maybe they've already happened, or they will happen in the future. I guess I'm still learning things about them.
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[ Her eyes move over the outside through the windowpanes once more before she begins to follow him once more. ]
These things you see could happen... but maybe they don't. Or, maybe, they happen somewhere else to people that are similar but not?
[ She knows the questions are rather leading. However, there is the ability to see possibilities through quantum capabilities. And, there is the possibility of seeing them through a paranormal sense. Which one does Alan Wake fall into? How much does he understand of what he can do and what he cannot do? ]
What is something you've learned?
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The Dark Presence. At least, that's how I know of it. Maybe it's called something else, but- it doesn't matter what it's called, it's just bad news. No, it's the worst news you could ever receive.
[ He falls silent for a minute or two as he tries to think back to something that he's learned, something that might help Elizabeth understand what he's trying to communicate. ]
Maybe they do happen somewhere else, but- I think they can happen to anyone, anywhere. I think... it happened to me, or at least I think it did. [ He rubs one hand against his chin as he tries to bring up exactly what happened at Bright Falls the first time around. ] It happened to other people first. A man named Carl Stucky... I think he was a nice guy, but he got pulled into the story, and things happened to him that shouldn't have.
The Dark Presence took him, and I think- I think it was because of a page that I wrote. [ Wrote, or was forced to write? ]
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[ Elizabeth can see the entity that Alan refers to. A cloud, a tornado, commanding birds, commanding people it has taken away. People who have been carved out and a will simply replaced by. Pale creatures that moved so inhuman like. Blank eyes.
It won't take Alan that way. It needs him... doesn't it?
She can tell that as she stands in a dirty street of some place that is meant to be New York City. Standing underneath a steady light and watching shadows as they walk past. Shadows that shout or grumble the name of the author she also follows behind at the same time. Then, sometimes, she catches a glimpse of a brown coat. A man soaked from the rain.
Alan Wake.
Just not the same Alan that she follows behind. Another version of the man who is also trapped in this dimension.
Does every version of him end up here? A vortex that sucks creative minds in to free itself? An unending cycle...? No. Every cycle can be broken. The matter is the price. And who will be willing to pay it.
Blue eyes settle on the back of the man as she follows him. Black and white flannel. Longer hair but not as long as the man she saw in the streets. ]
"Pulled into the story"? [ Her arms cross. ] A story you wrote? What does any of that mean? What happened to this Carl Stucky?
[ Elizabeth can't say that she already knows the answers to these questions of course. Alan is on a set path and, for some reason, she must see him down that path. For some reason she is now apart of his manuscripts. ]
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[ Little does he know that she's picturing exactly that. And little does she know that Alan's scared of losing himself to the darkness. What if it carves him out? What if it hollows out everything that makes him him?
It's all so much bigger than he is and it terrifies him. He's a writer, and he thinks he can fix it; he thinks he can change the story, but that doesn't mean he isn't scared. That doesn't mean that he's not more afraid than he can ever remember being. ]
I don't know. I barely understand it myself, but it's a story, right? It needs characters. It needs people. And the people that lived in Bright Falls- the people that live there, because they still live there. They have to still live there. It used them. It- it made me use them. It's my fault.
[ Elizabeth might be able to tell that sometimes Alan's sanity seems to become a little questionable from time to time. This might be one of those times. ]
What happened to him? The darkness... the Dark Presence. It got him. It got him because of me. If he's not dead, well, he might as well be. I don't know if you ever come back once the Dark Presence has gotten you. [ Maybe I won't ever come back either. ]
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[ She misses him.
Elizabeth listens intently to his explanations. The Dark Presence sees everything and everyone as a pawn; a plaything. Things that are meant to be hosts for it. It's no wonder that Alan Wake fears it so much. Despite that? He is still trying to fix it.
That goes a long way in her mind. ]
Maybe it would have happened to any writer or creator near the Lake. [ Elizabeth can see another man. One that looks like Alan but is very much not him. A poet, an actor, a director. He can be what he wants because he can make it change around him. ] You weren't the first writer the Lake took. Were you?
[ They come to the end of the hallway. She looks around and picks a door. Her whole weight (which is not much at all) is thrown into the door. It budges and she stumbles into what seems to be the office of the man who ran the Lodge at one point. Pictures are still destroyed, meaning the identity of the man is entirely in question.
Elizabeth makes her way to the desk to begin looking for ... well, anything. ]
We may need to make our own way out, Mr. Wake.
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[ He shakes his head again, because he can't seem to stop himself from pinning the blame on himself. Maybe it's not all his fault, but maybe he's the catalyst for all of this starting. ]
Maybe, or maybe I just happened to have the world's worst timing, which sounds about right for me. [ Her question takes him by surprise, and after a moment's consideration, he realizes she's right. ] No, I wasn't. There was another writer before me, but maybe the Dark Presence didn't get what it wanted then, so now it's trying again.
[ Somehow, that doesn't make him feel better. Still, he follows after her, watching her pick the lock and then all but hurl herself at the door. Once they're inside the office, he keeps following after her, but he shoots her a questioning look. ]
How do you suggest we do that?
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[ "The world" and "reality" are more relative than he would believe. Those words are descriptive to some of a much smaller scale. A daughter and reversing a sin against her. That was the entire world for her father. So much so that now her world is gone too. ]
If the other writer found a way to stop it then you can as well.
[ She continues to rummage through the desk. ] You've never broken into somewhere before?
[ Somehow, she doubts that.
Elizabeth comes to a stop at a set of paperwork. She gently pushes the other items off it and raises the paper to look at it. Another "inmate" is named on this paper. ]
It's an entry log... probably should have been with the others. [ Blue eyes scan it before raising to his. ] The name is scratched out. But, it's about another patient that was here. Someone he referred to as "the Sister."
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[ He's just trying to understand where Elizabeth is coming from and where she fits into everything. Sometimes he feels like he barely understands where he fits into things. ]
Maybe I can, but I'm not as confident as you are. Before all this started? No, I wasn't really in the habit of breaking into places. Breaking things, sure. Breaking and entering? Not really. That's not a judgment, by the way, just- a statement.
[ But then he stops talking as Elizabeth begins describing the entry log and what's contained on it, and when she says the descriptor written on the paper, Alan pauses and stares at her. ]
... The Sister? That rings a bell for some reason, but I have no idea why.
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What will the effects of constantly writing himself in and out of stories be? What will happen to his memories?
She moves from behind the desk and stands in front of him. A hand raises and gestures to the chair beside them. The typical wooden chair. Then, a static seems to happen, and shows a chair made of a plush fabric and deep seated. It seems to fritz back and forth. The raised hand waves. Reality seems to ripple and then the wooden chair is entirely replaced with the plush chair.
No evidence is left to show that the wooden chair ever existed. ]
This is what I can do. Things that don't exist in one reality can be brought into this one. I call them tears. Things in reality that can be manipulated. [ Her arms cross. ] Does that clear things up for you?
[ Elizabeth hopes he will understand the bitterness in sharing her abilities. Her gaze moves back to the papers in her hands. She reads over them, pacing to one side, then to another. Something reminiscent of Alan pouring over manuscript pages. ]
...Oh.
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What the- [ And as soon as he says that, there seems to be an obvious ripple in reality (he hates how that doesn't faze him as much as it would have not that long ago) and the chair is a wooden one again, but only briefly as the ripples continue, and... the wooden chair is gone and a plush one sits there as if it was there all along. ]
... I- Huh. So you can just pull things out of one reality and put them in another whenever you want? That's... Wow.
[ He's both boggled and a little scared, if he's being honest. ]
Does that apply to people too? Animals? [ That's a really scary idea if that's the case, not to mention a lot of responsibility for one person to carry. ] How do you handle that and not, well... Freak out?
[ He notes how she goes back to reading the papers, and it does seem to be vaguely reminiscent of his own experiences with manuscript pages, but that's not what gets his attention. ]
What? Did you find something?
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I have been this way since I was a child. As long as I can remember. How does writing stories not scare you? Because, it's natural to you. [ Her eyes drop to the papers. ] A talent, I suppose.
[ Elizabeth comes to a stop. ] There is mention of someone else that was supposed to come to the clinic. Someone named "the Sister"... and mention of "the Brother", but, both seem to have gone missing. The Sister is documented as having been in Night Springs and, [ Her gaze flicks upwards, ] having been involved with the Writer.
You know her, don't you?
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Yeah, I kind of guessed that. Maybe I'm wrong, but that doesn't sound too different from how the Dark Place works. I don't know about fracturing minds and putting them back together, but I know I remember where I'm from. [ He shrugs. It's probably not the same thing at all and he's just grasping at straws for some reason. ]
I guess when you put it that way, it makes sense that it would seem normal to you. Normal, natural... not something to be scared of.
[ But then Alan's focus is drawn instantly by what Elizabeth says next. He all but snaps to attention once he realizes what she's said. ]
... The Sister? [ If she'd just said that and nothing else, he might have been only mildly curious, but since she mentioned the Brother and the Writer, that can only mean one thing. ]
Yeah... Yeah, I know her. And she was supposed to come here?
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[ Her way is forceful. It causes bleeding in a way. People caught in collateral. Which is why she tries to minimalize the contact and damage. Alan Wake seems to have thrown that idea to the side. ]
I never said it wasn't horrifying.
[ Booker, are you afraid of God?
"No. But, I'm afraid of you."
She glances away and her shoulders fall slightly. Then, her gaze shifts back to him. She holds the papers up for him to collect. The documentation is more like a diary, left by the doctor who ran the clinic they find themselves in. The doctor had met the Brother and they had moved him to a secure location. He was too dangerous and not a creative outlet. The Sister, however, had a connection to something great and powerful. Something that could have stopped the .... experiments being held at the Lodge.
Elizabeth crosses her arms. ]
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Are you saying that your way isn't voluntary?
[ He notes the way that her shoulders fall, and a hint of something in her voice: sadness, regret, guilt? He's not sure which one, but it sounds like it could be a mix of all of the above. Maybe he's wrong, though; it's not like he knows her well at all. ]
I know. This is horrifying too. Maybe all of it is horrifying... what the Dark Place does, how the Dark Presence works. How the things we can do work. It all could be something from a horror movie.
[ He takes the pages from her when she holds them up, but he hesitates to read them. He's not sure what he'll see written on these pages. ]
I guess I don't know how any of this is supposed to help us. What are you hoping to do? Find a way to escape the situation you're dealing with? Maybe there's a way to bring you more into this story, but I'm not sure that's a good idea. Maybe I could write something that lets you find somewhere safe where no one will bother you again.
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[ Her head cants slightly as she regards him closer. It's clear he has forgotten what he has written in the story while he lives it. Most likely he's had to. Which means he is going through motions semi-blindly. However, it's also obvious that this "story" is still bound to this dark dimension. It has yet to overlap with the location he has intended to reach.
His memories as well aren't as they should be. She can see the door he's come from perfectly. He's... becoming washed out. Perhaps that is the best way to describe it. Details of his life are muddling with other Alan Wakes. Or, he is beginning to forget them entirely. All he can remember are descriptions and nouns. Vague facts.
Her blue eyes look at the pages in his hands. He must remember a sister and a brother. A sister having a powerful connection to another entity. She was important. She should be important.
His question causes her eyes to raise to his once more. Where his are gray and lighter and darkened? Hers hide a storm. A storm that he can see the hints of in her gaze. ]
I didn't come here voluntarily. Someone brought me here. [ Her weight slips to her other leg. Then, she gestures to him once more. ] You need to wake up, Alan.
Look up.
[ In the darkened attic room of a cabin, a young woman stands in front of the Writer's desk. A frayed Bob, a period blue dress and bodice, and a bird laden broach on her neck. Her hands are placed on the desk.
Then, she straightens once he focuses on her.
The Songbird. ]
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[ But realizing that he's having memory problems that seem to be progressively getting worse doesn't do very much to ease his nerves or settle him down. The story is dictating what he does and what he remembers, and all he can really do is follow the twists and turns of the plot. Not that he knows the plot; he just has to go along with what the story says. He's a character in this story; maybe that's all he ever was.
No, I'm not a character. I don't want to be a character!
He forcefully pushes away the notion that he's only a character, not a real person, and he snaps his gaze onto Liz sharply. ]
Someone? What someone? [ He has an inkling of a half-formed thought, but that's all it is. That's all the story's allowing. ] What do you mean? I'm awake.
[ She tells him to look up, and he obeys almost immediately, and then his eyes narrow as if he's not sure what he's looking at. ]
What- What is that? I don't understand. [ To Alan, it feels like he's seeing double and being reminded of something he saw once. Did he see it once? Did he imagine standing at a doorway looking at himself sitting at a desk like the one he's looking at now? Is he imagining all of this? ]
That's you, but- you're also you. [ The words sound nonsensical, but how else is he supposed to say them? ]
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The attempt of "waking" him up clearly failed. The story refuses to allow shortcuts. She stands in the attic--the Writer's Room--watching as he places his head back down to continue writing at the typewriter. His consciousness is projected so far out that he can't simply bring himself back to where he truly resides.
An idea strikes her then.
A small tear appears on the desk. A pen flashes from black to blue. She then picks the pen up, the papers he has typed, and evenly strikes out line after line. Then, a cursive and writing replaces it above it.
She has seen how the Master of Many Worlds editted stories. Why not she attempt it? It's clear now why Alan Wake has dragged her into this story, even if he is far from aware as to why himself. ]
Alan.
[ Elizabeth shakes her head at him as they stand in the "lodge" of "Night Springs." A part of her hates feeling as if she is reliving some of the last steps with Booker. Yet, Alan has clearly seen something of it and decided to use it as an attempt to escape. Except, this isn't truly to escape.
Alan needs something else before he can leave and he knows that.
Her hand lifts and she gently takes his hand into hers. Then, wordlessly, she leads him to the nearest door. She looks back over her shoulder at him as she opens it.
They cross through it.
Home.
The familiar New York City apartment is shrouded in darkness. No one seems to be home. Elizabeth let's Alan take a few steps ahead of her before letting go of his hand and simply standing in the living room. ]
This is where you've been trying to come back to--isn't it? "Home." An apartment with Alice Wake to fix your marriage after your trip to Bright Falls.
Isn't it?
[ Elizabeth knows it's wrong. He has been trying to get back to his dimension because someone else is waiting for him. Someone else with a guide. A sister trying to find her brother. A woman he pulled into "Departure" because her guide reached out to him. ]
It doesn't look like she's home, Alan.
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The Alan that's still trying to navigate the story pauses. He feels something nudging him, pulling at him, trying to lead him somewhere... But where? Where is he supposed to go? What is he supposed to do?
I'm lost.
The Alan at the typewriter keeps writing. The Alan in the lodge with Elizabeth looks as stuck as he feels, until Elizabeth takes him by the hand and leads him... where?
He can't see where they're going, until they cross through the door, and he has a feeling of traveling through water. Except there's no water or waves, just a passageway and a door, and-
Alan's breath tumbles out of him in a rush. ]
I know this place. I know this room, this apartment. [ He inhales, and the scent in the room brings back memories, or flashes of them. Images, mostly, nothing complete. ]
This is where I lived with Alice? Is this where I'm supposed to be? [ He looks around the room, and he realizes an uncomfortable feeling taking hold of him: it's a feeling of wrongness, that this isn't where he's been trying to go. This room, this apartment, was important to him once, and it still is to a degree, but it's not where he's been trying to go. ]
I'm looking for someone, but this isn't where that someone would be. Where is she, if she's not here? Where's home?
[ Did they talk about making a home together? Did they talk about finding a place that was theirs, that they could carve out a space for themselves in? This apartment isn't that place, but then... where is it? ]
How do I find her?
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Even her...
She simply shrugs at his first set of questions and sets to wandering the living room of the apartment. If it's a construction of his memories or the real place is hardly relevant. It triggers the memories and that is what he needs the most. What she finds curious is how he has lost so much in seemingly such a short time... and yet is pushing and fighting so hard.
Maybe it is because he is fighting. ]
You left here for Bright Falls at one point. A chance to get away and start fresh. The marriage, the writer's block.Block. You just wanted to get away.
[ Elizabeth walks past him and out into the hallway. With a few steps she stands at the door to what was once his room for writing--beside Alice's office. She gestures to the door.
Once opened and stepped through, Alan finds himself in Bright Falls. Main street. The banners proclaim Deerfest--the 68th Annual celebration. 2010.
Elizabeth takes a few steps and twirls in spot before turning back to Alan. Shaded people begin to move around, muttering distorted phrases, but none seem to notice the pair. Her hands raise to the town and gesture around them. ]
What did you do next, Alan? Once you came to Bright Falls.
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This place feels like it's full of memories, but Alan's having a hard time recalling any of them. He knows this place is where he used to live, just like he knows it's not the place he's been trying to find. The only problem is, he's having trouble remembering exactly where he's supposed to go.
Maybe that's what Elizabeth is here for. ]
I remember taking a trip... Yeah, I was trying to get away, because of everything; writing was becoming difficult, I couldn't make Alice happy no matter what I did. I don't think I made anyone happy.
[ She keeps walking, and he keeps following her, until she stops outside the room he used to write in. He remembers this room somehow, even though the door's closed. They step through it, and Alan blinks, then blinks again. ]
What the hell? I mean- I know you said you can do that, but...
[ He's surprised, to say the least. He watches her spin in place as people begin to walk past them. They don't seem like ordinary people, and while he can't quite make out what they're muttering, it doesn't seem usual. In fact, it seems highly unusual. ]
What did I do next... [ He tries to remember; he tries to follow everything in order, but his memories of it all are still sketchy and disjointed. ] The town was strange... I think that the Dark Presence was taking things over not long after I got there. Maybe it had been doing that for a long time, or maybe the story started when I arrived.
I was trying to find Alice, but so many things kept trying to misdirect me. I met... I met someone. Who did I meet? She stuck with me, I remember that much.
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[ She has to wonder if there is more to it than he knew. Had the Lake called out to him and he never realized? Or, does Alan Wake simply always ended up at Cauldron Lake no matter the name, the face?
Constants and variables.
Elizabeth turns on the balls of her feet and leads him into a diner. The Oh Deer Diner. Shades move but the familiar female voice of greeting her favorite writer hangs in the air. It echoes just as old conversations do. She walks past the tables to head to the hallway that leads to the back. ]
"Be careful in there, young man! You can hurt yourself in the dark!" [ The shade hunched by the wall warns the two. Elizabeth glances over at it before continuing down. ] "You really should take a light with you."
[ The shade shoves a light in Alan's hands. Elizabeth continues down to the door that would lead back outside. ]
Were you trying to find Alice? Wasn't she back in New York? She didn't come with you to Bright Falls. [ She half-turns and waits for him at the door. ] Maybe another Alice and Alan Wake came to Bright Falls. But, not you.
[ Once he opens the door and steps outside, the scenery changes once again. He steps into a room with lights strung throughout. In the middle of the room sits a table with a shoebox. A revolver sits beside it.
Elizabeth stands on the opposite side of Alan, behind the table. Her arms cross under her bust. ]
That person you met came all the way with you to this room. Didn't she?
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[ Maybe he and Elizabeth are thinking along the same lines, or maybe they're not. At least he's starting to question things, even if he still feels as though questioning will ultimately lead him nowehre.
He follows after her, because what else does he have to do? What choice does he have in anything? To him, it feels as though his choices are becoming less and less.
A voice that sounds halfway familiar to Alan speaks up then, talking about how it can be dangerous in the dark and how he should take a light with him. And then the shadowy figure actually shoves a light into his hands, and although he nearly drops it out of surprise, in the next second, his hands tighten around it. ]
There was a kidnapper... or a ransom. Something that involved Alice being used as bait. Leverage. I don't know.
[ He's finding it more than a little hard to make sense of anything, and even harder to follow where Elizabeth is going. To Alan, it seems as though she's going down all sorts of rabbit trails and he's doing his best to follow her. ]
Why is this important? [ He can't see why, but at the same time, there's a feeling that something is keeping him from seeing why. Intentionally. On purpose. It doesn't want him finding something out. Maybe it doesn't want him remembering. ]
I don't understand where you're going with all this.
[ He doesn't, until he goes through yet another doorway, to another scenery change. And this time, there's a room: a room he's seen before and knows well. It's an important room, maybe one of the most important rooms he's ever been in. He looks up at the ceiling and turns slowly on the spot, looking around the room.
I need to remember something. But what is it? ]
I was here, in this room, and I wasn't alone. I had people with me. One person in particular.
[ Frown lines form on his face as he tries to make sense of a memory that's not a memory that is a memory that something is trying to block. ]
I don't know. I can't remember.
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She says nothing more until he settles opposite of her. Either ends of the small table with the shoebox between them. Uer skin crawls at how familiar and similar this scenario is playing out. How close it is to Booker. He must have seen it somehow and pulled it into a story to try and help him escape.
Not that there is much point if he doesn't remember why he is trying so hard to escape. The reason other than the obvious of being in a dimension that ebs and flows with the rest. ]
I was brought here to help you. Wasn't I? That's the reason the Writer needs the Songbird. You are the Writer... aren't you?
[ One arm unfolds from underneath her bust. A wide sweeping gesture is made to the shoebox between them. ]
You and I both know what this room is, Alan. We know what this room was for and why it was guarded. You know why you're here.
You know who was here with you. Their faces. Their names. You're simply letting something block your vision because it's easier to tell yourself you can't remember than accept the truth.
[ Her weight cocks to one side. A flat expression takes her face. A knowing expression.]
You can fight it all you want. But, you don't leave this room until you take what's in this shoebox and accept what you have to do it.
[ Something shifts behind Alan. Someone.
A young woman stands behind him at the door they just walked through. Bright green eyes, bright red hair. A backpack in her hands. Unlike the others they have encountered? This woman isn't shadowed. She's bright.
A geometric pattern that spirals around her. ]
We both know what that is.
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Yeah, I'm the Writer, for all the good that's doing me. What the hell is the point in being the Writer when I have no idea what I'm doing or if it's even making a difference?
[ He shoots a glare at her and his hand curls around the flashlight he's holding as his temper rises. ]
You think I'm just letting this happen? That it's my fault I don't remember? That I'm trying to run away from something instead of dealing with whatever the hell it is head on?
[ He shakes his head, and then there's a loud sound as he slams the flashlight onto the surface in front of him. ]
You sitting there telling me these things is- it's not helping. What are you doing here, anyway, besides trying to piss me off?
[ He's so angry that he doesn't even notice the woman at the door. What he does notice is the flash of the geometric pattern and a kind of chime going off in his mind. But he's too incensed to even look right now. ]
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[ What she has given him is more information that she prefers to usually give out. Then again, Elizabeth usually avoids speaking to anyone when she moves from door to door. This is only unique because Alan has pulled her into the story. ]
Yes. I think you're running away from something you hated doing. Something you regret. We all run away from those things. It's human.
The thing is? Debts have to be repaid somehow and at some point.
My father taught me that.
[ A hand rests on her hip. Elizabeth wonders in that moment how many times Alan must have revisited this moment. Has he ever? Or has he tried to ignore the fact that this moment happened? It could be why he has forgotten who the Sister truly is to him.
She glances down at the flashlight slammed onto the table top. ]
You brought me into this story.
[ Elizabeth simply waits to see what Alan will chose to do next. A glance is sent to the recreation of the young woman by the Dark Place. The recreation constructed by Alan's mind--his subconscious. How often has she actually appeared and he ignored her? Was it because of what he did? Did the Dark Presence simply make him forget because he allowed it to happen? There's so many different possibilities that she isn't quite sure what one is at fault.
She raises her hand to the door behind Alan. ]
She's waiting, Alan.
[ The young woman's bright green eyes lower at the apparent idea of being ignored. Perhaps being ignored again. The grip on the backpack tightens. She frowns and looks to the side. ]
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[ Although Jesse and Elizabeth could both say they've had enough and leave or ask to be written out, and he wouldn't say no. No one should be forced to stay involved if they don't want to be. He has to be involved because this is all his problem to fix; anyone else who gets dragged in... well, he feels a need to try and protect them as much as he can, even if it means throwing himself in front of a bullet for them if needed. It's not some stupid noble idea built on pretenses; Alan genuinely believes that he needs to put himself in harm's way as much as he can, to try and protect people if he can.
It probably makes no sense at all, since he's the one dragging people into the line of fire, but once they're in, he intends to do what he can to protect them. As much as the story allows him to, anyway. ]
Running away? I'm running towards trying to escape. I'm not running away from anything, Elizabeth.
[ He fixes her with a glare. ] Don't you think I'm- Never mind. Forget it.
[ He sees being trapped in the Dark Place as him trying to pay his debts and fix himself in the process; of course, the Dark Presence doesn't want him to be fixed. It wants to keep him trapped, broken down, so that it can use him. ]
Do you want to be written out again? I think I can do that, somehow. [ He'll scratch out words on the manuscript again and write in new words and make it so she was never involved in the story at all. Maybe that's how it's supposed to be.
She's waiting, Alan.
Alan finds himself torn... confused. Definitely confused. Something in his mind seems to lurch and reel and strange flashes of images in black and gray flare to life in his mind. He tries to focus on the images but they're impossible to see or even recognize what they're supposed to be. Maybe he really is going mad. That does seem to be a side effect of the Dark Place.
He can see the woman in the doorway but something is still keeping him from really seeing her. His hands clench in frustration because he wants to remember her, because he can tell she's important, but something in his mind is still blocking him from reaching out to her like he wants to. ]
Do.. Do I know her? I know her, yeah, of course I do. This feels familiar, but I've forgotten, or something's making me forget.
[ Alan's vision seems to flicker again and he appears to briefly stagger before catching himself again. ]
Wait... Wait, there's something- [ He turns and stares at the woman again, harder this time. ] She was here, in this room. She was going to come with me, wasn't she?
[ Elizabeth most likely wouldn't know that, but Alan's mostly talking to himself in a desperate attempt to put the pieces together. Will it work? Who knows. ]