Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

PROLOGUE: Three Years Later

The blackest part of the night is when the moon is low and before the sun has risen. Clouds shift, rushed across the sky by an endless tide of darkness, reflected in the bottomless waters of Cauldron Lake. Inside, something stirred. Beneath the ocean of dark water, it took on a new, unfamiliar shape. The night took on a different texture. It was weak – had been weak – would be weak, for some time. But that was okay. It had time. All the time in the world.

Last time, it had moved too quickly, been too hasty in its attempt to seize the writer and turn the world of the living to its own purpose. The writer had thwarted it, then. Brought light into dark waters. But now…

Now, something stirred. A new sensation, bleeding into the darkness like scent of damp earth after rain. Something moved in the shadows, unseen. Eyeless, it looked. Mouthless, it smiled. There was somebody coming; someone new, someone who carried a spark of both light and dark inside them, scratching to get out. The darkness opened its jaws and smiled. There would be no stopping it this time. It was ready to eat the world raw.

*

Chapter One: Bad Dreams

It wasn’t like the nightmares were anything new, thought Casey grimly. This wasn’t the first time he’d clawed his way back into the waking world with sweat on his brow and the shadow of an ancient horror in his mind. He glared up at the ceiling of his apartment, gritting his teeth and willing his heart to slow its frantic, shuddering pace; willing himself back into reality. Even before the awful affair at Bright Falls, he’d suffered from bad dreams, blaming it on the job. Usually, the nightmares faded with the sun and his morning coffee, leaving nothing behind but a stain at the back of his mind that was washed away by the rain.

But this time… this time, the nightmares weren’t going away.

The dreams were growing darker, becoming more than the usual miasma of blood and misery that would haunt him for days after the closing of a case. This time, there was a shadow crawling under his skin. A vision of darkness that felt like cold hands at his throat. He hadn’t felt that for a long time, he thought. Not since…

No. He tore himself away from that line of thought, pushing aside sweat-soaked bedsheets and heaving his body upright. A cold sweat had left an unsightly pallor on his skin. He ran a hand over his bare chest and grimaced. He needed a shower, he needed a shave; but before that, he needed a cup of coffee.

He stepped into the kitchen and flicked the light on. Relief pooled through him as the shadows flickered and died. He busied himself with his morning coffee ritual, never mind that it was still early enough in the morning to be considered late at night. A quick peek out of his apartment window confirmed it. The sky was still heavy with the last of the night’s darkness, with only a few lonely stars piercing the gloom.

Cauldron Lake. The name swam into his mind, unbidden. The kitchen light flickered. Casey swore loudly and knocked his coffee over, barely noticing the scalding liquid as a memory returned to grasp him by the throat. He was back in the dark, tasting blood on his tongue and shivering under the memory of terror. A shadow crawling under my skin. In my head. The stink of rotting flesh and stale water rose up to consume him. He clenched his fists to stop his hands from shaking, gripping the kitchen countertop so hard that he was sure he’d leave marks in the vinyl.

‘Fuck me,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘Come on, Casey, get a grip.’ He didn’t want to think about what might have happened to him if Anderson hadn’t been there, at Bright Falls with him – if she hadn’t had his back, like she always did. He shook himself, pulling himself upright and glancing at his phone. It was little past three in the morning. Far too early to call; she was probably still in bed, like most people who didn’t have to battle monsters in their sleep. But then, Anderson had seen her fair share of darkness too. She was the only one he could confide in. Maybe…

He hesitated, before pinging off a quick message, sent in quiet mode. If she was asleep, it would be delivered without a notification to disturb her, and she’d see it in the morning. If she was awake… then perhaps she’d call.

He busied himself with mopping up the spilled drink and running his burned hand under the cold tap, before brewing another coffee. He moved slowly and methodically. This time, he managed to complete the process unscathed. He lifted the mug in a silent, sarcastic toast to even that small triumph, before taking his first sip. The lights flickered again.

‘Fuck off,’ he said aloud to the silent kitchen. ‘This isn’t your turf, pal, and I’m not your fucking puppet any more. Give it a break.’ He sighed, making a mental note to double-check the fuse-box later. Not that it would make any difference. He’d replaced every single bulb in his apartment after their return from Bright Falls three years ago, as well as paying to have brand new wiring fitted everywhere. He never wanted to feel trapped by the dark again.

He drank his coffee slowly, standing at the window and watching the slow surge of lights as the city breathed itself back into life. Headlights from passing cars swept away the darkness with their twin beams. The street lamps outlined the crooked shapes of nearby buildings in haloes of orange and gold. Up here, tucked away from the noise, it was almost peaceful.

He turned away as his phone rang, raising his brows in surprise when he saw Anderson’s name onscreen. He answered it, releasing a breath of relief that he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

‘Hey, Anderson. Thanks for calling. I didn’t think you’d be awake.’

A sigh rattled down the phone line. ‘It’s no problem, Casey. I’ve been up with Logan for the last half hour. She’s… been having bad dreams again.’

Casey grimaced. ‘Well, that makes two of us.’

‘Three, actually.’ He could imagine the expression on her face; her pursed lips, the sharpness of her eyes as her sleep-clouded voice gained focus, becoming more professional. ‘That’s too many to be a coincidence. Was it about…?’

She left the question hanging in the air. She didn’t have to shape words around the darkness for Casey to know exactly what she meant. ‘Yeah. The… incident in Bright Falls again. I don’t know why; I just can’t seem to shake it.’

‘I know. Me too.’ A pause on the end of the line. ‘Have you heard from anyone else recently? Wake, or Agent Estevez?’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Hopefully it’s nothing. Just the ghosts of old fears coming out to play, now that the winter’s here, and the days are growing darker.’ He shifted back towards the window. A slow frost had crept over the guttering and pipework, veiling everything it touched in shimmering silver. It was beautiful, in its own way; but Casey blessed the thermostat that kept his apartment nicely snug. He didn’t particularly mind the cold; he just didn’t want it inside his own home.

‘…I can come over,’ Anderson was saying. ‘We should talk. I can be with you once Logan’s settled again.’

‘Sure. I’ll put some more coffee on.’ He hesitated. ‘Anderson…? Thanks.’

‘No worries. See you soon.’ Her voice sounded warm and bright, a comfort even from a distance. He heard a small click as the line went dead and turned away, frowning thoughtfully. So, it wasn’t just him having bad dreams. By the sound of it, the nightmares were starting to creep up on all of them. For a moment, he considered texting Wake, but turned the idea aside. The two of them had remained friends, but the relationship was somewhat strained. Even now, Casey still wasn’t certain what Wake saw when he looked at him. Did he see a real person? Or just the character from his novels made flesh?

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing in frustration. He should probably get cleaned up, he realised. He was still shirtless, clad only in his pyjama pants; and while Anderson had certainly seen him in far worse states, he wanted to at least try and seem a little more put-together than he actually felt.

Stepping into the shower, he allowed the flood of warm water to cascade over his back and shoulders, groaning aloud with relief as it sloughed away the stain of the night’s fevered dreams. The nightmares didn’t disappear; but he could step away from them now, observing them in the daylight. He hoped that Anderson might be able to help him make sense of it all. It wasn’t just the dark dreams that had disturbed him, memories brought to light that were better left forgotten. Lately, something new had been creeping in. A fresh terror, sharp and raw, like a serrated blade drawn across his skin, and with it came an unfamiliar face, outlined in light and shadow. A woman he had never met: but in his dreams, Casey felt a desperate, aching familiarity with her. A connection, somehow, rooted in the depths of his soul. In every dream, her expression had been sad, afraid… haunted. Some nights, she cried out in pain; and he cried out with her, as a tidal wave of darkness threatened to overwhelm them both. Each time, he woke up sweating and shaking, and wishing he knew her name.

He didn’t know what it meant. Part of him didn’t want to know. But the other part, the detective in him, was eager to be off the leash and searching for answers. There was only one thing he did know, with a certainty that wove its way into his bones, cold and damp, like black water that threatened to choke him with every breath; like the darkness that had driven its roots into his lungs and wrapped a cold fist around his heart.

It was happening again.

Chapter Text

‘Hey.’ Anderson’s voice fluttered over the intercom. ‘I’m here, and I brought breakfast. Hurry up and let me in, before it all goes cold! It’s freezing out here!’

Casey chuckled, buzzing her into the building. When she arrived at his door, Anderson was breathless and pink-cheeked, wrapped in an enormous, fuzzy red scarf. She was clutching a brown paper bag and grinning. After they had sorted out coffee and breakfast, with only a small amount of bickering over the pastries, Casey was beginning to feel better; a little less like a hollowed-out version of himself.

‘It’s good to see you eating properly again,’ murmured Anderson, leaning back in her chair and observing him critically. ‘You’ve had me worried recently. I swear I’ve barely seen you eat a damn thing the last couple of weeks. You can’t survive entirely on coffee, you know; as much as I know you wish it were otherwise.’

‘Don’t spoil my dreams, Anderson,’ he replied mildly. ‘And stop worrying. I eat plenty.’

‘Uh-huh, sure.’ She raised a disbelieving eyebrow. ‘So, speaking of dreams… you want to tell me what’s going on?’

‘Straight to it, then? Alright.’ He leaned forwards, running a hand over his face and wondering where to begin. The hot shower had left him feeling human again, after the horrors of the night before. But as he began recounting the dream for Anderson, that feeling faded, leaving him wrung out and exhausted. The ghost of a man, he thought bitterly. Just skin and bone and sarcasm, held together with sweet pastries and black coffee.

He toyed with the handle of his cup, trying and failing to meet his partner’s knowing gaze. She was right; he hadn’t been eating much lately. He’d barely been able to stomach any food in the aftermath of these new nightmares – much the same as it had been three years ago, after he’d been released from the Dark Presence. Back then, Anderson had bullied him into eating again, dragging him along to her favourite restaurants with her family, and scowling at him until he picked something off the menu. It must be the motherly instinct in her, he mused, smiling faintly. She was as protective over him as she was with Logan sometimes; like a lioness guarding her cub.

‘I’ve been having the same dream,’ she was telling him, her voice low and confessional. ‘Well, not exactly the same – but too similar for it to be a coincidence.’ She breathed deeply. ‘I keep… dreaming of the time I spent trapped in the Dark Place: caught up in all my worst fears come true.’ She grimaced. ‘That fucking place – I can’t remember all of it, and to be honest I don’t want to. It’s like a nightmare in itself. One that you remember fragments and flashes of, but never enough to see the whole picture.’ She drummed her fingers thoughtfully on the table, her expression distant. ‘I think something’s happening at Bright Falls,’ she added slowly. ‘Something bad.’

Casey hesitated. ‘Is that your… intuition, telling you that? Another one of your hunches?’ he asked carefully. He knew about her Mind Place; that she’d discovered it was more than just a mental technique.

‘Partly,’ she admitted. ‘I haven’t quite put all the pieces together yet. We’re missing some of the puzzle.’ She shook her head. ‘But honestly… it’s more of a gut feeling, you know?’

‘I know.’ Casey leaned back, wincing at the dull, familiar ache that settled across his shoulders. The weight of knowledge, he thought bitterly. He flexed his stiffening muscles against the thin white cotton of his shirt, trying to loosen them; trying to shrug away the fear that even now began to wrap itself around him, soft and cloying. ‘I feel the same,’ he told her. ‘But it’s just a hunch. A bad feeling.’ He ran a hand distractedly through his hair. ‘Nothing here is based on any evidence – unless you count these fucking nightmares.’

Anderson smiled wryly. ‘In the normal world, they’d be inadmissible. But if we’re dealing with the Dark Presence again… then suddenly, these nightmares might just be that little bit more real.’ She sighed heavily. She hadn’t been sleeping well either. He could see it now, observing her carefully under the glare of the too-bright electric lights. She’d taken pains to conceal it, but she was tired too. Dark shadows painted themselves under her eyes like bruises. Casey felt a sharp pang of sympathy, as she steepled her fingers and leaned forwards.

‘This woman you mentioned,’ she added softly. ‘The one you see in your dreams. Do you know who she is yet?’

‘I have no idea.’ Casey scowled in frustration. ‘I see her face, as clear as day: as clearly as I can see you. But I don’t know… I’d swear I’ve never met her before. Not here, not in New York; and not in Bright Falls either.’ He hesitated. ‘You said that you’ve… seen her too?’

‘I think so. From your description, it sounds like the same person. But it’s hard to tell. I don’t think she’s as clear to me as she is to you.’

Casey sighed. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more details.’ He shivered. He’d done his best for Anderson, pulling together something like a police description – blonde hair, slim build, pale eyes – but to him, what he remembered most had been the expression on her face. In his dreams, she was suffering: wrapped up in darkness and misery, and a despair so deep that his very soul cried out against it. It was an expression he knew all too well.

Anderson smiled faintly. ‘It was enough.’ She gazed at him over the rim of her coffee cup, as though reading his inner thought as easily as he’d read a newspaper. ‘We will get answers,’ she added softly. She leaned over, grasped his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out, I promise. It’s what we do.’

‘I don’t doubt you, Anderson. I never have. But we’ve got so little to go on, I just don’t know…’ he trailed off, scowling as her eyes flashed defiance.

‘Not a problem. We’ll find more. It’s out there, I’m sure of it; and that brings me to another thing.’ She reached into her pocket. ‘I wanted to show…’ she broke off suddenly, her head snapping around, as a loud crack echoed from somewhere inside the apartment. Not a gunshot; but the sharp snap of something metallic breaking.

‘What the fuck was that?’ breathed Casey. Both agents were on their feet. Anderson already had her gun drawn, and Casey cursed softly as he reached for his, before realising that he’d left it on his bedside table. When he stepped out into the hallway, he cursed even louder.

Water was pooling on the hall carpet. For a moment that lasted all of half-a-heartbeat, Casey’s memory lashed at him like a whip, flooding his mind with dark water. Only the touch of Anderson’s hand at his wrist reminded him that he was still alive. He shook himself, blinking away the recollection of terror.

‘It’s a leak,’ he said. The water wasn’t still; it was moving slowly, ripples spreading out from under the door that led to the bathroom. He made his way towards it, opening the door with caution. Beside him, Anderson craned her neck to see.

‘You’ve got a cracked pipe,’ she said. ‘It must be the cold. The ice has been playing hell with our plumbing too.’ She ignored the water that washed over her sturdy boots, stepping into the bathroom and staring around. ‘Nothing more sinister than that,’ she said. ‘Just a… a busted pipe.’ The relief in her voice was all too evident, and Casey was about to agree with her, when he noticed her suddenly stiffen, her smile faltering.

‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘Anderson?’

‘There’s something in the pipe.’ Her voice was oddly expressionless. Casey followed her gaze. There, at the base of the crack, was a small, folded up something that looked as though it had been wedged inside. He stepped towards it, his heart sinking like a stone as he edged closer.

‘It looks like a folded up piece of paper,’ he muttered.

‘Don’t say it,’ Anderson breathed. ‘Don’t fucking say it, Casey. If that’s another one of Wake’s goddamn pages…’

He shook his head, reaching out wordlessly. The paper lifted away easily at his touch, as though it had been meant for him; waiting for him. It was sopping wet, but to his surprise it didn’t fall apart as he unfolded it.

‘It’s not a page.’ His voice lifted with surprise. ‘At least – not a manuscript page. It’s a painting. But… Anderson, look…’ his voice trailed off, his mind suddenly humming with a revelation that sent fresh fear spiralling into the pit of his stomach. The painting was a simple one; black ink carved a familiar landscape out of the white of the page, with splashes of red and orange paint serving as a sunset. The stark shape of winter trees loomed out of the darkness, scratched in so hard that there were marks scored into the fibres of the paper.

‘What the fuck?’ Anderson murmured. ‘This wasn’t what I was expecting.’

Casey shook his head, robbed momentarily of speech. It wasn’t the sight of the familiar shores of the hated Cauldron Lake that made his breath hitch, and his chest tighten. He reached for his tie to loosen it, before remembering that he wasn’t even wearing one. The collar of his shirt hung open, and he found himself pressing a hand to the base of his own throat, as though to try and dislodge the horror that had taken root there.

A pair of figures had been painted into the scene, standing on the lakeshore: one male, and one female. Both were easily recognisable; both were desperately familiar.

‘That’s us,’ he said. ‘The painting is of us.’

Chapter Text

Saga paced the length of Casey’s living room, from left to right, there and back again. It wasn’t a large space, but sometimes walking helped her think. This wasn’t the first time she’d been woken up by nightmares; but they’d been fading ever since the FBC officially closed the Bright Falls case three years ago. The memories had finally released their hold on her. Now, it seemed that she and Casey were both being pulled back into dark waters; and they weren’t the only ones.

She shivered at the memory of the monster that had threatened to destroy everything she loved: her family, her husband, her career, her partner… her daughter. A wave of anger crashed through her, overwhelming the fear that lay beneath. She’d woken up gasping in the dark, lurching bolt upright with the echo of Logan’s terrified screams ringing in her ears, before realising where she was: at home, in bed… safe.

Beside her, David was still snoring, wrapped in blissful slumber. She envied his untroubled sleep; and wouldn’t disturb it for the world. Slipping out of bed and into her robe, Saga had grabbed her phone and padded downstairs, hesitating outside Logan’s room.

Don’t be ridiculous, she’d told herself. It was just another stupid, shitty dream. Yet the nightmare had felt so real. She couldn’t resist easing the door open a fraction, and peeking inside. Logan was there – of course she was, she wasn’t dead, drowned beneath dark waters – but she was weeping. Her tiny shoulders were shaking with every sob, and one hand was crammed over her mouth to try and muffle the sound of her terror.

Saga scowled in frustration. Just thinking about it made fresh rage surge inside her. Logan was just a child, an innocent – she’d been dragged into this mess, another unwilling victim of the devastation that the Dark Presence left in its wake. At least she and Casey were adults; and as Casey had been so fond of saying, the life of an FBI agent meant that you always stood with one foot in the light, and one in the darkness. That was just the way the job worked.

But the Bright Falls case had been something different. Something awful. Something that had left its mark on all of them. Casey had been looking thin and drawn again, his eyes hollower than usual, haunted by the memory of darkness. At least he’d eaten some of the breakfast she’d brought over this time – not as much as she’d like, but it was better than nothing.

She slipped for a moment into the sanctuary of her Mind Place, allowing Casey’s name to settle at the forefront of her mind. She was worried about him. She might have been trapped in the Dark Place for a while; but Casey had been trapped in a prison of his own flesh, while the Dark Presence invaded his mind.

‘So, the darkness has set its sights on us again, huh?’ came the ghost of Casey’s voice, echoing through her thoughts. ‘There’s no safety in my dreams, now. Black water at my throat. It’s going to drown us all if we don’t stop it. I never used to be… afraid of the dark.’

She blinked. Casey was frightened, she realised. Not just for himself, but for her too – and for this mystery woman who they’d both glimpsed in their nightmares. Saga frowned. Even in her Mind Place, she’d struggled to make sense of this particular detail within their shared dreams. She didn’t recognise the woman’s face, or voice; but she knew grief when she saw it. She knew pain when she heard it; and she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that unless they did something to prevent it, this woman was going to become yet another victim of the Dark Presence – just like them.

She sighed, shifting back into the real world as Casey re-appeared, carrying two more cups of steaming coffee and grumbling about his flooded bathroom. ‘This still might not mean anything,’ she said quietly, almost to herself. ‘It might all just be… weird coincidence.’

‘Bullshit. You know as well as I do that there’s no such thing as coincidence.’ Casey’s voice sounded hoarse, as though he’d been screaming all night.

‘I know, you’re right. Still, we need more evidence if we’re going to figure out what’s actually happening here.’

‘We do, but…’ Casey hesitated, biting his lip before raising those astonishingly blue eyes to meet her gaze, his expression anxious, yet determined. ‘Anderson, if we start poking around this thing… then before we know it, there’ll be no going back. Like last time.’ He broke off, shaking his head. ‘I’m not saying we shouldn’t try and figure this out, I’m just saying that… well, we know what we might be getting ourselves into. We should be prepared.’

‘You’re right.’ Saga nodded brusquely. ‘Casey, I don’t want to let this lie. I don’t think that I can. The way it’s affecting you, me, Logan…’ she paused as a shiver of fear ran down her spine. ‘We may not even have a choice. It feels like… something is reaching out to us, trying to draw us in.’

‘You mean like last time, with the pages?’ Casey asked. ‘The same way that Wake wrote both our names into the horror story?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. It could be, but… this doesn’t feel the same. Something here isn’t adding up.’ She stood up decisively. ‘I want to head into the office, make a few calls while we’re between official cases. Maybe I can find us some leads.’

Casey nodded. ‘I’ll come with you. I should do the same.’

‘Alright then, let’s go.’ Saga nodded. Her mind was already flooding with ideas and possibilities, buzzing and ready for action despite her tiredness. She’d never been one to sit around while there was work to be done; and while this may not be an official FBI investigation – at least, not yet – some bone-deep instinct told her that it wouldn’t be long before they were both dropped headfirst back into a battle with the darkness.

With that in mind, Saga felt fresh determination surge through her veins. She would take every advantage she could get this time – and this time, she would do more than simply survive the darkness that was creeping up from Cauldron Lake. She would make damn certain it wouldn’t be able to hurt anybody else ever again.

*

Once they returned to the office, Casey left Saga making some phone calls as he headed down the corridor, following an idea of his own. It was still early, but the city never slept; and neither did the bureau. His heart was pattering anxiously as he walked, unsure whether what he was about to do was a fantastic idea, or tremendously stupid.

‘Hey, Sarah. You got a minute?’ He poked his head around the door of the FBI’s resident sketch artist, who was lounging at her desk with one foot propped over her knee, reading a book.

‘For you, Casey? Always.’ She flashed him a mischievous grin. ‘What can I do you for?’

‘I need to ask a favour. Something personal.’ He closed the door behind him. ‘I need a sketch. It’s nothing official – there’s no case file number, nothing like that. But if you’ve got time…?’

She nodded, her eyes lighting with understanding. ‘Sure thing, big guy. I’ve got a little time. Why don’t you take a seat?’

He nodded, collapsing in the chair she waved him towards as she rummaged in the desk for her drawing materials. He eyed the half-drunk coffee on her desk enviously. Anderson had been in such a rush to get to the office that they hadn’t bothered stopping off at their usual place; a decision he was regretting more and more by the minute.

‘How’s things?’ he asked, glancing around.

‘Oh, you know. Same old,’ she replied. ‘Hey, we finally got that new dog I was telling you about – you want to see?’

‘Sure.’ Casey chuckled, watching her face light up as, quicker than he could blink, she whipped out her phone to reveal a photograph of a tiny dachshund pup, with a whisky-coloured coat and soft brown eyes.

‘His name’s Butterscotch. Scotch, or Scotty, for short. My niece named him – but I think it suits.’

‘Cute,’ he nodded. ‘Real cute, Sarah. Good for you.’

She laughed at that, throwing her head back and grinning. ‘I keep telling you, Casey: you gotta get yourself a dog! Or even a cat – hell, just something to keep you company, you know?’ She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. ‘The lady who sold us Butterscotch had another couple of pups for sale, you know. I could put in a good word, give you her number…?’

He shook his head, smiling ruefully. ‘Not today, thanks. I’m no good with pets – too much time on the job, you know how it is.’

‘Sure, I get it. Well, maybe one day.’ She shrugged good-naturedly. ‘Now, about this sketch. You got a description for me?’

‘Yeah, I do. Let’s see now…’

He allowed his thoughts to be drawn back into the darkness of his dreams, pushing away the memory of terror and focusing on the face of the mystery woman. He tried to describe her calmly and clinically, without emotion; but it was difficult. Every now and then he saw a wince of sympathy pass over Sarah’s expression as she worked. He offered no explanation as to why he needed the sketch, and she had the good sense not to ask.

‘There,’ she said eventually, handing over the pad. ‘Close enough?’

‘That’s… brilliant,’ he breathed. ‘That’s her. You’re a goddamn miracle-worker, you know that?’

Sarah smiled wryly. ‘Yeah, I know.’ She leaned forwards, glancing back over the sketch with a critical eye. ‘She’s… pretty,’ she added slowly, her mischievous grin returning. ‘Real pretty, Casey. Is there… something going on between you two? Something you’re not telling me?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘I wish.’ The words slipped out before he could stop them, and he felt himself blushing under their implication. He shook his head as Sarah laughed, trying to ignore the heat climbing into his cheeks as he made good his escape. So what if she is pretty? he thought to himself. That has nothing to do with this, damn it. She’s connected to the Dark Presence somehow; and more importantly, she’s in danger; I just know it. If we can’t figure out who she is, we can’t stop whatever the fuck is happening. He breathed deeply, pausing for a moment outside the office to regain his composure, tucking the sketch into the inner pocket of his jacket.

Inside the office, Anderson was waiting for him. ‘We’re going to New York,’ she told him. ‘You’d better get packing.’

‘What the fuck?’ Casey shook his head, bewildered. ‘Why? What’ve you found?’

Saga shook her head. ‘It’s nothing…’ She lowered her voice. ‘Nothing to do with what we discussed earlier.’ She sighed. ‘There’s some evidence from a recent case that needs to be transferred over. You know, sensitive stuff that can’t be sent by mail…?’

‘So, we’re a glorified courier service now? How nice,’ grumbled Casey. ‘Guess I’ll have to give my spare keys to the maintenance department, so they can get somebody in to fix my flooded bathroom while I’m gone…’

‘I guess so.’ Saga smiled sympathetically. ‘Look, I know this is a pain, but it might actually work out. I’ve been on the phone with Wake. He’s still living in New York.’ She grinned. ‘We’re both invited to dinner tomorrow night.’

Casey rolled his eyes. ‘Great.’

‘Come on, don’t be like that. He’s not as bad as he was.’ She shrugged. ‘I figured we should talk. If we’re right… if there’s something going on back at Cauldron Lake… last time, the darkness was connected to him. He’ll know something’s going on. Even if it’s not Scratch this time, he may be able to help us.’

‘I hope you’re right.’ Casey frowned. ‘Speaking of help… I had Sarah draw this up for me.’ He pulled out the sketch and unfolded it with care, hesitating a moment before handing it over. ‘I thought it might help if we could actually agree who we were looking for – that’s if we are… looking for her?’ he added, smiling faintly as Anderson’s eyes lit up.

‘Yeah. Yeah, we are looking for her – Casey, this is her! The woman from my – from our – nightmares.’ Her expression sharpened. ‘Have you run it through the database yet?’

He shook his head. ‘Not yet. I wanted to keep this off the record, for now.’

‘Good idea. After all, this is hardly an official case – yet.’ She passed it back to him. ‘We should show Wake when we see him tomorrow, see if he’s been having the same dreams.’

‘Sure. I can’t wait.’ He sighed deeply as foreboding settled over him like a raincloud. His thoughts drifted back to the painting they’d found. Surely, it meant something. It had to. At least it’s not another page from Wake’s fucking awful books, he thought grimly. Yet even that might not be cause for celebration. Three years ago, Anderson had managed to figure out how to navigate through Wake’s twisted dream logic. She’d found a way to bring his narrative to a successful conclusion, even as the horror story took control. Now, it felt like they were back at square one again, facing something new; something terrifying. He replaced the sketch in his jacket pocket, feeling the faint, comforting rustle as it settled over his heart.

One step closer, he told himself. Closer to what, he still had no idea; but he was determined to find out.

Chapter Text

The flight to New York was uneventful. Casey managed to snatch a few minutes of fretful slumber on the plane, before they were back on the ground and taking care of business. He tried to ignore the creeping sense of familiarity that shadowed him as they passed through the bustling streets. I remember dying here in a dream I had, he thought listlessly. How much of it was real? Was any of it?

Some nights, he had dreams that seemed to belong to someone else. To another Alex Casey, a man who’d lived a different life; a man who’d ended his days bleeding out in a filthy back alley, under the indifferent lights of New York’s neon street signs. He’d felt it all: the familiar starburst of pain from a bullet wound, the sickening grind of a broken bone or two… he’d coughed up blood as bitter as yesterday’s coffee, felt the slow creep of darkness as his lungs heaved and quivered in his chest, trying to breathe… trying again and again to breathe. He’d drowned in a pool of his own blood – he remembered drowning, remembered what it felt like, and it wasn’t a good death – before waking up with a jolt, a half-formed cry of wordless desperation tearing from his throat. It always took a moment for reality to return; for him to remember who he was. God, how he hated it.

He didn’t know if it was Wake’s fault: whether the deaths that haunted him could be blamed on the scene where the fictional Alex Casey had been killed off in ‘A Sudden Stop.’ He’d refused to read the book when it was first published, content to know only that his fictional counterpart had been finally laid to rest. Now, with all the craziness that surrounded Wake and his writing, Casey would bet good money that there was still a connection there, no matter how tenuous. Something lingered: an invisible thread that bound him and the fictional detective together, for good or ill.

Somewhere, in some dark and distant reality, Wake’s writing had become real; real enough to haunt him. In the Dark Place, another Alex Casey had died in despair. Another Alex Casey had taken that fatal bullet; another Alex Casey had lost himself to the darkness. He shivered. It was the kind of thing that could drive a man mad, if he allowed himself to dwell on it.

‘Hey, are you ok?’ Anderson nudged him with her elbow.

‘Hmm?’ Casey shook himself free of his morbid speculations and turned to glance at her, to find that she was staring at him. ‘I’m fine, Anderson; don’t give me that worried look.’

She shrugged. ‘Okay, but… you’ve just been standing there, staring at a street sign for the last five minutes.’

‘Right.’ He cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘Sorry.’

She shook her head and sighed. ‘No, it’s… I’m just worried. You looked like you were miles away, in a different reality.’

He laughed grimly. ‘I was, I think. Nothing to worry about – I was just remembering an old dream.’ He hesitated. ‘Being back here feels… strange. Familiar in a way I can’t describe, like something that goes beyond the time I spent here years ago, working that cult case.’

Saga nodded. ‘I know what you mean.’ She glanced around. ‘It’s weird. I keep getting… flashes, like memories that aren’t mine. Or that are mine – except I’m only just remembering them.’ She hesitated. ‘They’re coming from the Dark Place,’ she added, with a certainty that sent a chill through Casey’s bones. ‘When I was there, a part of it looked like… well, like this. Except, it was Wake’s twisted version of New York, where it was always night, always dark and rainy, where the murders in his books took place. Blood in the streets, graffiti everywhere… that sort of thing.’

‘Sounds familiar. Where the murder of one particular literary detective occurred too.’ Casey grimaced, his hand rising almost unconsciously to where the fictional bullet had struck him in the chest. He felt a momentary flutter of pain: the ghost of the imaginary wound, still haunting him. ‘Fuck, this gives me the creeps. I hate every minute of being here.’

She gave him a sympathetic glance. ‘We’ve got a while before dinner at Wake’s place. Now that the work is done, did you want to do anything in the city in the meantime? I thought I might chase up a few leads. If you wanted to go back to the hotel and lie low, I wouldn’t blame you. Maybe even try and catch up on a couple of hours sleep…?’

He chuckled drily. ‘I’m not a dog that you can’t let off the leash, Anderson. I’ll find something to do, don’t worry.’ He tapped his ear. ‘Keep in contact, though. Just in case.’

‘I will, don’t worry. Take care of yourself, Casey. Don’t get into any trouble.’

‘Don’t count on it.’ He sighed. Whatever leads she was chasing, she hadn’t seen fit to share them with him – yet. Not that he minded; Casey knew from experience that he could trust Saga’s intuition. He’d witnessed it countless times on cases before. He smiled. He didn’t have faith in a whole lot these days, but when it came to solving mysteries, he had faith in Saga Anderson.

He turned away, pulling out his phone to check his messages. He’d contacted Kiran Estevez from the FBC before they’d boarded the plane, letting her know he’d be in New York. As luck would have it, so was she; and her reply was short and to the point.

>> Good timing. I can meet you for lunch. There’s a café called Erebus on the corner of Brooke Street that does a decent espresso. I’m buying. K.

He hailed a cab and gave the address, before settling back into the cheap leather seat and sighing. New York had almost been a home to him, once. Now, it felt like the city was full of ghosts. It began to rain as the car wove its way through traffic, pattering greyly against the window as Casey watched the world drift past. He shook his head, watching the people coming and going, trying to ignore the shadow of his own reflection that hovered on the far side of the dirty glass. The ocean on the far side of the mirror, he thought. Memories of the darkness snapped at his heels, but he pushed them away.

‘Hey, Alex. Good to see you.’ Kiran shook his hand when they met, her tone as brusque as ever; but her eyes were soft, and her smile friendly. ‘You look like shit,’ she added bluntly, looking him up and down.

‘Thanks,’ he chuckled. ‘It’s good to see you too, Kiran. How’re things?’

She shrugged. ‘You know, the usual: trying to juggle my failing personal life alongside managing any number of potentially world-ending paranatural events. Nothing new.’ She smiled wryly. ‘So, what’s up with you? Not that I’m not happy to see you, but you look like a man with something on his mind.’

He shook his head. ‘Am I really that transparent?’

‘Yeah. For a cop, you’re a shit liar.’ She grinned at his expression, taking a sip of her coffee. She’d been right, thought Casey. This place did do a decent espresso. ‘Talk to me, Alex,’ she added, her expression softening. ‘You look like you’ve been forced to make two night’s sleep do the work of seven. What’s going on?’

He shook his head. ‘Cauldron Lake,’ he said. The words sounded like a curse. ‘It’s all coming back, Kiran. The Dark Presence – what you call the Shadow – is still lurking there. Anderson and I have been getting… hints. Something is going on down at that cursed fucking lake, I’d bet my life on it. Is the FBC monitoring station still active? Is there any information you could share?’

She narrowed her eyes at him over the rim of her coffee cup. ‘Yeah, it’s still there. It’s still active,’ she replied slowly. ‘As far as I’m aware, there’ve been no recent alerts from Cauldron Lake, or the area around Bright Falls. But the station only alerts when a full-blown AWE is triggered – an Altered World Event.’ She shook her head. ‘Best I can do is get the guys at HQ to run a full report over to me. The machinery is calibrated to pick up smaller stuff too: background reality distortions, temporal spikes… that kind of thing.’

‘Right.’ Casey nodded, uncertain as to exactly what a temporal spike was but unwilling to ask. ‘I’d appreciate that, Kiran. I’m sorry I can’t give you more to go on.’

She shrugged. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’m afraid I can’t spare any agents to check the lake out in person – we’re still criminally understaffed. But I’ll pass on the report when it comes through. How far back do you need me to run it?’

He frowned. ‘It started a few weeks ago, I think. Perhaps a month or two?’

‘A month is not a problem.’ She smiled faintly. ‘Anything else I can do?’

He hesitated, raising his hand towards the sketch still tucked in his pocket, reluctant to pull it out. It felt strangely… personal. He shook himself. Stop wasting time, he told himself sternly. The sooner we can put a name to this face, the better.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Yeah, there is one more thing.’ He pulled out the sketch and unfolded it with great care, laying it on the table between them. ‘Do you recognise this woman?’

Kiran picked up the sketch and examined it closely. Casey held his breath. ‘No,’ she said eventually. ‘No, I don’t think I do. Should I?’

He sighed. ‘The nightmares have been… getting worse,’ he replied quietly. ‘I don’t know her name. I don’t know who she is. All I know is that she’s caught up in this mess, somehow. I keep seeing her in my dreams, tangled up in all this… darkness.’ He shivered. ‘She’s a part of whatever fucked up thing is going on down at Cauldron Lake, I’m sure of it.’

Kiran tilted her head to one side, birdlike, watching him closely. ‘Caught up in it how? Is she a new victim; or another vessel for the Shadow, like you and Wake were last time?’

Casey tried not to wince at the reminder. ‘I think she’s a victim. She’s not a part of the darkness, I’d put money on it. In my dreams, I hear her calling to me for help. She’s scared.’

‘If you’re right, and the Shadow’s coming back, then I don’t blame her.’ Kiran sighed. ‘Look, I can’t say that I’ve seen her before, but I also don’t have every single mugshot in our files memorised. If you like, I can snap a picture of your sketch, run it through our databases, and see if anything pops that’s related to the Bright Falls case – or any AWE, for that matter. How does that sound?’

He sagged with relief against the chair. ‘That sounds great. Thanks, Kiran.’

‘No problem.’ She flashed him a rare smile. ‘That’s what friends are for, right?’

‘Right.’ He leaned forwards. ‘So, now that’s out of the way, tell me; what’s new with you?’

The next couple of hours were spent catching each other up. Most of Kieran’s work was still classified; still, she had more than enough terrible dating anecdotes to make up for it. Casey found himself relaxing as they talked, finally able to shrug off the darkness that had been laid over him like a shroud. By the time dinner at Wake’s apartment rolled around, he felt ready for anything.

‘Parliament Tower,’ breathed Saga, as they stood side by side, staring up at the vast, looming building. She seemed oddly ill at ease, her usual sunny disposition vanishing as they stepped into its shadow. ‘I’ve seen this before, in the Dark Place.’

Casey frowned. ‘We don’t have to do this,’ he told her. ‘We can call it off, or tell them we’ll meet at a restaurant instead…’

‘No. No, it’s okay. I just needed a moment.’ She nodded. ‘Ready?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Ready.’

‘Alright then.’ She pressed the buzzer, stepping inside as the door swung open. As the elevator took them up to Wake’s penthouse apartment, Casey felt an odd sense of déjà vu shiver across his skin. He’d been here before too, he realised. He recognised it from a dream.

‘Fucking hell,’ he muttered to himself, breathing deeply and willing himself to remain calm as the elevator doors slid wide. ‘I’ve got a funny feeling about this, Anderson. One way or another, I think we’re going to have one hell of an evening.’

Chapter Text

Before meeting Alice Wake, Casey had expected her to be delicate. After listening to days of Alan’s unhinged ranting about how he’d dived into Cauldron Lake to save her back in 2013, he’d always pictured her as a classic damsel-in-distress type: fragile, ethereal… vulnerable. Now, he knew better.

‘Come in,’ she said, her clear blue eyes lighting in welcome. Her voice was warm and mellow, her gaze steady. Assured confidence radiated from her, in stark contrast to his memory of her haunted, neurotic husband. Now, three years down the line, Alan Wake looked… better. Alice had been good for him, Casey thought cynically, as he reached out to shake a hand that no longer trembled under its own slight weight. He looked sleeker, healthier; like a stray dog that had been adopted and given a few square meals. He no longer looked like a man clinging to his last thread of sanity, counting the seconds until it snapped. He’d even caught something of a tan.

Staring at Wake now, it all came rushing back to him. The night he’d first met Alice; the night that Anderson and Wake had finally ended the horror story together. The night that he, Casey, had become a monster. The recollections he’d tried so hard to push away were leaking back into his consciousness again, flooding his mind like black water. He remembered the sudden, violent lurch back into life, into consciousness, as the Dark Presence clawed its way out of him, collapsing on the floor of the writer’s room like a puppet with all its strings cut. Dimly, he’d been aware of Alan wrestling with the monster inside him, watching Anderson as she raised her gun and fired. Her expression had been unflinching as she sent the bullet of light directly into Alan’s skull. Casey had dragged himself to his feet, ignoring the pain that blossomed into every inch of his battered body as they waited for the final blow to fall.

‘Is it… over?’ he’d asked, hating the tremor that shook his voice, the dull rasp of it, as though he’s spent the last three days straight doing nothing but screaming. The tension in the room had been thick enough to cut with a knife: Saga’s phone was at her ear and her expression was creased in a breathless mixture of hope and fear. They’d both been waiting, hoping, praying to hear her daughter’s voice. The silence on the other end of the line had been deafening. Then…

‘Mom?’

‘Logan? Logan! Are you alright?’

Casey had missed the rest of the exchange, collapsing back onto the floor in sheer relief. He’d been heartily sick, hoping that he could somehow cough up the last of the darkness that had crept inside him. He would have vomited up his entire stomach if he could, along with every other organ in his body: everything that had been tainted by the darkness. But he was spared the indignity of further self-evisceration as Alan jerked back into life again, the glowing bullet-hole in his skull disappearing as though it had never even existed.

‘The ending worked,’ he said. Certainty rang in his voice like a bell. ‘Scratch is gone.’

Casey fought not to fall down again as fresh relief tumbled over him. Scratch is gone, his thoughts echoed. It’s finally over. A terrible pain was throbbing in his head and his entire body felt as though it had been beaten black and blue; but still, he felt exhilarated. Triumphant. Alive.

The three of them had stepped together out of the writer’s room to find themselves once more on the shores of Cauldron Lake. Alan had done… something. Casey couldn’t remember exactly what. He wasn’t sure he wanted to remember any more of it. All he could recall was a light blooming in the lamp Alan carried, pure and white and radiant. The surface of the lake roiled as though in a high wind, parting with a hiss of defiance and a sputter of violet light to reveal the body of a woman, washed up on the shore.

‘Alice!’

Wake had run to her, the word tearing from his lips, a cry of both joy and desperation. Watching their reunion, Casey felt his heart twist painfully in his chest. For thirteen years, they fought to be together, he realised. Going through loop after loop, nightmare after nightmare, to save each other. That, right there… that’s love. He shivered. He’d never known a love like that, he thought bitterly. There was nobody who would dive into the darkness for him. Nobody who would walk open-eyed into a waking nightmare to save his soul. He was alone.

Now, standing face to face with both Alice and Alan once again, the three years that had passed felt like they had been little more than the blink of an eye. He swallowed hard, willing away the nausea that threaded through his gut, smiling awkwardly as Alice Wake embraced him.

‘It’s good to see you again,’ he said, as she stepped away. There was a knowing edge to her gaze as she looked him up and down, pressing a comforting hand to his forearm before releasing him.

‘It’s great to see you too, Alex,’ she replied. ‘You look well. It’s been far too long since we last saw you. I’d hoped you and Saga would come visit us here in New York soon after we returned, but… I understand why you kept away.’

Casey nodded uncomfortably. ‘Well, it’s the job, really. Straight onto the next case, you know how it is. It doesn’t exactly leave much time for social calls.’

‘Of course.’ She smiled warmly. ‘Can I offer you a drink? Wine, scotch?’

‘Whisky?’ He grinned. ‘Now you’re talking.’

*

Despite his misgivings, Casey found himself relaxing once they were inside Wake’s apartment, mostly due to the large glass of scotch that Alice pressed into his hand. It had to be the good stuff, he thought to himself; it was going down incredibly smoothly. He glanced around. The room they were in was modestly sized, and the décor was opulent yet subtle; easy to overlook if you didn’t know how to spot money. But an apartment in this area wasn’t exactly cheap, and the penthouse was luxurious, with its tall, elegant windows that offered spectacular panoramic views across the night city. Casey shook his head as he leaned against the glass, gazing out across the streets. It was easy to see where Alan got some of his inspiration from. Even at night – especially at night, perhaps – the view was breathtaking. The city was lit up in white light and neon flares, as an endless stream of headlights cut long, ribbon-like paths through the dark. Here and there, an orange streetlamp flickered. As he watched, it began to rain; and even now, something in Casey’s tired old heart still lifted at the sound. The gentle patter of raindrops filled the quiet night air, dancing across the windowpanes. He smiled.

‘The night city,’ he murmured. ‘Somehow, this all feels… achingly familiar.’

Alan nodded apologetically. ‘I can draw the blinds if you’d prefer. It must be strange for you to be here – both of you.’

Anderson shook her head. ‘It’s fine. Just a weird sense of déjà vu – I saw this place, or a version of it at least, in the Dark Place.’ She hesitated. ‘Sorry to bring that up,’ she added quickly.

‘No, it’s okay,’ Alice nodded, with a sharp glance at her husband. ‘We’ve got a lot to talk about. I know this stuff isn’t exactly regular dinner-party conversation, but I’m guessing that it’s at least part of the reason you both accepted Alan’s invitation.’

Saga seemed to hesitate for a moment, collecting her thoughts before nodding decisively. ‘It is. Not that we also didn’t want to see you, but…’ she glanced sidelong at Casey. ‘We have some questions that need answering. We’ve both been getting… hints. Bad dreams, among other things.’

‘Dreams?’ Alice frowned. ‘About the Dark Presence? The Dark Place?’

Saga nodded, taking a sip of her wine. ‘I think… no, I know something bad’s happening down at Bright Falls again,’ she said. ‘And whatever it is, it seems to be… pulling at us. Casey, me, Logan… I’m worried we’re all going to get dragged under again. While I do remember Alan saying that Scratch is gone, we couldn’t help but wonder: do either of you know what’s happening there now? Is it Scratch again, or something new?’

Alan shook his head vehemently. ‘It’s not Scratch. It can’t be. I’ve stopped writing,’ he said. ‘My publisher thinks I’ve gone mad, but I don’t care. Ever since we escaped, I haven’t written a single word.’ He shrugged. ‘Unless you count some of the press releases for Alice’s art,’ he added. ‘She’s had several exhibitions. They’ve been brilliant; her photography is finally getting the recognition it deserves!’

‘Congratulations.’ Casey raised his glass in a toast towards Alice, who waved away the praise with a blush and a grin. A flicker of envy wove its way into Casey’s thoughts, hearing the love and obvious pride in Alan’s voice as he began explaining the process behind Alice’s latest project. So, they’re both still in love, after all this time? He thought, trying desperately not to feel too bitter about it all. I guess they deserve a happy ending. After all, they did go through literal hell to find one another, again and again…

‘So, just to be clear: you’re not writing anything at all? Creatively, I mean?’ Casey glanced over to find Anderson directing her finest piercing glare towards Alan.

‘No.’ Alan scowled, rising to his feet and beginning to pace back and forth. ‘No more detective novels, no more accidental horror stories. It’s not safe – I just don’t want to chance it. Even this far away from Cauldron Lake, I won’t take those sorts of risks, not any more. Not with the people I love.’ He shrugged. ‘Besides, it’s not as if we need the money. My old books are still selling well. Barry’s been in talks with a local studio too; apparently, there’s been some interest in developing a television series based on the Casey novels…’ he trailed off, meeting the real Casey’s eye with an apologetic expression. ‘Sorry,’ he added.

Casey shook his head, nonplussed. ‘Why are you apologising to me?’

‘Because I feel… responsible. I know that there are echoes of your life in those books, and now I realise it’s more than likely because of the fucking Dark Presence – its power was reaching out to me, even back then. What I thought were flashes of inspiration were actually echoes of real events; and I’ve been using them in my work for years!’

‘Stop worrying about it.’ Casey frowned. ‘Do you still get them?’ he added. ‘Those… weird inspiration flashes?’

Alan shook his head. ‘Not anymore. I only used to get them while I was writing, and now I’m not doing that…’ he shook his head, breaking off at a nudge from his wife.

‘Alan, wasn’t there something else you were going to say to Alex?’ Alice interrupted, nudging her husband again and nodding pointedly towards Casey.

‘Ah, yeah. Right.’ Alan swallowed and stood up. ‘Come on. I wanted to show you something, in the study.’

Casey pulled a wry face at Alice’s encouraging smile. ‘This had better not be another fucking set of detective novels with my stupid face plastered all over the front cover.’

‘It’s much better than that,’ Alice reassured him. ‘Go on, Alex. You’ll be pleasantly surprised, I promise.’

‘Fine.’ Grumbling, he followed Wake. The study was just as luxurious as the rest of the apartment, and looking around, Casey realised that the term home library was probably far more appropriate. Bookshelves ran from floor to ceiling across all four walls, and all the furniture was tastefully upholstered in sage green leather and dark, burnished wood. Idly, he wondered just how much all this had cost, before cutting that thought off with a wince. Far more than he’d ever make on a humble FBI salary, that was for damn certain.

‘It was one of Alice’s bright ideas,’ Wake was saying, retreating behind an enormous desk and rummaging in one of the drawers. Casey stared up at the high shelves, wondering whether or not Alan had actually read every single book in here. Smart money says no, he thought to himself, eyeing the collected works of Charles Dickens that took up almost a whole shelf all to itself. Nobody’s got that much time on their hands; and nobody likes Dickens that much.

‘Logan would have a field day in here,’ he muttered. ‘Saga’s daughter,’ he added, as Alan shot him a quizzical stare. ‘She’s taken up reading in a big way recently.’

That at least made Alan smile. ‘That’s great to hear. I hope she’s doing well?’

Casey shrugged, feeling his expression turn grim. ‘She’s been having nightmares too.’

‘Oh.’ Alan hesitated, his smile faltering. ‘Shit. I’m guessing that’s at least part of why you and Saga are here.’ He shook his head. ‘Look, I can’t undo what happened. What I’ve done. But I thought… maybe I can start making up for some of it, at least.’ The ghost of a smile flickered across his features as he held out a sealed envelope. ‘Consider this an apology for all the Casey jokes you’ve ever had to endure at the office.’

‘What the hell is this? Paperwork?’ Casey frowned, turning the envelope over gingerly.

Alan laughed. ‘Just some documents that I’d like your signature on. Nothing bad, I promise. You don’t have to look at it as though it’s going to explode!’

‘Force of habit, I’m afraid.’ Casey shook his head, grimacing. ‘In my line of work, nothing good ever comes in a plain brown envelope.'

‘Then this might just be a first for you.’ Alan leaned back, perching on the edge of the desk. ‘I had the lawyers draw this up. It’s a draft contract concerning the Alex Casey series. More specifically… concerning the royalties.’

Casey paused, his gaze flickering back up to the writer, who was grinning. ‘Royalties?’

‘Yeah. The books have been best-sellers for years. On top of that, I still get a percentage of the profits from the movies too. There’s some other stuff as well, audiobooks and similar… well, let’s just say it adds up to a tidy sum.’

‘I bet it does.’ Casey glanced around pointedly, indicating the luxury of their surroundings. ‘Nobody else I know lives in a place like this. Certainly not anyone on a government salary.’

Alan shrugged, unrepentant. ‘Well, nobody else can do what I do – but that’s beside the point. Once I got back, it seemed… I don’t know. Finding out that you were real, it changed… well, it changed everything.’ He winced, seeming to stumble over his words. ‘Fuck, I thought I’d figured out how to say this. I should have written it down.’ He smiled awkwardly. ‘What I’m trying to say is that I want to cut you in on the royalties. After meeting you, and then after everything that happened at Bright Falls…’ he hesitated. ‘I don’t know just how much of you and your real life influenced my writing. Just like… like I don’t know how much of my writing influenced you and your life. It’s messed up. I just… all I know is that there was a connection.’

‘Fuck.’ Casey hesitated, unsure of what to say. ‘I think there still is,’ he replied eventually. ‘A connection, I mean. Coming back to New York has been… strange.’ He bit his lip, staring up at Wake, who for once in his life had the good sense to keep quiet. ‘There are… places here that I’ve never been, but that still feel familiar,’ he admitted, lowering his voice. ‘Hell, I can even remember dying here, like in a dream – but it was real. I can still feel the bullet wound, right here – or at least, the ghost of it.’ He rubbed a hand across his chest, wincing. ‘Casey – your Alex Casey – still haunts me, Wake. It wasn’t so bad back in Virginia, but now, here, with whatever the fuck is happening in Bright Falls… it’s gotten worse.’

‘That sounds completely fucking awful. I’m so sorry.’ Alan flushed crimson, looking thoroughly upset. ‘I didn’t mean…’

‘I know, I know.’ Casey waved away the man’s apologies, shaking his head as the lights in the study flickered, forcing a smile to try and ease the tension. ‘I guess being an accidental writer’s muse isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Funny, I always assumed a muse was supposed to be a beautiful woman. Perhaps Anderson would have been a better choice for your books, Wake – she’s a better detective than I am too.’

Alan laughed at that at least, shaking his head. ‘I won’t be writing any more detective novels, don’t worry. I’ve got all the muse I need in Alice now, thanks.’ He paused for a moment, fixing Casey with an unreadable expression.

‘What is it?’ he asked, trying not to shift uncomfortably beneath the intensity of the writer’s gaze. What does he see when he looks at me? he wondered. Does he still see me as his fucking character? Is he trying to think up how the rest of this scene should go? He frowned as the lights flickered again. ‘You should get that fixed,’ he muttered.

Alan nodded slowly. ‘Yeah. Of course, sorry.’ He shook his head, as though warding off an uncomfortable thought, gesturing towards the envelope that Casey was still holding. ‘Look, I’m not good with numbers, but these shares in the royalties should be enough. We can make some changes if you like, once you’ve read it all through…’

‘No.’ Casey grimaced, offering the envelope back. ‘My salary is just plenty for me, thanks. I don’t need your guilt money.’

‘It’s not that – I’m just trying to make things right!’ Alan shook his head again, decisively. ‘We won’t take no for an answer on this, Agent Casey. If you refuse, I’ll just have to call Alice in here – and she’s a hell of a lot more persuasive than me.’ He smiled faintly. ‘It’s not that much, honestly, but… well, we thought it’d be a nice little extra to go with whatever pension the FBI offers, if you wanted to retire. You know; settle down, start a family…’

‘Hey, I’m not that old yet!’ protested Casey. ‘Let’s not throw around words like retire just yet, huh? I may be a bit of an old dog, but there’s still life in me yet, thank you very much.’ He took a deep swig of his whisky, trying to ignore the slow, gnawing misery that wrapped cold hands around his heart as he spoke. ‘Honestly, I don’t think… look, Alan, I didn’t exactly do anything to deserve this. All I did was…. exist. Besides, it’s a bit fucking late to talk about starting a family. I’m already divorced, remember?’

‘Sure, but… if there’s one thing I’ve learned from all of this, it’s that it’s never too late to find a happy ending.’ Alan was giving him that look again, filled with a searching kind of intensity. ‘Besides, without you and Saga, I’d probably still be trapped in the Dark Place; maybe even dead. More importantly, Alice would still be in danger from Scratch. Without whatever connection we have – you, me, the fictional Casey – without it, you might not have been drawn to the Bright Falls case, and that decision is what brought you and Saga to the lake. That decision… is a part of what saved us. Saved us all.’ He smiled faintly. ‘Please, Alex. At least consider it.’

‘Fine.’ Casey nodded, holding his hands up in defeat. ‘Fine, you win. I’ll consider it.’ He chuckled. ‘Would it at least help set me up in some kind of fancy place like this?’ he added, nodding jokingly towards the study’s elegant trappings, glancing back at Alan to find him nodding, completely serious.

‘Yeah, it would.’ He gave Casey a searching look. ‘Look, I’m not expecting an answer now. I know you’ll want to mull it all over. All I’m asking is that you think about it.’

‘All right,’ Casey nodded slowly, surprised by the earnestness in Alan’s words. ‘I’ll take a look when I can. Uh… thanks.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Alan grinned, the tension seeming to bleed out of him at Casey’s words. ‘Come on, let’s head back out there and get you another drink.’

Casey glanced down at his whisky glass, which he’d somehow emptied without noticing. ‘Right. Sounds good to me.’

*

When they returned to the main room, the first thing Casey noticed was Alice’s grim expression. She nodded at him over the rim of her wine glass, eyeing the envelope in his hand with a glimmer of satisfaction, before her expression fell again.

‘Saga’s been catching me up,’ she said. ‘On everything that’s happened to the two of you, including the art you found. I’m not surprised you came here to ask about Alan’s writing again.’

‘Art?’ Alan glanced expectantly between the two women. ‘What kind of art?’

‘A painting,’ Saga replied. ‘We found it yesterday, when Casey’s bathroom flooded.’

‘Flooded?’ Alan raised an inquisitive eyebrow at that, staring back at Casey, who shook his head irritably.

‘Long story,’ he muttered. ‘If the Dark Presence knows my home address, the least it could do is use regular mail to send us this shit – not to ruin my fucking plumbing as well.’ He nodded towards Saga. ‘Did you bring it with you? The painting?’

‘Yeah, I did. I have it here.’ She beckoned Alan over. ‘With you and Alice being a part of the art circles here in New York, I was hoping one of you might recognise it – or even just the signature…?’

Casey stepped back, busying himself with the whisky bottle while Alan and Alice examined the painting, allowing the rest of the conversation to wash over him. He knew it’d been too much to hope for, that either one of the Wakes would be able to answer any of their questions. It seemed that both Alice and Alan were as much in the dark as he and Saga.

Even more questions for us to answer, he thought to himself, wandering back towards the window and resting against the glass, drawn once more towards the view of New York’s skyline. The rain was still falling, softening the world into a comforting haze of light and shadow. The distant winter trees were ragged and austere, their leaves long gone; little more than pencil-thin silhouettes against a sky that was thick with cloud. He glanced upwards. There was no moon or stars strong enough to shine through the eyeless night: just a sea of blackness, stretching as far as the eye could see. He shivered.

The darkness isn’t coming back, he realised. It’s already here. He felt his heart quicken in his chest at the notion, which arrived with ice-cold clarity. Frozen dread slithered down his spine, but he forced the feeling away. In the face of the Dark Presence, fear was useless – worse than useless. The darkness fed on fear, grew fat on it; preyed on those who were weak, guilty, ashamed, or afraid… it took them, hollowed them out inside, made them little more than empty vessels for its hate. Casey clenched his jaw as fresh determination surged through him, watching the endless rain beat against the window panes. I won’t be afraid this time, he swore to himself. This time, things will be different. If we come face to face with the darkness again, then I won’t let it take me. I won’t let it use me. He stared at his own reflection, hovering on the far side of the glass; a ghost still haunting the city streets. Not bad, he thought critically. An old dog who might still learn some new tricks. He straightened his collar before meeting his own gaze with steely determination. Bright Falls, here we come, he thought grimly. One way or the other, they were going to finish this… no matter the cost.

*

Chapter Text

It was late by the time they returned to their hotel. Dinner had run on, and while Saga had certainly enjoyed the evening, it hadn’t been quite as fruitful as she’d hoped.

‘I really thought I could get some good leads here,’ she said, as she and Casey climbed the stairs that led to their separate rooms. ‘I felt sure that Alice could help us with the painting – or at least might recognise the style, and have an idea as to who the artist might be. But nobody seems to know anything about it.’

‘Nothing to do with this fucked up Dark Presence shit was ever going to be easy,’ Casey replied, scowling. ‘And as much as I hate to say it, we’re not going to get anywhere while sitting pretty in New York – or in Virginia, for that matter.’

Saga sighed, swallowing down the anxiety that trembled against her heart at the idea of leaving her daughter again. ‘You’re right. That doesn’t make it any easier, though. I’m worried about Logan. I can’t bring her with us, we both know it’ll be far too dangerous; but I don’t want to leave her behind either! Who knows what might happen to her this time?’

‘Nothing. Nothing is going to happen to her.’ Casey halted on the landing, turning to grasp her arm with surprising ferocity. ‘Anderson… the last time, we didn’t know what we were walking into, and everything went to hell. This time… it’ll be different, I swear. We will both protect Logan, and if the Dark Presence wants to drag her back into whatever crazy horror story it conjures up, then it’ll have to go through both of us first.’

She glanced up, startled, meeting her partner’s gaze. She didn’t need her Mind Place to read the sincerity in his expression; it was plain as day. ‘Thanks,’ she muttered, swallowing down the surge of emotion that brought a prickle of tears to her throat. ‘Thank you, Casey. That means a lot.’ She grinned awkwardly. ‘Somebody’s feeling awfully protective tonight,’ she added with a chuckle. ‘Just how much of that whisky did you drink, anyway?’

Casey grimaced. ‘Probably too much, but I don’t care. It’s my job to protect people, Anderson. While I know you can handle yourself, I still couldn’t protect you, or your kid, back in Bright Falls.’ He shook his head, his blue eyes lighting with fresh determination. ‘That won’t happen again.’

‘Hey.’ She placed a hand on his arm, halting him as he tried to keep walking. ‘You need to let that shit go,’ she said, lowering her voice as he turned to stare at her in surprise. ‘It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. We both did the best we could.’

‘Yeah. I guess so.’ He released a long, slow sigh, shaking his head. ‘Sorry. I guess I’m still a bit sore about it. Seeing Wake again, talking it all through… it brought back some unpleasant memories.’

Saga nodded. ‘Yeah, I know. Same here.’ She smiled. ‘Let’s just get some rest. It’s an early flight tomorrow; and we need to figure out exactly how we’re both going to get back to Bright Falls without the excuse of an official investigation.’

Casey rolled his eyes, trying and failing to stifle an enormous yawn. ‘That’s a headache for another day. You’re right – we both need sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.’

Saga couldn’t resist another grin. ‘Bright and early, Casey – and I can’t wait to see the hangover all that whisky is going to give you.’

‘Pot, kettle,’ her partner grumbled; but she caught a twinkle of mischief in his eye as he turned away. ‘Don’t think I didn’t notice you and Alice sinking all that red wine,’ he added over his shoulder. ‘I think we’ll both be needing a strong cup of coffee on our way to the airport tomorrow.’

*

After locking the door of his room, Casey finally felt able to relax. He stripped off, leaving his clothes hanging on the back of a chair before stepping into the shower. Saga, damn her intuition, had been right: over the course of the evening, he’d drunk far more of Alan’s excellent scotch than he’d intended. The warm water shivered across his skin and he sighed in relief, turning up the temperature until the entire room was filled with fragrant steam.

‘Nothing like a hot shower after a shit day,’ he muttered to himself, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. In truth, the day hadn’t been all that shit – but he’d been telling Saga the truth when he’d said that it had brought some uncomfortable memories to light.

Stepping out of the shower, he towelled himself off and pulled on his pyjama pants before collapsing on the bed. With any luck, I’ll be too tired to dream tonight, he thought hazily, staring up at the bland hotel décor and breathing deeply. The last thing I need now is another fucking nightmare; especially after all that whisky.

*

‘No!’

Casey’s eyes slammed open. He jerked up from the bed in a cold sweat, fear a leaden lump in his throat, choking him. A hoarse cry tore itself free while he fumbled to turn on the lights. The Dark Presence: it had been real, and it had been here. Close enough to touch him; close enough to see him somehow, even within the dream. It knows my name, he thought, stumbling out of bed to fetch a glass of water, swearing quietly when he almost collapsed. It knew me, it recognized me. What the fuck? He ran a hand through his hair, trying to untangle himself from dream’s lingering sense of despair.

She had been there again too – the unknown woman, her face a rictus of misery, as the darkness reached out for them both. Water like black ink had folded itself over her like a shroud, and it had been her cry of terror that had forced him into a painful awakening. He was drenched in sweat, with the sheets all twisted up around him, as though he’d been thrashing wildly in the grip of the nightmare.

From next-door, there came the sound of a muffled thump: movement from Anderson’s room. Had he cried aloud and woken her? He must have done, because the next moment he heard her quick, urgent knock at his own door. He didn’t think twice, yanking it forcefully open, still wide-eyed with the memory of terror. He found Anderson in her sleep robe, her hair wild, looking similarly dishevelled. She pushed inside without a word, and when she moved into the light, he could see she looked drawn and grim.

‘That happened, didn’t it?’ she said, without preamble. ‘I saw it too. That nightmare was real: The Dark Presence has returned, somehow. Has it escaped from the lake? What the fuck just happened?’

Casey shook his head, dumbstruck. ‘We have to go back,’ he managed eventually. ‘We have to go back to Bright Falls.’ He was still so caught up in the dream that he almost jumped out of his skin when his mobile phone rang, shrilling urgently from the bedside table.

‘Who the fuck is calling you at this time of night?’ Saga muttered, glaring at the phone as he closed the distance in a couple of strides. ‘Casey, what’s going on?’

‘Nothing good, I’d wager,’ he murmured, turning the phone so she could see the caller ID. ‘It’s Wake. How much do you want to bet he’s just had a nightmare too?’ He answered the call on speakerphone, wincing as the sound of Alan’s panicked voice blared down the line.

‘Casey! Are you ok? Did something happen? Alice and I both just had the same dream – a fucking nightmare, just like the ones you were telling us about, with the Dark Presence! It’s coming back, I just know it!’ He was speaking a mile a minute, barely giving either of them a chance to get a word in edgeways. ‘I don’t know what to do – I don’t think it’s Scratch this time; it doesn’t feel the same, but I’m not writing anything – maybe it’s found another writer? A new victim? Maybe there’s somebody there, at Cauldron Lake, right now! Casey, we have to…’

‘Now, just hold on a minute!’ snapped Casey. ‘Calm the fuck down, Wake. Neither of us know what’s happening here – but yeah, we both just had a fucking awful dream too. If you and Alice had the same one, then something very fucked up is going on here.’ He glanced sidelong at Anderson, who gestured for him to pass over the phone.

‘Alan, can you describe the nightmare you just had?’ she asked. ‘We might as well establish whether or not we each had exactly the same one. Maybe it’ll help us figure out what’s happening.’

Casey nodded along, listening intently as Alan described his dream, with some input from Alice over the line. Why these dreams? he wondered. Why are we all getting the same ones? Are they clues, like the manuscript pages were? Premonitions of some kind? Or has the Dark Presence simply found a new way to hunt us; to hurt us? He grimaced at that particular thought, and strode quickly over to the light switch, twisting the dimmer dial up until the light was as bright as it could possibly go, before walking over to each lamp and switching those on too.

There, he thought, blinking in satisfaction as his tired eyes adjusted to the sudden change in brightness. All lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. Let’s see that bastard try and get to us now.

*

Neither of them got any more sleep that night. Saga elected to move her stuff into Casey’s room, which was large enough for the two of them to sit at the window, talking and drinking coffee until the blessed light of dawn crept over the top of the buildings. The return flight was quiet; Saga took the middle seat, allowing Casey to nod off for an hour of fitful sleep before they landed. When they finally got back to the office, an agent was waiting for them in the lobby.

‘Mail arrived at the front desk for you,’ he said, handing Saga an envelope. ‘You expecting any packages connected with a case? Any chance that it could be dangerous?’

Saga shook her head, eyeing the envelope curiously. ‘No. We’re not currently assigned to an active case.’ She glanced sideways at Casey, who shrugged. ‘Just… tying up some loose ends,’ she added. ‘That’s probably all this is. Thanks, agent.’

She motioned Casey to follow her, stepping into their shared office and closing the door. Her heart was pounding as she turned the envelope over, inspecting it carefully.

‘What is it?’ said Casey softly, stepping closer. ‘Anderson?’

‘The post-mark’s from Washington,’ she murmured. ‘This has come from Bright Falls.’

Casey nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing. ‘This can’t be about whatever the fuck it was that happened last night. Regular mail wouldn’t get here that fast. This must be something else.’

‘Let’s find out.’ Saga flipped the envelope over and slit it neatly open, pulling out the crumpled, slightly grubby missive, holding it out so that they could both read its contents.

– Saga,

I hope this letter finds you safe. I wouldn’t normally be asking the government for help – but fuck the government, I’m asking you, personally. My memory of the time you were last here is hazy, like I’d spent the week drinking too many beers – but I think that we were friends. I know you saved the town – and you tried to save my brother. You’re good people, Saga; you’re one of us. I know you put in a good word at my hearing with the FBC, probably stopped them from dragging me off to a government cell somewhere. I never got to thank you for that.

What I’m trying to say, is I owe you one. I don’t know if you’re ever coming back to Bright Falls, but… something is. Folk are going missing again, turning up dead or worse. The shadow of the forest is creeping closer. I don’t know if there’s enough of us dead yet for the feds take notice, but if you do return… then I wanted to tell you we’ll be ready. I’ll be ready. TCOTT will stand beside you against the monsters, Saga. We watch in the night – we hold the line against the darkness.

– Ilmo Koskela

‘Shit,’ murmured Saga. ‘Things must be bad up there for Ilmo to reach out like this. You remember what he’s like; he doesn’t trust anybody from the government.’

‘He shot at me,’ Casey reminded her. ‘He tried to kill Wake while I was guarding him – he was one of those morons in deer masks, remember?’

Saga couldn’t help but laugh at the indignant expression on Casey’s face. ‘I remember. If it makes you feel any better, I shot at him too. TCOTT – that must stand for the Cult of the Tree.’ Her smile faded as she re-read the letter. ‘He says there’s been more deaths,’ she added slowly. ‘Why haven’t we heard about this?’

Casey opened his mouth to reply, hesitating as his phone buzzed with an incoming call. ‘I think we’re about to,’ he muttered, eyeing the FBC caller ID with some trepidation. ‘Hey, Kiran. What’s going on? Did you find anything useful?’

‘It’s shit news I’m afraid, Alex.’ Agent Estevez sounded grim. ‘Are you alone?’

He shot a look at Saga. ‘Anderson’s with me.’

‘Anyone else?’

‘No, just the two of us. What’s going on?’

‘Put me on speaker, she needs to hear this too.’

‘Right.’ He pressed the button, feeling his heart quicken anxiously as he did so. ‘We’re both listening. What’s with the cloak and dagger act?’

A long sigh gusted down the line. ‘After you left New York, I did a bit of poking around. I got you the records you wanted from our monitoring station at Bright Falls. The good news is the site’s not active; yet.’

‘Well, that’s something,’ replied Saga. ‘So, what’s the shit news?’

Kiran’s voice lowered. ‘There’s been a run of incidents in the area recently. I couldn’t get my hands on any of the details for you, but it’s bad. It’s spread out across Bright Falls and Watery. The whole thing’s being kept on the down-low while our field agent determines the threat level. There isn’t anybody here to spare for something that isn’t a full-blown AWE, so… they’re sending you. Both of you.’

‘What?’ Casey scowled, meeting Saga’s incredulous stare. ‘We’re not part of the FBC. You can’t order us to go anywhere!’

‘No, we can’t. But your bosses can, and my boss is on the phone with your boss as we speak. Alex, there’s been more murders.’ Her voice sounded strained. ‘It’s happening again, isn’t it?’

He and Saga shared a glance. ‘We don’t know that. Not for certain.’

‘Well, you’re about to find out. Consider this as much of a heads-up as I can give you.’

‘Thanks.’ Saga frowned. ‘If you’re right, and we’re dealing with the Shadow again, can the FBC at least spare us some equipment, some backup… anything?’

Casey grimaced. ‘Yeah, because your fancy ‘containment unit’ worked so fucking well against Scratch the last time,’ he mumbled into his coffee. ‘That damned murder cloud didn’t even have to break a sweat to bust right out of it, and into me.’

‘We’ll have something ready, I’ll make sure of it,’ Kiran promised. ‘If the shaded threat is trying to return, then you won’t be alone in the fight this time.’

‘Well, that’s something.’ Casey shook his head. ‘Anything else?’

‘Some luck with your mystery woman,’ replied Kiran. ‘I ran the photo through the FBC logs to see if it pinged anything in our files, but no dice. So, I widened the search.’

Casey’s heart leapt into his throat. ‘And?’

‘I’ve sent you the file. Meet Miss Grace Penelope Hart, of Providence, Rhode Island.’ Kiran sounded smug. ‘She wasn’t hard to find, once I did some digging. Your sketch was right on the money. But you should know, there wasn’t anything in the records that connects her to the Bright Falls AWE.’

‘Yet,’ muttered Casey. ‘Thanks, Kiran. I owe you one. We appreciate the heads-up about the case.’

‘Anytime. I’ll keep my ears open; if I hear anything else relevant, I’ll be in touch. Good luck; and try to stay alive, both of you.’

‘Fucking hell.’ Casey swallowed hard as the line clicked off. Grace Penelope Hart, he thought to himself. Finally, we have a name. He fought the urge to open the file and begin reading straight away, instead raising his eyes to meet Saga’s thoughtful gaze.

‘Three years,’ she said quietly. ‘For three years… I really thought we’d gotten away with it, Casey. Our happy ending.'

He laughed mirthlessly. ‘There’s no such thing as happy endings in our line of work.’ He shook his head. ‘At least that solves the problem of how we get back to Washington. Sounds like we’d better gear up.’

‘True, but… I didn’t want it to happen like this. Not with more deaths.’ Saga was frowning. ‘The power at the lake thrives on creativity. Not just story-telling. We were able to use that to our advantage, last time – but so was the Dark Presence.’

‘Whatever comes, we’ll be ready,’ he promised her. ‘I wonder how long it’ll be until…’

A knock at the office door ended the sentence for him. ‘Come in!’ Saga called, as one of the secretaries poked his head around the door.

‘Supervisor wants to see you both,’ he said, beckoning them out. ‘You’re needed on a new case.’

‘We’ll be right there.’ Saga nodded politely as she stood up, giving Casey’s shoulder a comforting nudge. ‘Come on. Let’s get this over with.’

‘Okay.’ Casey knew he was scowling as worry settled over him like a raincloud, carrying the promise of dark waters. A part of him was grateful for this: the chance to dig deeper, to uncover the mystery; to finally exorcize the darkness that haunted him. Another part of him – the more sensible part – was filled with apprehension. He knew deep in his bones that somewhere in Washington, there lurked the shadow of an ancient horror; and it was beckoning them both back into the night’s embrace.

Chapter Text

‘I can see the sign up ahead,’ Saga breathed, craning her neck to peer down the road that stretched endlessly before them. ‘We’re almost there.’

Casey nodded, narrowing his eyes as they sped down the empty highway. On either side of them, a wall of dark spruce trees stood like sentinels, their dense foliage blocking the light that filtered through from the low winter sun. He scowled as they approached the Welcome to Bright Falls sign, hating it already; hating how cheerful the small town still appeared, all bright colours and open arms on the surface, knowing full well that it was all just a thin veneer of civility laid over a town that was rotting at its heart.

‘It feels strange coming back here,’ Anderson was saying. ‘Like… a weird sense of déjà vu. As though we’ve barely been away at all; as though we haven’t spent the last three years just living our normal lives. I feel like I’ve been driving down this road again and again, then just… forgetting.’

‘Like a half-remembered dream,’ nodded Casey. ‘Looping around, over and over, until you eventually wake up from it. Only, this doesn’t feel like waking up.’ He took a sip from his coffee, glancing sidelong at his partner. Saga looked cool and composed, as usual, but he knew her well enough to recognise the signs of stress that were bleeding through her mask of professionalism. Her full lips were tightly pursed, and her hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel as she drove.

He decided not to mention that there was no such thing as a ‘normal’ life for him any more; not since the events three years ago, when the darkness had invaded his mind and left its claw-marks on his heart. Scar tissue on my soul; what little there is left of it, he thought mirthlessly. Given half the chance, this place will eat us alive. We must’ve been mad to come back here. His mind drifted to the file Kiran had sent over: the photograph of Grace Hart, the mystery woman. He’d recognised her immediately, with a jolt of familiarity that felt like a bolt of lightning down his spine. In the picture she was laughing, looking at somebody behind the camera, with a warmth in her gaze that made Casey want to smile even now. There had been none of the terror he remembered from his dreams. None of the despair. There wasn’t even a mention of Washington or Bright Falls anywhere in her file; not a damn thing to connect her to the horror in Cauldron Lake… or to him.

He shook himself, trying to push away the worry that was beginning to creep in. Maybe I was wrong, he thought bitterly. Maybe there is no connection; maybe she’s got nothing to do with Bright Falls and all its bullshit. It would be for the best, he told himself firmly. He didn’t want her here – he didn’t want her to have anything to do with all this fucked up business with the lake; because if she was here, then it meant she was in danger. He took another swig of coffee, shaking his head irritably before turning his attention back towards his partner.

‘The case files have all been sent through,’ Anderson was saying. ‘First things first, we should get the field office set up before we decide our next steps.’ She sighed exasperatedly. ‘Did you see the notes? They’ve given us rooms in the same lodge as before.’

Casey grimaced. ‘At least we already know where the coffee machine is.’

‘Very funny.’ Saga threw a sidelong glance at him. ‘The last time, that place ended up as a war zone between you, the Cult of the Tree, and Mr Scratch. How much do you want to bet they didn’t quite get all those bloodstains and bullet-holes out?’

Casey shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t wager a single red cent. Although, I’d like to remind you that I wasn’t the one shooting up the place, thank you very much. That damn Cult took care of that – your friend Ilmo, and his parade of clowns in masks.’

Saga laughed, the tension easing from her frame as she slowed the car on their approach into the town. ‘Come on, Ilmo’s not all bad. Judging from his letter, I reckon the FBC made him regret ever putting on that deer mask.’

‘Hmm.’ Casey nodded in agreement. ‘I must admit, I’m surprised they just let him walk. You know what sticklers Kiran and her lot are for protocol.’ He sighed. ‘I’m amazed they didn’t lock us all up and throw away the key. I lost track of how many so-called ‘paranatural crimes’ we committed here.’

‘I agree.’ Saga pulled smoothly in to the Elderwood Palace Lodge, catching his eye in the rearview mirror and grinning mischievously. ‘So, you ready to go and commit some more?’

Casey laughed aloud at that, and for a moment the oppressive shadow of the forest seemed to lift. ‘Damn right I’m ready,’ he replied, checking the gun at his hip. ‘Let’s go.’

*

It took a while to get the field office properly set up. Saga laid out the case board with care, pinning various notes and photographs around the large-scale map of Bright Falls she’d tacked onto the wall. To one side, Casey spotted the painting they’d found, pinned beside a note that read: ‘Art placing us back at Cauldron Lake again – similar to the manuscript pages. Do we use it to guide our investigation, or is it a prediction? Need to find more.’ He shivered. He didn’t want to find more, he thought to himself; but he was not so much a fool as to believe they wouldn’t. The longer he looked at it, the more a sense of inevitability seemed to gather around the painting; around him and Saga too, garlanding them both like ivy. He tore his gaze away, looking instead at the crime scene photographs they’d printed out, grimacing at the bloody mess on each of them. Beside him, Anderson loosed a long, slow sigh.

‘Three more murders,’ she said quietly. ‘Each roughly a week apart. Of course, we shouldn’t assume anything, but knowing what we already know about Bright Falls… I think it’s safe to say they’re probably connected. We just need to figure out how.’

Casey nodded approvingly, staring up at the map. ‘Those are all the locations the bodies were found?’

‘Yeah.’ Saga nodded. ‘Notice anything?’

‘Sure. They’re all within a stone’s throw of Cauldron fucking Lake. How about that?’ He picked up one of the case files and scanned through it, glaring down at the printed text as though it had personally offended him.

‘It certainly seems like more than just coincidence.’ Saga sighed. ‘But the victims haven’t become Taken; like Nightingale did last time. What’s left of the bodies are still in the town morgue.’

‘Not that we know about, anyway.’ Casey pulled a face. ‘Has anybody actually checked on those bodies lately? Made sure they’re still there?’

Saga rolled her eyes at that, inhaling deeply and allowing the familiar comfort of her Mind Place to wash over her. Casey watched patiently, knowing better than to interrupt. He turned towards the window, gazing out over the town. It was barely past midday, but already the sun was hanging low in the sky, casting a fiery orange glare across the roofs of the lodge cabins that were still glistening wet from the morning rains. In the distance, the forest waited, lingering on the edge of perception; a deep green smear on the horizon. He couldn’t see Cauldron Lake from where he stood, but he knew it was out there, waiting for them.

‘Alright, I’m ready.’ Saga breathed deeply, opening her eyes and fixing her partner with a determined stare. ‘Let’s begin.’

*

It was a long day. Bright Falls hadn’t changed much; not that he’d expected it to, Casey thought to himself. The small town had a timeless quality to it, as if it’d been caught in a loop of its own. The storefronts were all much the same as he recalled from three years ago, and the Oh Deer Diner still sat squarely in the centre of town, wafting the enticing scent of fresh-brewed coffee up the street. Rose was still working there too, and as luck would have it, she’d recognised them both, greeting Saga with a high-pitched squeal that set Casey’s teeth on edge. Her enthusiastic babbling about Wake’s blasted books hadn’t done much to endear her to him either; still, she did make a half-decent cup of coffee.

‘Ok, let’s do a quick run-down of what we’ve managed so far,’ Anderson muttered. Her eyes were on the notes she’d taken over the course of the day, but her gaze was unfocussed. She was in her Mind Place again: sifting through the facts and evidence that they’d collected in a way that Casey knew he’d never be able to fully understand. He’d been envious of her talent once, back when they’d both believed that her hunches had been based on simple intuition. Now, they knew better, and Casey couldn’t bring himself to be jealous any more. Not when he knew that her Seer talents likely came with a heap of additional problems that were just waiting for the right time to come to light; like bodies beneath the surface of the lake.

‘So, our three victims were all found within walking distance of Cauldron Lake,’ she began. ‘One tourist, and two locals; and each body was found missing certain… pieces.’ She grimaced, and Casey nodded sympathetically. Each crime scene had been an ugly, blood-smeared mess, if the photographs were anything to go by. More like a scene from a horror movie than a crime scene, he thought to himself, before biting his own tongue and wincing at the idea. No, he told himself sternly. Not another horror story, dammit.

‘The first victim was missing her left leg, and part of her torso,’ Anderson was saying. ‘The second had been… cut across the stomach, and some of his innards had been removed. Liver, kidneys…’ she shook her head. ‘The third was found cut down the middle, with his spine missing almost in its entirety.’ She pursed her lips in distaste. ‘These were brutal dissections. Clumsy. Not the work of a trained surgeon or medical practitioner. There’s not the same consistency here as there was with our victims three years ago. If it wasn’t for what we already know about the lake, I’d put this down to the random acts of a mad serial killer.’

Casey nodded slowly. ‘It’s never the same thing twice. Never the same body part that’s gone missing. It feels… like there’s a different purpose behind these killings. Some motive that we’re not seeing yet.’

Anderson nodded in agreement. ‘The last time, the victims were all people who’d disappeared in 2010; and we got caught up in the idea of the Cult being responsible for the murders.’

‘Which they were, technically,’ Casey couldn’t help but point out. ‘Albeit with the right aim in mind, which was to prevent the victims from turning into monsters.’

‘Hmm.’ Saga frowned. ‘We need more information. The only other similarity I can see is the presence of water. The coroner’s notes show that the remains of the bodies appeared bloated, as though they’d been in the lake for some time. But they were found on land, in the forest. It’s a shame the Sheriff couldn’t give us more information.’

Casey hummed in agreement. ‘Did he seem… okay to you?’ he asked hesitantly. ‘Not that it wasn’t good to see a familiar face, but… I thought there was something off about him. Like he’s not well, or something.’

Anderson nodded. It had been a surprise to both of them to see Sheriff Breaker waiting for them; but no longer was he the cheerful, smiling face that had greeted them with fresh coffee three years prior. Whatever had happened to him while he was in the Dark Place – and whatever hell he’d been through to escape – it seemed to have left its mark on him.

‘I don’t… remember what happened,’ he’d admitted, when Anderson pressed him on the matter. ‘I can recall bits and pieces… fragments of memory, like from a dream. I remember walking, for hours and hours on end, looking for something I couldn’t find. I think… I was going in circles. Looping back on myself again and again, always ending up in the same places. I don’t know how I got out.’ His voice shook with supressed emotion. ‘I just can’t remember,’ he added. ‘Every time I try and think about it, my head starts spinning, and I feel like I’m going to be sick.’ He shivered. ‘I think… a part of me doesn’t want to remember. Something bad happened there, I’m certain of it.’ He offered them both a sad, lopsided smile that looked more like a grimace. ‘I know that sounds crazy.’

‘You don’t want to ask us about crazy these days,’ Casey had muttered. ‘Trust me, we’ve seen our fair share.’ There were bruises beneath the Sheriff’s eyes that spoke of long nights with little sleep, and he found himself wincing in sympathy. ‘Don’t worry, Sheriff, we get it. We’ve been down this road before. But are you certain you’re well enough to be back at work?’

At that, Breaker offered a sharp, urgent shake of his head. ‘There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,’ he said. ‘I need to keep myself busy, and there’s always something going on in this town.’

Casey had nodded acceptance, moving aside as Saga took the lead, going over what little evidence they had found on the murder victims so far. He watched the process unfold with narrowed eyes. There was something… off about the Sheriff, he thought to himself. Something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. A brittle quality, like a broken bone that hadn’t been given time enough to heal properly; a hairline fracture of the soul.

Perhaps that’s what being trapped in the Dark Place for a couple of years will do to a man, he thought; before reminding himself that Alan Wake had been stuck inside for thirteen years. Admittedly, Wake had been a trembling mess when he first got out, but he’d pulled himself back together when it counted.

He shook his head irritably, trying to dislodge the creeping feeling of unease that had settled beneath his ribcage, focusing instead on finishing his rapidly-cooling cup of coffee. It had been bitterly cold inside the Sheriff Station; Breaker had mumbled something about a busted thermostat before changing the subject. At least it was warmer here in the diner, for all that the rattle of noise from the neighbouring booths was beginning to grate on his nerves. Beside him, Anderson was arranging the crime scene polaroids in chronological order and muttering to herself again. He turned his gaze towards the window, where the sun was already beginning to slip down the horizon.

‘Hey,’ Anderson nudged him. ‘We’ve still got time to visit the lake before it gets dark. I reckon we should check out the crime scenes in person. See if there’s anything the local law might have missed.’

‘Okay.’ Casey nodded, reluctant to return to Cauldron Lake, but equally as reluctant to voice his concerns. As it turned out, he didn’t have to.

‘I know you don’t think it’s a good idea,’ she added bluntly. ‘But we should be safe as long as we stay on the shore, and don’t disturb the water. I want to get a feel for the crime scenes, and it’s hard to do that with only photographs.’

Casey nodded, heaving a frustrated sigh. ‘I hate the sight of that cursed fucking lake. I keep expecting horrors come crawling out of it – and you can’t blame me for that.’

Anderson chuckled drily. ‘I know. That’s why I brought a little bit of extra firepower with us, just in case.’ She grinned triumphantly. ‘I stashed a couple of shotguns in the trunk of the car; plenty of ammo too. If anything does come out of the lake while we’re there… we’ll be prepared.’

‘Really?’ Casey shook his head in admiration. ‘You think of everything, don’t you. Okay, let’s go and get this over with.’

Chapter Text

Pulling in to the Cauldron Lake car park, Casey was struck by a lurching sense of déjà vu. The place hadn’t changed much: there was frost on the ground, courtesy of the December chill, and their tyres crunched over a carpet of dead, frozen leaves; but the towering pine trees were still the same, their webs of tangled branches casting long shadows against the fading light. His breath misted the evening air, and Casey stamped his feet to warm them as they exited the sanctuary of the car.

‘Here we go again,’ he sighed, moving towards the info board to refresh his memory of the map. Not that it’ll do much good, he thought. ‘If only the forest paths had the decency to spit out a handful of proper landmarks for navigation,’ he muttered.

Saga shot him a sympathetic glance. ‘Try not to get lost again,’ she said. ‘Honestly Casey, sometimes you have the worst sense of direction out of anyone I know.’

‘Give me a maze of city streets and paved roads, and I’d walk circles around you,’ he countered, glaring. ‘It’s just these damn trees. They all look the same to me.’

‘I know.’ She glanced away, her smile fading as she spotted another vehicle pulled up in the car park, almost hidden behind the stump of a fallen tree. ‘That’s not the Sheriff’s car. Who else is up here?’

Casey frowned. ‘I thought this place was still restricted.’

‘It’s supposed to be.’ Saga moved closer, giving the car a quick once-over. ‘Looks like a regular civilian vehicle, unless the FBC is going incognito these days. It’ll take down the licence number, just in case.’ She pulled out her phone and snapped a quick photograph.

‘Hopefully, whoever it belongs to has the sense to stay on dry land.’ Casey pulled a wry face, turning away just as his eye was caught by a glint of colour underneath the vehicle. The ground had been churned up into a slurry of fallen leaves and old tyre marks, pocked with frozen puddles that glittered like glass when they caught the light; and there, snagged on the edge of one of them, was something Casey had been both hoping and dreading to see.

‘…I don’t actually see any Restricted signs,’ Saga was grumbling again. ‘That’s odd. It looks like more people have been visiting lately, from the litter that’s on the ground. You’d think the locals at least would know better…’ Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of his expression. ‘What is it?’

‘Another painting.’ He tried to keep calm, ignoring the tremor that shook his voice as he bent down to retrieve it from the puddle. ‘Just like the one we found in my apartment.’

‘You’re right,’ breathed Anderson, taking it from him gingerly, holding it as though it might explode. ‘I recognise the style – the ink, the trees, the shape of the lake. I think that’s Mirror Peak in the distance too – see?’

‘I do see.’ Casey scowled. ‘I also see us, again. But there’s something else.’ The details of the scene had been marked out with black ink, the shape of Cauldron Lake standing starkly against a sky painted in livid sunset colours. In some areas, the painting had been damaged, the figures scraped deeply into the paper as though the artist had been in a hurry to get the work done. He shook his head. This is it, he thought. The connection: the first step down the rabbit-hole. In the silence of the forest, Casey shivered. He didn’t recognise the artwork in any real, tangible sense, having never seen this particular piece before; still, he knew this painting. As though the resonance of these particular shapes and colours had struck something inside his soul, hooked into him in a way he couldn’t yet understand. It meant something important – he was certain of it. With the tail of his eye, he caught a distant flicker of movement, among the trees to his left.

‘What was that?’ he murmured, not wanting to raise his voice. ‘Anderson?’ The breath caught in his throat as the air seemed to harden for a moment around him, coalescing into something bright and cold and sharp, like the taste of snow. A sudden hush had fallen over the forest; a stillness that made him want to hold his breath.

A flicker like a wingbeat. Something sharp, dark, there and gone again: birdlike in its quickening movement. A darkness catching at the corner of his gaze. He blinked hard, rubbed his eyes, looked again. The movement was gone.

‘What is it?’ Anderson was at his side; and at her voice, the stillness in the air broke like spun sugar, and suddenly Casey could breathe again.

‘Nothing,’ he muttered. ‘Thought I saw something. Probably just a raccoon.’

Anderson nodded, still focused on the painting. ‘There’s something new here,’ she said. ‘Another figure – maybe two.’ Her eyes moved rapidly as she scanned the page, searching for clues as to its meaning. ‘There’s someone else at the lakeshore with us; and look, that could be somebody in the treeline. It looks like something’s hiding in the shadows.’ Her expression darkened. ‘It might be a Taken. We should be careful.’

‘I’ll trust your judgement on that one.’ Casey squinted at the area she had pointed out. ‘It’s difficult to tell. I mean, it’s hardly crystal clear, like a photograph. Those marks could be just… trees.’

‘I know. Still, I’m glad I brought us a bit of extra firepower now.’ Saga handed the painting back to him, before marching decisively towards the car and opening the trunk, pulling out a pair of sawn-off shotguns and offering him one. ‘You remember how to handle one of these?’ she added.

‘Are you kidding? Like I’d ever forget,’ he retorted, smiling in satisfaction as he inspected the weapon, pocketing the packet of shotgun shells she handed him. He folded the painting carefully and tucked it inside his coat, before readying the gun. ‘Good to go, Anderson.’

‘Then let’s get down there.’ She shook her head. ‘Part of me thinks we’re just being paranoid,’ she admitted, offering him a nervous smile. ‘I mean, it’s just a lake. The town’s close by. We shouldn’t have to walk around armed to the teeth like a pair of maniacs.’

Casey shrugged, unrepentant. ‘Three murders were committed in this forest, Anderson. All within the last few weeks. Let’s not kid ourselves here – whether the bastard doing this is human or not, I think we’re well within our rights to be prepared.’ He smiled grimly. ‘I’d also quite like to not be eaten by a bear, thanks.’

Saga chuckled at that, shouldering her shotgun and nodding. ‘That’s… a fair point. Alright then Casey, lead the way.’

‘Now you’re just being mean. It’s, uh… this way, right?’ He smiled to himself, watching the tension bleed out of Anderson’s shoulders as she laughed, falling into step beside him. Humour had always been one of her coping mechanisms; and if making a dig at his sense of direction was enough to help her regain her composure… well, Casey was happy to crack a few jokes at his own expense.

Maybe she’s right, and we are acting like a pair of paranoid lunatics, he thought to himself. Still, better safe than sorry. He glanced surreptitiously up at the looming pines that encroached over the path, with low-hanging boughs like huge hands with long, twiggy fingers. The gate was unlocked, and their route down to the lake was the same one they’d taken before. Casey felt like he was retracing the steps of his own ghost as they wove their way through the overgrown paths. The sun was lowering, searing the sky with lines of orange fire and dusty crimson, scattering rays of rose-tinted light through the trees. It would have been a beautiful sight, if he’d been in any mood to appreciate it.

As it was, Casey was done paying attention to the so-called splendour of nature. Every dozen paces, he was damn near certain that he could hear footsteps that were not their own. Something was keeping pace with them, through the trees.

‘You hear that?’ he muttered, low enough so that whatever was tailing them wouldn’t hear; but still loud enough for Anderson to catch.

‘I do.’ Her dark eyes were darting around the forest cover, narrowed like a hunter in the pursuit of prey. ‘Sounds… human?’

‘Almost.’ He chuckled darkly. ‘I guess we’ll find out.’ He kept his eyes trained on the forest around them, but all he could see was the drift of wind among the swaying branches, and the occasional flurry of a startled bird across their path. Their walk down to the lake seemed endless; yet at the same time, it felt like it took no time at all. He inhaled deeply. The air around Cauldron Lake was colder than it felt in the town, sharp with frost that sliced at the back of his throat with each intake of breath, like the air before a snowfall. The cold always lingered here, he thought. Seeping into everything, welling up from the heart of this place, like blood from a bad wound. He blinked, and for a moment that lasted all of half-a-heartbeat, he was transported somewhere else. All he could see was darkness, and a fading glimmer of something that may have been distant stars, or may have been the glint of light on moving water. The cold clutched at him, sudden and brutal, like death’s grasp; its hands were tight around his throat, and he stumbled. He choked out a breath – forced himself to remember how to breathe – and even as he blinked, the vision was gone. He was back in the real world, his chest heaving as though he’d just run all the way from the car park, watching his own breath coming out as puffs of steam that drifted up towards the forest canopy before vanishing in the dwindling sunlight.

‘Fuck me,’ he muttered, passing a hand across his face. ‘I hate this fucking place.’

As they approached the final line of trees that hid Cauldron Lake from view, Casey felt a tell-tale prickle at the back of his neck. Someone – some thing – was watching them. The shadows lurking beneath the trees weren’t natural, he was sure of it. There was something in there that had swallowed the light: hidden it away, and left darkness in its place. He could feel malevolence in its stare, hear the almost-beat of a heart other than his own. He pulled the flashlight from his belt and held it ready. Beside him, Anderson did the same. He didn’t need to speak: they’d been partners for so long that a shared nod was all they needed. Their footsteps rang loudly in the silence; an unnatural silence, Casey realised. Before, the quiet had been broken by the creak of branches, the hum of insects, and the occasional flurry of birdsong. Now, it was as though the forest itself held its breath.

A flicker of movement caught his gaze. The shadows twisted before his eyes, patches of inky blackness coalescing into something other: a figure. Humanoid in shape – but that was the only human-like thing about it. It lurched onto the path towards them with sickening speed, dragging a fallen branch in its hand like a club.

‘Head’s up!’ he snapped. ‘On your left, Anderson!’

‘Got it!’ Saga was already moving, unflinching in the wave of terror that poured towards them as she focused her flashlight on the monster. The beam struck it full in the face, and it screamed. Darkness like spilled ink glistened wetly beneath the light, seeming to melt away with an awful sizzling hiss as the pair of them raised their guns, and fired. Their bullets struck true, and the monster fell.

‘Shit.’ Saga grimaced, stooping to examine the body, only to reel back almost immediately. The corpse had begun to dissolve. Even as they watched it melted away, turning into black, viscous liquid that bubbled ominously before sinking into the soil, leaving nothing behind but a dark stain and a foul smell, like stagnant water.

‘What the fuck was that?’ said Casey, his voice hoarse.

‘Not a Taken. Something new – or maybe a different version of a Taken?’ Saga was staring at the patch of ground where the creature had vanished. Her eyes were narrowed, and Casey could see a muscle twitching in her clenched jaw. ‘Just when we thought we knew what this place could throw at us,’ she added. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine.’ Casey nodded, his expression darkening. ‘But I don’t know if…’ he broke off as another scream rang out from up ahead. Not a Taken – not a monster of darkness, but something alive. Somebody was down by the lake, screaming. Casey felt cold horror shudder through him as something in his soul cried out in recognition. He knew that scream, somehow.

‘Shit.’ He and Saga shared a glance. Unspoken understanding passed between them, and they began to run.

Breaking through the treeline, they came across a scene like something out of a horror movie. Blood spattered the ground as more eldritch horrors writhed their way into existence, out of the shadows. They were converging on a single figure: a lone woman, who was stumbling backwards, towards the lake. Even as they watched, the monsters reached for her, gurgling wildly as they clutched at her, trying to pull her down. White-hot anger seared through Casey at the sight; and he didn’t hesitate.

‘Hey!’ he barked a sharp, furious challenge towards the monsters. ‘Why don’t you pick on somebody your own size, buddy?’ He pulled out the shotgun as the creatures swung around, distracted. With a flashlight in one hand a gun in the other, he and Saga made short work of the shadow figures; all of them, but one. Casey growled low in his throat as he noticed the final creature, still chasing after the lone woman. It lashed out, knocking her backwards, into the shallows. She choked out a sharp cry of pain as the monster loomed over her, the waters of Cauldron Lake starting to bubble around the pair of them; and at that sight, Casey’s blood ran cold.

‘Shit, shit,’ he muttered, breaking into a dead sprint, reloading as he ran. Anderson was at his heels, pulling a flare from her coat pocket and striking it into life against the butt of her gun. She hurled it towards the monster, who spun around, howling in pain at the sudden, violent burst of light. Its outline wavered, like shadows on a wall; and Casey didn’t hesitate, raising the shotgun and sending both barrels thundering into the monster’s chest. It fell with a low, guttural howl as the threads of darkness that had bound it together split apart. It dissolved like the others, leaving nothing but an ugly smear behind, glistening like an oil slick. Casey grimaced as freezing cold lakewater sloshed around his ankles, hurrying into the shallows towards the fallen woman.

‘Don’t worry ma’am, I’ve got you,’ he said, reaching out to help the figure to her feet. She’d thrown her arms up to protect herself, hiding her face; but at the sound of his voice she looked up, lowering her arms with an expression of astonishment that must surely be mirrored on his own face: for this was the woman from his dreams. The woman who had called his name in the darkness; the woman who haunted his nightmares, who he’d been wanting so desperately to find. Her eyes were wide with shock as she grasped his hand with her own bloodied one, rising unsteadily to her feet.

‘Who are you?’ he said, the breath hitching in his throat, trapped for a moment by the intensity of her pale gaze. She was here, she was real; and she was staring straight back at him.

‘I am… my name is Grace,’ she replied. Her voice was soft, breathless with shock. Her hand was cold in his, her flesh icy against his skin. ‘Who are you?’

‘Alex Casey,’ he replied. ‘I’m… it’s alright, we’re FBI agents,’ he added. ‘You’re safe now – but we should get you out of the water.’ He steadied her as she stumbled and almost fell, shivering against the cold wind that whipped at them, pulling at strands of her hair. He walked her out of the shallows, only releasing her hand when they were safely back on dry land and breathing a sigh of relief.

‘Hey, are you okay?’ Saga strode towards them, her expression creasing in concern as she took in the blood on the woman’s coat. ‘Saga Anderson, FBI. What’s your name?’

‘I’m Grace,’ she replied, wincing. ‘Grace Hart. I don’t… what were those things?’

Saga ignored the question, casting a quick, professional eye across the woman’s face. ‘First things first. Miss Hart, you’ve been injured. How badly did you fall just now? Do you have any dizziness, or nausea?’

‘I… no, I don’t think so,’ Grace replied. ‘I hit my head when I fell, but other than that it’s just a few scrapes and bruises…’ her eyes widened as she glanced down at herself and saw the blood smeared across her jacket, her voice trailing off. Casey noticed a rip in the fabric across her upper arm, and the red stain spreading from it. Her mouth opened in a small gasp of surprise, that was quickly followed by a wince of pain.

‘Hmm.’ Saga frowned and shook her head. ‘That looks like more than just a scrape. I’ve got some questions for you, but they can wait. We need to get you looked at – which means taking you back to town.’ Her eyes narrowed, and she paused for a moment. ‘Is that your car we saw back at the car park, near the camp grounds?’ she added. ‘The white one?’

Grace nodded slowly. ‘Yes, that’s mine. I’m staying in a cabin up at Bright Falls; I drove here to catch the sunset.’

Casey opened his mouth to speak, pausing as realisation struck him like a bucket of iced water. He turned slowly, taking in the sight behind them. It was certainly a magnificent sunset: the sky was lit up in shades of yellow, pink, and violet, reflected in the waters of Cauldron Lake which gleamed like burnished steel. The sun shone like a ruby dipped in molten gold, scoring the horizon with lines of crimson fire. The winter trees were little more than silhouettes, black and stark against the light. As pretty as a picture, his inner thought whispered. Or rather, pretty as a painting…

‘Fuck,’ he muttered. ‘Anderson, look. It’s the scene from the painting we found – the trees, the sunset, the lake. All of it’s here.’

‘Including us.’ Saga pursed her lips in thought, gazing out across the scene with narrowed eyes. ‘Casey, there’s a few things here I want to check out. Can you take Miss Hart’s car and drive back to the field office, get her patched up?’ She glanced back towards Grace. ‘You probably shouldn’t be driving in your current state,’ she added. ‘Agent Casey here will get you safely back into town, don’t worry. I’ll join you later on.’

‘Okay.’ Casey nodded. ‘Keep in contact, though. Just in case.’ He breathed deeply, turning his attention back towards the mystery woman – Miss Hart, he corrected himself internally. ‘It’s a bit of a climb back up, ma’am. Do you need a moment?’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t want to stay here any longer. I’d rather start walking.’

‘That’s… understandable.’ He kept his expression stern and professional as he stepped away, beckoning her to follow. ‘Shortest route is this way.’ He tried to ignore the way his heart was hammering within him, throwing itself against his ribs like a bird beating its wings against the bars of its cage. We found her, he thought to himself, breathless with a mixture of triumph and worry. We’ve finally found her – so, what now? Where do we go from here?

Chapter Text

Their walk was necessarily slow, back up the trail towards the car park. He’d quickly noticed that Grace seemed to be favouring one side, presumably because of her injuries. He held out his arm to her, offering assistance; and she took it, curling her hand into the crook of his elbow and giving him a brittle, nervous smile.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Sorry I’m being so slow – I think I wrenched my ankle back there.’

‘Take your time,’ he replied. ‘The trails can be pretty rough around here.’ He kept a wary eye on their surroundings as they climbed the hill, watching for any more patches of shadow; but it seemed that for now, their luck was in. Soft, fluting birdsong followed them through the trees, and the last of the sunlight cast a ruddy glow across the path before them. Casey swallowed awkwardly. Come on, say something! his inner thought hissed. How often do you get the time to chat with the literal woman of your dreams, for fuck’s sake?

‘So… you come to Cauldron Lake often?’ he said, as the navigated the narrow paths. She glanced up at him, appearing surprised but not displeased by the question.

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘This is the first time I’ve been here. I’ve seen it from the town, of course; you can’t miss it. But I heard that the view was even better from down here.’

‘Right.’ Casey frowned. ‘You didn’t hear that this whole area – the forest, the lake – is all restricted?’

She shrugged, flushing pink with embarrassment. ‘I… I did hear that, in fact,’ she admitted. ‘Someone in the town mentioned it. But then, one of the other locals said that the restrictions had been lifted; that it was safe now. I wasn’t sure what to believe, so… I came to check it out.’ She winced as she stumbled over a tree root, swearing under her breath. ‘The gate was open when I arrived,’ she added. ‘There weren’t any signs that I could see, saying that the area was off-limits. I thought someone had made a mistake.’ She shook her head, offering Casey a wry smile. ‘I guess that someone was me.’ Her smile faded. ‘Am I… in trouble?’

He huffed a half-breath of laughter at that, trying hard not to smile as she bit her lip anxiously. ‘With the law? No,’ he replied. ‘But that fucking lake brings nothing but trouble to anybody who goes near it.’

‘Is that what…’ she drew in a deep, shuddering breath. ‘Those… those monsters, is that why…?’

Casey nodded. ‘It’s one reason,’ he replied darkly.

She hesitated, raising her eyes to catch his, fixing him with an anxious, searching gaze. ‘Can you tell me what they were?’ she asked. ‘What the hell just happened to me?’

He hesitated. In all honesty, he didn’t know what to say. Protocol usually dictated that details of an active case were not to be shared with civilians, particularly not potential persons of interest. But… surely, she had a right to know some of what was going on, he thought to himself. She was involved, somehow – already caught up in it, even if she didn’t fully know it yet: his and Anderson’s dreams had both made that clear.

‘Best we get back to the field office first,’ he replied, retreating from the question for now. ‘It’s… a lot to take in.’

‘Of course.’ She shivered. ‘Sorry, I’m just… I’ve never had anything like this happen to me before.’ She sighed softly. ‘Thanks, by the way.’

Casey frowned. ‘For what?’

‘For saving me.’ She glanced up at him, offering another small, nervous smile. ‘You and Agent Anderson… you saved my life just now, I’m certain of it.’

At that, warmth curled through him in a way that had nothing to do with the weather. He couldn’t help but return her smile, feeling strangely awkward but still pleased, nonetheless. She has a nice smile, he thought to himself. ‘Just doing my job, Miss Hart,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll get you fixed up and feeling better in no time.’

He tried to ignore the uncomfortable squelching of lake water in his shoes as they walked, cursing himself internally for forgetting to wear hiking boots. Beside him, he noticed that Grace was shivering. Her padded coat was still soaking wet from falling in the lake – and useless, he realised. Probably worse than useless.

‘Hold on a moment.’ He stopped at a level part of the trail, gesturing for her to remove it. ‘Your jacket’s soaked through. Keeping it on is only going to make you colder, faster.’

He waited until she nodded before moving closer, helping to ease her injured arm through the layers of fabric. He frowned in sympathy at her quiet groan of pain as he painstakingly peeled the offending sleeve away, revealing a deep, ragged cut. It was still oozing blood, thick and dark against the pallor of her skin. He pressed his lips together worriedly. It didn’t look infected, but he knew just how quickly an untended wound could turn sour; and god only knew what kind of pathogens were lurking in that filthy water. Grace was shivering as she watched him, holding her arm close to her body, like a wild animal curled around a damaged limb.

He shook his head as an idea came to him, reaching into his suit jacket and pulling out the clean pocket square that he always kept for emergencies. ‘This might hurt,’ he warned her, pressing it over the wound and applying enough pressure to hopefully halt the bleeding. She cried out softly at the pain, swearing and turning her face sharply away so that he wouldn’t see the tears that sprang to her eyes. His heart twisted within him – he knew that cry, deep in his bones; he’d heard it before, a thousand times over in his dreams. God, how he hated it.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t carry bandages on me; this is the best I can do, for now. We’ve got supplies back at the field office – but right now, it’s best we stop the bleeding.’ He eyed the dark red stain that took up most of her arm. ‘How’re you feeling now?’ he added. ‘Any light-headedness, dizziness… that sort of thing?’

‘Just a headache.’ She scrubbed away the tears with the back of her hand, a determined expression stealing across her face as she fumbled in her pocket. ‘Here,’ she said, pulling out a hair scrunchie; one of the large elasticated things, big enough to slide up her arm and over the pocket square, holding it in place. ‘Does that help?’

‘Yeah, it does. That’s… resourceful.’ Casey raised his eyebrows in surprise, catching her eye and offering her a rare smile. ‘Good idea.’ He shrugged himself out of his FBI jacket as he spoke, holding it out to her. It wasn’t the warmest thing in the world, but it was dry at least, and would ward off the chill until they were inside.

‘Thank you.’ At her nod, he took her hand and helped her shrug the jacket on, trying to avoid causing any more pain. But it was difficult. She moved slowly, as though the cold had already settled into her bones, gritting her teeth as he guided her injured arm into the sleeve with as much gentleness as he could muster.

‘There,’ he said, tugging the coat loosely around her shoulders and turning the collar up against the wind. ‘It’s not exactly a perfect fit, but it’ll help keep the cold out.’ His hands hovered over the collar for a moment, his thumb almost brushing against her cheek. She was smiling up at him, with a warmth in her gaze that hadn’t been there before; and with a start, he noticed that her eyes weren’t pale blue, like he’d previously thought; but grey with a hint of green, like fine spring rains.

‘We should keep moving,’ he said, trying to soften his voice into something other than his habitual gruffness. ‘How’s your ankle?’

‘Still pretty shit,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t think it’s a full sprain, but it still hurts when I put weight on it.’

‘Then put your weight on me instead. Don’t worry, I won’t break,’ he added, unable to resist another smile as she laughed softly, taking his proffered arm and leaning into him in a way that felt so terribly, wonderfully right that he was almost giddy from it.

‘Well, that’s a relief,’ she replied. ‘I’m betting you’ve had a fair bit of experience with this sort of thing?’

‘I’m first-aid trained, if that’s what you’re asking,’ he replied. ‘All field agents are. Don’t worry, I’ll be able to patch you up no problem when we get back.’ He hesitated, feeling another smile threatening to steal across his features, clearing his throat before continuing. ‘But if you mean dealing with injuries… well, let me tell you about this one case when I got stuck with a knife in the arm…’

They carried on walking, making their way slowly but surely back towards the car park as Casey recounted a few stories from some of his older, unclassified cases. He found his initial awkwardness fading as they talked, the rosy evening glow lighting the path ahead of them as they walked; and it seemed he wasn’t the only one feeling more relaxed. Grace’s initial shyness seemed to be gradually wearing off, and soon she was laughing alongside him, seemingly delighted by his dry humour and outrageous anecdotes. What began as a simple distraction tactic to help her ignore the pain of her injuries turned into a natural conversation. Casey barely noticed the minutes slipping by, until they arrived back at the car park in what felt like no time at all.

‘We even made it back before sundown. How about that,’ he murmured, turning to give the forest one last baleful glare. He left Grace settling into her car, stepping away for a moment to radio Saga.

‘Hey, Anderson. All quiet here – how’s things on your end?’

‘All good here. Casey, I’ve found another painting,’ came Saga’s voice in his ear. ‘I was checking out one of the murder sites, and there’s something strange; I’ve been finding dead animals on the path, near the lake.’

Casey grimaced in disgust. ‘Dead animals? What, like mice, rats… squirrels, that sort of thing?’

‘More like rabbits and birds,’ she replied. ‘It’s weird, I didn’t see any on the way down – did you?’

‘No, nothing like that.’ Casey shook his head, frowning worriedly. ‘That sounds pretty ominous, Anderson. Any trouble?’

‘I ran into another one of those shaded creatures,’ she replied. ‘But I’m fine. They go down the same way as Taken.’ Even across the crackle of radio static, he could hear the satisfaction in her voice. ‘Don’t worry, Casey. I’m alright. I’ll check in again when I’m on my way back to the lodge – or if I find anything exciting.’

‘You’ve got a weird definition of exciting,’ he muttered, rolling his eyes and smiling at Saga’s laughter. ‘This is cheering you up, isn’t it?’

‘You know me, Casey. I love a mystery; and it feels good to be finally digging into what’s going on around here.’

‘You’re not wrong about that.’ He hesitated. ‘Anderson… Grace, I mean, Miss Hart… she’s been asking about what those creatures were. What’s wrong with this place.’ He sighed, shaking his head. ‘I’m not sure how much to tell her.’

‘Hmm.’ He could almost hear the whirr of Saga’s thoughts as she paused, clearly thinking it over. ‘She deserves to know some of it, at least. If you like, put her off until I get back – then we’ll do it together. We should question her too – find out what she was doing down at the lake. She might know more than she’s letting on.’

‘Right.’ He shifted uncomfortably, disliking the notion that Grace might be withholding evidence, but knowing that Saga had a point, as always. ‘We’re just about to head back now – I’ll see you on the other side. Be careful out there, Anderson.’

‘I will, don’t worry. You watch out for yourself too.’

Casey shook his head at Anderson’s sign-off, sighing as he stepped away. ‘Damn it,’ he muttered. It was only a short drive back to the lodge, but suddenly he was feeling awkward again, for all the wrong reasons. Come on, Casey, get a grip, he told himself sternly. He wondered how on earth they were going to explain what’d been happening to Grace. It sounded crazy enough to him – let alone to someone who didn’t already know about the Dark Presence. He glanced back at the car, spotted Grace leaning back against the headrest with her eyes closed. That’s going to be one hell of an awkward conversation, he thought. How the fuck do you tell someone that you’ve been seeing them in your dreams – in your nightmares? How do you tell somebody that it’s their face that haunts you?

He shivered. A chill wind was blowing up from the lake, biting at the exposed skin of his vulnerable throat, reminding him that it was past time they got the hell out of there. He turned away, walking decisively back to the car, ignoring the ghosts of old memories that snapped at his heels as he left. There would be time for that later, he told himself. For now, he had an injured woman in his care, a civilian under his protection – and he’d be damned if he let her down.

*

Saga snapped a fresh set of shells into her shotgun, smiling in grim satisfaction as another monster went down, vanishing into the dirt with a low wail. Evening was weaving a veil of deepening shadows beneath the trees, but Saga didn’t mind. She was used to the night. It had been a long time since she’d been afraid of the dark.

Coming back to Bright Falls had been strange in ways she didn’t expect. Three years ago, she’d sworn never to set foot in the town again, expecting to be haunted by the monsters of her own past the moment she arrived: the ghosts of the people she’d been unable to save. But to her own surprise, returning had felt more like shrugging on an old, comfortable sweater. She knew this place, and its people. She knew the dangers; and this time, she was prepared. She hadn’t told Casey yet, but she’d stashed a carefully-curated arsenal of weapons in the hold-all that was tucked in the trunk of their car. When things went to hell – and that was definitely a when, not an if situation – she’d be ready. They wouldn’t be caught napping this time.

She also had Wake’s number on speed dial in her phone, just in case they needed him and his Clicker back; but it would appear he’d been telling the truth about not writing any more detective stories. She’d half-expected to start finding more pages from his books once they arrived at Cauldron Lake: more horror and despair bleeding out from the Dark Place, tainting the forest air. But they hadn’t found any. All they’d come across were the paintings. Whatever was happening this time around was new: some different strand of creativity being twisted by the darkness. Something they didn’t understand – yet.

Sighing, Saga checked her watch. Night had fallen, and an icy wind had begun to whistle eerily between the trees. It was time to leave. She’d checked two of the murder sites already, and she’d been hoping to take a look at the third; but she knew that was a task better suited to daylight. It was too easy to miss important details in the dark; and the idea of hunting for clues using only her flashlight, with the constant threat of possible shadow monsters lurking in the darkness…? No thanks, she thought to herself. Best to save that for the morning. Besides, she wanted to come back with some sample bags. Finding dead animals strewn along the path had unsettled her – and while she was no biologist, she knew that this sort of thing wasn’t usual. She didn’t see how it could be connected to the murders – not yet. But if experience had taught her anything, it was to never dismiss a hunch, no matter how odd it might seem on the surface. They had access to some limited lab equipment at the Sheriff’s Station; so, she might as well make use of it.

Frowning, Saga shifted into her Mind Place as her memory of the Sheriff wavered. Casey had been right – Tim Breaker hadn’t seemed well. He’d acted strangely uneasy in their presence. He says he doesn’t remember how he got out of the Dark Place, she thought. Or does he?

The cold air flickered into life around her. ‘A shadow falls across my face at night,’ came the echo of Breaker’s voice. ‘Ink blots hiding under my skin. I walked through a door but left something behind. Check the Lost and Found for my missing pieces.’

She sighed, opening her eyes. He’s still trying to recover his memories, she realised. He was telling the truth – or a part of it, at least. She began making her way back up the hill, walking carefully along the darkened paths. The last thing she wanted to do was turn an ankle on one of the many protruding tree roots. She was beginning to lay it all out in her mind, slowly putting the puzzle together. At this early stage of the investigation, she knew just how vital it was to build up a firm foundation of knowledge; to gather all the right pieces into place. That had been the mistake they’d made last time: assuming that the Cult was the monstrous presence behind the gruesome murders. It had skewed their whole perception of the case, right up to the point where Scratch had clawed its way out of the mind of Alan Wake.

She shivered. She could remember it all as though it were yesterday. The disaster at the Sheriff Station, the blood spatter across the floors; the darkness that had leeched into everything, like frost on a winter’s night. Finding Casey, bruised and battered, holding out alone in the morgue against the Taken. He’d played it cool when she’d arrived, of course – Cold Case Casey, nothing ruffled his feathers – but the sheer relief in his voice when he’d called her name had made her heart shudder in her chest. You let your partner down, whispered the insidious voice in her head that had been born in the Dark Place; that had still stubbornly refused to depart, even now. You left him alone to die, to die in the dark, to be consumed by it… to become a monster you didn’t even bother to try and save…

‘That’s not true!’ she said aloud, swearing as the darkening woods closed on her like the jaws of a trap. ‘That’s not fucking true – I did the best that I could. We all did – and I did save him in the end. We saved everybody we could.’

She gritted her teeth against the memory that scrabbled against her, trying to push it away: of Wake, staring at her wild-eyed through the bars of his cell, desperate to help, reaching for the Clicker… and then, the change that came over him. Scratch. The transformation had been terrifying in its suddenness, and its simplicity. The monster had taken over: there had been no long, drawn-out struggle. No hesitation. He had been simply there. She remembered Alan’s kind blue eyes turning cold and cruel – remembered the speed and brutality of Jakko’s murder that still haunted her nightmares, the stench of the blood that had flooded out of the cell in an awful wave as Scratch chased her down.

‘Fuck,’ she muttered. ‘Fuck off,’ she added, loudly this time – and whether she was talking to her own memories, or to that lingering shred of darkness that still haunted her, Saga didn’t know. All she knew was that she was sick of it – sick of the nightmares, sick of the terror; sick of fear taking her heart in its hand and squeezing until it threatened to burst.

‘Hey!’ a voice came to her, out of the darkness. ‘Is that any way to greet an old friend?’

Saga blinked as a figure stepped out of the trees and onto the path before her, lit up in the beam of her flashlight. Her heart leapt into her throat as the light glinted off a raincoat and a plastic deer mask. Fear flashed sharply through her, and she raised her weapon; before realising that this wasn’t a Taken. There was no shimmer of darkness surrounding the strange man, who was leaning against a tree and laughing – laughing at her!

Saga groaned, lowering her gun. She knew exactly who this was. ‘Very funny, Ilmo,’ she snapped. ‘You ought to be more careful. I could have shot you!’

‘Ah, but you didn’t!’ The figure removed its mask with a flourish, revealing the handsome, smiling face of the last remaining Koskela brother. ‘I’m sorry Saga – I just couldn’t resist it, for old time’s sake.’ He stepped closer, slinging a hunting rifle across his shoulder and reaching out to shake her hand.

‘Just don’t let anyone else catch you with that mask on,’ she replied, shaking her head and chuckling at the irrepressible Finn. ‘Anybody from the FBC will have a fit – and I already kept you out of jail once. I don’t want my hard work to go to waste!’

Ilmo held up his hands, still laughing. ‘I promise, no more Cult stuff; at least, not within spitting distance of those government fucks. I heard you were back in town, and wanted to see how you were doing. I drove up to the lodge, but I only saw your partner there. So, I decided to come and find you instead.’

Saga nodded. ‘You saw Agent Casey, then?’

‘Saw, but didn’t speak to him.’ Ilmo shrugged. ‘I don’t think he likes me much.’

‘Well, you did shoot at him. Casey tends to hold a grudge,’ she warned him. ‘Best if you steer clear, for now. Do you know anything about these murders, Ilmo? Do you have any information that could help us?’

‘I wish that I did.’ His expression clouded over. ‘Nobody seems to know anything. The town is buzzing with it, but in a bad way. People are scared to go out at night again – and not because of the Cult this time.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Speaking of which… can I walk you back to your car, Saga? It’s not safe to be out here alone at night.’

‘You’re out alone,’ she pointed out. ‘You seem perfectly safe.’

‘Ah, but you forget; I grew up here. I’ve been hunting and fishing in these woods since I could walk. I know my way through this forest blindfolded – which is a lot more than most other folks in this town could say.’ He offered her a roguish wink. ‘I also know a short-cut that will get you back to the car much faster. Shall I take you?’

‘Go on then.’ Saga chuckled. ‘Lead the way, Ilmo.’ They set off into the woods, following a narrow path that looked more like an animal trail than anything made by humans. ‘So, what’s new with you?’ she asked, as they walked. ‘You know everything that’s happening in Bright Falls and Watery. Care to catch me up on everything I’ve missed over the last three years?’

‘Well now, that’s a pretty tall order,’ replied Ilmo, grinning. ‘But I’ll give it a go. Now, where to start…?’

Saga smiled to herself as the man launched eagerly into a full-scale account of all the town gossip that he’d accumulated. Any seasoned investigator knew that it paid dividends to know the details of whatever undercurrent of rumour was running through a town. It didn’t matter how true it all was – what mattered was what other people thought was true: and therein lay a clue to their motivations. She listened carefully as they walked, and it turned out Ilmo hadn’t been lying about his shortcut, as they arrived back at the car a good twenty minutes faster than Saga expected. Ilmo was still chattering; and only by agreeing to meet him for coffee the next day was Saga able to get away.

She drove back into town smiling faintly, arranging the new knowledge she had gathered in her Mind Place. It wasn’t much – but they’d made a good start to the investigation. Saga was feeling positive. She just hoped that Casey had managed to patch up their latest guest properly at the field office, as well as asking her a few searching questions along the way.

Chapter Text

Their field office was warm at least. Casey had never felt more grateful for the central heating that had been worked around the lodge’s rustic, old-world décor. It was a relief to close the door on the icy winds that had begun to whistle down the street after them, as darkness fell as softly as a sigh.

‘Take a seat,’ he offered, waving Grace towards the table, hastily stacking up the paperwork they’d been reading and putting it all out of the way. ‘Don’t mind the mess – case in progress, and all that.’

She nodded, settling herself down and eyeing the manilla files with undisguised interest. ‘I’m guessing all that’s classified?’ she asked. ‘A shame – I lost my book down at the lake.’

Casey raised an eyebrow as he fetched down their first aid kit. ‘Your book?’

‘Yeah, I had a bag with some things in it; I must have dropped it when I fell.’ She shrugged, wincing as the movement pulled at her damaged arm. ‘I’d completely forgotten about it until now. I guess being attacked by horrible lake monsters puts stuff like that out of your mind,’ she added, with a wry smile.

‘Sounds about right.’ Casey pulled a face. ‘Just don’t tell me that your book was one of those godawful Alan Wake novels. I’ve had enough of those to last a lifetime.’

She shook her head, her smile turning to puzzlement. ‘No, it was a short story collection. I’ve never actually managed to finish an Alan Wake book, truth to tell. I know a lot of people like his stuff, but…’ she trailed off. ‘It sounds like you’re not a fan either, Agent Casey,’ she added. ‘Why is that?’

‘Hah.’ Casey released a short huff of cynical laugher. ‘I, uh… well, there are a lot of reasons,’ he hedged. Where do I even begin, his inner thought muttered. Probably best not to even go there; for now. He cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘It’s… mostly the jokes,’ he said, retreating from the real reason, unwilling to reveal the scarred part of his soul. ‘You know the fictional detective character from his books: Alex Casey? Let’s just say… the jokes get real repetitive, after a while.’ He scowled darkly, setting up their first aid gear on the table beside Grace, alongside a bowl of warm water and a handful of clean, soft towels.

‘You have the same name as a fake detective?’ Grace smiled in sympathy. ‘That must be awful. I can see why you’re not a fan.’ She shook her head. ‘Honestly, I’m just not that into crime fiction. I think I began reading one a few years ago that a friend lent me, and ended up putting it down about a third of the way through.’ She pulled a face. ‘It just didn’t pull me in, you know?’

‘I get that.’ He nodded slowly, trying not to smile as fresh warmth bloomed in him, as warming as the summer sun. She spoke with a lightness that made him want to cheer. How could she possibly know the burden she had lifted from his shoulders with those few simple words? For years, the crime books of Alan Wake had hounded him; chased him down like a dog. Almost everybody he spoke to knew of them; recognised his name from the books or the movies first, and remembered the real man as an afterthought. God, how he hated taking second place to a fictional character! But now, here was somebody to whom the name Alex Casey didn’t mean some bitter old noir-style PI, chewing endlessly on his own misery and drowning his despair in Jack Daniels. To Grace, the name meant simply… him. The real man. Special Agent Alex Casey, FBI.

She was smiling up at him, her head tilted slightly as though waiting for him to speak. He’d been staring at her, he realised, lost in his own revelation. ‘Sorry,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I just don’t meet many people who don’t already associate me with those damn detective novels.’

She laughed softly. ‘That’s okay. I guess I’ll just have to get to know you the old-fashioned way, Agent Casey.’

He could feel himself reddening beneath her clear grey gaze. ‘Just Casey is fine, ma’am,’ he muttered. ‘Or, uh… Alex, if you like.’ He cleared his throat and glanced away, stumbling over the words. What the fuck is wrong with me? he thought to himself.

‘Alright.’ She nodded, repeating his name quietly as though committing it to memory. He found that he liked the way she said it; with a softness he seldom heard. ‘In that case, you really don’t need to ma’am me,’ she added. ‘Please, just call me Grace?’

‘Right, Miss… Grace.’ He cleared his throat again, trying and failing to ignore the smile that seemed to warm him from the inside out. She was still bundled in his oversized FBI jacket, with the collar turned up and her face peeking out over the top. Her cheeks were beginning to flush pink from the warmth of the lodge, and as much as Casey hated to admit it, she looked… cute.

‘Let’s get you fixed up,’ he said, cursing internally as he helped her out of the jacket and laid it across the back of the chair. It’s not like that, he told himself sternly. Don’t be such an idiot. Still, he had to admit that he’d always been a bit of an old romantic at heart, ever since he was a young man; and there was something about the sight of a beautiful woman wrapped up in his jacket for warmth, comfort, and safety, that stirred something in Casey’s battered old heart that was better left forgotten.

He shook himself internally, rolling up his sleeves before focusing on removing the cloth that bound her arm, frowning at the mess of blood that was smeared across her skin. ‘This is going to feel worse before it feels better,’ he warned her. ‘The antiseptic stings like hell. You ready?’

She smiled faintly. ‘I don’t exactly have much of a choice, but… yeah, I guess so. I’d kill for a cup of coffee right now, though.’

He couldn’t help but smirk at that. ‘Please don’t,’ he replied drily. ‘We’ve already got three murders to solve; I don’t want to add another to the list.’ He shook his head, trying to hide a smile as Grace broke into fresh chuckles. ‘I’ll fix us a couple of coffees after we’re done,’ he added. ‘But this place has already had a dozen bloodstains scrubbed out of its floors. I’d rather not have to foot the bill for any more, thanks.’

She grinned at that, twisting in the chair so that he could reach her arm more easily. ‘Well, if you insist. Don’t worry, I’ll try and bleed neatly.’

He laughed aloud at that, shaking his head and trying to ignore the smile that stretched across his face. ‘Thank fuck you’ve got a sense of humour,’ he muttered. ‘The last guy I stitched up in the field didn’t have your kind of charm. Tried to punch me in the nose before I’d even gotten him sat down.’

Grace’s eyes widened in amazement. ‘You’re kidding me?’

‘I wish,’ Casey deadpanned. ‘In all fairness, we had just arrested him – and Anderson was the one who broke his arm.’

‘Holy shit.’ Grace shook her head, her eyes glittering with laughter as she looked up at him. ‘Does that sort of thing happen to you a lot, then?’

‘More often than you’d think.’ He shook his head to clear it, pushing back the thoughts that crowded in on him as a flicker of something he thought long buried flared within him. She’s not what I expected, he thought to himself. She’s… different. But then, what exactly had he expected her to be? His dreams had been filled with darkness: hints of strange, nightmare places and monstrous things that howled through the night – and while her face had haunted him, he’d seen nothing of her personality, save for the depths of her despair. It was… shocking, almost, to see her smile and laugh so easily; to see her eyes shining with mirth at his jokes, to meet her gaze and see the softness lurking underneath.

He tried to focus on tending to her injury, chasing away the last of the dried blood from her skin and doing his best to make certain it would stay clear of infection; but from the corner of his eye, he could tell that she was watching him. Not his hands, but his face; with an expression that looked an awful lot like hope. There was a bewildering intensity in her gaze, as though she was drinking in the sight of him in the same way that a man dying of thirst would take a drink of clean water. He was loth to admit it, but it felt… good. Good in a way he’d never felt before. He’d seldom enjoyed being the centre of attention, but the way that Grace was looking at him seemed to tug at something deep inside him; a feeling that made the beat of his heart quicken inside his chest.

He glanced up, the breath catching lightly in his throat as he met her grey gaze. ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked, trying to moderate his tone away from his usual gruffness.

‘No.’ She shook her head and looked quickly away. ‘It’s just…’ she broke off, biting her lip and glancing back at him worriedly. She looked like somebody weighing up just how much of a truth they dared to reveal, thought Casey; and he was quickly proved correct.

‘This is going to sound completely insane, but… I could swear I’ve seen you before,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve seen you in my dreams – you, and your partner.’

He raised his brows at that, ice-cold shock coursing through him. Of course, he’d seen her in his nightmares, and her face had haunted him for weeks; but it had never occurred to him that perhaps the reverse might be true as well. Perhaps he was the one doing the haunting.

‘I know it sounds ridiculous – like crazy talk,’ she was saying. ‘It’s one of the reasons I came to Bright Falls in the first place. My friend said I was working too hard, and needed a break. I thought a change of scenery might help chase away the bad dreams, but so far, it’s only made them worse.’ Her voice broke on that final word, a sob catching in her chest as she turned away to hide her tears. ‘Fuck, this is so fucking stupid,’ she muttered. ‘I’m so sorry… I really don’t know…’

‘It’s okay.’ Casey hesitated a moment, frowning, before reaching for her hand and giving it a slight, tentative squeeze. ‘It’s okay,’ he repeated. ‘You’re not going crazy.’ She’s been having the same dreams, he realised. The same fucking nightmares. But without anybody who she can confide in; without anyone who knows that the danger and the horror are real. Fucking hell, what a mess.

‘There’s… a lot more going on here than you know,’ he told her. ‘This place… it’s, uh, complicated. I can go through a bit of it with you when Anderson gets back, but…’ he hesitated. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, and she was watching him with something like fear lurking in her pale gaze; but there was hope too, somewhere underneath it all – hope, and something else that he couldn’t quite lay a name to. ‘There’s darkness in the water,’ he added quietly. He didn’t know what else to say; so, he told the truth. ‘It haunts you, makes you afraid… gives you nightmares. Tries to drown you in your sleep. I’ve had them too – and Grace, I know how you feel.’ He took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I know how you feel because… I’ve seen you too. In my dreams – in my fucking nightmares. I recognised you as soon as I saw you.’ He tried to smile, but the expression twisted on his face. ‘I have no idea why, but it seems we’ve been… haunting each other.’

‘What?’ She stared up at him, wide-eyed. ‘You mean… it’s all real?’

He nodded. ‘Yeah. Don’t ask me why – we’re still in the process of figuring that out. It’s why we’re in Bright Falls now.’ He squeezed her hand again, carefully – a simple touch, human connection, trying to draw her back to reality; to drive away the panic he saw taking root in her gaze. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he added, softening his voice into something he hoped sounded comforting. ‘I know it sounds scary, but… we’re here to fix this.’

She nodded slowly. ‘I… okay.’ She turned away, breathing deeply. ‘I might need a minute. That’s… shit, that’s a lot.’

‘I know. Look, Anderson’s a lot better at explaining this shit than me. We’ll talk you through what we can when she gets back. But for what it’s worth… you’re not going crazy.’ He hesitated. ‘Trust me, Grace?’

She glanced back at that, catching his gaze and holding it, staring at him for a handful of quiet seconds that felt like an eternity. What is she thinking, he wondered. What’s going through her head? Does she believe me? Or does she just think I’m crazy too?

‘Alright.’ Her voice was soft, barely on the edge of hearing; but there was an undertone of determination that made him raise his brows in surprise. ‘Alright,’ she repeated. ‘I’ll trust you, Alex Casey.’ She smiled faintly. ‘Don’t let me down, okay?’

He almost laughed with relief at that, shaking his head and smiling. ‘I won’t.’ He repeated the words to himself as he met her grey gaze, and was surprised to find that he meant them, wholly and completely: a promise held against his own heart. I won’t let you down, he thought. I won’t let the darkness take you. No matter the cost.

He went back to tending to her arm, concentrating as he applied the antiseptic. It was vicious stuff, he knew; he’d been on the receiving end of this kind of treatment more times than he cared to count. He frowned in sympathy as Grace flinched.

‘I warned you,’ he muttered. ‘It’s going to sting like crazy for a few minutes, but it’ll fade.’ He took his time bandaging the cut, making sure the gauze pad was firmly in place before wrapping her arm in soft white cotton. She sat patiently while he worked, watching his hands. He moved slowly, with deliberation. He didn’t want to do a sloppy job; after all, he might not be a medic, but he was still a professional.

‘There,’ he said, when he was done. ‘All patched up.’

‘Thank you, Alex.’ She leaned over, inspecting his work, smiling faintly as she glanced up to find him watching her. ‘I mean it,’ she added. ‘You didn’t have to do this.’

Casey shrugged. ‘It’s no hardship. Besides, there’s some nasty things in this town. Best not to be outside after dark these days. I’d rather treat you myself than let you wander around looking for a doctor.’ He hesitated. ‘You said you were staying in Bright Falls. Mind if I ask where?’

‘In one of the holiday cabins,’ she replied. ‘Not the ones on the main road – there’s a spot a couple of hundred yards from here where the road dog-legs back on itself and breaks away into the trees. There’s a run of lodges just up the hill.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Casey leaned back, frowning as he digested this information. ‘It’s not exactly peak holiday season. Why rent out a cabin now, in midwinter?’

Grace smiled thinly. ‘Because the rent is cheap?’ She sighed. ‘Honestly, I just… needed to get away. The nightmares were getting to me, I was barely sleeping, and everything was just… shit. I have a friend whose uncle owns a couple of these cabins, and she suggested I rent one out for a bit. Apparently, nobody ever comes here in the winter, so they just sit empty; he said I could stay until spring if I wanted, and he’d only charge me for the gas and water bills. I thought that maybe a change of scenery would help me to feel better. Going on walks, getting out into nature, and all that.’

‘And has it? Helped at all, I mean?’ asked Casey.

‘Nope.’ She laughed mirthlessly. ‘No, I just feel even fucking worse.’

He smiled grimly. ‘Getting back to nature’s not all it’s cracked up to be.’

‘So it would seem.’ She sighed. ‘At least I’ve been able to paint a bit. The peace and quiet has been nice too, during the day.’

Casey’s heart dropped like a stone. He’d already known, somehow – known in his bones that everything was connected. The paintings, the darkness, the dreams… and now, here was Grace, tangled up in it all like a bird with its leg caught in a snare.

‘You… paint?’ he asked slowly. ‘You’re an artist?’

‘I am. Or at least, I’m trying to be.’ She pulled a face. ‘It’s not an easy thing. I run some online workshops, painting and drawing classes, that sort of thing…’ her voice trailed away as she noticed his expression. ‘Why?’

He closed his eyes momentarily, trying to put off the moment of realisation, of connection; the loss of innocence that he knew would come with the dreadful weight of knowledge he was about to lay on her shoulders. He shook his head. The connection is already present, he told himself. All I’m doing is confirming it. He rose to his feet, beckoning her over to the case board, where Saga had already pinned up the first painting they’d found. Wordlessly, he turned to add the one he’d picked up at the car park, wincing at the sound of Grace’s sharp intake of breath behind him.

‘That’s… that painting looks like one of mine,’ she said. ‘They both do, but…’

‘But what?’ he asked, keeping his expression neutral and his voice steady. ‘You recognise them?’

‘Yes, and no,’ she replied, shaking her head in confusion. ‘They certainly look like mine: you see these marks here, and the way the figures are drawn? That’s exactly the same way I paint – I can show you examples if you like – but I didn’t paint these. I don’t recognise them.’

‘You’re sure?’ Casey’s brows shot almost to his hairline in surprise. ‘Take another look at the signature. Is it possible you might have… painted these, and then forgotten?’

‘I… I don’t know.’ She shook her head, her face creasing in pain. Casey’s heart twisted in his chest at the sight. ‘I’ve been… I’ll admit, I’ve not been well lately,’ she added quietly. ‘And that does look like my signature, sure enough. But… I’m sure I’d remember doing a whole couple of paintings, right?’

Casey shook his head, worry churning through his gut at the sight of the expression that flickered across her face. It was only for a moment, but it had been there: bitter self-loathing, accompanied by an unhealthy dollop of misery. It was an expression that Casey had seen often enough before; usually, staring back at him from the far side of a mirror. He took a slow, steadying breath, watching Grace’s features smooth back into concentration once more, as she stepped closer to examine the paintings. Where did that come from, he wondered. There’s something else going on here, I’d bet my badge on it. He frowned. Probably something to do with whatever reason she’s holed up in a freezing cabin at this time of year, in the middle of goddamn nowhere, his inner thought added. It’s not exactly… usual, for a woman alone. He tucked that particular thought away for now, making a mental note to mention it to Anderson when she returned; perhaps, he thought, her Mind Place could offer some insight. He turned his attention back towards the paintings, where Grace was pointing out certain features.

‘I do teach this technique,’ she was saying. ‘I demonstrate something very similar in one of my online courses. So, it’s possible that somebody else might have done these – a decent copy-cat, maybe…?’

‘Maybe.’ Casey shrugged, unconvinced. ‘You’re certain you don’t recognise these paintings, then? You didn’t make them?’

‘I am certain,’ she replied, but her tone seemed anything but. ‘Casey, please, I don’t...’ she broke off, shaking her head, before running a frustrated hand across her face. ‘Look, a few hours ago, I was damn near convinced that I was losing my mind. You could have told me I’d done these in my sleep, and I’d have believed you!’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t recognise these paintings, I’m sorry. I’m not sure what else you want me to say.’

He shook his head. Part of him was surprised by her answer – but another part of him, the part that watched the shadows and operated on blind instinct, whispered: of course, it couldn’t be so simple, so straightforward: there’s something else going on here, there always is. There’s a dark current running underneath all of this, threatening to wash us all away. Shadows inside shadows: the water is rising, creeping in from somewhere unseen. Like a trail of blood, leaking from a bad wound. He shivered, running a hand across his hair and trying to offer Grace a reassuring smile; but the expression wouldn’t sit right on his face, the smile becoming pained; contorted. Let’s just hope that we can figure it out before it’s too late, he thought to himself grimly. Like blood from a bad wound? No chance; I’ve got no intention of bleeding out here in Bright fucking Falls.

He fought down the wave of nausea that swept over him at the thought. He knew what it felt like, to bleed out – a different Alex Casey had felt it, lying face-down in the dirt somewhere in a New York that was not New York, under unkind stars and the endless, unforgiving night. Another Alex Casey had felt his lifeblood ebbing away, flowing like ink from a cracked vial, leaking through his fingers as he tried to staunch a terrible, aching wound. He knew the roughness of paved ground beneath his cheek, the sharpness of gravel against his skin; the frantic pounding of his own heartbeat echoing through his ears, growing weaker and weaker as a crimson pool widened around him. Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision, as the echo of another man’s memory pressed against him.

He shook himself, gritting his teeth and clawing his way back to reality, wrenching his mind away from the brutality of his own murder. It was only a dream, he told himself sternly. It didn’t fucking happen – at least, it didn’t happen here, now, in the real world: where it counts. He clenched his jaw angrily. It wasn’t enough, that he was forced to struggle with his own demons every day: the final remnant of the Dark Presence that had possessed him, laid over him like a shroud. It wasn’t enough that he had to fight against the darkness that sometimes blossomed in the back of his mind with a sound like the beating of terrible wings; it wasn’t enough that at times he felt so lost, alone, and afraid, with no family left, and very few people he’d care to call friends; no love, that was for damn certain… and now, to cap it all, he’d died so many times in his dreams, over and over, that he was no longer afraid of death. Hell, he’d become something of an expert. It might even be a relief, to go through it for real, added the sarcastic part of his brain. At least it can only happen once. I’d wager that when the time comes, I’ll be damn good at dying; god knows I’ve had enough practice.

‘Alex?’ A quiet voice drew him back to the present. ‘Agent Casey?’ Warmth, and a gentle pressure: Grace had laid her hand tentatively on his forearm. It was a light touch, barely even there, but… it was enough. Enough to draw him out of the darkness, and back into the light. He blinked. The touch was an anchor: a port in the storm of his thoughts. He glanced down at her, meeting her pale stare, wondering at the concern he saw written plainly across her face.

‘Are you alright?’ she asked. ‘Did I say something wrong?’

‘No.’ He shook his head, releasing a long, slow sigh as the tension ebbed from his shoulders. ‘Just, uh… bad memories, that’s all.’ He swallowed awkwardly as she looked away, a shadow passing over her delicate features.

‘Yeah, I know that feeling,’ she murmured. Casey opened his mouth to reply, pausing as she moved to peer out of the window at the deepening night. Is she haunted in the same way that I am? he wondered. She’s been dreaming the same dark dreams as we all have… which means that the Dark Presence is reaching out to her. There must be a reason – that fucking horror in the lake doesn’t do anything by chance. He narrowed his eyes, watching as she stepped away from the case board, settling back at the table with a sigh. She seemed smaller, somehow; folded in on herself, as though trying to appear unobtrusive. She looked exhausted; her shoulders were bowed beneath the weight of something he couldn’t understand. But I’ll damn well give it a try, he thought, in the privacy of his own mind. She may not have the ghost of a fictional detective occasionally running amok in the back of her brain, like he did; but everybody had their own fears, doubts, worries… their inner demons.

I wonder what hers are, he thought. I’d expect her to be confused, angry, or frightened after everything that’s happened, but she just looks… sad. Lonely. Hurting. The urge to reach out and comfort her was so strong that he could feel it thrumming through his veins; like a physical pulse that beat against his skin. He imagined folding her in his arms and swearing to protect her from the world – which was insane, he reminded himself quickly. He didn’t know this woman, despite the feeling of familiarity that stole over him whenever she looked his way; and more importantly, she didn’t know him either. I’m still basically a stranger to her, he told himself. Damn it, none of this makes sense!

He forced himself to move away, stepping into the kitchen area instead. After all, there were few things in life that couldn’t be vastly improved by the addition of coffee. He prepared two cups, trying to ignore the way his heart seemed to lift in his chest when she glanced over and caught his eye. A tired smile still lingered around her lips, and her expression softened when she met his gaze.

He didn’t quite know what it all meant, yet. He still needed to work out why his tired old heart seemed to beat a little faster in her presence, or why the ache in his shoulders felt as though it lifted, just a little, every time she smiled. All he knew was that in the face of her grey gaze, the nightmares were easier to push away. The darkness of his past laid less heavily across his shoulders. A stranger she might be, technically, but he knew her – deep in his soul, he knew her somehow; and what’s more, he was certain that she knew him. He wasn’t sure what the nature of the connection was, but Casey found that this bothered him less than he thought it would.

He and Saga would figure it out, eventually. They always did.

Chapter Text

It was late. The moon had risen high into the inky vault of the deepening night, while Casey and Anderson gave Grace a brief run-down of what had happened in Bright Falls previously: at least, the parts that they could safely tell her. Truth be told, Anderson had done most of the talking; Casey had chimed in here and there with extra details when he thought they were necessary; or with sarcastic comments, which were also very necessary, judging by the look of increasing dismay on Grace’s face as the conversation continued.

‘So, let me try and get this right,’ Grace said, glancing from one agent to the other. ‘There’s this… thing lurking around Bright Falls: an entity of pure darkness and evil. It’s bound to Cauldron Lake, except that it’s not really a lake, but a… a threshold? A doorway into another place: this hellscape you call the Dark Place. And this… Dark Presence, it can reach out and possess people, turn them into monsters, make them do its bidding.’ She grimaced. ‘How am I doing so far?’

‘Better than I am,’ Casey muttered into his coffee. He knew he shouldn’t have made another cup this late in the evening, but his nerves were starting to fray; and it wasn’t as though he ever got a good night’s sleep these days.

‘I know it’s a lot to take in, but… that’s the gist of it.’ Anderson leaned back and folded her arms, watching Grace carefully. ‘The power here thrives on creativity. It can turn works of art into reality. Don’t ask me how it works – it just does. The last time, the Dark Presence used a horror story by Alan Wake to twist the world around us, to manipulate us; to hurt us.’

Grace nodded slowly, catching Casey’s eye and smiling grimly. ‘Guess that explains why you don’t like his books,’ she murmured. ‘I didn’t realise he wrote horror as well – I thought it was just those cheesy crime stories.’

‘Apparently, Wake didn’t write the horror story: the Dark Presence did, through him.’ Casey scowled. ‘It used him, like it fucking uses everybody. But we got rid of it in the end. As far as I’m aware, the only copy of that horror story is the manuscript pages still held by the FBC.’

Anderson nodded. ‘It was the Dark Presence’s way of twisting our reality into its own fucked-up nightmare vision. The last time, we kept finding pages of the story everywhere, and the deeper we went, the worse things got.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘This time… we’ve been finding these paintings. Your paintings, to be precise – or at least, you say they look like yours, but you don’t remember creating them.’

Internally, Casey winced. He kept his outward countenance stern and professional, backing up his partner like he’d always done. But he remembered Grace’s shock and confusion when he’d shown her the paintings, and her admission that she recognised the style, but not the pieces themselves. He might not have Saga’s seer talents, but after half a lifetime spent on the job, Casey figured himself a pretty good judge of character; and if Grace was lying about these paintings, then she was the best damn actress he’d ever seen.

Saga leaned forwards, frowning. ‘Have you been down to Cauldron Lake at all, before we found you there today?’

‘No.’ Grace shook her head worriedly. ‘That was the first time I went down there. I keep to myself mostly, and the area around the town.’

‘You’re sure?’ Saga pressed. ‘You’ve been here a few weeks, you say? Hard to believe that you’ve been in Bright Falls for this long, and only just thought to check out the lake. Like you said, it’s hard to miss.’

Grace shrugged. ‘I have a really crappy sense of direction. I was worried about taking any of the trails alone in case I got lost in the woods. They’re not exactly well-signposted.’

‘Hmm.’ Saga frowned, throwing a quick glance at Casey as he made a soft noise of agreement. ‘What about these paintings?’ she added. ‘They have your name on them, Grace: your signature. Is there anything more you can tell us about them?’

‘I’ve never seen them before.’ Grace bit her lip, blinking hard and looking away. ‘I did do a stack of paintings based on what I saw in my nightmares, they’re back at the cabin – and yeah, some of them look similar to this, I think. But I’d swear I didn’t paint these!’

She looked on the verge of panic, Casey realised. A part of him was itching to reign Anderson in; tell her to knock it off, and take it a little easier on the injured woman in front of them. She was twisting her fingers together worriedly, hunched in on herself as though to ward off a physical blow. But another part of him – the detective in him – knew that it was vitally important to establish these facts for the investigation; and as much as it unsettled him to see Grace in pain, he trusted Saga. He knew she wouldn’t be taking this line of questioning if she didn’t think it would lead them somewhere.

‘Then why are we finding them everywhere?’ Saga was saying. ‘And why are we in them?’

‘I don’t know! I don’t know who did these!’ Grace’s voice rose, distress writing itself clearly across her features. ‘Look, I don’t know what the fuck is going on here. All I know is that, for weeks now… everything hurts. I’m so tired, all the time. I barely eat. I barely sleep. I just paint, and try to survive. These fucking nightmares… god, everybody I know thinks that I’m crazy! Hell, so did I; my flatmate tried to have me sectioned, did I tell you that? And now… now, you tell me that it’s not all in my head? That pieces of art – maybe my own art – might be tied to those creatures from the lake; the ones that just tried to kill me? Who maybe killed those other people as well?’ Her voice splintered, angry tears welling up in her pale grey gaze. ‘Whoever left you those paintings, it wasn’t me. You think I’d do that – start fucking with things on purpose?’

‘We’re not saying that.’ Casey leaned forwards, frowning in concern. ‘Nobody here is accusing you of anything. We just need to know how you fit into all of this.’

‘I don’t,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t want to fit in. God, I was so close to doing something really fucking dumb, you know? Because of all this – these nightmares that I can’t fucking get away from!’ Her voice broke, turning to a sob that cut through the room like a knife; and the sound sliced straight into Casey’s heart.

‘That’s what we’re here to solve,’ he said, allowing his stern expression to drop, just a little; catching her eye and hoping that she understood he was on her side. ‘We believe that the nightmares you’ve been having are tied to this case. To the lake.’ He glanced sidelong at Anderson, recognising her pursed lips and intense expression. She was in her Mind Place again: probably sifting through everything that Grace had told them.

‘How do you stop them?’ Grace’s voice dropped, the anger draining out of her as she met his gaze, leaving exhaustion in its place. ‘The nightmares, I mean. I don’t sleep more than a handful of hours, most nights. I can’t stand it any longer.’

Casey swallowed hard. ‘I don’t,’ he told her. ‘I haven’t found a way, yet. I just… drink a lot of coffee.’ He smiled faintly as she released a soft, watery laugh, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand.

‘In that case, maybe I’d better invest in an espresso machine,’ she murmured, raising her head and looking him squarely in the eye. ‘This… this isn’t going to just go away, is it?’ she added slowly. ‘As much as I don’t want to be involved… I don’t think that this Dark Presence you spoke of gives a shit.’

‘You got that right.’ Casey nodded. ‘If I know one thing for certain, it’s that the Dark Presence is one cruel, calculating son of a bitch.’ He glanced back at Anderson, noticing with some surprise that her expression had softened considerably, into something approaching sympathy; and when she spoke, her tone was a lot gentler than it was before.

‘Grace, it’s going to be alright,’ she said quietly. ‘We’re going to find a way through this. To fix this – to fix everything that’s happening here. Don’t give up, okay?’

‘I… I’ll try.’ Grace’s expression flickered, becoming unreadable for a moment. She looked… lost, somehow, thought Casey. It only made sense, he supposed: after all, her world had been turned upside down over the space of the last few hours. Still, there was something in her eyes that he recognised; something that he didn’t like.

‘What more do you need from me?’ Grace addressed Saga, her tone calm once more, after taking several deep breaths. ‘If I can help you out, somehow…’

Saga shook her head. ‘Nothing more, for now. We may have some more questions for you later on, though.’ She scribbled something in her notebook, before tearing out the page and handing it over. ‘That’s our cell phone numbers,’ she added, shooting Casey a knowing look. ‘Mine, and Agent Casey’s. If you remember anything that you think we should know about, or if you find yourself in any danger… give us a call.’

‘Right. So, if those horrible shadow monsters come after me again…?’ she replied, with an awkward half-laugh.

‘Exactly. Not that I’m expecting them to give you any more trouble, now that we’re away from the lakeshore, but still…’ Saga hesitated. ‘Stay away from Cauldron Lake,’ she advised. ‘Try not to go out into the forest at night either. It’s not safe to be alone after dark.’

‘You don’t need to tell me twice.’ Grace shivered, running a tired hand over her face. ‘Fuck me, what a day.’

‘I know the feeling.’ Casey frowned in sympathy. ‘I’ll drop you back at the cabin, save you the walk in the dark.’

‘Thank you.’ Grace nodded at him gratefully. ‘Thanks for everything,’ she added, her voice softening. ‘I mean it. If you two hadn’t found me… well, I don’t much want to think about what might’ve happened.’

‘Best not to dwell on stuff like that.’ Casey glanced over at Saga. ‘You coming?’

She shook her head. ‘I want to think a few things through. I’ll see you when you get back.’

‘Right.’ Casey rose to his feet, hesitating for a moment before grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair and offering it once more to Grace, holding it steady so she could slip it more easily over her injured arm. ‘Can’t have you freezing to death on the way back,’ he muttered, trying to ignore the expression on Saga’s face.

‘Yeah, that would really take the shine off the day,’ Grace murmured in reply, a faint twinkle appearing in her eye as he tried and failed to stifle a soft chuckle. ‘I’d hate to survive horrible lake monsters, only to get taken out by the weather. That would be terribly embarrassing.’

‘Sure. That’s one word for it.’ Casey cleared his throat, regaining his composure as he nodded farewell to Saga. ‘See you in a bit.’

‘Uh-huh. Talk to you soon,’ she replied, raising a single eyebrow and smiling knowingly. Casey groaned internally. He knew that look – she was planning something. He stepped outside, scowling as the cold wind whistled around him, humming an eerie dirge through the treetops as they drove up the hill.

It was only a short drive, but despite that, Casey was glad he’d opted to drop her back. The moon had long since disappeared behind the clouds, and aside from the occasional streetlight, much of the road was in darkness. He shivered. ‘Are you sure you’ll be alright up here, on your own?’ he asked when they arrived, eyeing the row of darkened cabins with some suspicion.

‘I’ll be fine,’ Grace replied. ‘I’ll lock everything up tight and turn on all the lights if I get scared. That’s what you said, wasn’t it?’

‘Yeah.’ Casey nodded. ‘If anything comes at you, just get into the light – as bright a light as you can find. That’s the most important thing. It does… something to the bastards. Hurts them, I think. Blinds them, too. It’ll hide you from the Shaded creatures, as long as you stay still and quiet.’

‘Right. Good to know.’ Grace swallowed awkwardly. ‘Hopefully it won’t come to that, but…’

‘But it’s better to be safe than sorry.’ He nodded. ‘You’ve got my number; Anderson gave it to you. If you need anything, call. Day or night, it doesn’t matter. I don’t exactly sleep much these days.’ He hesitated, raising his eyes to meet her gaze. ‘Stay safe,’ he added quietly. ‘Please, Grace.’

‘I’ll try.’ She smiled. ‘You look after yourself as well, Casey.’

He chuckled at that. ‘I can handle myself. Don’t you worry.’

‘I don’t doubt that. But I still will,’ she replied. ‘Worry, I mean. Promise me you’ll be careful out there?’

He opened his mouth to reply, a sarcastic comment ready on his tongue; but he caught sight of her expression, and held back. The laughter had faded from her tone, giving way to genuine sincerity. She was worried about him, he realised. An unexpected softness bloomed inside him at the thought, sending warmth into the hollow cavern of his chest. It had been a long time since a beautiful woman seemed genuinely concerned about his welfare.

‘I’ll be careful,’ he promised. ‘Please don’t worry too much, Grace. We’re old hands at this, Anderson and me. We’ll be fine. Don’t lose any more sleep over it, okay?’

‘I’ll do my best.’ Her smile was a little crooked, a hint of sadness stealing in around the edges. ‘Thanks for the ride – hang on, let me give you your jacket back…’

He shook his head. ‘Later,’ he replied, gesturing for her to keep it on, even as she moved to shrug herself out of it. ‘I’ve got a spare. Keep it until you replace your own.’ He smiled faintly at the surprised expression on her face. ‘Keep in touch,’ he reminded her, stepping out to open the car door for her. The grass crunched beneath his feet as he walked; a pale frost was already unfurling across the ground, lining the dead leaves and twigs with glittering silver.

‘I will. Thank you.’ She slipped out of the car and hesitated a moment, meeting his careful gaze with a bright, searching expression of her own. She reached out briefly, clasping his arm and smiling, giving it a gentle squeeze before stepping away. ‘Goodnight, Alex Casey,’ she murmured. ‘For what it’s worth… I’m glad you’re not just a dream. I’m glad you’re real.’

He couldn’t help but smile at that, shaking his head as warmth rushed into his cheeks, grateful for once for the darkness that hid his awkward blush from view. ‘So am I.’ He cleared his throat, giving her one last nod before turning away. ‘Goodnight, Grace.’ He ducked back into the car, waiting until she was safely inside before pulling away. He drove slowly back to the lodge, something bright and golden fluttering inside his ribcage; and if the memory of Grace’s parting words kept a smile on his face for the entire drive back, then it was nobody’s business but his own.

*

Back at the lodge, Saga glared at the case board, hands on her hips. She’d pinned the latest painting she’d found alongside the others, bringing their total up to three so far. She still wasn’t sure what they all meant – yet.

‘At least Wake’s story was clear enough to follow,’ she muttered irritably. ‘Even if it was bullshit. But what the hell are we supposed to do with these? Do we use them as clues; guides to what’s coming next? Or are they warnings?’ The latest painting showed a completely different scene to the previous two: a building of some kind, half-hidden behind a bank of trees. Saga didn’t recognise it in any real, meaningful way; still, there was a hint of familiarity about the scene that nagged at her. An echo of something long forgotten. She frowned, searching her Mind Place for answers; but try as she might, she couldn’t quite place it.

She huffed a sigh of annoyance, setting that particular problem aside for the moment, picking up the notes she’d made after their interview with Grace. At least that’s one piece of the puzzle that’s fallen into place, she thought. Finally, we found our mystery artist. Saga had recognised her the moment Casey pulled her from the lake; and she knew she hadn’t been the only one. For a few seconds, she’d caught a glimpse of real emotion written across her partner’s face: of wide-eyed, wondering astonishment. Then it was gone again, the professional mask he wore snapping into place. It was a shame, really. She was one of the few people who knew that under his icy exterior, Casey was actually a soft-hearted guy. Their case in Bright Falls three years ago had damaged him more than he’d ever admit; and Saga had resolved to keep a closer eye on him this time around. But now, finding out that the mystery woman from their joint nightmares was also their mystery artist had opened up fresh avenues of investigation.

She’d slipped into her Mind Place during the interview, wanting a clearer picture of exactly why Grace was here in Bright Falls. She’d waited until Casey had taken over the conversation before allowing the woman’s image to settle in her mind’s eye. Why is she really here? Saga thought. What’s going on that she’s not telling us?

The answer came almost immediately; but it wasn’t one that she liked. ‘Nightmares crawling over my skin like spilled ink,’ the echo of Grace’s voice murmured. ‘The lake is dark and deep. It looks so peaceful; maybe I could finally sleep there. What’s one more body in that body of water?’

Saga swallowed uncomfortably. She was thinking about just… walking out into the lake, she realised. The bad dreams were becoming too much for her to handle alone. She shivered. As soon as she’d stepped into her Mind Place, Saga had been able to sense it: a vicious, bone-deep misery, almost strong enough to manifest as a physical presence there. It was enough to make her feel sick. Slipping back into the real world, Saga had wondered just what the hell to do. She couldn’t say anything obvious – it would require an explanation of her Mind Place that she was unwilling to give. She watched Grace speak with Casey, noticing how both of them seemed to soften with one another – both giving and receiving quiet comfort from the conversation. Maybe they’re not so different, she thought. Both of them have been struggling with the darkness. Perhaps they’ll help pull each other out, now that they know they’re not alone?

A rattle at the door pulled her attention away. Casey was back; and she didn’t miss the small, secret smile that he’d almost hidden as he stepped inside. It was gone in an instant, vanishing as soon as he closed the door – but the memory of it remained.

‘How did it go?’ she asked. ‘Everything okay?’

‘Fine,’ he nodded. ‘She’s safe inside. Those cabins aren’t far from here – walking distance, if necessary.’ He grimaced. ‘A bit too isolated for my tastes, though. Too many damn trees between her and the main road. You know, in case of trouble.’

‘Hmm.’ Anderson pursed her lips and frowned. ‘Not much that we can do about that; short of moving her into the lodge with us.’ She hesitated. ‘Did she say anything more to you on the way back? About why she was in Bright Falls?’

Casey shrugged. ‘Not much. Nothing relevant to the case, I don’t think.’ He fixed her with a stern look. ‘Out with it, Anderson. What are you driving at?’

She shook her head. ‘I had a hunch that there was more to why she was in Bright Falls than to simply find a bit of peace and quiet. It’s got to be awfully lonely up there – nobody wants that much peace. Especially not this time of year.’

‘I thought as much myself. I didn’t press her on it before; she seemed pretty shook up. I can’t say that I blame her.’ He locked eyes with Saga, holding her gaze carefully. ‘You’ve figured something out, haven’t you?’

Saga nodded uncomfortably. ‘Yeah.’

‘And…?’ Casey tipped his head to one side, curiosity sparking in his gaze. ‘Spit it out, Anderson. Is it bad?’

‘Yes, but not in the way you’re thinking.’ Saga sighed. ‘It’s nothing to do with the Dark Presence, or anything like that. She was telling the truth when she said she’d come to Bright Falls to get away from things – or at least, part of the truth.’ She watched her partner carefully as she told him the implications of what she’d seen in her Mind Place. Casey only rarely allowed his emotions to show plainly on his face: which made it all the more shocking to watch his expression crumple, those blue eyes filling with quiet horror.

‘That’s why you changed your tone, after questioning her?’ he asked. ‘I was surprised… but fuck, now I get it.’ He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. ‘Fucking hell, Anderson. We can’t let that happen. Is there anything we can do? Have you got any more insights?’

Saga nodded. ‘I think you’ve already done it, Casey. You let her know that she’s not alone – and more to the point, she’s realised that she’s not having a psychotic break. That the horrors aren’t just in her own head.’ She shrugged, pinning him with a knowing stare. ‘You know as well as I do just how dangerous it can become, when you’re left alone for too long with those kind of thoughts.’

‘You don’t need to tell me that,’ muttered Casey, with a grimace that spoke of too many nights spent alone, and in pain. Saga winced internally, wishing there was more that she could do to help her partner. She knew that he was lonely; although she also knew that he’d rather cut off his own arm than admit it. She’d tried setting him up on a couple of dates before, but it had never worked out. The trouble was that very few people seemed to get Casey like she did. True, he could be an ass at times: cold, blunt, cynical, hyper-critical, irritatingly stubborn, and sarcastic to a fault; but he was also brave, soft-hearted, kinder than he had any right to be, as well as unflinchingly loyal. An honourable man: and there were very few people that could truly say the same.

She sighed deeply. Perhaps stumbling across Grace Hart was a good thing for a couple of different reasons, she thought to herself. She hadn’t missed the way that Grace had managed to draw a laugh from Casey, seemingly without effort – something that even Saga had struggled to do during the early days of their partnership. There’s clearly a connection there, she thought to herself. Hopefully, it will do them both some good. Casey could use a bit more laughter in his life. She hesitated, turning back to the case board and frowning as a fresh idea presented itself.

‘I don’t like this, Casey,’ she muttered. ‘I don’t like where this is going.’

‘What do you mean?’ he came to stand beside her, picking up a file and flipping through it as though hoping for inspiration. ‘Talk to me, Anderson,’ he added. ‘You obviously see more in this than I do. I mean, sure, things are bad – monsters in the woods are never a fantastic sign – but it’s nothing we haven’t seen before. What’s got you rattled?’

Saga narrowed her eyes. ‘I think there’s a connection between Grace and our previous murder victims.’

Casey’s blood ran cold. ‘What do you mean?’ he said, fighting to keep the urgency from his tone. ‘You don’t think that she had anything to do with the killings?’

‘No.’ Saga shook her head, smiling fondly at his expression. ‘Take that look off your face, Casey. I’m not about to accuse your new friend of murder.’ She sighed, pressing her lips together worriedly. ‘But look at this time-line. Our first murder was a little over a month ago. The second, roughly a week later. The third, a week after that.’ She fixed her partner with a knowing stare. ‘It’s been a week since the last murder, Casey. If that pattern is consistent, then…’

Frozen dread slithered down Casey’s spine. ‘You think she was intended to be the next victim.’ It was a statement, not a question.

‘Exactly.’ Saga’s voice was still crisp and professional, but he could see the worry lurking in her gaze. ‘We need to establish whether the previous killings were random or not: crimes of opportunity, or if the victims were chosen for a specific reason. If they were random, then now that Miss Hart is away from the lake, then… she might be safe.’

Casey nodded slowly, following her pattern of thought. ‘But if she’s been chosen by whatever, or whoever, is behind all this, then you think she’s still in danger.’ He felt his expression creasing into a thunderous scowl as fear took his heart in its hands. It was all he could do to resist the urge to get back in the car and go haring up to Grace’s cabin, to warn her – to stand guard over her all night, if necessary. Stop being ridiculous, he told himself firmly. We need to figure this out, and quick – that’s the priority now.

‘I think it’s possible.’ Saga shrugged. ‘These dreams we’ve been having, Casey… she must be in them for a reason. If we’re dealing with the Dark Presence again – which seems likely, given what’s just happened – then you know how persistent it can be.’

‘You’re right.’ Casey straightened up. ‘You want me to call Agent Estevez? Get us some backup from the FBC?’

‘Not just yet.’ Saga shook her head. ‘There’s still too many unanswered questions. You heard what Estevez said over the phone: they’re stretched thin at HQ right now. I’d like to have a better understanding of exactly what we’re dealing with here, before we ask to use their resources.’

‘Fair enough.’ He hesitated, fidgeting with his shirt cuff before speaking. ‘I can’t believe I’m even suggesting this, but… what about Wake?’

Saga quirked an eyebrow at him. ‘Which one? Alice or Alan?’

‘Either. Both, maybe.’ Casey huffed a breath of irritable laughter. ‘Whichever one of them might throw some light on this bullshit. I know they’re technically civilians, but when it comes to the Dark Presence… it seems to me that Alan Wake might be the closest thing we know to an expert.’

‘Hmm.’ Saga nodded slowly. ‘You may be right. But you’re assuming he or Alice would even agree to become involved this time around. They spent a long time fighting to be free of this nightmare. I’m not sure that I could even ask them to come back in good conscience.’ She frowned, chewing on her lip as though turning something over in her mind. ‘Although… didn’t Alan say that both he and Alice have been having the same dark dreams as us?’

‘He did.’ Casey grimaced at the memory. ‘He didn’t seem happy about it.’

‘Agreed. So, why haven’t we heard anything from him since we left New York?’ Saga was staring into the middle distance, her dark eyes narrowed. ‘It doesn’t make sense. We’re missing something, Casey.’

‘Mm-hm.’ He nodded. ‘Want me to give him a call?’

‘Maybe.’ Saga paused for a moment. ‘Technically, we could probably bring them into the investigation under a consultant role,’ she added. ‘Or specialists perhaps, if we went through the FBC. Still, it’s a risk; and honestly, I wouldn’t blame either of them if they never wanted to set foot in Bright Falls again.’ She shook her head. ‘We can sleep on that one for a bit. Right now, I want to dig into the personal files of our previous victims. Do a deep dive, so to speak. Figure out if there’s any hidden connections that we might be missing. If we can establish that, it might give us some more insight.’

‘Sounds good to me, Anderson.’ He hesitated. ‘By deep dive, do you mean… in your Mind Place?’ he added carefully.

She nodded. ‘I’ve been getting better at seeing stuff in there,’ she replied. ‘I know that sounds weird.’

‘No, I get it,’ replied Casey. ‘I agree that it’s got to be worth a shot; I just don’t see how I can help.’

Saga shook her head decisively. ‘I want you to do something else. Grace might still be in danger. While we don’t have the resources to offer her a protection detail, I was thinking that you could at least check in on her tomorrow. Make sure she’s safe up at that cabin; and ask her a few more questions while you’re there. See if you can discover anything else that might help us put all this together.’

Casey shrugged. ‘Okay. If that’s what you think is best.’

‘I do.’ Saga’s smile turned mischievous. ‘Besides, I think you might have better luck with her than me. I think she likes you.’

‘What?’ Casey gaped for a moment, before recovering his composure and scowling. ‘Fuck off, Anderson.’

Saga couldn’t help but laugh at the disgruntled expression on his face. ‘What? I’m being serious! I think she likes you!’

‘Yeah, right.’ Casey shook his head irritably. ‘Very fucking funny.’ He turned away, shoving aside the hope that flared inside him at Saga’s words, bright as a beacon in the endless night.

‘Come on, Casey. Trust me on this one?’ Saga’s voice took on a cajoling edge. He ignored her as his phone buzzed with an incoming message. He yanked it out of his pocket with more force than was strictly necessary and glared at the screen, before raising his eyebrows in surprise. It was from Grace.

>> Hey Casey, it’s Grace. Sorry, I forgot to give you my number earlier. I had an idea that might be useful, or might be very dumb; I did a bunch of paintings recently that are similar to the ones Saga found, where I tried to copy out some of the things I saw in those bad dreams. At the time, I was just trying to make sense of it all, but now I realise that maybe they could be useful? You’re welcome to them if you think they might help. – G.

PS: thanks again for the loan of the jacket.

‘Fucking hell,’ he muttered to himself, trying to ignore the softness that crept unbidden into his voice, and the smile that threatened to steal across his face. He glanced up to see Saga watching him.

‘It’s from her, isnt it?’ she said knowingly. ‘What does she say?’

‘She says… there are some paintings she thinks might be relevant to the case. Stuff from her nightmares, apparently. She’s offering them to us, if we think they could be useful.’ He shook his head, fixing Saga with an appraising stare. ‘How did you know?’

‘Just a hunch.’ She grinned. ‘Well, now you’ve got the perfect excuse to head over there and check on her.’

‘Mm-hm. Fine, I guess.’ Casey shrugged in helpless, grudging acceptance, hesitating for a moment before typing out a quick reply.

>> Thanks for the thought. Sounds like a good idea – not dumb at all. I’ll come by tomorrow to pick them up if that suits. Hope you’re holding up okay – Casey.

He dithered for a moment before adding that final sentence; but why shouldn’t he ask after her welfare? It was only polite; and after all, it was relevant to the case. She was relevant. He bit his lip anxiously, waiting for her reply. He didn’t have to wait for long.

>> That sounds good to me. I’m okay I think, thanks to you. – G.

He nodded to himself, releasing a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. ‘All set,’ he told Saga. ‘So, what now?’

‘Now, we take a break.’ Saga offered him a sympathetic smile. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. It’s hard to think on an empty stomach – do you reckon the diner is still open?’

Casey opened his mouth to reply, snapping it shut and glaring as his stomach growled, loudly enough to elicit a laugh from Saga. ‘Probably not, knowing our luck,’ he grumbled.

‘Let’s find out.’ She snapped the file she was holding closed, placing it back on the table with a sigh. ‘Come on, I’ll drive. We can pick this back up tomorrow.’

Chapter Text

The darkness was coming.

Casey struggled, running full-tilt uphill along rain-slicked city streets, tired to his bones. Water splashed under his feet, making him slip. Freezing rain bit into the exposed skin of his throat and sweat stung his eyes as he ran; and from somewhere within the blackness ahead of him, somebody was screaming.

He knew that he was yelling, shouting desperately into the dark; he could feel the words tearing from his throat, the rasp of them like sandpaper, taste blood on his tongue. The darkness felt like tendrils of ink, tugging at his mind, curling around his aching limbs, slowing him down, dragging him back…

He blinked, jerking awake and staring wildly around. The field office was calm, quiet, and peaceful. There was no oncoming darkness: no rain, no terror. He heaved a breath of relief, rubbing at his chest and wincing. He’d fallen asleep in one of the armchairs, and somebody – Anderson, probably – had placed one of the lodge’s soft tartan blankets over him.

‘Shit,’ he muttered, pressing his palms into his eyes and groaning at the ache in his neck from sleeping crooked. How long have I slept? he wondered. He glanced towards the nearest window. Outside, it was dark.

He fumbled for his phone, blinking against the glare of the screen. A little before three in the morning. Peak time for nightmares, he thought to himself, smiling grimly. His eye caught the stack of paperwork on the table beside him. After their trip to the diner for some food, he’d returned to the office armed with even more coffee and fresh determination, hoping to help Saga in her search for a connection between the murder victims. He’d planned to go through each file with a fine-tooth comb, to see if he could pull any useful connections out of them for her to follow up in her Mind Place. He shook his head. So much for that idea, he thought, eyeing the coffee that still sat, cold and untouched, at his side. Apparently, he’d been more exhausted than he’d thought.

‘I must be getting old,’ he muttered, bullying his aching limbs into motion and heaving himself upright. Rain pattered gently on the windows as he made his way through the silent field office and into his room on the far side of the hall. Anderson was no doubt already asleep. He shook his head, closing the door as quietly as he could and shrugging himself out of his jacket. He had to admit, Saga had been doing well so far. Better than him, certainly. He’d been worried that returning to Bright Falls would bring a few unwelcome skeletons out of both their personal closets; and while this had certainly been true for Casey, he’d be the first to admit that Anderson was made of stern stuff. Aside from insisting on daily calls with Logan and David, she’d been completely focused on the case, seemingly impervious to the threat of oncoming darkness.

Despite the warmth of the lodge, Casey shivered. The Dark Presence was coming – hell, it might already be here, he realised. He still wasn’t quite certain how it all worked, and any attempts he made to understand it still made his head ache. Still, he was hopeful that even if the Dark Presence was somehow managing to manifest in Bright Falls again, that it was still bound to the lake; and would remain that way, long enough for them to figure out a way to banish it, hopefully for good this time.

He tugged off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, catching sight of himself in the mirror and wrinkling his nose at just how rumpled he looked after his impromptu nap in the lodge’s comfortable armchair. He never liked to appear anything less than properly put-together. It had become a running joke at the office: that Agent Casey had been born in a three-piece suit, with his crisp white shirt and smart black tie.

He knew it made him come across as intimidating sometimes, which admittedly came in handy during cases. The suit, the scowl, the slicked-back hair… all of it was carefully calculated to create an aloof, icy impression. The impression of a man who shouldn’t be messed with. It carried over into his personal life too; Casey didn’t have a lot of time for most people, and he certainly didn’t suffer fools gladly. The way he dressed was his armour, protecting him from the world – but even he had to admit, it pushed people away from him too. The jokes from the office followed him into the streets: Cold Case Casey, the man who didn’t have a heart, just a shard of ice lodged in his chest… and the more people repeated it, the more real it became.

No matter that there was a soft, still-beating heart underneath that suit of armour; no matter that he was still human, with plenty of worries, doubts, and fears all of his own. No, not ice-cold Casey: he always had to be stern, sarcastic, indifferent. He’d been forced into it, time and time again. The divorce had almost broken him; the casual cruelty of his ex-wife, who’d known the precise weak spots in his armour to send her bullets into. But he’d survived. He’d only allowed a few select people to witness just how much he was hurting; and now, he had finally recovered. He’d pieced together fragments of his shattered self from the remains. No matter that some parts were still missing, that’s what whiskey was for, after all: filling that cold, aching void inside the soul that opened after nightfall, when the darkness pressed in a little too close for comfort.

He'd survived Bright Falls as well; barely, but he’d done it. He’d been strong for Saga too, after it was all over. He remembered the drive home, how they’d pulled over for gas and some cheap fast food at a service station on the way; how shocked he’d been to watch her finally break down. She’d pulled him into a tight, frantic embrace, clinging on as though for dear life; and he'd put his arms around her as best he could, needing this too: needing the simple warmth of human connection.

Her terror had been different to his: not fear for her own life, but fear for her daughter. A fear so strong it had been like a living, breathing thing, filling the air with the beating of its awful wings. They had both been touched by the darkness: marked by it. Both of them carried the scars somewhere in their souls. The difference was, Saga wore hers proudly, like a warrior: evidence of a storm she had weathered, like the survivor of a siege. But Casey had buried his, deep down in the blackened pit of his own soul, where they sat and festered in the dark. He hadn’t wanted anybody to witness his pain, his fear, his doubts… the things that crept out as night terrors. The things that left him drenched in sweat and crying out for help, waking up cold and lonely in a bed that was far too large for just one person. Some nights, he would reach into the icy cavern of sheets beside him, where he longed for a warm body to lay. Someone who would care… someone who could soothe the darkness away.

The others had that: Saga had David, and Alan had Alice, finally; and somewhere deep in the decaying parts of his own soul, Casey knew that he was desperate for that too. A connection with someone. He longed for it so badly that at times it felt as though his bones would break under the strain. Not love; he didn’t dare hope for that, not at his age, especially not after the long, brutal years he’d spent alone. He’d learned to temper his expectations, and he’d be the first to admit that the job didn’t make things any easier. Long, rotten hours, and days spent in a nightmare maze of evidence, peeling away the motives from around thieves and murderers and thugs of the nastiest kind. He’d been witness to some of the very worst that humanity had to offer: hard still to believe in love after all that. Honestly, sometimes he just didn’t know how Saga did it.

He turned off the lights and slipped between the sheets, shivering lightly as the cool cotton traced patterns across his skin. He thought about the connection he’d felt with Grace. It had been so real, somehow, even though she was a stranger to him. Was it just the Dark Presence using him, again – fooling him, again? Finding another way to hurt him? Tapping into his thoughts and dredging up the very thing he desired most, and using it to manipulate him?

He scowled, glaring up at the lodge ceiling. It didn’t feel like the Dark Presence, he had to admit. He could clearly remember the monster that had possessed him, its terrible rage, and the awful, aching emptiness it left in its wake. This didn’t feel like that at all. The connection he sensed with Grace had felt… nice. Warm, like sunlight on his skin.

Sighing, he closed his eyes drifted back into slumber. But his dreams this time were fractured, overlapping one another, moving in quick succession: the past and the present blurring horribly together. His memory of that first day in Bright Falls with Saga resurfaced – the first time that the supernatural had reached out and grasped them both by the throat. In his dream, he was back in the morgue, trying to talk to Anderson, but her face had changed, twisting into the face of Alice Wake. She was speaking quickly, urgently, mouthing words he could neither hear nor understand, her brow creased anxiously and her blue eyes wide and fearful. Then suddenly it wasn’t Alice any longer, but Grace, wearing an FBI jacket, with a scalpel in her hand; Grace stooping over the bloated body of Nightingale, laid out like a haunch of grey meat on the mortuary slab.

No, he told himself sternly – no, that wasn’t her, that didn’t happen! It was Saga who’d been there with him, Saga who’d had his back through thick and thin. The dream changed as the lights in the morgue flickered, throwing the whole damn room into a scene from a horror story – and now, now came the terror: the dreadful bulk of Nightingale’s corpse, sitting up from the slab and reaching out with grasping, clammy hands. He remembered the awful wetness of the gaping wound in the man’s chest, the void where his heart should have been; the way those flat, dead eyes had narrowed in a mocking sneer as, with dreadful strength, the Taken had picked him up bodily and hurled him across the morgue like a broken doll. He’d struck his head hard enough to see stars, wavering in and out of consciousness, fighting against the darkness. He’d heard the ricochet of a pistol and Saga’s raised voice, her words muffled as though he was hearing them underwater. He’d risen groggily to his feet, shaking his head like a dog, before meeting Saga’s gaze and seeing his own horror reflected in her eyes.

In the dream, Casey reached out and grasped her arm. ‘Why didn’t he kill me?’ he asked. He could see the broken bodies of the officers that Nightingale had slaughtered on his way out of the morgue; and now, each one of them wore copies of his and Grace’s face, like bad Halloween masks. He repeated the question urgently as the dream grew darker, blackness creeping in at the edges of his vision like fog.

Why didn’t he come after me? he thought. Damn it, I was right there: a sitting duck. He could have broken my neck with one hand. Why didn’t he finish the job? Why didn’t he just kill me along with the others?

In the silence of the night, in the blackness that was no longer simple darkness but that now took on form, shape, and texture, a mouth that was not a mouth opened wide in a hideous, mocking grin. ‘You are useful to us still,’ came a voice that was not a voice, but was a terrible buzzing sound that he felt rather than heard, deep down in the marrow of his bones. ‘You are a dream of a man, Alex Casey: half real, half fiction. You were crafted in darkness, bound in blood and ink and black water. You exist because I demand it. You live because I allowed it.’

‘No!’ he snarled, cursing at the darkness, trying to move, to shout, to fight; to lash out at the blackness that had wrapped him in its deadly embrace. But he was paralysed, unable to do anything other than lie there, helpless, as the darkness drew closer.

‘We are waiting for you, Alex Casey,’ it murmured. ‘It won’t be long, now. In the dreaming city, in the endless night… we will all be waiting.’

‘Fuck off!’ He jerked upright, finally released from the nightmare, slamming his eyes open and swearing violently, staring around wildly until his vision adjusted. The now-familiar furnishing of his room in the lodge swam into focus. ‘Fuck this place,’ he gritted out from between clenched teeth, wiping a hand across his brow. ‘Christ, what a fucking nightmare.’

He sat up and rubbed his eyes, taking a deep drink from the water on his bedside table. ‘I’m real,’ he said out loud, needing confirmation of this truth. ‘I’m not some fucking character. I’m real, and I’m alive.’ He glared into the darkness. ‘I’m still fucking alive, do you hear me?’ He clenched his jaw, rising unsteadily to his feet and striding over to the window, yanking back the curtains. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief at the faint glimmer of sunlight that was dawning over Bright Falls: the herald of a new day.

‘Never thought I’d be so happy to see the sunrise,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Night terrors – hah! What a fucking joke.’ He arched his back and stretched, trying to work out some of the aches that had settled into his bones. What in the hell was all that, anyway? he wondered. The voice in the darkness had seemed so real, responding to his conscious thoughts in a way that his nightmares had never previously done.

Beneath the gentle dawn, Casey shivered. The relief he felt at the touch of sunlight on his skin was almost palpable, washing over him in a warm wave. He wasn’t sure what the dream meant – or even if it meant anything significant. He was accustomed to nightmares these days – hell, he’d come to expect them. He decided that this particular one probably wasn’t worth bringing up with Anderson; she had enough to worry about already.

He turned away, eyeing the stack of paperwork he’d pulled out the previous night with fresh determination. No damn night terrors were about the get the better of him, Casey decided. An early start might be just the thing he needed, to get through it all: a few hours with no noise, and no distractions. He nodded to himself, pleased with the plan, eager for once to bury himself in paperwork – if only to pull his mind away from the lingering thread of darkness that was still woven through his thoughts. After all, Casey was a firm believer that with enough time, dedication, and coffee… anything was possible.

Chapter Text

Saga woke to discover frost ferns unfurling on the windows of the lodge the following day. A crisp morning had broken, bright and clear, the faded blue of the winter sky wiping away the stain of her troubled dreams. She emerged from her rooms to find Casey already awake, sitting beside a mountain of paperwork and, remarkably, smiling.

‘Hey, you’re up early,’ said Saga by way of greeting, eyeing the files stacked neatly on the table with some suspicion. ‘You look like the cat that caught the canary. What’s going on?’

He nodded, gesturing for her to take a seat, a hint of triumph sparkling in his eyes. ‘I couldn’t sleep last night – you know how it is. So, I decided to dig into some of these files while it was nice and quiet. I think I might’ve found something.’

‘Oh?’ Saga dropped into the chair beside him, her interest immediately piqued. ‘I knew you’d be up to something, Casey. Go ahead, fill me in.’

She poured herself a cup of coffee as her partner laid out the list of potential connections he’d uncovered. Casey was nothing if not methodical; and he’d always had a deep dislike of unsolved mysteries. No wonder he’d been up half the night, thought Saga, smiling as she looked over the careful sticky-notes and neat pencil marks that Casey had added beside certain points of interest. Their murder victims were, on the surface at least, completely unconnected – save for the fact that they’d all been killed in Bright Falls. But beneath the surface data, there were connections – tenuous ones, she had to admit – but connections all the same. Like black water spreading beneath the lake, Saga thought. Unseen, until you look below the surface.

‘… I know it isn’t much,’ Casey was saying. ‘And if this was any other case, I’d say we were clutching at straws here. But we know there has to be more to all this than meets the eye.’

‘I agree.’ Saga shrugged. ‘If our last time in Bright Falls taught me anything, it’s that nothing here happens by chance. The fact that these murders all happened within walking distance of Cauldron Lake can’t be a coincidence.’ She glanced out of the window and sighed. ‘There’s something big going on behind all this, Casey,’ she murmured. ‘We have to figure it out before it’s too late. Before more people get hurt.’

‘We will. Don’t worry.’ Casey’s hand rested lightly on her shoulder for a moment. ‘At least we’ve got a place to start.’

‘You’re right. These leads you’ve uncovered are going to be useful. I can begin chasing some of these at the Sherriff Station. I’ll start there.’ Saga nodded, her expression softening. ‘Meanwhile, I’d like you to follow up with Miss Hart. She mentioned having those paintings last night that might be useful – the ones she did after her nightmares. If those dreams she was having really were connected to the Dark Presence somehow, then it’s a lead we can’t afford not to follow.’ She gestured towards the case board. ‘Who knows, they could help us tie some of these threads together.’

‘Right.’ Casey nodded, frowning slightly. ‘You’re sure you won’t need me there to back you up?’

Saga chuckled. ‘I’m only going to talk to a few people. Don’t worry, I won’t go looking for danger; at least, not without letting you know first.’

‘Hmm.’ Casey smiled wryly. ‘The trouble with danger is that, more often than not, it comes looking for you. Not the other way around.’ He drained the last of his coffee, before tugging out his phone and glancing up at the wall clock. ‘How late do artists sleep, do you think?’

Saga chuckled. ‘Why don’t you message her, and find out?’ She gathered together the files Casey had marked, pulling out her notepad and jotting down a handful of reminders, before getting ready to head out. She hesitated, eyeing the shotgun sitting on the desk, before pocketing a box of spare shells and tugging the strap over her shoulder, shrugging when Casey shot her a loaded glance.

‘There’s no such thing as too much firepower,’ she reminded him. ‘That’s what you always used to say, remember? Anyway, I’d rather be over-prepared than out-gunned.’

‘Can’t argue with that.’ Casey smiled thinly. ‘Good luck, Anderson.’

‘You too. Radio me if you discover anything interesting from our artist. I’ll see you soon.’ She raised a hand in farewell, tugging open the lodge door and stepping outside. A chill wind whistled down the street as though to greet her. Saga drew in a deep, steadying breath, smiling at the pattern of fallen leaves that had been whipped into a frenzy by the breeze. The air tasted crisp, sharp, and breathtakingly cold. Winter had sunk its claws unapologetically into the town; and despite the pale sun and blue sky, Saga sensed that snow would soon be on the way.

Here we go again, she thought. Time to shake this town up a bit. Bright Falls won’t get the better of us again. This time, we’re going to find the source of these nightmares, and make sure we end it… for good.

*

Casey hummed softly to himself as he strode up the winding path that led towards the rented cabins. He’d opted to leave the car behind, in case Saga needed it; besides, he wanted to familiarise himself with the route from the lodge to Grace’s cabin on foot. Just in case, he told himself. Hopefully, as long as she’s away from the lake, she won’t be in any danger. He shivered. The route led back up the main road a short way before breaking off to wind through the dense forest that surrounded the town. In the morning light, the wooded path could almost be considered picturesque: golden sunlight streamed through breaks in the treeline, casting dappled patterns of light and shade over the soft carpet of fallen leaves that lined the forest floor. The air was filled with gentle birdsong, and despite the freezing temperature, the winter sun felt warm against his skin. It was a far cry from the strange, unnatural silence that had shrouded the forest around Cauldron Lake the previous evening. Maybe that’s a good sign, he thought to himself, trying to be optimistic. I guess that means that whatever darkness still lurks around the lake hasn’t spread this far into the town… yet.

He paused at the edge of the forest as the trail widened, the treeline giving way to a small, sunlit clearing. In the centre was a row of comfortable-looking cabins, sitting on a ridge that overlooked the town, like a scene from a picture postcard. It all looked very different in daylight; far less threatening than it had seemed the previous evening, when he'd dropped Grace off in the car.

‘Cute,’ he muttered to himself. ‘A real tourist trap, this place.’ A faint coil of blue woodsmoke was rising from one of the chimneys – from the only cabin that was occupied, he realised. The rest were all shuttered and empty, the windows boarded up against the weather. Unease stirred faintly within him. It sure is lonely up here, he thought. If anything was to happen…

He shook himself and began walking towards Grace’s cabin. Nothing is going to happen, he told himself firmly. Stop being so damn paranoid. His heart began to patter a little faster as he approached the steps. He cleared his throat and smoothed a hand quickly over his hair, before cursing himself for a fool and knocking sharply on the door, which swung open almost immediately.

‘Good morning, Agent Casey.’ The door swung wide to reveal a smiling Grace. Casey’s heart leapt at the sight. ‘Please come in,’ she added, beckoning him inside. ‘It’s freezing out there this morning – come and warm up.’

‘Thanks.’ He stepped inside, surprised at the cozy atmosphere within the cabin that enveloped him almost at once. There was a small fire crackling merrily in the hearth, banishing the winter chill, and the curtains had been pulled wide to allow the sunlight to come streaming in. He stepped into sunbeam, moving into a space that had been cleared in the middle of the room.

‘I see you’ve made yourself at home,’ he murmured, glancing around in surprise. All the furniture had been moved aside, pushed to various corners of the cabin, to leave a large, clear space in roughly the centre. This was occupied by heaps of art supplies: torn squares of paper had been tacked loosely across the floorboards in, presumably, some kind of pattern – although Casey had to admit that for the moment, the meaning escaped him. The table had been pushed up against the windows, where the sunlight was brightest; and the sofa, comfy armchairs, and television had all be shoved unceremoniously into the far corner of the room.

‘Sorry about the mess.’ Grace pulled the door closed behind him, pushing her hair out of her eyes and smiling awkwardly. ‘I don’t exactly get visitors up here.’

‘I figured.’ Casey hesitated, glancing awkwardly around. ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve been in an art studio,’ he added. ‘I didn’t think I’d find one all the way up here, in the woods.’

‘Well, it wasn’t like this when I arrived.’ Grace shrugged. ‘I needed space to work, so… I made some changes.’ She beckoned him towards the smaller kitchen area. ‘Can I get you a drink? Tea, coffee?’

‘Coffee, please.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘Tea? Really?’

Grace shrugged, unrepentant. ‘I like tea. But I am British, so… I guess that’s my excuse.’ She paused, smiling as Casey released a soft huff of laughter. ‘What is it?’

‘So that’s it. I knew I recognised your accent; I just couldn’t quite place it before.’ He nodded in satisfaction. ‘It’s pretty faint – you’ve been over here for a while, I’m guessing?’

She nodded. ‘For years now. It’s been a long time since I’ve been home.’ She shrugged. ‘I know you’re here for the paintings, but if you have the time… I can fill you in over coffee, if you like?’

‘Sure.’ Casey nodded. ‘I’d like that. I’ve got time.’ He followed her towards the kitchen, stepping cautiously around a heap of charcoal sketches. ‘Anything here I shouldn’t be touching?’ he added.

‘Nothing dangerous.’ She shot him a glance filled with mirth. ‘Give me two seconds and I’ll clear some space to sit.’

‘Take your time.’ Casey nodded. ‘There’s no rush. Anderson has some business to take care of in the town, so for now, you may consider me your official FBI protection detail.’

Grace grinned at that, her eyes lighting up immediately. ‘Lucky me. So, tell me, what did I do to earn this particular privilege? Has anything happened?’

‘Hardly a privilege.’ Casey pulled a wry face and shook his head, unable to prevent a quiet smile from stealing into his expression. ‘Don’t worry. Nothing happened. There’s no new danger. But I am curious to know about your paintings – about the process.’

‘Really?’ She handed him the coffee, meeting his gaze with a guarded expression. ‘Because of the case, or… for personal reasons?’

‘It’s, uh… both, really.’ Casey hesitated for a moment, caught off-guard by the question. ‘Obviously, any information you can give us might be useful to the case. That’s one of the reasons I’m here. But I’ve got to admit, art always baffled me, even when I was a kid. So yeah, you could say it’s a… personal interest, as well.’

He took a quick gulp of coffee to cover his awkwardness, trying to ignore the way his own heart seemed to flutter at the warmth of the smile she sent his way. He watched her moving confidently around the space, padding lightly over the sun-warmed floorboards. Her long pale hair had been pulled into a loose braid that hung over her shoulder, and despite the apparent mess, she seemed to know exactly where everything was.

‘There’s pattern among the chaos,’ she reassured him, tugging a stack of sketches free. ‘I know it looks like the ramblings of a crazy person, but…’

Casey pulled a face. ‘Trust me, I’ve seen crazy. This doesn’t even come close.’ He leaned closer as she leafed through the sketches. ‘Is that… me?’

‘Yeah.’ She bit her lip awkwardly as she turned the pages around so that he could see them properly. ‘I saw you and Saga in my dreams. There were other things as well – other people, I mean – but you stood out the most. I had no idea who you were – so I thought that perhaps by drawing you, I could figure it out. Maybe do a reverse image search, or something.’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘Sorry. I know this probably seems really weird.’

‘That’s… one word for it.’ Casey shook his head. The sketches were rough, even he could see that: simple lines of charcoal, hastily drawn. But there was no denying the familiarity of the faces that took shape on the paper. ‘These are good,’ he murmured. ‘I mean, I don’t know shit about art – but even I can see that.’

‘Thanks.’ Grace smiled. ‘These are scribbles, really. I was just making marks, trying to capture something that could help me understand what I was seeing… if that makes sense?’ She sighed. ‘The paintings I have for you are different to this. They’re proper paintings, not just scribbles.’

Casey nodded carefully. ‘And… for a professional artist, what’s the difference? What makes a ‘proper painting’ different to something like… this, for example?’ He pulled out one of the monochrome sketches and held it up. Saga’s face had been beautifully rendered, the lines and shadows deftly marked.

‘Well, for a start, that’s not a painting. There’s no… paint.’ Grace grinned. ‘That’s just charcoal. It’s great for getting things down quickly, but mind your fingers – none of these are fixed, and it’s really messy. The stuff get everywhere, if you aren’t careful.’

‘Right.’ Casey scowled, glancing down at his hands. ‘You could’ve warned me before I picked it up, y’know.’

‘I could. But where’s the fun in that?’ Grace’s eyes were sparkling with mirth. ‘Hold still. I’ll get you some clean paper towels.’

‘Sure.’ Casey repressed a grin, carefully replacing the sketch. Despite the danger that threatened them, his heart felt lighter than it had in days. He breathed deeply, inhaling the faint smell of paper, wood-pulp, and drying paint. Grace looked even lovelier in real life than in his dreams, he decided. In his dreams, he had never once seen her smile.

‘Here – use these. It comes off easily, don’t worry.’ Grace handed him a stack of towels. ‘At least I warned you before it got all over your nice white shirt, so… don’t say I didn’t do you any favours.’

‘Mm-hm. That’s real generous of you, ma’am,’ he replied drily, wiping off his hands and quickly checking his shirt front, just in case.

‘Don’t mention it.’ Grace matched his humour, smiling wryly at him over the rim of her mug. ‘Trust me, if you spend enough time up here with me, you’ll soon get used to the mess.’

‘I look forward to it.’ Casey was unable to hide a smile this time, trying to ignore the heat that spread over the back of his neck at the idea of spending more time with Grace. ‘But you didn’t answer my question.’

Grace chuckled. ‘True. Let me see, now. The difference is… well, let me show you.’ She moved towards the far side of the studio, beckoning him to follow; but while she wove her way easily through the creative chaos, Casey wasn’t quite so lucky. He tried to follow her movements, but it seemed impossible to take even one step into the clutter of art supplies without knocking something over. He cursed quietly, brushing past a paint palette that fell to the floor with a clatter, bending over to retrieve it, only to find that he’d trodden on a tube of green paint that subsequently exploded all over the floor.

‘Shit,’ he muttered. ‘Sorry, this isn’t… fucking hell, Grace. I’m just going to stand right here, not move, and not touch anything else.’ He gritted his teeth, tentatively lifting his shoe off the exploded paint tube, and retrieving a handful of the paper towels he’d used earlier. ‘Fuck me, what a mess.’ He crouched down, trying to mop up the seemingly endless spill of green paint, until a gentle hand closed over his.

‘Casey.’

He glanced up, startled to see Grace kneeling beside him. Her pale eyes were bright with laughter, but her expression was sweet, and gentle. Warmth spiralled through him from the soft brush of her fingertips.

‘Stop looking so worried,’ she chastised him gently. ‘This is an art studio. Spills happen all the time. Besides, when I got here, there was a rug over this area. I removed it for exactly this reason.’

‘Smart.’ Casey nodded, trying to ignore the rising sensation within him. She was close enough to touch; close enough to kiss, he thought, before immediately clamping down on the idea. ‘Guess you’re used to this sort of thing,’ he added quickly. ‘Sorry, I wasted your paint on the floorboards here.’

‘It’s alright. I don’t use much of this colour, anyway.’ She picked up the now-flattened tube, holding it between forefinger and thumb. ‘Viridian,’ she told him. ‘It can be a good mixer, but I’ve found that it tends to overwhelm if I use too much of it. The colour’s so strong.’

‘Yeah, I got that part, I think.’ Casey couldn’t help but chuckle, glancing down at his palms that were now stained green. ‘I always sucked at art class, as a kid. Could never manage more than a finger-painting. Guess some things just don’t change.’

‘Never say never.’ Grace nudged him with her elbow, grinning as she helped mop up the mess. ‘I’ll show you a few tricks of the trade later, if you like. We’ll make an artist of you yet.’

He couldn’t help but laugh aloud at that; a long, low chuckle that seemed to release some of the tension that had laid across his shoulders since last night’s bad dreams. ‘Honestly? I think I’m a lost cause; but I’d like to see you try.’

‘Oh?’ Grace raised an eyebrow, her eyes bright with mischief. ‘Is that a challenge, Agent Casey?’ Her long braid slipped across her shoulder, and he couldn’t help but notice how a few strands of pale hair had pulled free, curling loosely around her face as she leaned forwards, invitingly.

‘That depends.’ He couldn’t help but lean towards her, meeting her sparkling expression with a challenging smile of his own. ‘Exactly how much paint are you prepared to waste on me?’

‘As much as it takes,’ she replied, laughing as she waved a fistful of green-stained paper towels. She wobbled slightly, losing her balance for a moment; and Casey shot out a hand to catch her.

‘Ah, dammit – thanks,’ she murmured. Her weight was against him, pressing on his arm, as he looked down into eyes that, for a moment that lasted a lifetime, outshone the entire world. His heart gave a tremendous leap as a jolt of desire shot through him, hot and fast, like a bolt of summer lightning. He tried to speak, but no words came.

For the span of several seconds, they were both absolutely still: held in tableau, as though caught in a photographer’s snapshot. He with his hand around her arm – her with her lips slightly parted, as though on the edge of speech. Like two planets in orbit, falling slowly together; pulled by some force as powerful and fundamental as gravity. Casey knew that the memory of this moment would haunt his dreams, both waking and sleeping. Her breath was soft against his cheek; her warmth was almost, almost against his lips, until –

The shrill ring of Casey’s phone blared suddenly through the studio, startling them both. Grace finally lost her balance, falling on the paint-smeared floorboards with a dismayed whoop. Casey reached out to steady her, almost toppling over himself.

‘Shit, shit,’ he muttered, pulling himself to his feet and offering her his hand, cursing his own clumsiness almost as much as the ill-timed call. His heart was pounding a mile a minute, he realised; sweat was prickling his skin, dampening the collar of his shirt, which suddenly seemed far too hot and tight. He shook his head, pulling out his phone and answering without thinking.

‘What?’ he snapped, his voice coming out angrier than he’d intended.

‘Casey?’ Saga’s voice lifted in surprise. ‘What’s happened? Is everything okay?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine. Just, uh… spilled some paint here, up at Gra… at Miss Hart’s studio. Made one hell of a mess.’ He winced internally at how strained his voice was sounding, clearing his throat before continuing. ‘How’s things going in the town? Have you made any progress?’

‘Yes and no.’ Anderson’s voice sounded tired. ‘Casey, there’s been another murder.’

‘Fuck.’ Casey swore quietly, glancing apologetically over at Grace before turning away. ‘That makes four, now. You’re certain it was murder?’

‘Sherriff Breaker just called to tell me they found a fresh body. Same M.O. as the others; or at least, he seems to think so. I was about to drive over – I’ll swing by the holiday cabins and pick you up. Do you need anything from the lodge?’

He shook his head, closing his eyes momentarily. ‘No, I’m all set. Where did you say they found the body?’

‘I didn’t.’ He could hear the tension thrumming in Saga’s voice, bleeding over the phone line. ‘But if you were guessing the Cauldron Lake area, then… you’d be right.’

‘How about that.’ Casey felt his expression creasing into a worried frown. ‘Dammit, Anderson. We’re still missing something here.’

‘I know.’ Saga hummed low in annoyance. ‘I found another lead while I was in town, pointing towards Watery. We can drive there to follow up after we’ve checked out this crime scene. You never know, these might be exactly the right pieces of the puzzle we need to put it all together. By the way, what did you get from Grace’s paintings?’

Casey shrugged guiltily. ‘We were… taking a look when you called. We haven’t been through them all yet. She was just showing me some sketches… hold on a moment,’ he added, turning at the tug of Grace’s hand on his arm. She was beckoning him back towards the table, where she had cleared enough space to lay out all the sketches that had been in the pile, plus an array of colourful paintings. Help yourself, she mouthed silently, before giving him a gentle smile, holding up her green-stained palms, and disappearing towards the sink.

‘Thanks,’ he said, unable to keep the warmth out of his voice, shaking his head to clear it as Grace moved away. ‘Anderson, I’m looking at the art now. I don’t think…’ he hesitated. Most of the scenes he didn’t recognise at all. There were unfamiliar buildings, snow-capped and neon-lit, against black skies filled with strange stars or crimson mist. But some of them…

‘Dammit,’ he muttered. ‘Some of these feel way too familiar. But I’m not certain… it’s like I’m looking at a dream.’ He shivered. ‘Anderson, you’d better get up here. Take a look at these before we head to the murder site. I don’t…’ he trailed off. One of the sketches had caught his eye.

‘What is it?’ Anderson’s voice sounded quieter against the distant hum of an engine. She was already on her way. ‘I’ll be there soon.’

‘Good. Because I’ve just spotted something that’s going to make your fucking day,’ he replied grimly. His voice sunk to a low growl as he beckoned Grace back over, pointing towards the offending image. ‘Miss Hart, do you know who that is?’

‘Should I?’ Grace shook her head. ‘He doesn’t show up as regularly as you, or Saga, in my nightmares – he’s kind of blurry, you know? Like an out-of-focus photograph. That’s why the sketch probably isn’t very good.’ She hesitated. ‘Do you know him?’

‘Yeah, I do. Unfortunately.’ Casey felt a thunderous scowl creeping across his expression at the sight of a face that had grown depressingly familiar over the years. ‘Unless I’m very much mistaken… that’s Alan Wake.’

Chapter Text

‘I’ve been wondering when his name would start coming up again.’ Saga glared out at the forest that flanked both sides of the narrow road as she drove back up towards the old camp-grounds. ‘I just knew Wake would still be involved in this, somehow. It looks like the Dark Presence isn’t going to let any of us get away that easily.’ She sighed and glanced sideways, taking in Casey’s thunderous scowl. ‘To be honest, I’m more surprised that it took us this long to run into something connected with him,’ she added. ‘I’m guessing you’re still not getting a reply from Alan’s phone?’

‘The call’s not connecting. Alice isn’t picking up either.’ Casey tossed his mobile into the glove compartment, frowning out at the scenery with more than his usual irritability. ‘I’m not certain how worried we should be, at this stage.’

Saga shrugged, trying to ignore the uncomfortable shiver that slipped down her spine. ‘We should keep trying. This could just be another coincidence.’

‘Bullshit.’ Casey snorted in disbelief. ‘You and I both know there’s no coincidences at Cauldon Lake. Especially not now another body’s surfaced.’

‘You’re right.’ Saga shifted in her seat, testing the reassuring weight of the gun at her hip. She’d pulled up at Grace’s cabin to collect Casey, opening the door to find the pair of them still going through paintings, spreading them out over every available surface, including the floor. Saga had been reluctant to look at everything too closely: after all, there was a lot of art to get through, and a decomposing corpse currently waiting for them in the woods. But a swift, cursory glance had given her the same impression that Casey had described over the phone: a strange sense of familiarity.

Like a childhood memory: hazy in some parts, but crystal clear in others, she thought to herself. Or, like one of those dreams when you can only remember a handful of weird details, while the rest of it fades away the moment you wake up.

After some deliberation, they’d packed all the sketches and paintings that might have potential relevance up into several large, black folders, and stowed them safely in the trunk of their car. Grace had been insistent that Saga should take them away, seeming oddly detached from her own creations.

‘You need them more than me,’ she’d told Saga. ‘You’re welcome to take them away, and do whatever you like with them. I only painted these scenes in the first place because I thought I was going mad. I hoped it might help get some of the crazy out of my head, you know?’ Her hands had been tightly wrapped around a fresh mug of steaming coffee, and as she waved them off, Saga had spotted a smudge of green paint on the side of her wrist; the same colour that appeared to have stained one of Casey’s shirt cuffs. She smiled to herself.

‘So… how did it go with Grace?’ she asked, deliberately keeping her tone casual.

‘What?’ Casey snapped, a muscle fluttering momentarily along his jawline. ‘What d’you mean?’

‘I mean, did you discover anything else that might connect her to the case?’ She held back a chuckle at the relief that flickered for a moment across Casey’s expression; well-disguised, but still present. ‘Why, what do you think I meant?’ she added, allowing a hint of mischief to creep into her smile.

‘Nothing,’ Casey replied quickly. Too quickly, Saga’s inner voice supplied. He’s hiding something. She nodded slowly along, listening carefully as her partner sketched her a rough outline of his morning. To anyone who didn’t already know him, Casey appeared entirely unruffled: as cool and calculated as always. But Saga had become an expert at noticing the subtle thrum of tension that graced the line of his shoulders, and the clench of her partner’s jaw. An idea plucked at her, and she stowed it away in her Mind Place for later.

‘…She was just telling me about the sketches. The differences between paintings – all that artsy stuff, you know,’ Casey was saying. ‘And then I trod on that tube of paint. Made a whole goddamn mess.’

‘I can imagine.’ Saga frowned in sympathy. ‘We’ll take the time to go through it all properly once we’ve gotten a good look at this murder site. Hopefully, we can start putting more pieces together. If it’s necessary, we can drive back up to the cabin and pick up Grace, get her to walk us through… whoa!’

A black shape reared up in front of the car. Saga swore and slammed on the breaks, wincing at the squeal of tyres on asphalt as their car slewed to a halt.

‘What the fuck was that?’ She twisted urgently in her seat. The figure had vanished. ‘Casey…?’

‘Yeah, I saw it.’ Her partner was already half-way out of the car, gun drawn and ready. ‘Whatever the fuck it was… it’s gone.’

He was right. Saga glanced frantically around, her gaze raking the woods on the side of the road; but the only movement there was the wind among the branches. There hadn’t been the moment of impact that she’d expected: the car had skidded straight through whatever it was that had appeared on the road in front of them. Beside her, Casey swore softly.

‘What the hell was that, Anderson? Something new?’

‘I guess so.’ Saga frowned, trying to shake off a growing feeling of horrible familiarity. ‘Did that… look like the Dark Presence to you?’

Casey shrugged. ‘I… don’t really remember much of what it actually looked like,’ he confessed quietly. ‘Just what it felt like. Like a… a descending cloud of darkness that smothered everything… a terrible hunger, and then just… rage.’

Saga nodded slowly. ‘That sounds about right.’ She glanced upwards. The light, already weak, was slowly starting to fade. The trees surrounded them entirely, encroaching in on either side, trapping the dark ribbon of road between them. A cold wind whistled through the branches, and she shivered. ‘Fuck this,’ she muttered. ‘Let’s keep going. Watch our backs, Casey.’

‘Mm-hm. Count on it.’ Casey’s expression was steely as they drove the rest of the way. Saga kept one eye on the speedometer, resisting the growing urge to put her foot down. Fear tried to thread frozen fingers up her spine, but she gritted her teeth and pushed it aside. They reached the parking spot without further incident; still, Saga kept a wary eye on the treeline, just in case. The forest, previously benign under the morning sunlight, had become something watchful, and oppressive.

‘You got any theories, Anderson?’ Casey asked, as they made their way down the trail that would take them to the fresh kill. ‘At any other time or place, I’d say that was just a trick of the light, back there.’ He huffed bitterly. ‘Now, I’d say it’s more likely to be a trick of the dark.’

‘You might be right.’ Saga sighed. ‘I’m still piecing it together, but… I think it’s no coincidence that there are pieces, body parts, missing from all of our victims. It’s as though the killer is… looking for something; or collecting something, maybe. I’m not certain yet. But I think that the amount of time that passes between each murder must be significant as well.’ She frowned. ‘It’s been almost precisely a week between each one – except for this last one.’

‘Collecting something? You mean like… trophies?’ Casey pulled a disgusted face. ‘This one was just over the week mark – a day late. Unless the body has been out here for longer than the Sherriff thinks?’

‘We’ll know more when we get there.’ Saga shook her head. ‘But it connects with my theory that Grace was intended to be the next victim. Think about it, Casey. She was attacked yesterday, down at the lake – that would have been in-keeping with the week-long time pattern. But… we were on hand to help out. She survived.’

‘Damn lucky we were there.’ Casey shivered, a fleeting look of horror darting across his usual stoic expression. ‘So, you think this poor bastard was… a replacement victim?’

‘Anything is possible.’ Saga narrowed her eyes against the wind. A fresh, cold breeze was blowing along the path towards them, from the direction of the lake; almost as though it was rising to greet them. She breathed deeply, and caught the faint, familiar scent of old blood and stagnant water that she’d come to associate with Cauldron Lake; and beneath that, the cold, crisp hint of distant snow. ‘It’s going to be a cold one tonight,’ she added. ‘Even colder than it already is, I mean. Thank goodness for the lodge’s central heating. I was hoping to drive up to Watery later, but I’m worried about the roads if it snows.’ She sighed softly. ‘Suddenly, we have too many potential leads to follow, all at the same time.’

‘We’ll manage. We always do.’ Casey shrugged. ‘I’ll follow your lead, Anderson. I trust you to make the right call. You know that.’

‘I know. Thanks, Casey.’ Saga tried to smile against the shiver of foreboding that crept over her as they walked. A heavy cloudbank had begun creeping across the sky over the course of the afternoon, dimming the pale winter sun, and in the cold grey light, the forest felt singularly lonely. A sudden movement caught her eye; but it was only a squirrel, vanishing into the treetops with a flick of its bushy tail.

‘So… the lake is a gateway to the Dark Place, correct?’ said Casey, as a break in the treeline allowed them a glimpse of Cauldron Lake, shining like a sheet of burnished silver beneath the clouded sky.

‘According to Alan Wake, yeah. That’s one of the reasons it’s fenced off from visitors – or at least, it should be.’ Saga frowned. ‘I didn’t see any more ‘Restricted’ signs on the way down, did you?’

Casey shook his head. ‘I told the Sherriff about it – he did say he’d get one of the deputies to replace the missing signs. He thinks it’s just the local kids getting up to mischief – teenagers, you know.’

‘Hmm.’ Saga frowned. ‘Hopefully he’s right, and there isn’t something more sinister behind it. That lake is dangerous.’

‘And not just in the usual way.’ Casey scowled. ‘I thought you needed some kind of bullshit ritual – an overlap – to open a way into the Dark Place?’

‘Ordinarily, yes,’ replied Saga. ‘As far as I understand it, there are some places which are… sensitive. The right work of art, the right ritual, will open the path. But here, at Cauldron Lake…? This is the soul and centre of it. This is where the darkness lives.’

‘Good thing I didn’t pack my swimming trunks,’ Casey deadpanned. ‘Still, it seems a bit odd that anywhere else, you need all that magical mumbo-jumbo; but here, you can just… take a swim? And then, suddenly, you’re in another dimension?’ He scowled. ‘No wonder the FBC shut this place down. They need more than fences – they need to drain this fucking thing.’

Saga sighed. ‘I doubt that would make much difference, in the long run. But it’s no surprise that so many people used to go missing here, until the camp grounds were closed off.’

‘It makes me wonder if all those deaths recorded as ‘accidental drownings’ back in the seventies and eighties were actually something worse,’ Casey muttered darkly. They walked in silence for a while, each seemingly lost in their own thoughts, until they reached the lakeside. There, half-in and half-out of the water, lay the sad remnants of the expected corpse. There was no sign of either of the Sherriff’s deputies; although several crime scene markers had already been laid out, ready for them.

‘Poor bastard,’ muttered Casey. ‘I guess it’s safe to say that this, at least, was no accident.’ The body appeared to be male, wearing the damaged remains of a high-vis running jacket and neon green sneakers. He was slumped in a filthy pool of his own coagulated blood, staining the mud and sand of the lakeshore. Casey blinked, wishing he could temporarily stop himself from breathing. He was accustomed to corpses, they were just another part of the job; still, the smells that came with them never grew any less unpleasant.

‘At least it’s easy to see why there’s so much blood everywhere,’ Saga was saying. ‘Both of the victim’s arms are… gone. They’re missing, the same way that the other murder victims have had pieces missing.’ She glanced around. ‘This seems to fit the pattern: at first glance, anyway. We should look for the missing limbs, just in case. But I don’t think we’ll find them anywhere here.’

Casey shook his head. ‘You think that whoever – or whatever – did this to him, has taken his fucking arms away with them?’

‘Maybe. I don’t have another explanation, for now.’ Saga shrugged. ‘At least we haven’t had the same problem as last time, with the victims turning into Taken – like Nightingale.’

‘Mm-hm.’ Casey nodded, smiling faintly. ‘At least, if this poor bastard was going to try and attack us, well… the worst he could probably do is bleed on you.’

‘You’re right. He’s completely armless.’ Saga nudged Casey and grinned. ‘Armless, harmless, get it?’

‘Ha ha. Very funny,’ Casey deadpanned, rolling his eyes. ‘I’ve never heard that one before.’

His partner shrugged, unrepentant. ‘The old ones are the best, I keep telling you.’

‘Sure.’ He grimaced. ‘Remind me to take that book of puns off you when we get back; and burn it.’

‘Too late. I’ve already got them memorised!’ Saga chuckled, before her expression faded as they turned back to the matter in hand. ‘In all seriousness though, where the fuck are his arms? Why are pieces of all our murder victims missing?’

‘It’s never the same piece twice,’ nodded Casey. ‘The one before had his lungs carved out like something in a butcher’s store; and now, this.’ He cast a professional eye over the churned-up mud around the corpse. ‘It looks like a fucking abattoir, Anderson. Whoever did this wasn’t bothered about keeping it clean. They must’ve had a change of clothing with them, or stashed close by. They’d have a hard time sneaking back into town all covered in blood, without being spotted.’

‘Maybe they didn’t return to the town,’ Saga replied. ‘You’re right, though. I think whoever did this made it look messy and unplanned, but came prepared. Look.’ She pointed to a patch of mud further up the lakeside, where the water had left the earth glistening wet. Large tracks gleamed there: clawed, inhuman. ‘Nobody in their right mind would walk through the woods while smelling like a fresh kill; especially not a local,’ said Saga softly. ‘Even if it isn’t prime bear season – it’d be a stupid risk to take.’

He nodded slowly, eyeing the sizable paw-prints uncomfortably. ‘There are the tracks,’ he said quietly. ‘So, where’s the bear?’

‘And why hasn’t it touched this body?’ Anderson scowled. ‘I’m not exactly an expert, but there’s more than just bears in these woods. If you were a hungry wild animal, you wouldn’t pass up a free meal like this. Especially at this time of year.’ She hunkered down next to the tracks, frowning. ‘There’s so much here that just doesn’t make sense.’

Casey smiled wryly. ‘I’ll add it to the list.’ He glanced around, eyeing the dense forest that spread around every side of Cauldron Lake. ‘Maybe that’s why the victim was just… left here? No attempt to hide the body?’ he added. ‘Maybe our killer hoped that the wildlife would do their dirty work for them.’

‘Or that it’d be taken by the lake,’ Saga murmured, eyeing the lapping waters with clear disdain, as she pulled on a pair of latex gloves. ‘I’ll put in a call to the Sherriff, get them to take this poor guy to the morgue; but first, let me see if he has any ID on him. Maybe we can at least get a name.’ She opened the torn running jacket, going through what was left of the pockets fastidiously. Casey turned away, glaring balefully at the distant treeline, making sure that nothing was creeping up on them. A sea of fallen branches and ancient, twisted tree trunks lined the eastern shore of Cauldron Lake; debris left from the last few winter storms, he assumed. In some places, the wood was growing green again with creeping moss and ivy; in others, the branches were completely bare, bleaching slowly like the bones of an ancient giant beneath the sun.

He blinked. There was a flash of white at the base of one of the fallen trees; something fluttering there, like a bird with a broken wing. He strode towards it, ready to put the poor creature out of its misery if needs be. But his heart sank like a stone as he drew closer, and realised that the pale shape he had noticed was actually a piece of paper.

‘Fuck,’ he muttered, crouching down to carefully pick up the damp rectangle, brushing away a handful of dead leaves and debris. ‘Not another damned painting…?’

It wasn’t. It was something worse. Casey’s heart turned over in his chest, rattling against the cage of his ribs as though sounding a terrible, urgent warning. He swore softly, holding the paper up to the light. It was soggy, half-waterlogged, and the ink had bled in parts, blooming across the paper and obscuring some of the words – words that had been written with a typewriter.

‘Anderson!’ He called urgently across his shoulder, almost afraid to move, to breathe; as though any sudden movement might shatter the fragile peace they currently inhabited, and summon the ghosts of his past – the ghosts he had tried so hard to forget. ‘Anderson, you need to see this!’

‘What is it?’ Saga strode towards him, a bloodstained wallet in her hand. ‘Casey, what did you find…?’ Her voice trailed off as she realised what he was holding. ‘That’s another page,’ she breathed. ‘A page by Alan Wake. It has to be.’

Casey nodded. ‘Unless some other fucker around here has been using a vintage typewriter, and spouting out nonsense.’ He turned the paper over carefully. ‘There’s blood spatter,’ he added grimly. ‘Across one side. It was closer to the corpse, before – the wind must’ve picked it up, and blown it down here.’ He shivered. The text was blurred in parts, utterly unreadable in others; but enough sense remained for the words to send a shiver down Casey’s spine.

‘It’s laid out differently to the way I remember,’ Saga was saying, nodding her thanks as Casey handed her the page. ‘There aren’t any edits this time; at least, not that I can see. It looks more like how you’d format poetry, with the text all down one side like that. And there… is that a photo? Or an illustration?’

Casey shrugged. The upper right part of the paper was thick with dark ink, although its time in the lake had blurred the image beyond comprehension. ‘Do you think this is the same as before, Anderson? Is the text… about us?’

‘Maybe. If it is, we aren’t mentioned by name.’ Saga’s eyes were narrowed, as she scanned the page for clues as to its meaning. ‘But there is the mention of a detective… and a muse.’ She glanced up at Casey, smirking. ‘I think that means you, Casey.’

‘Very fucking funny.’ Casey felt a thunderous frown scrawling its way across his features. ‘I’m nobody’s fucking muse, Anderson.’

‘But you were, once. Didn’t Wake say that? An ‘accidental muse’ – that’s how he described it, from the time before he knew you were real.’ She grinned. ‘You inspired an entire series of novels, Casey. I don’t think there’s any doubt about that.’

Casey groaned loudly. ‘Bullshit.’

‘Say what you like, but you know I’m right.’ Saga chuckled. ‘Let’s drive back to the town and try getting Wake on the phone again. I think he’s got some explaining to do.’

*

The payphone was ringing. Somehow, Casey knew the call was for him.

He stretched out a hand to lift the receiver to his ear, before halting in sudden horror. His hands were bloody to the wrists, marked with black ink that writhed like a living thing. The tide was rising higher and higher, as he gazed upwards into a sky lit only by the spill of blood-red light from the neon street signs, where something vast and terrible was waiting…

‘Casey?’

With a gasp, he jerked awake. The nightmare released its hold on him; but not before he felt a stab of pain from something beating against his ears, like the slow pounding of some ancient, colossal heartbeat.

‘Fuck, sorry.’ He passed a hand across his eyes and glanced around. He’d dozed off in the car on their drive up to Watery. He rubbed ruefully at his temple, where his head had lolled against the window. ‘Still not there yet, huh?’

‘Stellar observation skills as usual, Agent Casey,’ Saga replied drily. ‘With insight like that, you could be a detective.’ Her smile turned sympathetic as she nudged a large thermos towards him with her knee. ‘Here, coffee. Drink some while it’s still fresh, you’ll feel better.’

‘Thanks, Anderson. You’re a lifesaver.’ The coffee was a welcome relief, and not just because of the caffeine. It helped to thoroughly wash away the sensation that he was still tangled in the threads of the nightmare. It was strong stuff – Anderson’s coffee was always stronger than he expected – but right now, he was grateful for it.

‘So, remind me. What’s so urgent in Watery?’ he said, turning to Anderson once he was feeling better. ‘I’d have thought you’d want to do the autopsy on our murder victim for yourself. See if there are any surprises stuffed inside his chest, waiting for us.’

Saga shrugged, tilting her head in agreement. ‘Ordinarily, you’d be right. But we got lucky with the Bright Falls coroner actually being in town, this time – and I didn’t want to waste any time chasing these leads. I figure we could read the report when he’s done, then go back and take a look for ourselves if there’s anything… weird.’ She nodded towards the glovebox. ‘There’s a flyer in there’ she added. ‘You know, the one for that strange exhibition I was telling you about? I saw a couple of them stuck up around town.’

‘Got it.’ Casey rummaged among the paperwork, eventually pulling out something small and monochrome. ‘Water, Light, Time,’ he read out. ‘This was the other lead you were talking about? An art show?’

‘That’s right. I spoke with Grace on the phone while you were sleeping – it’s nothing to do with her, or her paintings. It’s something new.’ Saga frowned as she navigated the narrow, winding roads. ‘Watery isn’t exactly a large town. It seems like a strange place to hold an art show. And with everything that’s been going on, this doesn’t feel like a coincidence. It feels… connected, somehow.’

Casey nodded in agreement. ‘It doesn’t tell us much. Just the date and place.’ He glared at the offending leaflet. ‘Hardly a promotional masterpiece.’

‘Yet here we are, driving up to see it,’ Saga replied. ‘So, it’s worked on some level, at least.’

‘I can’t argue with that.’ Casey sighed. ‘Anderson…’ he trailed off, shaking his head. ‘Ah, fuck it. Forget it.’

‘What is it?’ Saga nudged him again, none too gently. ‘Casey, talk to me. You’ve been off ever since I called you this morning. What’s going on inside that head of yours?’

‘Nothing that can’t wait. We’re here.’ He glanced out at the small-town scenery that opened up around them. Saga slowed the car.

‘Hey.’ She tugged on the arm of Casey’s jacket. ‘I know we’ve got a job to do, but… I’m your partner, damn it. More importantly, I’m your friend! If there’s something wrong, you can tell me.’

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he said quickly. ‘Well, something might be. I don’t…’ he shook his head irritably. ‘Anderson, do you get the sense that something’s been… manipulating us? Manipulating reality, just like the horror story did three years ago?’

Saga hesitated before replying. ‘Yes, and no,’ she said slowly. ‘There’s definitely something going on, Casey. But it doesn’t feel the same as the horror story did. But while we’re still making our own choices, and following the clues on our own, I can’t help the feeling that we’re being… guided down a path, so to speak. The art, the missing body parts, the endless bad dreams…’ she shook her head. ‘We’ll figure this out. We always do. But why are you asking now? What’s gotten into your head?’

‘Grace.’ Casey shrugged, reddening slightly as Saga shot him a keen glance. ‘No, listen. I can’t help but feel a… a connection with her. Even though I’ve barely known her a day, it feels longer. Like she’s an old friend I’ve finally found again, after forgetting her half a lifetime ago.’ Or an old lover, his treacherous inner thought added. God, what I wouldn’t give to…

‘I get that.’ Saga nodded. ‘There’s no denying something’s at work there. But are you sure it’s not just… chemistry?’

‘Chemistry?’ Casey snorted in disbelief. ‘This isn’t science class, Anderson.’

‘You know what I mean!’ Saga laughed. ‘You never know – maybe instead of a horror story, this time someone’s been writing you a romance novel.’ She grinned. ‘I’d say that would be infinitely preferable to everything that happened last time. More romance, fewer monsters…’ she trailed off, catching Casey’s eye and shooting him a knowing look. ‘Having said that, I can’t help but wonder if we’re not halfway down a romantic sub-plot already,’ she added softly. ‘Did something happen, Casey?’

Casey opened his mouth to protest, before snapping it closed again. The look in her eye was far too knowing, he thought to himself. Too late, he remembered her astonishing intuition: the way she could see and hear the thoughts of others in her Mind Place. He sighed deeply. He must've been mad to think he could hide anything from her.

‘It wasn’t… planned,’ he murmured. ‘Besides, nothing actually happened. It was pretty damn close, though. If you hadn’t called when you did… well.’ He shrugged. ‘Hell, I don’t know. You know me, Anderson, I focus when we’re on a case. No attachments while we’re on the job. But there’s something about this case… something about her.’ He trailed off helplessly. ‘Tell me, am I just playing the fool again? Hoping for something that doesn’t exist?’

‘No, Casey. You’re right, this isn’t a normal case. In more ways than one.’ Saga’s voice was low and thoughtful. Casey turned to stare at her, surprised to see understanding, and sympathy, gleaming in her warm brown eyes. ‘All these years I’ve known you, all the bullshit we’ve been through… at least I had David and Logan to help me through it. They’re my rocks, you know that.’ Her voice softened. ‘You’ve had no-one. Well, except for me, of course. But while I’m obviously an exceptional friend and partner… I know it doesn’t quite compare to having a family. A husband… wife, girlfriend, whatever.’ She shrugged. ‘I just want you to be happy, Casey. Do you think… would Grace do that? Does being with her make you happy?’

‘Like you wouldn’t believe.’ Casey loosed a long, slow sigh of relief. She wasn’t judging him, he realised. He’d been holding himself so tightly, expecting to feel the weight of her disapproval, his shoulders hunched as though to ward off a blow. Now, he felt nothing but relief. ‘Thanks, Anderson. I appreciate it. And for the record, you’re the best damn partner any agent could ask for – and I’m not just saying that so you don’t throw the book at me.’

‘Sure.’ She grinned mischievously. ‘I mean it, Casey. You’ve been through a lot of shit. You deserve some happiness. Besides…’ she hesitated for a moment, tilting her head as though considering her next words carefully. ‘I’ve seen the way she looks at you, too.’

‘What?’ The breath caught for a moment in his throat. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Just that. She looks at you and… it’s like something softens inside her. Some of the brittleness in her smile fades away.’ Saga shrugged. ‘I think she definitely has a soft spot for you, Casey.’

‘Hmm. That’s… good to know.’ Casey looked away, unable to conceal the smile that threatened to overwhelm him. He could feel it in his soul: warmth, where there had previously been none. ‘I, uh… thanks, Anderson.’

‘No problem. And… no judgement, either.’ She nudged him again. ‘As long as it doesn’t get in the way of us solving this thing.’

He shook his head sharply. ‘It won’t, I promise you that.’

‘Good.’ She nodded crisply. ‘Then let’s get to it. We’ve got an art show to attend.’

Chapter Text

Watery was even more run down than Casey had expected. He recognised parts of it from Saga’s descriptions: the crumbling architecture and dilapidated buildings, the main road lined with the husks of ancient fishing vessels, all in various states of disrepair. The last of autumn’s yellow leaves fluttered limply around them like butterflies with broken wings as they walked up through the town. Here, the ground was sharp with frost; Saga’s boots made a hollow, ringing sound as she strode through the dilapidation with a confidence that Casey did not feel. The streets felt strangely de-populated, empty even by small town standards. Here and there, pools of semi-stagnant water glinted under the faint winter sun, capped with a thin film of glittering ice.

‘There’s been some flooding up here,’ he observed quietly. ‘Not ideal, is it?’

Saga pursed her lips. ‘It could just be from the rain. According to some news reports, there was some crazy weather here around fall: storms, flash-floods, that sort of thing. Parts of the town had to be fenced off entirely.’ She glanced around. ‘It looks like it still hasn’t recovered. Sad, really.’

‘Mm-hm. It reminds me of the flooding we saw before, back at Bright Falls. As though the water was… trying to claw its way out, up onto the land, somehow.’ Casey grimaced. ‘I know that sounds crazy.’

‘No, I get it. I feel it too.’ Saga glanced around uneasily. ‘It does feel strange here, and not just the usual small-town-strange. There’s something going on, I’m certain of it.’ She glanced down at her phone, narrowing her eyes at the flashing No Signal sign. ‘Damn. Should have bought a paper map from the general store. From what I remember, the old church where the exhibition is being held is somewhere on the hillside, up there.’ She gestured towards a sharp bend in the road. ‘Are you up for a bit of a climb, old man?’

‘I’m not dead yet.’ Casey smiled drily. ‘Worry about yourself, kid. I’m still pretty steady on my feet.’

‘For now.’ Saga chuckled. ‘We’ll see just how steady you still are when we reach the top. Fancy a race?’

Casey snorted. ‘No chance.’ He shook his head, smiling faintly as he allowed Saga’s good humour to wash over him. It was a relief, he thought, seeing her so fired up over this case: bright-eyed and pin-sharp despite the gruesome crime scene they’d just witnessed, still throwing out bad jokes like they were going out of style. It helped ease a little of the worry that had settled like a stone in the pit of his gut ever since they’d found the page.

He shook his head, trying to breathe slowly and deeply, ignoring the shadows that lingered at the edges of his vision, and the cold wind that cut at him like a knife. There’s no use getting worked up over it, he told himself sternly. It’s not the same as before. Sure, it’s similar. But to assume that it means the same old story is coming back to haunt us… or that Scratch might be making a comeback… that’s just dumb.

He shivered. Fragments of memory lingered at the back of his mind, like shards of coloured glass held up to the light: blood-red and ink-black, the colours of the sea of night. It rose inside his mind, an inevitable tide; shadows made substance, his own fears made flesh. He closed his eyes, trying to shove them away. But it was difficult. Here in Watery, the slow onset of evening felt like a physical thing, looming over the town. The night was creeping in, behind a bank of dull grey clouds that promised snow. The air was tin-sharp and frozen, and for a moment, Casey tasted blood at the back of his throat as the wind sent threads of ice into his lungs, turning his own breath into frantic puffs of steam. It made him think of the savagery of the New York winters he had endured while working on the cult case: the snow that had piled up, layer upon layer, day after day, until it formed slabs of ice like sheet metal. He remembered the stink and smoke and bright hot steam of the city’s ever-present traffic, the thrum of life above and below ground that carried on and on, unperturbed by the miserable temperatures; and the singular comfort of the sweet black coffee he’d ordered every morning to-go from a nearby diner, as thick as tar and rich as treacle.

Strange, he thought: how easily a memory could be triggered by something as simple as the weather. After all, Watery was so far removed from New York that at first glance, the comparison was laughable. But as they drew closer to the hill’s summit, and the temperature seemed to drop with every step they took, all Casey could think of was the awful redness of blood on the snow; how the wind had carried with it the stench of charred flesh and human decay that stung the back of his throat and made him want to vomit; how the string of corpses the cult left in its wake had seemed like an endless, rising tide: unstoppable, and inescapable. So many lives lost, he thought to himself. So many innocents I couldn’t save.

He shook himself. Memory was a tricky beast at the best of times, he reminded himself irritably; particularly in the area around Bright Falls, where the flick of a light-switch could shatter reality at any moment, casting the world into a twisted version of itself, like reflections in a fractured mirror. It would do no good to wallow in the past, he knew: still, the temptation needled at him. If he closed his eyes, he could almost smell that particular brand of New York coffee, drifting on the frozen wind. He gritted his teeth, pushing the memories away with grim determination and shoving his hands deep in his pockets, trying to warm them, as he forced his mind back to their present predicaments.

‘I don’t like the idea of just leaving Grace alone in that cabin,’ he muttered. A flicker of anxiety ran through him. ‘If the weather takes a real turn, it could knock out the power supply; and without light, she could be in danger.’

‘Hmm.’ Saga shot him a quizzical look. ‘There’s probably a back-up generator tucked away somewhere. But if you’re that worried, we could always move her into the lodge with us temporarily. There’s plenty of spare rooms, and it might be safer.’

Casey pulled a face. ‘Unless your pal Ilmo and his gang of cultist lunatics decides to come and shoot up the place. Again.’

‘That was one time!’ she protested, trying and failing to stifle a laugh at the indignant expression on Casey’s face. ‘Come on, Casey. I already spoke to Ilmo. He’s agreed to stay away from the cult stuff and out of trouble this time around.’

‘If you believe that, Anderson, you’ll believe anything.’ Casey shook his head as the church they were looking for came into view. ‘Is that it?’ he added.

‘It must be.’ Saga was frowning, and Casey could understand why. The old chapel wasn’t exactly what he’d expected. Ancient, whitewashed boards were peeling away from the building’s sides, and an air of general dilapidation hung around the entire structure. The gates were tall, made from old-fashioned wrought iron, and thoroughly rusted. The hinges squealed loudly in protest as Saga pushed them open.

‘What a way to announce guests,’ Casey muttered, wincing at the awful sound. ‘Call me old-fashioned, but I’d prefer a doorbell.’ They stepped into the grounds, where the grass had been allowed to run wild. Thick greenish vines clung to the sides of the building. In the dim light, a small cluster of stick-thin trees stood in silhouette, branches rattling mournfully in the wind.

‘This is… I know this place.’ Casey hesitated, glancing up at the building that loomed ominously before them, as a sense of déjà vu crept over him. ‘Anderson, isn’t this place in one of Grace’s paintings?’

‘You’re right. I knew I had seen it before,’ Saga breathed, pausing her stride to look around. ‘Good catch, Casey. This definitely corresponds to one of the dreamscapes she showed us earlier. Hopefully, this means we’re on the right path.’

He smiled grimly. ‘Or we could be playing straight into the hands of whatever the hell is giving Grace those nightmares to begin with.’

‘I know. But we’re here now – we might as well make the most of it.’ Saga squared her shoulders. ‘We can ask Grace about that particular painting when we get back. Maybe it wasn’t from a nightmare – maybe it was something else. Something meant for us.’

‘I hope you’re right.’ Casey glanced up at the ruined building as they drew closer. ‘I’ve always hated old churches,’ he added. ‘There’s just something creepy about them.’

‘You’ve been watching too many horror movies.’ Saga shrugged. ‘This one is a bit creepy, though.’ The windows were small, dark, and round, watching their approach like so many sightless eyes. ‘I don’t see any signs for this so-called exhibition,’ she murmured. ‘I hope we’re in the right place.’

‘Over here.’ Casey pointed towards a small poster that had been fastened to a stake and hammered into the ground. ‘This is the spot.’

‘Right.’ Saga frowned. The poster was entirely monochrome, the imagery distorted almost beyond recognition: a face that had been fragmented, folded against itself and then repeated over and over, as though viewed through a kaleidoscope. The text, what little there was, appeared plain and simple. ‘Images, re-imagined,’ Saga read aloud. ‘Water, light, time. New York and Washington, exclusively.’

Casey raised a single sceptical eyebrow. ‘Exclusive, huh. I guess that’s one word for it.’

Suddenly, a shout rang out from the crumbling archway beside the church’s entrance. ‘Hey! You need to get inside!’ Casey’s hackles went up immediately. I know that voice, he thought.

‘Wake? What the fuck are you doing here?’ His eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of the familiar figure hurrying towards them.

‘It’s nice to see you too, Agent Casey.’ Alan Wake smiled bitterly. ‘Trust me: this is the last fucking place I want to be.’

*

The inside of the church was surprisingly warm. Casey eyed the crumbling, cobwebbed roof-beams with deep suspicion as they wove their way through the maze of temporary viewing screens that had been set up, ready for the exhibition.

‘…It was Alice’s idea really,’ Alan was saying to Saga. ‘Look, we knew something bad was happening up at Cauldon Lake again. The dreams alone were proof of that. After you left, we talked it through. I wanted to help, any way I could; but there was only so much I could do from home, in New York. In the end, we decided that to make anything work… we both needed to be here, in person.’

‘We? You mean Alice came back with you?’ Saga glanced around, frowning and sniffing the air dubiously. ‘It smells like something’s burning in here,’ she added. ‘Did something happen?’

‘I… yeah. Yeah, we had some candles burning earlier. I thought, having a bit of extra light in here can’t hurt, right? Something that doesn’t crap out on us out the moment a fuse blows, or the generator dies.’ Alan seemed to wince, a flicker of something passing across his features. ‘Anyway, I think a racoon got inside somehow, and knocked a couple over. It caught one of the main prints alight before we could get to it, but we managed to put it out before it sent the whole fucking exhibition up in flames.’ He glanced away. ‘Luckily, the light array we brought along seems to be doing the job, for now. Alice has her darkroom set up out back; she’ll be here in a minute. To be honest, we weren’t expecting you to find us so soon.’ He raised his hands as Casey sent an icy glare in his direction. ‘Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call to fill you in on… well, all of this. I tried, honestly. But once we got here, we realised that the phones aren’t working properly. Neither of us have any cell service, and the only payphone in town is broken.’

‘I wondered about that. I’ve had no signal since we arrived in Watery,’ replied Saga. ‘It seems to be fine down in Bright Falls, though.’ Casey frowned, pulling out his own phone, which had been suspiciously silent the whole time. Sure enough, the No Signal sign was present on-screen.

‘Apparently there’s a mast down nearby: storm damage, or something.’ Alan shrugged. ‘They told me it should be fixed in a few days, but until then…’

‘We’re cut off.’ Casey sighed. ‘In that case, I suppose I can forgive you for not answering my calls.’

Saga’s expression creased with worry. ‘This is a problem. We can’t afford to be cut off from everything up here for long. Let’s wrap this up quickly, whatever this… is.’

He nodded in agreement, all too aware of why Saga was so concerned. She’d been insistent on regular phone calls and check-ins with Logan and David – which only made sense, he reasoned, given everything that happened the last time they were in Washington. No doubt the idea of being cut off from all communication with her family was the last thing Saga wanted.

Casey shivered. All of a sudden, the old church seemed far too lonely and isolated. They were miles away from Bright Falls – miles away from Grace, he thought to himself uncomfortably. If anything were to go wrong on their end, he wouldn’t be able to warn her; and more importantly, she wouldn’t be able to contact him if she got into any trouble. He shook himself, trying to swallow down the anxiety that was clawing its way up his sides like a frightened animal. Stop worrying, he told himself sternly. She’s not a kid. She doesn’t need to be constantly under guard. She knows not to go anywhere alone in the dark.

He cast a doubtful look out of the church windows. Dusk came early in midwinter. It was normal, he knew this; still, he found himself hating it. He hated the awful suddenness of it, how the darkness fell like an axe. How vulnerable they all became inside the night’s embrace, with only their flashlights to cut a path. Even now, the sky outside was already tinted gloriously orange by the light of the setting sun.

He threw Saga a warning glance. ‘It’ll be dark by the time we get back,’ he muttered. ‘You’re right, we should make this quick. I don’t fancy those twisting roads at night.’

‘Not a problem. I’ll drive – and if any Taken try to attack us on the road, then I’ll run them down myself,’ Saga replied, a hint of mirth glittering in her eyes; although Casey had a hunch that she was in fact deadly serious.

‘That’s… reassuring,’ he muttered, glancing over at Alan, who had stopped fiddling with the exhibition artwork and was now staring at them both with a glazed expression of horror.

‘Taken? They’re back?’ He hissed sharply, as though the words had stung. ‘No. No, they shouldn’t – they’re not a part of the story any longer. Scratch is gone, dead; as dead as that monster can fucking get, anyway.’ His gaze flickered anxiously between Saga and Casey. ‘Wait here – I have to go and get Alice. Then you can tell us both what the fuck is going on.’

Chapter Text

It was late. Darkness had long since crept over Watery as Saga and Casey sat in the ruined church, filling the Wakes in on everything they’d discovered since arriving in Washington. For a moment, both agents had dithered over whether to reveal every aspect of the case – after all, Alan and Alice were still civilians – but in the end, it seemed pointless to leave anything out. They were all on the same side in this fight.

‘I never thought we’d see either of you back in Bright Falls,’ Saga was saying. ‘Coming here was an awful risk – for both of you.’

‘Technically, we’re not actually in Bright Falls,’ Alice shrugged. ‘But you’re right. We didn’t do this lightly, Saga. And we’re not just here by chance. This time, we have a plan.’

Alan nodded. ‘From what you’ve told us, it seems that I was right. The horror story that that Scratch wrote: that part of the journey is over. The story is finished. The ending worked – the ending that we created together.’

‘How can you be certain?’ Casey leaned forwards. ‘I’m not doubting you,’ he added. ‘But it seems to me that the Dark Presence is bucking for a sequel.’

‘That’s the good thing about trilogies,’ Alan replied. ‘Once that third book is finished, there’s no room for anything extra to be added. The story threads are contained. Departure, Initiation, Return: that’s it. That’s the trilogy. To change that fact would be to change… well, everything. Everything that’s happened since 2010. I don’t think even the Dark Presence wants that.’ He stood up from the chair and began to pace. ‘The last time, when Scratch was reaching out to me, influencing my writing… I could sense it. His presence, it was… familiar. I knew him: and he knew me.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s complicated. Even now, I don’t quite fully understand it all. But what I’m trying to say is, I don’t feel him here any longer. That aspect of the darkness, the face that the Dark Presence wore… it no longer exists. We killed it.’

‘That’s why you were so shocked when I mentioned the Taken.’ Saga nodded understanding. ‘But Scratch hasn’t been ‘taking’ people this time. The monsters that attacked us at the lakeside… they’re different. Worse, in a way. At least the Taken were human, once. I could feel sorry for them. But these new shadow things… I don’t think they were ever people at all.’

Alice shivered. ‘From what you describe, they sound like pure nightmare fuel,’ she muttered. ‘As though they’re a… a construct of the lake itself, somehow: stagnant water, given form, purpose, malevolence. Something the dark can possess.’

‘Maybe that’s exactly what they are.’ Casey nodded in grim agreement. ‘At least they go down in the same manner – a gun and a decent flashlight seems to do the trick so far.’

‘That’s good to know.’ Alice smiled, satisfaction clear in her expression. ‘Don’t worry, we didn’t just bring photography equipment with us into Watery. This time, we came prepared for the fight. But so far, we haven’t come across anything like the monsters you described. Maybe the corruption hasn’t spread this far – yet.’

‘Give it time.’ Casey scowled. ‘I just hope you’re safe up here – both of you. But just what is with all of… this?’ he added, gesturing towards the exhibition. Some of the larger screens seemed to have photographs hung on them, concealed by large white dust sheets. Here and there, smaller screens stood empty, as though waiting for fresh art to fill them. ‘You’ve clearly been busy,’ he added. ‘Time to fill us in. And why the hell did we find a page of your writing sitting alongside our latest murder victim?’

Alice and Alan shared a glance. ‘I don’t know why a page of my writing turned up at Cauldron Lake,’ said Alan simply. ‘At least, I think it’s mine. It’s been formatted in the same style as what we’re working on up here – but the text you showed me isn’t work from the exhibition.’

‘And… what exactly is it that you’ve been working on?’ Saga raised a single, interrogative eyebrow. ‘I know you’ve been writing again, Alan. Time to come clean.’

‘I – what?’ Alan glanced between Saga and Casey, shock writ large on his features for a moment. ‘How did you…? No. I didn’t… well, maybe I did, just a little. But it’s important – it was necessary!’

‘Uh-huh.’ Casey folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, directing one of his best icy glares towards the suddenly uncomfortable-looking writer. ‘Spit it out, Wake. This better not be another goddamn detective story.’

‘It’s not what you think.’ Alan met Casey’s glare head-on. ‘Before you yell at me: no, this isn’t another horror story either. What we’re working on up here… it’s a collaborative effort, where words meet images: poetry and photography, aligned together.’

‘Poetry?’ Saga frowned. ‘That’s new for you, isn’t it?’

Alan shrugged. ‘It’s basically another form of story-telling, but a lot more pared-down than novel writing. Breaking things down into their most essential forms. It’s not that difficult, when you get the hang of it.’

‘We’ll take your word for that.’ Saga nodded slowly. ‘So, this is a part of your plan, then? You’re constructing another story around Cauldron Lake, but using… fewer words to do so?’

‘Exactly. I’m only writing accompaniments to Alice’s work. Her photography is the main event – her images tell the real story. The text is just a… a backdrop, of sorts.’ He waved a hand towards the waiting exhibition. ‘That’s the idea, anyway. We haven’t finished it all yet. We were able to start work in New York, but we soon realised that we were missing some vital parts of the puzzle.’

Casey frowned. ‘And… what’re those?’

‘You.’ Alice interrupted her husband, smiling as she glanced between the FBI agents. ‘Both of you. We needed to be here, with you. You’re both as bound up in this narrative as we are – you’re a part of the story’s essential components. Alan couldn’t finish Return without you, Saga – and this time, I need both your help to finish this. To end it all – for good.’

‘Us?’ Casey glanced apprehensively at his partner. ‘We’re not artists, Alice. And what do you mean, for good?’

Alice’s gaze grew determined. ‘I mean, that despite all our efforts three years ago, the monster still exists. We didn’t kill it. We killed Scratch, yes – we weakened it, destroyed the face that the Dark Presence wore, and forced it to retreat back underneath the lake. But a monster like this one can’t simply be killed by ordinary means.’ She smiled grimly, her blue eyes lit by a fire that Casey had seldom seen before. ‘So, this time, we’re using extraordinary means. And we will kill it.’

A ringing silence fell. Casey felt something pass over him: a shiver, as though somebody had just walked over his grave. Alice’s words seemed rooted in finality: as though she was speaking an unbreakable truth. Perhaps that’s a part of it, he thought to himself. Belief is a powerful thing, after all.

‘So that’s why you came back?’ said Saga, her voice softening in understanding. ‘After all this time…?’

‘Yeah.’ Alan nodded. ‘I know it seems crazy. Or stupid, maybe, to be screwing around with things again. But we’re being careful – this time, we know what we’re doing! Besides, once you told us that the Dark Presence had returned… that it was haunting you as well… I knew that eventually, it would come for us all. I couldn’t just sit idly by, waiting for it to drag some other poor bastards into its fucked up web of misery.’

At that, Casey startled, frowning as realisation stole over him. ‘I’m afraid you’re too late,’ he told Alan. ‘It’s already dragged somebody new in: Grace. Miss Hart, I mean.’

‘The painter?’ Alan shared a glance with Alice. ‘Yeah. She’s a part of all this too.’

Saga nodded in agreement. ‘I believe the Shaded creatures attacked her for a reason: and not just because she happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her dreams alone indicate that there’s more to it – and the fact that she’s been painting scenes we’ve been seeing, both here in Watery, and in Bright Falls…?’ Saga shrugged. ‘I think something is reaching out to her. Influencing her dreams – and her art.’

‘The Dark Presence, you mean?’ Casey was frowning again. ‘Is it… using her, do you think?’

‘Maybe.’ Saga shrugged. ‘There’s too many uncertainties to know for sure. We need facts, not just theories.’

‘Sure, but… those are hard to come by, up here.’ Casey glanced keenly back at Alan. ‘When reality can change on the turn of a dime, facts don’t exactly carry the weight they once did.’ He paused as a thought struck him. ‘Do you still have it?’ he added. ‘The light switch?’

‘The Clicker?’ Alan raised his brows in surprise. ‘Yeah, of course I do.’ He smiled faintly. ‘Why? Not going to steal it off us again are you, Casey?’

‘Fuck you.’ Casey rolled his eyes as the old anger, never far away, flared back into life at the memory. ‘That wasn’t me. Or have you forgotten already, Wake? The monster you created, the one that took me over: that damn near killed me?’

‘No. No, I haven’t forgotten.’ Alan fixed him with a strange, intense stare, tilting his head sideways as though trying to see him clearly. ‘You seem… angrier than usual, Agent Casey,’ he added slowly. ‘Are you feeling alright?’

He snorted irritably. ‘I’m fine. It was just a shitty joke you made, that’s all.’ He frowned. ‘Why, what the hell’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Nothing.’ Alan shrugged. ‘I just think we should all be on the lookout for things that are strange, or unusual. Things that might indicate what the Dark Presence has been up to. We know it’s extended its influence here, in the real world, somehow; it could be hiding inside someone’s head again. Just like it did with me, last time.’

Casey bristled at the implication. ‘What the fuck are you trying to imply, Wake? What, you think I’ve been hiding some dark secret, all of a sudden?’

‘I was just making an observation.’ Alan held up his hands in mock-surrender. ‘No need to get worked up about it.’

‘Yeah, well you can cut that out,’ Casey snapped. Bitterness rose in his throat like bile. ‘Maybe you’re right: I am angry. I’m angry that we’re here, now, doing this all over again; I’m angry that we’re dealing with the same fucking bullshit that we thought was all fine and settled over three goddamn years ago; and I’m angry that even more people are getting drawn into this mess, and getting hurt!’ The rage simmering beneath his skin at the injustice of it all flared wildly into life. ‘We’ve got a job to do, Wake,’ he added. ‘We’ve got people to protect, while you get to sit around here and do – what, exactly? Play games with reality? Throwing plotlines at the wall to see what sticks?’

‘That’s not what’s happening!’ Alice interrupted, speaking over her spluttering husband, reaching out to grasp Casey’s arm firmly. ‘Alex, please… I know the darkness isn’t hiding inside you. I know, okay?’ She shot a glare at Alan, who slumped back into his chair with an air of embarrassment. ‘We’re being careful. Figuring out how to help, not to harm. Besides, all of this… it isn’t complete. We haven’t actually used it to change anything, yet.’ She squeezed his arm comfortingly, meeting his gaze with nothing but sincerity. ‘I’m sorry. I know this is rough on all of us. But we’re doing the best we can.’

‘Shit. I know, Alice.’ Casey shrugged uncomfortably. ‘I’m just worried. That’s all.’

‘We all are.’ She sighed. ‘It doesn’t help that we’re cut off from the world up here, too. You have to drive pretty much all the way out of town for the phone signal to reconnect. It’s a such a nuisance.’

Saga checked her watch. ‘I’m going to have to do that if we aren’t finished here soon. It’s getting late; it’s almost time for my check-in with Logan.’

‘Of course.’ Alice nodded swiftly. ‘Look, I wasn’t kidding when I said I needed your help to finish the exhibit – but you’re right, it is getting late. I won’t blame you if you want to head back now, but maybe you could find the time to return tomorrow…?’

‘It’s just a phone call. I can drive out of town to make it, then come back if needs be.’ Saga shrugged. ‘What kind of help are you talking about?’

A sly smile flickered across Alice’s face as she glanced between Saga and Casey. ‘I need some photographs of you both. You’re going to be in the exhibit.’

Casey groaned aloud. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

‘Nope.’ Alice grinned. ‘Portraiture is the cornerstone of this… thing we’re doing. This new story we’re weaving. I’ve discovered a special way to use the light when taking photos. It reveals whatever’s hiding in the dark.’ She beckoned them over towards the back of the church, where several ominous-looking black boxes had been stacked. ‘This is some of the gear I’ve been using,’ she added, speaking over her shoulder. ‘Specialised lenses, polarising filters, that sort of thing – but of course, the lights are the most important element. That’s what I always loved about photography: the juxtaposition of light and dark, sun and shade; movement and stillness. Capturing a moment, and holding it in the palm of your hand: forever.’

‘This looks like a lot of equipment. Even for a professional set-up.’ Saga had her hands on her hips, and was eyeing the black boxes distrustfully. ‘Just what kind of photos have you been taking?’

‘I can show you. Hang on.’ Alice began unstacking the boxes, frowning as something fell. ‘Damn. One of the prints must’ve… wait.’ She paused, glancing back at Saga. ‘This isn’t mine. Did you say you were collecting paintings?’

‘Yeah. We’ve found several already. We’re just not entirely sure what they mean, or where they’re leading us, yet.’ Saga shot Casey a glance. ‘Why?’

‘This was wedged in between the cases; it fell out when I moved them. I’m sure it wasn’t here earlier, when I was setting up.’ She handed the piece of paper over to Saga, eyeing it curiously. ‘Is this one of them?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, this looks similar to some of the others – and there, down in the corner is Grace’s signature.’ Saga raised her eyes to meet Casey’s stare; and he felt his heart drop like a stone at the expression on her face.

He moved so that he could see the artwork clearly, and immediately wished that he hadn’t. The scene was like an illustration from a horror story. Pitch darkness filled most of the page, twisting into monstrous, deformed figures that almost seemed to writhe beneath his gaze. Vaguely humanoid shadows lurked between the inked silhouette of winter trees, all grasping hands and mad, bloodshot eyes; but it wasn’t these painted horrors that made Casey’s heart stutter in his chest. It was the figure trapped among them: illuminated in the narrow beam of light from an overhead streetlamp, like an island of light amid a seething ocean of darkness. Her arms were wrapped around herself in an attitude of frozen terror, and she seemed to be gazing helplessly out at them from the painted surface, her grey eyes glassy and fearful. With a jolt, Casey recognised the sweater she was wearing. He’d seen it earlier that morning.

‘That’s Grace,’ he snapped. ‘Anderson...’

‘Yeah. I see it.’ Saga’s eyes were narrowed, and she was scanning the painting carefully. ‘These look like the things that attacked us earlier – the Shaded lake monsters. The ones I was telling you about, that dissolve into black water when they’re killed,’ she added, glancing back at Alan. ‘This could be a warning – or it could be something from another one of her nightmares?’

‘You said she was attacked before, down at the lake,’ said Alan. ‘She’s an artist: maybe this is her… interpretation of that moment? Safe in the light, afraid of the dark… that sort of thing?’

‘No.’ Casey clenched his jaw, meeting Saga’s worried gaze with one of his own. ‘There’s snow on the ground, in the painting. It’s falling all around her – look.’ He shook his head. ‘There was no snow in Bright Falls, before. But I’d bet you half a dollar that there’s some there now.’ He raised his gaze to stare outside. Sure enough, a slow drift of white flakes was visible outside the church windows. They glimmered softly in the light as they fell. Casey swore under his breath. ‘Fucking hell, Anderson. What if this is what’s happening in Bright Falls right now? What if she’s in danger?’ He tugged out his phone as he spoke, swearing again when he saw the No Signal sign still flashing.

‘We don’t know for certain that’s the case,’ said Saga quickly. Her voice was warm and reassuring. ‘None of the paintings so far have arrived at the same time as the events they depict. They’ve always been either before, or after the fact: predictions, not immediate warnings. But if you’re worried…’

‘You’re damn right I’m worried.’ Casey met her gaze with a determined stare. ‘I promised we’d keep her safe, Anderson. I keep my promises. You know that.’

‘I know.’ Saga nodded briskly. ‘Alright, then. Casey, you take the car and drive out of town, until you reach a place with phone signal. Give her a call, and make sure everything’s okay.’

‘Right.’ Casey was already pulling on his coat. ‘What about you?’

‘I’ll stay here and finish up.’ Saga nodded confidently. ‘If everything’s fine with Grace, come back and pick me up. If it’s not… Casey, I trust your judgement. Do what you think is best, and I’ll catch up with you when I can.’

‘Thanks.’ He nodded a speedy farewell to Alan and Alice. ‘We’ll talk more tomorrow.’

‘Of course.’ Alice reached out and grasped his shoulder briefly. Her blue eyes were wide with urgency. ‘Go to her, Alex. Go, now.’

He needed no further encouragement, departing without a backwards glance. He made his way down the hill and back through the town with as much speed as he could safely manage, cursing the snowfall and the ice underfoot every step of the way. He’d be no use at all with a broken ankle, he knew this: still, it was hard to maintain a sensible pace, now that fear had sunk its claws into him and was tearing ribbons from his flesh. As if in a dream, he heard the faint sound of soft, haunting laughter drifting through the trees, carried on the wind; but when he paused his stride to listen, there was nothing. Nothing, save for the whistle of the wind and the rattle of the branches; nothing but the frenetic pounding of his own heart.

‘Fuck this,’ he muttered. ‘Come on, Casey, get a grip.’

Fortunately, he reached the car without incident. Watery was a well-lit town at least, for all that it was run down. By sticking to the main road, he was never out of the brilliant glow of the streetlamps, even for a moment – which was probably deliberate, he realised belatedly. After all, some folks living in Watery knew all about the horror in the lake; knew that it would come for them in the dark. These lights were the town’s protection.

The engine roared into life, and Casey had never been happier to hear that familiar sound. As soon as he was out of the narrow lanes and back on the main road, he put his foot down. The snow was already settling, turning the frozen river into a spilled bolt of bridal satin as he sped past. Even inside the vehicle, it was cold enough for his breath to mist up in front of him. He swore quietly against the drifting flurries of whiteness that danced through the twin spotlights of the car’s headlamps like feathers from a shaken pillow. He kept one eye on his mobile as he drove, waiting impatiently for signal bars to appear. Surely, he was far enough away from Watery by now…

There. As soon as they appeared, his phone buzzed into life, a flurry of notifications whirring across the previously blank screen. He cursed softly at the sight of a series of missed calls. There was one from Saga, two from Kiran; and seven from Grace, with one voice message.

‘Shit, shit,’ he muttered, pressing the play button and putting the phone on speaker. At first, there was nothing – no sound, save for the soft, erratic sounds of someone breathing. Casey’s heart clenched like a fist in his chest.

‘Casey? Are you there…? Shit.’ Her voice whispered over the line, so quiet that he was forced to turn up the volume to properly hear. ‘I need you. There’s something following me. One of those… things. More than one, I think. Please, call me back when you get this, okay?’

The message clicked off. Casey’s blood ran cold. I was right, he thought to himself. The painting was a message: a warning. He shook his head, redialling the number and waiting anxiously for the call to connect; but when it finally went through, there was only silence on the end of the line.

‘Grace?’ he snapped. His voice was sharp with urgency. For a moment, he feared the worst. ‘Grace, are you there? Are you alright?’

‘Casey?’

The word was little more than a sob. His heart leapt. He knew that voice; he’d heard it a thousand times over, in his dreams. ‘I’m here,’ he told her. ‘What’s happening?’

‘I’m… I don’t know.’ Her voice was low, little more than a strangled whisper. ‘Sorry. I’m trying to be quiet. Those things…’

‘Where are you?’ He watched the speedometer climb as he pushed the engine as far as it would go. ‘I’m on my way. Just breathe, Grace. Tell me where to go to find you.’

‘I’m on the path. The one that runs behind the tackle store. They told me it was a shortcut, and… oh, god…’ her voice cracked. ‘I did what you said. Got into the light, but now… it’s so cold, and I’m trapped here. It’s too far for me to run, and they’re in the trees now, all around. I think they’re waiting for me. I’m trying to keep still, and quiet, like you said…’

‘It’s alright. I’ll be there soon. You just stay in the light, okay?’ He gritted his teeth. ‘Stay calm, stay quiet, and don’t move out of the light!’

‘Okay. Please, hurry – and be careful, Casey.’

The phone crackled; the reception was bad. Or was that something else? Casey checked the weight of the gun at his hip. ‘Oh, I’ll be careful alright,’ he replied through clenched teeth. ‘Don’t you worry about me. I’ve dealt with these sons of bitches before. I’ll be there soon – just hang on.’

He ended the call, raising his hand to his earpiece. ‘Anderson? You there?’ The crackle of static was his only reply. It was unsurprising, but still; Casey had hoped that their radios wouldn’t be affected. ‘Dammit,’ he muttered to himself, dialling her mobile number instead. A disconsolate beeping indicated that the call was failing to connect; he swore into the messaging service before shoving the phone back into his pocket and peering into the blackness ahead. The snow was falling even harder than before, forming haloes around the street lights and cheerful signage that announced his return to Bright Falls.

He parked in the town, pausing only to grab Saga’s shotgun out of the car. It wasn’t desperately late; still, the town seemed almost entirely deserted. He followed the path Grace had described, that ran from behind the tackle shop. It was definitely a short-cut, he realised. It ran straight up through the woods, cutting off the long loop of the main road. It was still partially lit, but the lamps were pitifully few and far between. The blackness between the well-lit spots felt heavy with menace.

There were Shaded creatures here. He could feel them. Casey paused his stride for a moment to double-check his weapons: moth-like, haloed in light. The cold air bit at him, but he ignored it. Whether the darkness had truly left its mark on him, or whether it was some bone-deep survival instinct dredged from pre-history, he didn’t know: but he could sense the presence of the lurking horrors. Something was in these woods that didn’t belong; something had slithered from the depths of Cauldron Lake to trouble the waking world. He raised his gun. It was strange, but the monsters in the dark didn’t frighten him like they used to. Not anymore. Not since he had been scarred by the worst that the Dark Presence had to offer; and not now that he had somebody else to protect. After all, he’d walked a thousand rain-soaked city streets before setting foot on the treacherous paths of Bright Falls – he’d seen some of the worst the human world was capable of in case after blood-soaked case. He smiled grimly. If the Dark Presence wanted a fight, then that was fine by him: Casey had his own darkness to bring to bear this time. He stepped out of the light and felt the night spread its wings in welcome.

‘Come on then,’ he murmured. ‘Let’s see what you’ve got this time around.’ He walked softly up the path, one shadow among the many, his flashlight switched off so that when he spotted the first pair of Shaded creatures, they didn’t notice him until it was too late. He caught them both in the sudden swing of the torch beam, feeling the casing humming beneath his palm as the light struck the darkness within them, searing it away with a smell like hot metal. They ran wildly at him, and it was the work of a moment to empty the shotgun’s barrels into them, one after another. They collapsed in the same way the Shaded at the lakeside had, shivering into sickly black liquid that sank into the forest floor like spilled ink. A third monster came for him as he was reloading; it swung madly, all grasping hands and gnashing teeth. He dodged easily, bringing the butt of the gun up to smack it square in the jaw, before unloading both barrels into its chest. A low howling pierced the forest gloom as the creature fell, leaving one last horror to deal with. This one was huge: a towering monstrosity half as tall again as Casey was, with eyes that were mad and red with rage. It swung at him with a branch that was more like half a tree, forcing him to fall back. Luckily, its approach was slow; and after giving it a thorough blast with the flashlight, Casey emptied enough shotgun shells into it to make the entire forest echo with the sound of gunfire. It fell to its knees with a bellow like a wounded bull, giving him the convenient opportunity to place his pistol to that distorted skull and blow out what was left of the creature’s brains. It fell into the dark, consumed by it; and Casey breathed a sigh of relief as clean forest air rolled over him, crisp and cold and thick with pine and the scent of snow. The monsters were gone: he could no longer sense their presence. He raised his head. Up ahead was another pool of light, and beneath it crouched a blessedly familiar figure.

He hurried up the path towards her, noticing as he ran the trail of spilled groceries that were by now half-buried in the snow. She’d dropped them in her mad, frightened dash towards the light, he realised. He slowed as he approached, hooking the shotgun over his arm and calling her name aloud.

She didn’t react. He stepped into the light and felt the darkness melt away from him, sloughing off like a second skin as he reached out to touch her shoulder. ‘It’s alright,’ he said, trying to soften his voice into something approaching gentleness. ‘I’ve got you. You’re safe now.’

She turned her face towards him. She was locked in a defensive crouch, huddled beneath the lamplight, trying to make herself as small and invisible to her pursuers as possible. There was snow in her hair. He reached out to try and brush it away, realising belatedly that she wasn’t even wearing a coat. Her cream-coloured sweater was covered in a thick layer of snow, and she was shivering violently. He put out his hands to raise her to her feet, hissing softly beneath his breath at the icy touch of her fingers.

‘Fucking hell, Grace. You’re freezing,’ he muttered, meeting her tear-stained gaze. ‘How long have you been out here?’

‘I don’t know.’ She blinked, moving stiffly and slowly, as though the ice had already sunk into her bones. She tried to take a step and stumbled. ‘I don’t… I can’t think straight,’ she murmured. ‘It’s so cold…’

‘It’s alright. Let’s get you inside, into the warm.’ He hesitated. A fresh worry began to gnaw at him. She’s obviously been out here a while, he realised. Maybe it’s just shock – or it could be hypothermia. Either way, we need to get indoors, now. He glanced around carefully. The dark woods were clear. But for how long would they remain safe?

‘Look, we need to get out of here, fast,’ he muttered. ‘Before any fresh hell arrives. I’m not trying to rush you, but… if you can’t walk, I’ll have to carry you.’ He waited for her nod before stepping closer. ‘I’ll need to put you on my shoulder,’ he added. ‘That way, I can keep my gun out. I think we’re safe for now, but I don’t trust these damn trees. Anything could be waiting for us past the light.’

‘Okay.’ She gulped the word out, stumbling into him. Her head rested for a moment against his chest. His heart clenched. God dammit, he thought, placing his arms around her for a handful of frozen seconds. God fucking damn it all.

He braced himself, carefully lifting her up and across his shoulder in a fireman-style carry, balancing her weight with one hand and readying his pistol in the other. ‘Everything okay up there?’ he asked.

‘Yeah.’ The word came with a muffled half-laugh that made Casey’s heart lift. ‘Thanks for the lift.’

‘Don’t mention it.’ He smiled to himself, scanning the nearby trees as he prepared to step outside the protective circle of light. ‘You can be my rearview mirror,’ he added. ‘Watch my back. Let me know if any of those bastards try to sneak up on us.’

‘I can do that.’ He felt her adjust her weight slightly, balancing herself across his shoulders. This close, he could feel her shivering. Step by careful step, he made his way up the path, keeping his gun ready and a wary eye on the treeline; but whether they were finally due some luck for a change, or whether he’d driven away the darkness for good that night, Casey didn’t know. All he knew was that he was infinitely grateful to reach the relative safety of Grace’s cabin, locking and bolting the door firmly once they were both inside. He lowered her gently onto a chair with a faint grunt of exertion, before moving to turn on every light he could find.

‘There. All safe and sound,’ he said, rattling the door to prove his point. ‘Now, let’s get you warmed up.’ He smiled grimly. ‘No offence, but… you look like hell.’

That at least drew a breathless laugh from her. ‘I feel like hell,’ she murmured, tucking her limbs in as close to her body as she could manage. Her speech was slow, almost slurring as she blinked in the brightness of the lights. Casey knelt beside her, taking her hand in his to check her pulse; and was forced to inhale sharply.

‘Your pulse is weaker than I’d like,’ he muttered. ‘And you’re way too cold for comfort. I need to get you warmed up, fast.’ He squeezed her shoulder, frowning at the freezing cold water that welled up from the fabric of her sweater. She was soaked to the skin.

No wonder she’s so cold, he thought to himself. That’s… not good. He hesitated. The cabin wasn’t exactly cold, but it wasn’t warm either. Blankets and a change of clothing wouldn’t do the trick, he knew: they needed a heat source. Something that would provide a slow, steady warmth, that wouldn’t risk damaging her nervous system. He glanced around, his mind racing.

‘The shower,’ he muttered. ‘Hang in there, Grace – I’ll be right back.’ He stepped into the bathroom, hastily pulling off his coat and suit jacket, yanking off his tie and taking down the top buttons on his shirt for comfort, before rolling up his sleeves and turning the shower on. He waited until the water ran warm, testing it against the inside of his wrist to make sure it wasn’t too hot, before returning to the main room. Grace was still sitting where he’d left her. Without hesitation, he scooped her up into his arms, lifting her with ease and carrying her into the bathroom.

‘The water’s warm,’ he told her. ‘I want you to rest here, for a bit. I’m worried you’ve got a touch of hypothermia.’ He knelt slowly, lowering himself with care, heedless of the water that fell across the back of his neck and saturated his shirt. He helped her out of the useless sweater, tossing it aside. She was wearing a soft thermal top underneath, which had also soaked through. Casey adjusted the showerhead so that the water fell almost fully across her torso, hoping it might warm her up more quickly. He tried to step away, but her thin fingers clutched at him. ‘Hey, it’s okay,’ he added, softening his voice from its usual growl as he met her gaze. Her eyes were glassy, and worryingly unfocused. ‘It’s okay,’ he repeated. ‘I’ve got you now. You’re going to be fine.’ She nodded wordlessly, lowering her head to rest it against his shoulder. Her grip tightened, and he realised that she didn’t want him to move away.

‘Hold on,’ he muttered, adjusting position so that he could sit under the spray of warm water, not caring that he was still almost entirely fully clothed; not caring about the water that ran into his hair and down his cheek, trickling into the open collar of his shirt. The shower cubicle was small – almost too small. Still, he managed to wedge himself in with his back against the wall, and Grace cradled in his arms. Her head was tucked against his neck; if he concentrated, he could feel her ragged breath against his throat. Her weight was against his chest, and he could feel the chill of her skin even through his shirt.

‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. Her voice was so low that he was forced to dip his head to hear it. ‘Sorry for… being such a burden…’

‘Nonsense,’ he replied immediately. ‘You’re not a burden, and there’s no place else I’d rather be.’ He glanced down at her, frowning. There was mud smeared on her cheek; a little of the forest darkness still tangled in her hair. He wiped the mud away with as much care as he could muster, before putting his arms around her, trying to be gentle. He isn’t made for such things; tenderness had seldom been offered to him before, and as such he’s at a loss as to how to show it, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try. His hands might be scarred by darkness, but they could still serve to shield her from the night.

He could feel the rise and fall of her breathing, the quiet sobs that fluttered out of her and into his chest as they sat there, pressed together like two halves of a broken vessel. Her hands were tight around him, pulling on his shirt; and even if Casey could offer her nothing more than the warmth of his own body and simple human connection, then that was exactly what he would do. He would sit here all night if necessary. He touched her back gingerly, feeling the quiet shudder of her irregular breathing as he ran his palm across the flat plane of her shoulder blade. The narrow ridge of bone moved with his touch; he remembered watching Saga comforting her daughter, soothing away her night terrors, and so he endeavoured to do the same. This close, he could feel the quickening of her heartbeat as she pressed close to his chest, the sound echoing against his own: two hearts, beating in and out of time. She didn’t speak, and he had no idea what to say. They sat there in the quiet of the night, and for Casey time lost its meaning. It could have been five minutes, or five hours: all he knew was that eventually, her ragged breathing began to even out, and the soft sound of her sobs slowly quietened. Her palms slipped up to wrap around his biceps, her grip no longer frightened and bruising, but gentler.

For a moment, Casey wished that she would stay a little longer – that he could stay here, in this place, offering her comfort: but that was a stupid thought, he told himself immediately. She shifted against him, and he immediately loosened his grasp, not wanting her to feel trapped. Her head lifted, moving away from where she’d tucked herself against his neck. Her wet hair had darkened to the colour of damp sand, and as she raised her eyes to meet Casey’s gaze, he couldn’t help but notice that her cheeks were beginning to flush pink as the warm water worked its magic, chasing away the perils of the cold and dark. He smiled in relief.

‘Hey,’ he said quietly. ‘Feeling better now?’

‘Yeah. A little.’ Her smile was a small thing; still, Casey’s heart lifted to see it. He could still feel the rise and fall of her breathing, the growing warmth of her skin against his chest. This close, he couldn’t help but stare for a moment at her eyes, wondering at the colour of them: pale green-grey, the colour of the winter skies and fine spring rains. He was so busy looking that he didn’t notice her hand move to rest against his chest; but he did notice as her gaze dipped, lowering for a moment to stare at his mouth with the kind of longing that Casey was certain he’d never see again in his lifetime; before flicking back up to stare at him.

‘Casey…?’ she murmured. The thought was left unspoken, hanging in the air. Her lips slowly parted: in question or invitation, he wasn’t certain. There was a pause, a moment of stillness, during which Casey couldn’t hear anything but the frantic hammering of his own heart, moments before she leaned in and kissed him.

It was a gentle kiss: tentative, questioning, almost chaste were it not for the slight graze of teeth against his lower lip as she pulled away; and now there was a question in her eyes, and a hunger in there too. Casey didn’t think twice, raising his hand to cup her cheek and pull her close, kissing her until she made a soft, breathless noise against his mouth that sent his heart hammering so hard that he wondered for a moment if he was actually going to have a heart attack – in which case, he’d die a happy man. When they finally pulled apart, he was amazed to see the warmth in her gaze: a brightness that grew, even as he watched.

‘I, um… I’ve been wanting to do that for quite some time,’ she murmured, glancing bashfully away as her cheeks grew even pinker. ‘Longer than I should probably admit.’ Her questioning expression was back, and Casey realised too late that he’d just been staring at her, unable to move or speak a word, beyond wondering just how the hell he’d gotten so lucky.

‘I… uh, yeah, I mean… me too,’ he managed. His voice sounded strained even in his own ears, and he cleared his throat awkwardly, unable to prevent a goofy smile from spreading all the way across his face. ‘Grace, I…’ He shook his head, trying to regain his scattered wits. ‘Damn it, you’re a walking heart attack,’ he added. ‘You should have a warning sign on you somewhere, you know?’ He grinned, tugging on his collar to loosen it as she laughed, long and low and delighted.

‘Look who’s talking,’ she replied, her grey eyes shining. ‘Mr ocean-blue eyes and cheekbones over here, hmm?’ She pulled herself up against his shoulder, seemingly heedless of the warm water that fell across her face, running in rivulets down her cheek as she leaned in to kiss him again. ‘That’s twice you’ve saved my life now,’ she murmured against his lips. ‘Thank you.’

‘There’s no need to thank me,’ he replied softly. ‘But let’s try not to let there be a third time, hmm?’

‘Sure.’ She adjusted her grip, dragging on the wet cotton of his shirt; and Casey couldn’t care less. She kissed him as though the world outside these four walls was ending; and maybe it was, he thought giddily. Her lips were warm against his, and he felt her hands slip down across the plane of his chest as he shifted to wrap one arm protectively around her waist.

‘I guess you’re feeling better now?’ he murmured, reaching up to cradle her face, revelling in the warmth of her cheek against his palm. ‘You gave me one hell of a scare, Grace. I never want to see you like that again, okay?’ He squeezed her shoulder lightly. ‘Come on. Let’s get you into something dry, now that you’ve warmed up. Are you hungry?’

‘Yeah.’ She dropped a final kiss on the side of his neck before pulling away, moving awkwardly in the too-small shower cubicle. Casey missed her warmth immediately, a sense of loss striking him square in the chest as she struggled to gain her feet, her limbs still slow and clumsy. Hastily he pulled himself upright, offering his hand to steady her. She took it gratefully, stepping out of the spray of warm water and glancing ruefully down at their ruined clothes.

‘Go and get changed,’ Casey urged her. ‘If you don’t get into something dry soon, you’ll be shivering again.’

‘Of course.’ She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself, seemingly embarrassed. ‘What about you?’ she added. ‘You’re just as soaked as I am, sitting in that shower with me for so long. I’ve got some spares – do you at least want a shirt, or something?’

Casey hesitated. ‘I’ve got a spare set in the car, but I’d rather not walk back there right now,’ he admitted. ‘Anything you’ve got would be great.’

‘Okay. Let me see what I can rustle up.’ She vanished into the bedroom, returning quicker than Casey had expected with a small heap of clothing in her arms. ‘I don’t quite know what I’ve got that’ll fit you,’ she admitted, eyeing the breadth of his shoulders with some apprehension. ‘But here are some spare pyjamas, shirts, a couple of sweaters that might fit… I figured you could try some of them on for size?’

‘That’s real sweet of you.’ Casey fought back laughter at the sight of her awkward expression. ‘Go on, get yourself sorted. I can figure this out, I’m sure.’ His heart was singing, even as he eyed the motley assortment of clothing with some apprehension. He stepped back into the bathroom for privacy, half-amused and half-exasperated as he rummaged through the clothes she had given him. Eventually, he was able to settle on a pair of dark navy pyjama pants in some kind of fleecy material that were only a touch too short, along with an oversized powder-blue sweater. The fabric felt nice; soft and comforting against his skin.

He checked his reflection in the mirror before departing. After the night’s events, his hair could only generously be called dishevelled. He ran a towel over it and tried to comb it back into place with his fingers, before giving up with a sigh. He probably needed a shave too, but that would have to wait till morning. He hesitated, before bringing a hand up to his own throat, touching the place where Grace had kissed him. There was no mark; still, Casey knew her touch would be forever branded in his memory. He met his own gaze in the mirror, surprised at the softness he saw in his own features; the quiet wonder in his own eyes. Even though he still felt like himself, he felt… different. As though another Alex Casey was looking back at him through the mirror’s silvered glass. An Alex Casey who wasn’t haunted by the ghost of his fictional counterpart; who didn’t have nightmares snapping at his heels. An Alex Casey who’d arrived in Bright Falls expecting misery, pain, terror… who had, instead, found peace.

We’ve still got a long way to go, he thought to himself. There’s still a ways to travel down this story’s path; and I’d bet good money there’s one hell of a plot twist coming. Despite this, Casey couldn’t help but smile. Whatever was coming, whatever it was that lurked down the road, around the bend… he no longer felt quite so alone.

Chapter Text

Eventually, the cabin was warm and cosy once again. Casey spent some time coaxing the log fire back into life, adding enough wood to keep it burning for a good long while, before pulling out his mobile and dialling Saga. He’d tried a couple of times already, without any luck; but to his surprise, the call connected quickly.

‘Casey! What’s happened – were we right about the painting? Are you and Grace okay?’ Saga’s voice was pitched low, her tone urgent.

‘We’re fine,’ he told her. ‘Grace is safe, for now – though it was a damn close thing. Anderson, if Alice hadn’t found that painting when she did…’ He shook his head, before launching into a brief account of how he’d made his way through the woods, taking down monsters before finding Grace, trapped in the circle of light.

‘It looked just like how it was in the painting,’ he told her. ‘Grace is feeling pretty shook up. That problem with the fucking phone signal – she was stuck here, out in the woods, for a long time before I got to her. Damn near froze to death: she’s only just finished thawing out.’ He frowned, throwing a glance towards the bedroom where Grace had disappeared, listening to the quiet hum of a hairdryer. ‘Speaking of, how the hell am I talking to you now?’ he added. ‘Where are you?’

‘I’m on the outskirts of Watery,’ Saga replied. ‘Alice drove me out here so that I could call David. She’s waiting in the car.’ A sigh gusted down the phone. ‘Look, Casey… it’s late. I know you’ll want to stay with Grace. She’s scared; and honestly, I don’t blame her. Don’t worry about driving back to pick me up.’

‘You’re sure about that? Being stuck up there on your own?’ Casey raised his brows in surprise. ‘It’s a quick drive – I can be back in no time.’

‘Don’t bother. I’ll figure something out,’ Saga told him. ‘Besides, now I’m here, there’s a couple of other things I want to check out in the town. It makes sense to do it tonight; and if any of those awful Shaded creatures decide to show up in Watery, then there’ll be one hell of a surprise waiting for them.’

‘Alright.’ Casey chuckled and shook his head, easily able to imagine Saga’s confident smirk on the other side of the line. ‘It sounds like you’re spoiling for a fight, Anderson. Don’t forget to leave some for the rest of us, huh?’

She laughed at that. ‘No promises. Stay safe, Casey.’

‘You too.’ He hung up, breathing a long, slow sigh of relief. He’d been telling the truth: he was certainly willing to drive back up to town to collect Saga, although the idea of leaving Grace alone and unprotected sat uncomfortably beneath his skin. Now, he wouldn’t have to. He glanced back towards the bedroom door, hearing the hairdryer click into silence. From the far side of the door came Grace’s muffled voice, cursing softly. Curious, he walked over and knocked.

‘You okay in there?’ he asked.

‘Yeah. It’s fine, you can come in.’

He stepped cautiously inside. Grace was seated at a vanity table, hairdryer still in hand. She had changed into a simple slip nightgown of pale blue silk, and her long hair hung loose across her bare shoulders. She was holding one of her arms close against her body, her expression faintly creased as though in pain; and with a start, Casey noticed the bandage wrapped around her upper arm.

Of course: she was injured at Cauldron Lake, he remembered. He’d treated the wound himself – he’d applied that same bandage to her arm, what seemed like half a lifetime ago. So much has happened since then, he thought. It almost feels… like a dream.

‘Something wrong?’ he asked, moving into her field of view.

‘It’s nothing. More of a nuisance than anything.’ She huffed lightly. ‘The bad arm just makes it difficult to finish drying my hair. It’s still a bit damp at the back, but…’ she shrugged, laying down the hairdryer and peering into the mirror. ‘Maybe Shelly was right, and I should just get it cut short,’ she muttered, as though to herself.

‘Don’t do that.’ Casey reacted even before he had time to think, only hesitating when Grace’s surprised stare found him in the mirror. ‘Your arm will soon heal,’ he added quickly, stumbling over an explanation. ‘It won’t hurt for long. But your hair, it’s…’ he trailed off, gesturing vaguely towards her, feeling his face beginning to redden as he struggled to find the words.

‘You like my hair?’ she asked, smiling as realisation slowly dawned.

‘Yeah. Yeah, I do.’ He moved closer, enjoying the way her eyes brightened as she turned to meet his gaze, waiting for her slight nod before reaching out. Her hair was longer than he’d expected, soft beneath his fingers, and still a little warm from the dryer. In the yellow glow of the table lamp it shone like molten gold. ‘I can help,’ he added, noticing the lingering dampness. ‘If you wanted. I mean, I’m hardly an expert, but…’

Grace’s expression lifted in surprise. ‘If… you’re sure?’

‘Sure, I’m sure.’ Casey accepted the dryer she passed to him. ‘Hold still.’

In truth, it was an easy task. Still, as he finished, he realised just how intimate a thing it was, to help somebody in this way: her long fall of hair, heavy in his hands, warm from the dryer; Grace leaning back into his touch, closing her eyes and trusting him completely. The expanse of her skin was an enticement he found hard to ignore: different now, from the way he’d held her in the shower, watching her breathe her way back into life. Now, her skin felt warm: he knew it was, because he’d accidentally brushed his fingers across her bare shoulder when he gathered up her hair, and even that slight touch had sent desire spiralling hotly through him. He forced down the sensation, resisting the urge to simply fall into her embrace: to bury his head in the warm silk of her hair and lay soft kisses against her neck. The need was so strong within him that his fingers trembled, only for a moment; still, she noticed.

‘Thank you.’ She wrapped her hand around his, smiling. ‘That felt wonderful. Now, at least I won’t catch a chill from sleeping with damp hair, thanks to you.’

‘No thanks needed.’ The words came out too quickly, his voice turned husky with want. He cleared his throat and glanced away. ‘What else do you need?’

‘Nothing else, I think. Just… you.’ Her expression was searching, her grey eyes flickering across his face as though hunting for reassurance. ‘Alex… I know we’ve barely known each other any time, really, but… I don’t know. It feels… longer. Much longer. Like there’s something: a connection, between us. I trust you with my life – and not just because of your job. Because it’s… you.’ She hesitated, biting her lip anxiously, finally meeting his gaze. ‘I know that sounds crazy.’

He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t sound crazy at all. At least, not to me.’ He reached out to reassure her, placing his hands gently on her arms. ‘But I am glad you said that,’ he added quietly. ‘Grace… you’re not imagining things. I feel it too. I’ve been… drawn to you. Ever since we found you at the lake; but before that. When I first saw you, in a dream.’

She nodded, releasing a slow breath of relief, her grey eyes softening as she gazed up at him. ‘I’ve never felt this way about somebody before.’ She laughed awkwardly, half-turning her face away and blushing. ‘I can’t help but feel like… like I’ve been waiting for you, or searching for you, my whole life; but without knowing until now.’

‘And I thought I was the only crazy one here.’ Casey nudged her gently, careful to avoid her bad arm. ‘I couldn’t help but notice… you called me Alex, just now,’ he added, with an impish smile. ‘What, you get tired of my last name all of a sudden?’

She laughed aloud at that, nudging him right back, considerably less gently. ‘Not at all,’ she told him. ‘It’s cute – it suits you. But I figured that after our second life-or-death experience, maybe it’s time we were on first-name terms.’ Her smile faltered for a moment. ‘Is that alright? Or would you prefer I still just call you Casey?’

He laughed softly and shook his head. ‘Don’t sweat it. You could call me anything you damn well please, and I’d still come running.’ He took her hand, running his thumb across the underside of her wrist, pleased by the soft sound she made at his touch. ‘What about you?’ he added. ‘What should I call you?’

At that, she laughed. ‘I should think you know my name by now.’

‘I do.’ He smiled drily. ‘But that’s not what I’m asking.’

‘I know.’ Grace shrugged. ‘I like how you say my name,’ she admitted. ‘It sounds… nice, when you say it. Like a proper lady’s name, you know? You don’t try and shorten it, dumb it down, or make it cute. Like Gracie.’ She pulled a disgusted face at that, causing Casey to snort with laughter.

‘Duly noted. I’m guessing you’re not a fan of that one.’ He drew her closer, wrapping one arm around her waist as she leaned into him with a quiet sigh.

‘Alex… stay with me tonight?’ she murmured. ‘Please?’

He opened his mouth, disbelieving for a moment, reddening at the implication. ‘Grace, I… I’m not here to take advantage of you.’ He touched her cheek lightly. ‘You’re exhausted, and injured. You need rest, not…’

‘No – I didn’t mean that!’ Grace flushed crimson. ‘Sorry – no, I just meant that… I don’t want to be alone. I’m afraid of what’s out there, in the dark.’

‘Right.’ Casey breathed again. ‘Right, of course. I can do that. I’ll, uh… take the sofa.’ He squared his shoulders, trying to sound reassuring. ‘Don’t worry. Nothing’s going to get inside tonight without my say-so; not on my watch.’

‘I know.’ She squeezed his hand gently, sighing in apparent relief; and it was as though the weight of the world had lifted off her shoulders at his words. ‘Thank you,’ she added. ‘For everything.’

‘I told you already, you don’t need to thank me for anything.’ Casey nodded towards the door. ‘Go on. It’s warmer in there, by the fire. I don’t want to see you shivering again.’

She laughed softly, nodding and stepping out of his grasp; and even though he was the one who’d suggested it, Casey’s arms ached at the loss. He shook his head, smiling as she grabbed a large, fluffy-looking blanket and wrapped it over her shoulders like an oversized shawl, before following him out of the room.

‘You hungry?’ She asked him, moving towards the kitchen area. ‘I can’t offer you much, I’m afraid. I bought some fresh food in the town earlier, but I dropped everything when I was running.’ She sighed irritably. ‘I suspect it’s all been spoiled or trampled by now.’

‘Don’t worry. We can get you some more tomorrow, and I’m an easy guy to feed.’ Casey tried to sound reassuring, watching her rummage through the cabin’s mini-freezer. ‘What matters is that you got away before they caught you.’

Grace shrugged, pulling out a couple of frozen pizzas. ‘I mean, technically… I didn’t. One of them grabbed me, just before I reached the lamp. It was a close thing.’

Casey froze for a moment. ‘Fuck. Did they… are you hurt?’ he added quickly, stepping in close and taking both her hands in his, turning them over to check for bruising.

‘I’m alright.’ Grace leaned close for a moment, resting her head against his chest. ‘One the creatures grabbed me. I fell down, tried to kick it away… then I saw the others coming from the trees. I panicked.’ She smiled faintly. ‘There was a bottle of whisky in the shopping bag. I hit the monster with it.’

‘You did… what?’ Casey’s brows lifted in shock. ‘With a whisky bottle?’

‘Yeah. It didn’t seem to do much to hurt it, but it did make it let me go.’ She shivered. ‘I remembered you telling me to get into the light if I was attacked again. Once I was able to get free, I dropped everything and bolted. I didn’t know for certain it would work, but luckily, you were right. The light seemed to blind them, or… damage them, maybe?’

Casey nodded. ‘The light hurts them. Makes them vulnerable.’ He shook his head, half-dismayed, half-admiring. ‘I didn’t think you had it in you,’ he added, laughing softly at the look on her face. ‘Just wait till I tell Anderson you glassed one of the Shaded like you were in some kind of bar brawl. She’ll love that.’

‘Hah.’ Grace huffed a breath of laughter as she slid the frozen pizzas into the oven. ‘I thought you’d be annoyed about the whisky. The bottle broke, unfortunately.’

‘Annoyed?’ Casey frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Because it was yours. I got it for you.’ Grace turned to face him, smiling awkwardly. ‘I wanted to thank you for helping me – you and Saga. The shops here are kind of limited, and you don’t exactly strike me as a flowers or champagne kind of guy. I didn’t know what else to get.’

Casey shook his head in disbelief. ‘Grace… you don’t have to do stuff like that. It’s my job to help people.’

‘I know.’ Grace shrugged, motioning him back towards the sofa. ‘Was I right, though? That you’re a whisky guy?’

‘You were right.’ He smiled drily. ‘Turning detective now, hm?’

She nudged him lightly with her shoulder. ‘Maybe you’re a good influence.’

Casey pulled a wry expression at that. ‘You’re the first person to say that with a straight face.’ He waited until she’d settled beside him on the sofa, still wrapped in the ridiculous blanket, before reaching for the tv remote. He flipped through the limited channels while they waited for the pizzas to cook, eventually settling on some comedy show re-run that seemed to make Grace laugh.

He watched her from the corner of his eye as they ate, feeling the last of the tension easing out of his shoulders at the sight. Her quiet smile and easy laughter were a far cry from how she’d been mere hours ago. He remembered the fear in her eyes; the way she’d clung to him, the same way a drowning man clings to a life-raft. She turned the lights down to a comfortable level after they’d eaten, seeming unwilling to switch them off entirely – which Casey couldn’t exactly blame her for. But in the gentle glow of the lamps and the warmth of the log fire, it seemed that, for now at least, the darkness had released its hold on both of them.

Even so, Grace was unwilling to retire to her room and sleep just yet; so, they stretched out together on the sofa to watch a movie. She’d tucked herself under his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world: like she belonged there. He couldn’t resist glancing down at her every now and again, smiling when he realised that she had fallen asleep on him. Her breathing was slow and even, her expression peaceful. No nightmares seemed to trouble her, despite the horrors of the evening; and Casey couldn’t bring himself to wake her up. Not when sleep came so rarely to either of them, plagued as they both were by bad dreams.

He smiled to himself, reaching over to pull up the oversized blanket so that it covered them both, before closing his eyes and leaning back against the cushions. The television was a low hum in the background, and his gun and flashlight both sat on the side table, within easy reach – just in case. He’d grown accustomed to sleeping with one eye open when he first graduated into the bureau, spending more nights than he cared to count on seemingly endless stake-outs. He’d always been a light sleeper; and if anything so much as rattled the cabin’s shutters, he’d be awake and alert in a heartbeat. With that thought in mind, Casey finally allowed sleep to claim him, lulled into a dreamless slumber by the warmth of the log fire, and the sleeping woman in his arms.

He slept soundly, and without fear, for the rest of the night.

*

The following day dawned bright and clear. Casey woke slowly, blinking against the faint winter light that filtered in through a gap in the shutters. He felt warm, safe, and completely unwilling to move. Grace was in his arms, having curled into him during the night, the two of them slotting easily together on the sofa like two pieces of the same puzzle. He smiled. She had laid her head on his shoulder and slept like an innocent, for all the darkness that had beset them the previous night: as though here, in his arms, had been the safest place in the world where no harm could possibly befall her. Her hair spilled across the blanket in a tumble of messy waves, glimmering in the half-light like a tangle of golden silk. He dipped his head to place a kiss on her bare shoulder, his lips featherlight against her skin: a silent promise. His arm was still curled around her waist, and he shifted his weight slightly, pulling her even closer, sighing in satisfaction as her warmth slid against his skin. The movement seemed to rouse her; she made a soft noise of protest as she stirred, blinking owlishly in the light.

‘What time is it?’ she murmured.

‘Still early,’ he replied softly, pressing another kiss against the top of her head. ‘Go back to sleep.’

‘And miss this beautiful view? I don’t think so,’ she mumbled, blinking up at him with such a sweet and gentle smile that Casey could have sworn he would die for her, right then and there.

‘Not much of a view,’ he replied with a chuckle. ‘Shutters are still closed.’

She hummed at that, still gazing at him. ‘The view’s right here,’ she murmured. ‘I’m busy looking at it.’

He laughed at that, and it was a laughter that seemed to fill his entire body with golden light. Here was the miracle: she was still here, in his arms, and she hadn’t pulled away. Her rain-grey eyes were half-lidded, softened with desire; her lips parted in gentle invitation, and Casey was powerless to resist. He kissed her like a drowning man gasping for air; kissed her with the same fervour that a man in the desert gulps down water. Her hands were against him, and her touch was exquisite; like sunlight and rainwater both. Her lips moved against his, before she shifted to kiss the soft skin at the side of his neck, then the hollow of his throat. The sheer tenderness of it all made the breath come sharply in his lungs; almost painful, the reverence with which her lips pressed against his skin. Her mouth was warm, and he groaned aloud at the sensation of it, unable to prevent the quickening of the blood that pounded through his veins.

‘Grace.’ He whispered her name as though it was a prayer, spoken against the night: as though she herself were something holy. ‘I want… please, don’t stop…’

She sighed against his skin, causing his pulse to leap wildly. ‘I want you too, Casey,’ she murmured. The low hum of her voice sent a thrum of desire through him; almost, it put him on his knees. ‘Alex…’

‘I’m here.’ He lifted his hand to trace her cheek, before dropping it to rest delicately against the side of her neck. Her pulse was fluttering beneath his fingertips as he lingered over the curve of her throat. He dipped his head to place a kiss against her collarbone, nudging lightly at the strap of her nightgown. ‘May I?’ he breathed.

‘Please.’ Her voice was husky, barely above a whisper, and Casey was surprised to hear the hunger in it. He raised his gaze towards her face and saw his own desire mirrored there. Her pupils were blown wide like those of a wild thing, and his own name had never sounded so honey-sweet as it did on her tongue. She kissed him deeply, even as her fingers slipped nimbly beneath the soft fabric of the sweater he had borrowed, skimming across his chest almost before Casey had the chance to register what she’d done. The breath caught in his throat, but her touch was gentle; almost unimaginably so. The drift of her fingertips cast imagined patterns across his flesh that he knew would be forever branded in his skin, and he was helpless to do anything other than respond in kind, slipping down the thin straps of her nightgown and running his hands across her bare shoulders. She sighed softly against his mouth at his touch; she was warm against him, so blessedly warm and alive, and Casey revelled in it. So close he had come to losing her: but she was here, now, and she wanted him. She wanted him; her fingertips slipped across the plane of his belly, coming to rest against the sharp jut of his hips. She hooked a single finger into his waistband and tugged, lightly, until they were pressed hard against one another, and Casey was only too happy to oblige the urgent desire she murmured into his ear.

It was the work of a moment to remove the borrowed clothing, before raising his hands to slip the nightgown fully from her shoulders, tugging it down completely until it lay in a pool of silk on the floor. She shivered beneath his fingertips, gasping as he touched her, tracing her curves, his mouth wet against the warmth of her skin; and the way he finally slipped into her was something Casey knew he would remember for the rest of his days. He groaned aloud as he buried himself in her warmth; she was soft beneath his touch, her head thrown back as quiet moans of pleasure slipped from her lips. He kissed his way down the column of her throat as they moved together, caught in a timeless rhythm like the slow tides that breathe in, out, then in again: movement that quickened until both of them were gasping and breathless. Grace trembled beneath him, and he covered her with his body, shielding her from the eyeless night with his own flesh, his very soul; with everything he had to give. It had been so long since he had loved, and been loved in return, but still, he remembered it. In his bones, he remembered it: and even as he came in a choked-out gasp that sounded very much like Grace’s name, he knew that this woman had branded herself on his soul in a way that nobody else ever had. She cried his name aloud as he finished her; she came with her hands clenched around his biceps, nails digging into his skin, again and again, as the breath heaved from her lungs and her face flushed pink from exertion. They collapsed on the sofa together; Casey rolled over so that Grace could tuck up against him, her head resting on his bicep and her hand splayed on his bare chest, waiting for her breathing to even out.

‘Casey?’

‘Mm?’ He ran a hand through his hair, wincing internally at how wrecked he must look, before glancing down at her with a grin. ‘You okay?’

‘Yeah. Better than okay.’ She was smiling up at him, watching the lift of his expression with a tenderness that Casey had seldom seen. ‘You?’

‘Me?’ He couldn’t help but chuckle. ‘Yeah. I’m good. Real good, in fact.’ He leaned over to place a kiss on top of her head, smiling against the softness of her hair. ‘Do you need anything?’

‘Just you. That was… amazing.’ She shifted her weight, moving closer until she was half-sprawled across him, her head on his chest; and Casey couldn’t help the proud smile that suffused his entire expression.

‘I’m not going anywhere.’ He lifted a hand to stroke her hair, lowering his voice. ‘Sleep some more, if you need to,’ he added. ‘You’ve had a hell of a time of it, these last few days.’

‘So have you,’ she murmured in reply. ‘Unless dealing with supernatural lake monsters and rescuing damsels in distress is just an ordinary day for you…?’

‘Hah.’ He laughed softly. ‘I wouldn’t quite say that. Most days is… paperwork.’ He pulled a face. ‘A lot less exciting than a day in Bright Falls.’

‘Safer, though.’ She shifted to prop herself up on one elbow, arching her back and stretching, releasing a groan of satisfaction. He reached out to touch her, tracing the curve of her shoulder, his fingers lingering over the bandage that still clung to her upper arm.

‘God, you’re beautiful,’ he murmured. He had loved before, of course he had; but not like this. He shook his head in amazement as she sat up, offering him a dazzling smile before running a hand through her hair and laughing.

‘I’m a mess,’ she countered, wincing as her fingers caught in a hidden knot. Her long tangle of golden hair slipped over her shoulder, wild and messy and utterly, utterly perfect. For once, Casey was lost for words as he gazed up at her, haloed in the growing light. I love you, he almost said, but he bit the words back. It was too soon, he knew, for such a lurid confession; no matter that it was true.

‘Breakfast?’ he said instead, pulling himself up against the cushions. ‘Now that we’ve worked up an appetite?’

‘Sure,’ she replied, grinning. ‘What, are you going to cook for me now?’

‘I would, if you hadn’t dropped all the fresh groceries in the snow last night,’ he countered, shaking his head as she laughed aloud. ‘I tell you what – if there’s nothing I can cook here, I’ll buy us both breakfast at the diner. I hear they do great pancakes.’

‘Sounds good to me.’ Grace leaned down, cupping his cheek for a moment before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. ‘I’m going to grab a quick shower. Wait for me?’

‘Always.’ He watched her vanish into the bathroom, before shaking his head and grinning. This was the first time anything like this had happened to him while on a case; and while it wasn’t exactly by the book, Casey couldn’t bring himself to regret a damn thing. In fact, for the first time in a long time, he felt… whole.

Chapter Text

Saga smiled to herself as she stepped inside the Oh Deer Diner, spotting Casey and Grace sitting together at one of the booths. There was nothing obvious in their behaviour – no open displays of affection – but she knew immediately that something had changed. She’d guessed for a while that there was something unspoken between the two: it was one of the reasons she’d insisted that Casey stay behind the previous evening, rather than driving back out to meet her. She’d hoped that by giving them some alone-time, they might finally figure out their feelings for one another. It seemed her intuition had been correct.

She paused before approaching, observing the pair together. Neither one of them had noticed her, yet. Grace was busy adding an ungodly amount of sugar to her coffee, while Casey watched her with a faint expression of horror; coupled with a softness in his eyes that Saga had seldom seen. She watched him push the milk a little closer, so that Grace wouldn’t have to reach for it, offering her a tentative smile as he did so.

‘How was I being so blind?’ Saga murmured to herself. ‘How did I miss this?’ She had so rarely seen Casey appear fully relaxed, particularly in recent years, and truth be told she’d almost forgotten what it looked like. He was a man who held himself apart from the world: observing, rather than participating. It was easy to forget that his near-permanent scowl wasn’t just the way his face was set; and now, watching him speak quietly with Grace, seeing the ease that slipped over his features, Saga cursed herself for not realising sooner. He’d been trying to hide it from her, of course – playing the tough guy, like he always did – but Saga knew that this was different.

She tucked that particular revelation away for now, stowing it safely in her Mind Place to investigate later, before striding towards the booth, raising her hand in greeting. ‘Good morning,’ she said, unable to stop herself from casting a knowing look in Casey’s direction. ‘Sleep well?’

‘Mm-hm.’ Casey’s professional mask slipped back into place immediately. ‘All good here, Anderson. There were no more incidents, once I killed the Shaded coming after Grace.’ He shrugged. ‘Not sure if they just didn’t think to attack the cabin, or whether we just got lucky, but… it was quiet.’

‘Oh?’ Saga couldn’t resist a wicked grin. ‘I guess you really did get lucky last night then, Casey?’ She paused for effect, watching her partner splutter into his coffee, before turning towards Grace, who was blushing. ‘Are you alright?’ she added, her expression softening in sympathy. ‘I don’t mean…. when I spoke to Casey on the phone, he told me you were pretty shaken by the attack. That you were stuck outside for a while, in the snow. Were you injured?’

‘Just a couple of bruises. The cold was the worst.’ Grace shivered at the memory. ‘I’m not sure exactly how long I was out there. I lost track of time pretty quickly. All I remember was just calling, and calling, hoping that eventually I’d be able to get through before my phone battery died. I didn’t know what else to do.’

‘You did the right thing.’ Casey nodded. ‘You stayed in the light until help arrived.’

Saga nodded. ‘What exactly were you doing, out in the woods after sundown?’ she asked curiously. ‘We did warn you that it might be dangerous.’

‘I know.’ Grace pulled a face. ‘Trust me, it wasn’t deliberate. I stayed inside for most of the rest of the day, but in the afternoon… the Sheriff turned up at my door. He asked me to come down to the station with him, to take down a proper statement about the attack at Cauldron Lake.’

‘Sheriff Breaker?’ Saga exchanged a glance with Casey. ‘That seems odd. He didn’t contact either of us for a statement.’

Grace shrugged. ‘He was pretty insistent. I didn’t have a chance to change, or grab a coat; I just got in the car, and he drove me into town. Told me not to worry – that he’d get a deputy to drop me back later. But then…’ she hesitated. ‘The interview was… strange.’

‘Strange how?’ Casey leaned forwards, frowning. ‘What happened?’

‘I thought it wouldn’t take too long, but it was dark by the time we were finished. To be honest, it was pretty dark inside the station as well. When I mentioned it, he said they were having power issues.’ She shook her head. ‘He didn’t seem all that well, to be honest. He repeated himself a few times: asking me the same questions, you know? Like his head was feeling a bit fuzzy.’

‘Hmm.’ Casey shot a knowing glance at Saga. ‘We know that the Sheriff had a, uh… a rough time in the Dark Place, three years back. If the Dark Presence really is staging a comeback, it might be affecting him as well. That could account for any strange behaviour.’

Grace nodded slowly. ‘I figured that he was just… sick. Hungover, maybe – or even the flu. Then, just as I was leaving, he told me he couldn’t spare anybody to drive me back, because they’d just had a corpse come into the morgue that needed urgent processing.’ She glanced between Saga and Casey. ‘I’m guessing this was the body you two went to look at? The one down at the lake?’

Saga frowned thoughtfully. ‘We finished processing that crime scene well before dark. The timing here seems… strange.’

Grace fiddled with the handle of her coffee mug, raising her grey eyes to meet Saga’s gaze. Her expression was uneasy. ‘To be honest, the whole thing put me on edge,’ she admitted. ‘But I just assumed that after everything that’d happened, I was just being paranoid. I ended up going into the general store and picking up a few bits, before heading back. They told me that the path behind the tackle shop was a short-cut up to the cabins, which is why I took it. Then…’ she trailed off and shrugged. ‘Well, you know what happened next.’

Casey shot a puzzled glance at Saga. ‘That’s not procedure. Something about this isn’t right.’

Saga nodded. ‘We’ll talk to the Sheriff later. I still need the autopsy report for our latest murder victim.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m just glad you’re alright, Grace.’

‘I am.’ Grace nodded gratefully, glancing between the FBI agents. ‘Thanks to Agent Casey – again.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘I seem to be making a bad habit of this – being rescued, I mean.’

‘If last night tells us anything, it’s that my suspicions were right,’ Saga replied. ‘You’re being targeted by the Shaded – they came for you all the way up here, away from the lake. Now, all we need to figure out is why.’ She nodded her thanks to Rose as she brought over fresh coffee. ‘I’ve been speaking with Alan,’ she added, lowering her voice and glancing back towards Casey. ‘He says Alice’s plan is almost ready.’

Casey sighed, pushing away his half-empty plate. ‘I don’t trust it, Anderson. There’s something fishy about whatever they’re up to in Watery. I can’t help but feel that creating more stories around this thing is only going to complicate what’s already happening.’

‘It’s not like we can stop them,’ Saga shrugged. ‘Technically, they’re not doing anything illegal by hosting an exhibition.’

Casey snorted incredulously. ‘Tell that to Agent Estevez. I bet she’d have them both in cuffs quicker than you could say paranatural.’ He shot her a look. ‘In fact, I’ve half a mind to call her, and give her a heads-up over all this. You can bet the FBC will be swarming all over this joint the moment Alan tries anything with that damn light-switch.’

‘Light-switch?’ Grace echoed, confusion evident on her face. ‘Are you talking about Alan Wake? The writer?’

‘Yeah.’ Casey nodded. ‘He and Alice Wake are holed up in Watery, the town up the road. They’re up to something big.’ He shot a cautious glance at Saga. ‘Alice said she needed our help,’ he added. ‘To finish her… well, whatever the hell it is she’s doing.’

‘She says it won’t take long,’ Saga replied, helping herself to the remains of the breakfast on Casey’s plate, grinning when he made a small noise of protest. ‘A couple of hours, tops.’

‘Fine.’ Casey glanced back at Grace. Saga watched his expression soften, smiling to herself at the hint of tenderness that appeared for a moment in those ice-blue eyes. ‘Will you be alright on your own for a bit?’ he asked her. ‘We’ll likely be out of cell-service in Watery again.’

‘Don’t worry.’ Grace nodded, touching his arm briefly in reassurance. ‘I’ll be fine, now that it’s daylight; and trust me, I don’t intend to go anywhere near Cauldron Lake.’

‘Good.’ Saga tilted her head to one side, observing the pair carefully. ‘In fact, considering the events of last night: Grace, I’d like to move you into one of the rooms in Elderwood Lodge with us. Temporarily, of course,’ she said, unable to resist throwing another knowing glance at Casey. She smirked at the faint blush that climbed into his cheeks, making a mental note to tease him mercilessly once they were alone. ‘I’ll feel a lot happier knowing you’re safe in the town, until this is sorted,’ she added. ‘Not isolated up in those woods, like before. Especially now we know the Shaded are being drawn to you, for whatever purpose.’

‘I suppose that makes sense.’ Grace only hesitated for a moment, glancing at Casey before nodding. ‘Alright. I must admit, being in the forest doesn’t exactly feel safe anymore.’

‘Good.’ Saga nodded briskly. ‘It’s settled, then. Pack a bag, and we’ll get you set up in the lodge. There’s plenty of spare rooms this time of year; you can take your pick. Once you’re settled, Casey and I will drive back up to Watery.’ She turned her attention back towards her partner, who was scowling into his coffee once more. ‘Come on, Casey,’ she added. ‘We don’t know what Alice has planned for us yet. Who knows, it might be fun!’

Casey pulled a face. ‘You’ve got a strange idea of fun, Anderson,’ he muttered. ‘But I agree that we should try to dig into whatever the Wakes are up to. I’d bet my badge that there’s something going on that we’re not seeing: some big picture that we keep on missing.’

‘Not for long.’ Saga rose to her feet. ‘We’re putting it all together, Casey – and we’re damn well going to get it right this time. You’ll see.’

*

The drive up to Watery was quiet. Casey had been braced for more paranatural horrors to appear on the road before them – but this time, their luck appeared to be in. The air was crisp and sharp, and the forest appeared still and silent beneath a thick blanket of snow. He glanced out of the window as the December chill wrapped itself more tightly around them, turning up the heat in the car and grimacing.

‘Strange to think that it’ll be Christmas soon,’ he muttered. ‘I didn’t think we’d be spending it in Bright Falls, of all places.’

‘We could still solve this thing before then,’ Saga reminded him. ‘Not that the holiday season matters much when it comes to working a case, but… I had hoped to be back in Virginia by then. With Logan, and David. I miss them.’ She paused, throwing Casey a knowing look. ‘It’s good to be with the people you love,’ she added softly. ‘And while I would rather be at home with my family, I get the impression that you’d much rather be here, Casey; despite everything.’

‘Well, I don’t… really, it doesn’t matter where… what matters, Anderson, is solving this case.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘You know I’ve not got much in the way of family,’ he added quietly. ‘Christmas can be a funny time of year, for those of us who are alone.’

‘I know.’ Saga nodded quickly. ‘I’ve told you a million times, Casey: you’re always welcome at ours over the holidays. You’re a part of my family too, now – whether you like it or not!’ She shot him a mock-glare over the steering wheel. ‘I’ll be expecting you over for Christmas dinner at least, if we do get back to the city by then. Logan will miss you if you’re not there.’ She paused for effect, her smile widening. ‘You’re also welcome to bring Grace, if you and she… well, if you want to.’

‘I… well, uh… if you think that’s…’ Casey broke off, clearing his throat awkwardly and glancing away, feeling a flush of heat beginning to climb into his cheeks. Saga’s expression had been far too knowing. ‘If you’re implying what I think you are, Anderson…’

‘I am.’ Saga was grinning, clearly enjoying his discomfort. ‘Come on, Casey. You can’t hide how you feel about her – at least, not from me. I know you too well: it’s written all over your face! In capital letters!’

‘You’ve got a mean streak, Anderson,’ Casey griped; still, he couldn’t resist a rueful smile. ‘Guess I should know better than to try and hide anything from you.’

‘Yeah, you should.’ Saga chuckled. ‘Stop fretting, Casey. I already knew there was a connection between you and Grace. I’ve just been waiting for the two of you to figure it out on your own.’ She shot him a keen glance. ‘So, I was right, then: it’s real?’

Casey cleared his throat again, unable to prevent a slow smile from spreading across his features at the memory of the morning he’d spent with Grace. ‘Yeah. It’s real alright.’ He shook his head. ‘Look, whatever this connection is… Grace confirms she feels it too. She doesn’t understand it either – all I know is…’ he paused, trying to marshal his inner thoughts as best he could. ‘All I know is that I care for her, Anderson. What I’m feeling… it’s real. Not just a… another goddamn story, you know? And as crazy as it sounds, I think that she… she cares for me as well.’

Saga nodded in agreement. ‘Yeah. I get that.’ She glanced over at him fondly. ‘Look, it’s obvious to anybody with eyes that the two of you were attracted to each other from the start. That’s not the weird part.’ She sighed. ‘What’s weird is how you both felt immediately like you recognised one another, as though you were old friends from long ago. You’re certain you’ve never seen or met her before now? Not just in dreams, I mean?’

‘Dead certain, Anderson.’ Casey nodded firmly. ‘She’s only been in the country for the last few years. She grew up in England: spent most of her life there. I’ve never even visited.’

Saga nodded. ‘But despite that, she says that it feels like she knows you. Despite the fact that it’s impossible. As though she knew you in a past life, or something.’ She shot another all-too-knowing glance at Casey, who for once didn’t look away. ‘I’m not saying that what you’re feeling isn’t real,’ she added softly. ‘God knows, you deserve a bit of happiness. I just think there’s more to all of this than we’re seeing. It all connects, somehow. You, me, Alan, Alice, Grace… and the darkness.’ She shivered. ‘It feels like we’re all still waiting for something. For the other shoe to drop.’

‘You’re right about that.’ Casey shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Anderson. This thing with Grace, it’s… good. So good that it worries me. Especially as it’s not exactly happening by the book – in any sense.’

‘Nothing in Bright Falls ever does.’ Saga’s smile dropped for a moment. ‘Honestly, at this point… fuck doing this by the book. I mean it, Casey.’ She shot him a hard look, filled with determination. ‘Even before the FBC intervened to send us back, we were planning on finding a way to return to Bright Falls on our own terms – to try and end this nightmare, once and for all. We know that nothing connected with Cauldon Lake is ever as it seems – so, it stands to reason that everything happening here is… different. In one way or another.’ She shrugged. ‘This town always seems to throw us curve balls, and right now, we could do with a win.’ Her expression softened. ‘Casey, I’ve not seen you smile so much in the last three years as I have in the last two days. That counts as a win, in my book. Besides, I’ve got a hunch that Grace is tied into the centre of this whole thing. Her art might be the key to unlocking this case; so, the most sensible thing we can do right now, is keep her close.’

‘Hmm.’ Casey glanced away, trying and failing to hide the smirk that crept across his face. ‘I think I’ve got that part covered, Anderson.’

‘I bet you have.’ Anderson shot him another mock-glare, before dissolving into laughter. ‘Just be careful, Casey.’

‘Sure.’ He shook his head. ‘Now that she’s moved into the lodge, it’s going to be a lot easier to keep an eye on her – especially as she brought over some art supplies. If the Dark Presence reaches out to her again… if she starts painting weird shit, again… we’ll know right away. Hopefully, quick enough to do something about it.’

‘Exactly.’ Saga peered through the windscreen, slowing the car as they began their approach through the town. ‘Let’s hope that whatever Alice has planned, it might shed a bit more light on things,’ she added. ‘It’s time the Wakes were straight with us about what they’re doing with this new art.’

Casey nodded slowly. ‘You don’t trust them, Anderson?’

Saga shrugged. ‘I trust that they think they’re acting for the best. Whether that’s actually the case… there’s only one way to find out.’

*

The back room of the church had been converted into a photography studio. Casey stepped slowly inside, eyeing the spread of equipment with deep suspicion, following Alice and Alan.

‘I’d already started work on a new Dark series, just before all this began,’ Alice was telling Saga. ‘It leans on portraiture, mostly: double-exposures, that sort of thing. Then, after your visit, I thought… why not tie it all in? Make everything work together?’ She shrugged. ‘It was easier than starting something fresh – quicker, too. It meant we could get everything prepped and packed up to arrive in a matter of days, instead of weeks.’

‘That seems like a bit of a coincidence,’ Casey muttered, blinking beneath the glare of the bright white lights that filled the entire space. ‘Lucky for you, we all just happened to start having nightmares at the same time, huh?’

‘Ever the cynic, Agent Casey,’ replied Alan, smiling tiredly. ‘You’re right, though. We did get lucky. Alice was already working on something tangentially connected with all of this. Whether that was sheer coincidence, or some kind of artistic intuition on her part… we’re not sure.’

Beside him, Alice was nodding. ‘Some weeks ago, I began experimenting with the lamp that Alan brought with him, out of the Dark Place. I found that, in the right circumstances… it still works. It still gives light.’ She placed her palms together and breathed deeply, as though uncertain where to begin. ‘You both know, of course, that things can move between our world and the Dark Place. Thoughts, objects, dreams… people.’

Saga nodded. ‘I still dream about it,’ she admitted. ‘Sometimes I wake up at night and think that I’m still there. Trapped in that room, knowing that Logan was…’ she broke off, shaking her head sharply and breathing deeply. ‘I’m sorry. Please, go on.’

Alice offered her a sympathetic look before continuing. ‘So, based on that knowledge, the light I use for my photography creates shadows that carry… what I call echoes of darkness.’ She glanced between Casey and Saga, making certain they were following along. ‘I work entirely in monochrome: black and white. It shows up the best this way. The lights are brighter, whiter; but the shadows are deeper too. And sometimes…’ she smiled faintly. ‘Sometimes, the shadows carry things with them. Inside them. That’s when the portraits get really interesting.’

‘Interesting how?’ asked Casey, intrigued despite his misgivings.

‘And what exactly do you mean by echoes of darkness?’ added Saga. ‘Please, tell me you haven’t been opening any more Overlaps here in Watery.’

Alice shook her head. ‘It will be easier to show you.’ She beckoned the federal agents forwards. ‘You first, Alex. Take a seat. Let’s see what the light reveals about you, shall we?’

Casey shrugged, glancing at Saga, who nodded. He allowed Alice to push him into a chair and arrange his arms and shoulders so that he was facing the way she wanted: directly towards the camera that had been set up on a tripod, surrounded by even more studio lights. The camera gleamed. He glanced away. There was something about that indifferent, glassy eye he found unsettling. It looked expensive, like most things the Wakes owned. Idly, he found himself wondering just how much this set-up had cost. None of the equipment looked cheap; and there was far too much here to have been packed into the trunk of the single car he’d spotted out back.

‘Almost ready,’ Alice was saying, patting his arm reassuringly. ‘Honestly Alex, you can relax a bit. It’s nothing dangerous.’

‘Easy for you to say.’ He glanced around. He was seated at the centre of a nest of large, white screens: the better to direct the light, Alice was explaining. He watched her slip behind the camera with easy professionalism, peering through the viewfinder and making quick, practiced adjustments. He shifted uncomfortably, thoroughly disliking being the sudden centre of attention. The bright lights and screens seemed to wipe all colour from the world, the same way the moonlight sometimes did; the same way it happened in his dreams. He caught Saga’s eye, and pulled a face. She was standing behind Alice, chuckling at his discomfort; and Casey was almost certain he saw her snap a surreptitious photo on her phone, before tucking it away and paying attention to Alice’s process.

He glanced up. There, behind her, was the light Alice had been taking about: the remains of an old table lamp, shaped like an angel. Its shade was long gone, and the cord had been cut a few inches from the base. There was no switch – no way the lamp could have been plugged in, or connected to any power supply, he realised. Yet somehow, it was glowing. He shot a startled look at Alan, who shrugged.

‘That’s the lamp that the Clicker came from,’ he murmured, in answer to Casey’s look. ‘No, I don’t know how it’s still working either. I find it’s best not to question these things.’

‘Alright, we’re almost set!’ Alice peered out from behind the camera, catching his eye and offering a nod of encouragement. ‘You ready?’

Casey scowled. ‘What exactly do you need me to do?’

‘Just look straight at the camera for me,’ Alice said. ‘Try not to flinch at the light – I’m afraid the flash comes across as pretty bright from where you’re sat.’

‘You’re not gonna tell me to smile?’ he replied drily, attempting to lighten the mood.

‘I would, but I’m worried that your face might crack,’ she replied, grinning. ‘But no: don’t worry about all that. These portraits are designed to catch something… authentic. Something real, something unique – those things that have left their marks on us over time, for better or worse. Those things that linger inside the soul.’ She shrugged. ‘I want you to pull whatever face feels natural to you. If you want to smile, you can. But if you’d rather not, then that’s okay too.’

‘Got it.’ Casey adjusted position slightly in his seat, pulling back his shoulders and trying not to squint against the already too-bright studio lights. Something shifted beneath his skin. The ghost of an old nightmare; a memory of darkness. He pushed the feeling aside and concentrated, focusing on Alice’s camera, allowing his expression to settle naturally. He thought about the feeling of rain on his face; thought about the pale dawn light and the warmth of the spring sunshine. He thought of Grace.

‘Ok, so: three, two, one…’ Alice counted down, pressing something at the same time as the camera flashed. Casey blinked, sunspots dancing in his vision. ‘Fucking hell,’ he muttered. ‘You really weren’t kidding about that flash.’

‘I know, sorry. You’ll be right as rain in a moment.’ Alice beckoned to him apologetically. ‘Now, it’s Saga’s turn!’

Casey moved gladly out of the nest of screens, allowing Anderson to slide into his place. ‘What exactly are you expecting to see in these portraits?’ he asked warily.

Alice shrugged, making some adjustments. ‘Sometimes, there’s nothing. Other times, there are… well, like I said. Echoes of darkness. The things surrounding us that we don’t always see: our thoughts, fears… dreams. The light I use illuminates these things, giving them form and definition, pulling them into this world. It’s not for long – barely a fraction of a second, really – but that’s long enough to be captured on film.’ She smiled triumphantly. ‘Then, once the photos are developed, we can examine them at will. Discover what’s been hiding from us, in the dark.’

‘Like a butterfly: captured and pinned to a board,’ nodded Alan. ‘Held in place by the light.’

‘Exactly. I did something similar to help Alan escape, three years ago. My nightmares caught on film.’ She smiled grimly. ‘How else do you think the bullet of light came to exist?’

She turned back to the camera, making a few more minor adjustments, before taking Saga’s picture. Casey closed his eyes before the flash this time, the bright white light searing red across his closed lids.

‘You work entirely on film, then? Nothing digital at all?’ asked Saga, as she moved out of the camera’s eye. ‘That seems remarkably old-fashioned. From what I’ve heard, developing film is a lengthy process. There’s a lot that can go wrong.’

Alice shrugged. ‘I started out developing my own photos in art college. I know my way around a darkroom. Besides, it feels more authentic, somehow. I did play around with some digital imaging last year, but…’ she shook her head. ‘Film captures the nightmares better,’ she added simply. ‘That’s the goal. The more photos I take, the closer I feel to finding out what’s at the root of all this: what it is that the darkness wants, this time. Why it’s calling to us.’ She sighed, glancing backwards as Alan came to rest a comforting hand on her shoulder, brushing a gentle kiss against her forehead.

‘We’ll figure it out, Alice,’ he promised. ‘We always do. Together.’

‘I know.’ Her smile was a momentary brightness, cutting through the pall of gloom that threatened to settle over the group. ‘I just can’t shake this sense of something… reaching out to me, in my dreams. Someone, or something, that’s beckoning me to come closer. I can’t tell if it’s good or bad, yet. It doesn’t feel like him – like Scratch – this time. It just feels… sad. Lonely. Hurting. Like something reaching out for help.’ She reached up to squeeze Alan’s hand. ‘That’s why Alan offered to write for me again,’ she added softly. ‘To craft something that would go alongside the photographs; to try and put words around what’s captured in the image. To strengthen it.’

‘Hmm.’ Casey was frowning again. ‘I’m not sure I like the idea of that.’

‘Like it or not, it’s already happening,’ Alan shrugged. ‘We’re both still having bad dreams, but ever since we arrived in Washington, they’ve become a lot more vague. The nightmares we had before were awful – but at least they made sense! These are just fucking frustrating.’ He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head irritably. ‘There’s got to be more to it. When I wake up, all I remember are… flashes. Images of places that I half-recognise, but can’t put a name to – well, except for Cauldron Lake.’ He shivered. ‘There’s darkness in the water again.’

Alice was nodding in agreement. ‘It’s only to be expected, I suppose. But there’s also this strange sense of urgency, in the dreams. Like we’re needed there, desperately. As though something bad is happening, right now – or it’s already happened…’

‘…Or, it will happen. In the near future.’ Alan finished off her sentence, nodding grimly. ‘Time moves differently in the Dark Place. To me, it feels like… like something important is happening there. Something new. A catalyst. Some fresh work of art, perhaps – something that’s bleeding into reality, seeping through slowly, like blood through a tourniquet. I just don’t know what – yet.’

Saga was frowning. ‘But why now?’ she muttered, as though to herself. ‘And why us? We defeated the darkness the last time. You’d think that we’d be the last people it would want to entice back to Cauldron Lake. Yet here we are. All four of us.’ She glanced around, meeting Casey’s gaze with a calculating expression of her own. ‘It doesn’t add up.’

Alice shrugged. ‘These last few photographs might help. If they turn out right, then something will be revealed. I don’t know what, yet. But they could be the final piece of our puzzle. Whatever I can capture on film, whatever’s been hiding from us, in the dark… it might give us more clues as to why Cauldron Lake is still haunting us. All of us.’ She nodded decisively. ‘I want to take some more photos. This time, I want all of you in frame. This might be the key to seeing the completed picture – or as close to it as I can get.’

‘Then let’s not waste any more time.’ Casey nodded, sighing resignedly. ‘We’re in your hands, Alice. Show us what you need.’

She nodded, motioning him to step back while she switched out the camera lenses. He moved to stand beside Alan, who fixed him with an appraising expression. ‘Thanks for this,’ he said quietly. ‘I know it’s fucked up – the whole situation. And… I know that coming back here and dealing with this shit again is probably the last thing you wanted to do.’ He shook his head, laughing bitterly. ‘Honestly, if I were in your shoes, I’d be long gone by now. Being back in Bright Falls… it must be hell.’

‘Mm.’ Casey nodded slowly. ‘It’s been… interesting.’ He pursed his lips, scowling to avoid showing any signs of his inner thought on his expression. In truth, there was nowhere else he’d rather be. Despite the darkness, doubt, and fear, despite all the danger; and despite the seemingly never-ending stream of horrors emerging from Cauldron Lake… he’d also found a strength he thought had long since deserted him. He’d found peace, of a kind. He’d found…

‘…The woman from your dreams?’ Alan was asking him a question. He’d missed the first part, lost in his own thoughts. ‘The painter lady – the other person who’s been dragged into this fucking mess. Once I’d heard you found out her name, and that she was here, in Washington, I wanted to go and see her. To find out what she’s like; to see if I could help uncover what’s going on with those paintings, but Alice said not to. She thinks it could be dangerous for either of us to go back into Bright Falls – until the time is right. Until her photos are ready.’ He nudged Casey encouragingly. ‘So, what’s she like?’

‘Grace?’ Casey cleared his throat, casting a quizzical expression at the writer. ‘She’s… nice.’

‘Nice?’ Alan raised a disbelieving eyebrow. ‘Is that your professional opinion, Agent Casey?’

‘It’s… fucking hell, Wake. What the hell do you want me to say?’ Casey shook his head, running a hand across his hair. ‘She was damn near murdered again last night. Stuck out in the woods, all alone. It’s a miracle I was able to get to her in time.’ He shot Alan a glare. ‘That fucking problem with the phone signal. Any news on when that’s getting fixed?’

‘Shit. That’s completely fucking awful.’ Alan shook his head. ‘I guess we’re just lucky Alice found that painting.’ He hesitated. ‘That’s what saved her, wasn’t it? You went haring off after we found it. Then, when you didn’t come back, Saga assumed that something bad had happened.’

Casey shrugged. ‘She’s alright now. That’s all that matters.’ He reached for his phone out of habit, sighing when he saw the No Signal sign. ‘Damn it, Alan. I just want to get this over with. I’ve got a bad feeling about all of… this.’ He gestured vaguely towards the photography set-up.

‘Me too,’ Alan replied, lowering his voice so far that Casey had to strain to hear him. ‘All of this, Casey… it’s fucked up. I hate it all – but I know we’re doing the right thing, trying to end this. It might seem like a mess at the moment, but… I trust Alice. I trust her plan.’

Casey nodded slowly. ‘I guess we’ve got no other choice, for now.’ He straightened up, smoothing a hand down his jacket as Alice beckoned them both back towards the camera. ‘Come on. Let’s get this over with.’

Chapter Text

Casey kept an eye on his phone as they drove back to Bright Falls. Alice had informed them that it’d take her some time to get all of the photographs properly developed; so instead of waiting around, the pair had opted to return to the town with all speed. Casey sighed irritably, ignoring the scenery that sped past the window, glaring at his phone screen and waiting for signal bars to appear. He hated being out of touch with the rest of the world. It made him feel oddly vulnerable. Beside him, Saga sighed, casting an exasperated look in his direction.

‘We’ve barely been gone a couple of hours,’ she reminded him. ‘It’s also broad daylight! Grace said she planned to stay safely inside the lodge all day. She knows better than to wander off alone and get into trouble.’

‘That’s what we thought last time; and look what happened.’ Casey grimaced, eyes still locked on his phone screen. ‘That woman attracts trouble like a magnet.’ He breathed a quiet sigh of relief when the signal bars finally appeared. He waited, but there was no missed call from Grace. No voice-message. No text. He pursed his lips, trying to ignore the faint sense of unease that stirred inside him.

No news is good news, he tried to tell himself. It doesn’t matter that she hasn’t called. She knows we’re working. Most likely, she doesn’t want to distract me from the case. He glanced over at Saga. Her dark eyes were locked on the road ahead, glaring as though the forest itself had personally offended her. He frowned. He might not have Saga’s Mind Place techniques to fall back on, but he knew his partner well enough to tell when she was worried.

‘You’re driving pretty fast, Anderson,’ he observed quietly, watching the speedometer climb. ‘Something on your mind?’

She shook her head. ‘Just a hunch. I want to get back to Bright Falls. I’ve got a feeling we’re needed there.’

‘Alright.’ Casey nodded, feeling a prickle of worry ease its way up his spine. ‘I trust your gut, Anderson. Step on it.’ He lifted the phone and dialled Grace. ‘Maybe she can tell us if something’s happened in the town,’ he muttered, frowning as the call continued to ring. ‘Damn it, why isn’t she picking up?’

He broke off with a sharp intake of breath. The call finally connected; but the voice on the end of the line wasn’t the one he’d expected to hear.

‘Alex Casey? Is that really you?’ It was Agent Estevez who answered the phone, her voice sharp and professional. ‘It’s about time I got hold of you. Are you with Anderson?’

‘Kiran?’ His brows shot up in surprise. ‘What the fuck are you doing? Why do you have Grace’s phone?’ Panic flared inside him for a moment, skittering like an insect across his skin. ‘Is she okay? What’s happened?’

‘We’re here to find you,’ she replied. ‘I couldn’t get through to you or Saga, so I came straight to the lodge. We found the parautilitarian here; my agents are taking her directly into FBC custody. I saw your name pop up on her phone, so I answered it. I figured you and Anderson can fill in the blanks as to what’s going on.’

‘The – what?’ Casey’s voice snapped into a low growl. ‘No. You’ve made a mistake, Kiran.’ He threw a swift look at Saga, who needed no prompting at all to step on the gas. The car surged forwards. ‘Look – just hold your horses,’ he added, trying and failing to keep the anger out of his voice. ‘Grace Hart is on our side. She’s been helping us with our inquiries. Don’t let your fucking people take her anywhere, alright?’

‘Alright.’ Estevez seemed surprised by the vehemence in his voice. ‘I assume you’re on your way back. We’ll wait for you at the lodge – you can fill me in.’

Casey nodded, glancing back at Saga. ‘Sit tight: we’ll be there soon. Tell Grace I’m on my way.’

‘I… okay. If you insist.’ Agent Estevez sighed. ‘Talk to you soon, Alex.’

The line cut off. Casey swore violently, slamming his hand on the dash. ‘The fucking FBC are here already. Kiran wants to take Grace into custody for being a parautilitarian.’

Saga rolled her eyes. ‘That’s not right. We don’t know that she actually is a parautilitarian; not for certain. I don’t think she even knows what she’s doing. Nothing she’s painted so far has been deliberately done to alter reality – not like Wake’s writing was, before. He was fighting reality at every step, creating story after story, trying to write his way out of disaster. Grace seems driven by something else – by some outside influence. By the same thing that’s been haunting all of us.’ She shot Casey a reassuring look. ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure we can get this straightened out with Agent Estevez. She’s not unreasonable.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Casey scowled ferociously, his previous good mood long gone. Anger yawned wide in the pit of his gut, opening blackened jaws and baring its savage teeth. ‘Fucking hell, Anderson. We’ve barely been in Watery a couple of hours, and suddenly all hell breaks loose.’

‘I know,’ Saga replied quickly. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll sort this out, Casey. I want to know exactly what the FBC think they’re playing at. Alan swears he hasn’t used the Clicker yet: not on anything connected with Alice’s new art. That’s all still unfinished. We saw it ourselves.’ She sighed deeply. ‘So, why are they here? And why now?’

*

It wasn’t long until they arrived back in Bright Falls. Casey narrowed his eyes as they pulled up to the lodge, immediately spotting the black government vehicles parked outside. He shot Anderson a look. ‘Not exactly subtle, are they?’

Saga nodded. ‘It’s time we got some answers,’ she muttered, slamming the car door and striding towards the entrance.

‘Hey.’ Agent Estevez was waiting for them at the door. Her expression was stern and professional as usual, her hair pulled back into its customary twist. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes, both of you. I’ve been calling for hours.’

‘We were investigating in Watery,’ Saga replied shortly. ‘There’s no cell service across the entire town right now. Storm damage, apparently.’

‘That’s a nuisance.’ Estevez nodded. ‘Well, you’re here now. Want to catch me up on just what the hell is going on this time around?’

‘First, you tell me exactly what you’ve done with Miss Hart,’ snapped Casey. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve already marched her off to a cell somewhere. She’s done nothing wrong.’

‘She’s inside. My agents are with her.’ Kiran leaned back against the doorframe, crossing her arms and fixing him with an appraising stare. ‘After you yelled at me down the phone, I figured it’d be better to wait until you both got here, before proceeding,’ she added. ‘What’s rattled your cage, Alex? What’s going on?’

‘We’ll fill you in,’ Saga promised. ‘But the first thing you should know is that we don’t think Grace Hart is a parautilitarian. Twice now, we’ve had to protect her from the Shaded threat, and while her paintings are certainly tied into what’s happening, we don’t believe she’s been consciously influencing reality. There’s someone behind this who’s been pulling all our strings: something that’s been influencing her art.’ Saga glanced sideways as Casey shifted impatiently beside her. ‘We moved her into the lodge for protection,’ she added. ‘We think the Dark Presence has been… hunting her. We’re just not sure why.’

Estevez frowned. ‘Well, that throws a different light on things.’ She sighed, glancing back at Casey and nodding. ‘Come on then. Inside, both of you.’

Casey clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the anxiety that was uncoiling in the pit of his stomach as they followed Agent Estevez into the lodge. ‘I see you lot have already made yourselves at home,’ he muttered, eyeing the bulky storage boxes and document folders that had been piled up on the main table. ‘Where’s Miss Hart?’

He moved quickly, following Kiran’s gesture, stalking past a pair of FBC agents and directing his coldest glare at the one guarding the door. ‘Move,’ he growled.

At Kiran’s nod, the agent stepped aside. Casey shoved past, almost shouldering the door open in his haste. ‘Grace? Grace!’

She was there. Relief washed over him in a terrible wave, crashing through him as, heedless of the watching eyes of the FBC, he tugged her into a fierce embrace. Adrenaline was pounding through his veins as she gave a muffled sob of relief, gasping out his name and pressing her hands against his chest, over his heart. Belatedly, he realised she wasn’t returning his embrace; at the same time, he felt the cold press of metal through his shirt. He raised his head. She was in handcuffs.

‘What the…?’ He reached down to touch them. Her grey eyes were wide and frightened, her tearstained expression a wordless cry for help. Casey squeezed her hand briefly, trying to give her a reassuring nod; but his expression twisted beneath the sudden weight of rage that pitched into his chest, unfurling like black wings in the night. The breath hitched in her throat, the small sound of her misery suddenly loud against the roaring tide of anger pounding in his ears. He thought for a moment of the Dark Presence: the cloud of wrath that had descended on him, the terrible rage that had beat against his skin with an awful, physical force. The ghost of it rose up inside him: an echo of darkness. The darkness that had once possessed him; the same monstrous darkness that was being drawn back to the surface by his own fierce anger. He clenched his jaw tightly, trying to breathe. He couldn’t afford to lose control: not here. Not now.

‘Get these things off her,’ he snarled, turning on his heel and glaring at the FBC agents. ‘Get them off, now.’

Estevez appeared in the doorway. ‘Easy, Alex. I give the orders to my people – not you.’

Casey fixed her with an icy stare. ‘Then you order them, Kiran. Fucking hell – she’s not a criminal!’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘I thought better of you than this. You know who she is – she’s important.’

Estevez shrugged. ‘Per FBC protocol, we’re obliged to take all possible parautilitarians into custody as soon as we are able. These protocols exist for a reason, Alex. If we take her in now, we might prevent this AWE from spreading any further.’

‘Over my dead body.’ Casey clenched his fists, shifting his weight, ready for a fight. ‘With all due respect Kiran, fuck your protocols. She’s not the parautilitarian – she’s not the danger here!’

‘Agreed.’ Saga moved to stand beside Casey, folding her arms and levelling a glare at the other agents. ‘Miss Hart is currently assisting with our investigation. She’s under FBI protection: under Agent Casey’s personal protection,’ she added. ‘Nobody here is taking her anywhere she doesn’t want to go.’

Casey nodded. ‘I didn’t save her life last night for the FBC to swoop in like a pack of vultures,’ he gritted out. ‘I’ve read your fucking files. Reports on the Lake House, from before. About the experiments that happened there – under your watch.’ He levelled a stormy glare at Kiran’s agents, who suddenly looked terribly uncomfortable. A muscle flickered in his clenched jaw. ‘I won’t let you take her away.’

Kiran’s expression stiffened. ‘That’s not… that isn’t what would happen.’ She shook her head. ‘This fucking Cauldron Lake threshold,’ she muttered. ‘Every few years, something new pops out of it, and serves us a fresh batch of piping-hot hell on toast.’ She glared at Casey, who had moved to stand protectively in front of Grace. ‘Fucking hell, Alex. Look, I’ll admit it: the Marmonts were running brutal experiments. We… I didn’t know the turn their research had taken until it was too late; and it killed them. That sort of thing won’t happen again. But protocol states…’

‘No. Casey’s right – fuck your protocol. This is our case,’ Saga interrupted. ‘The FBC tried to take over last time, and it was a shit-show. Let us handle this, Estevez. We know what’s going on here – and we have a plan.’ She glanced between Kiran and Casey, who were both still glaring at each other like cats with their hackles up. ‘For fuck’s sake: cut it out, you two!’ she snapped. ‘We’re supposed to be on the same damn side here!’

‘Shit. You’re right.’ Kiran shook her head, glancing away and shrugging apologetically. ‘Things have gotten a little intense recently at HQ. This situation… isn’t as fucked as I expected it to be, actually.’ She smiled grimly. ‘That makes a nice surprise, for a change.’ She breathed deeply, her expression softening as she nodded towards one of her agents. ‘Get the damn cuffs off her. There’s obviously more to this than we figured.’

The man stepped forwards. Casey made a low, discontented noise in his throat, but moved aside nonetheless, allowing the agent to release Grace’s handcuffs. As soon as her hands were free, she threw her arms around him. He breathed deeply, sighing in relief and closing his eyes briefly as her warm weight crashed against his chest, wrapping an arm protectively around her waist. ‘You okay?’ he muttered, ignoring the surprised stares from the other agents. ‘Did they hurt you at all?’

‘No.’ She shook her head, wiping her eyes and trying to smile. ‘They were actually very nice, except for the whole, uh… handcuffs thing. I did try to call you, but they took my phone.’

‘I know.’ He squeezed her arm comfortingly, before letting go and standing back. ‘Don’t worry. Kiran’s an old friend.’ He glanced back up at Estevez, who was watching him with wary amusement. ‘She’s a stern old stick; but a damn good agent.’

‘Hah.’ Estevez huffed a breath of laughter and shook her head. ‘Thanks, I guess.’ She uncrossed her arms and stepped forwards, smiling slightly and offering her hand in truce. ‘Let’s try this again. Agent Kiran Estevez, Federal Bureau of Control. Don’t worry, I won’t try and arrest you this time.’

‘Grace Hart. Nice to meet you.’ Casey watched carefully as Grace shook Kiran’s hand, her expression lighting in recognition. ‘Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I recognise you.’ She glanced awkwardly back at Casey, who nodded. ‘I think I’ve seen you in my dreams too – alongside Saga, and Casey.’

Casey had to give her credit: Kiran barely even blinked. ‘I guess Cauldron Lake is still full of surprises,’ she replied. ‘I tell you what – my people will fetch us all some coffee, and you can fill me in.’ Her expression flickered, a smile twitching at the corners of her lips. ‘I suppose it’s too much to hope that they were good dreams; or at least naughty ones?’

The tension in the room finally broke as Grace laughed out loud. Casey found himself shaking his head at Kiran’s bad joke, trying to repress a smile. ‘Fucking hell, Kiran,’ he muttered. ‘Talk about cutting to the chase.’

Estevez shrugged, a hint of mischief glinting in her dark eyes. ‘It seemed a fair question to ask, Alex. Especially considering that you two clearly have a relationship.’ She arced a single, elegant eyebrow. ‘I need to know exactly what’s going on here if I’m going to help, Alex. No ifs, buts, or maybes.’

‘We’ll tell you everything,’ Casey promised. ‘Anderson’s got a case-board set up. We’ll start there, once the coffee arrives.’ He hesitated. ‘What the hell are you even doing here?’ he added. ‘I was planning on calling you after we returned from Watery – but it looks like you beat us to the punch.’

Estevez shrugged. ‘We received an alert from the monitoring station yesterday afternoon. The one down at Cauldron Lake. It reported an AWE in progress. Since I was present at the last incident in Bright Falls, I was assigned to the case.’

‘Yesterday?’ Saga was frowning. ‘That can’t be right.’ She met Casey’s surprised stare. ‘Something’s very fucking wrong here, Estevez. The timings don’t add up.’

‘Alright.’ Kiran nodded. ‘It’s time we compared notes, then.’ She hesitated. ‘Any other bombshells you want to drop on me, before we get started?’

‘Just one.’ Casey exchanged loaded glances with Saga. ‘There’s something you should know. Somebody else who’s returned to Washington as well.’

‘Who?’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘No way,’ she added, glancing between them as Saga laughed. ‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Not him – not again?’

‘Yeah.’ Casey smiled grimly. ‘It’s Alan Wake.’

*

It was a long tale to tell. Dusk was already painting the sky in shades of pearl and lilac by the time Saga and Casey had finished laying out everything they’d learned over the course of their investigation. Estevez and her agents appeared to be taking everything in their stride, seemingly unsurprised at the news of a fresh tide of darkness seeping into reality from the shores of Cauldron Lake.

‘We knew it was only a matter of time before this threshold began acting up again. We’ve never been able to seal it off completely. There’s just too much power here.’ Estevez sighed. ‘The most we can usually do is just… manage it. Contain the outbreaks as much as we can. Try to keep people safe.’

Saga nodded. ‘This is why we’re going along with Alice Wake’s plan. She seems to think that she and Alan have come up with a way to destroy the Dark Presence for good this time. I don’t know if she’s right or not, but… I think it’s worth a shot.’

‘Agreed.’ Kiran smiled grimly. ‘Look, Anderson… I can’t pretend that I like this. But for what it’s worth… I’m with you.’ She met Saga’s surprised expression with a steely glare of her own. ‘Every time we get called in to Bright Falls, we lose people,’ she added. Her voice softened for a moment in grief. ‘The last time… my whole team was murdered. My agents – my people.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I am sick and fucking tired of losing good people to this goddamn Cauldron Lake threshold. I don’t want to have to write any more condolences letters to grieving families on the drive home. Every time, it kills me.’ She shook her head, glancing around at the other FBC agents, who were all looking equally as determined. ‘We know the risks,’ she added quietly. ‘We all know exactly what we might be getting into. But if there is a chance that we really can stop this… that we can end the fucking horror in the lake, for good… then Saga, I will get you every damn bureau resource I can lay my hands on; and that’s a promise.’

Saga nodded solemnly. ‘Thank you.’ She frowned, glancing pensively around. ‘We can’t go much further with this until we hear from Alan and Alice; still, there are a few things we can get on with while we wait. Estevez, I’d like your people to see if they can update our case board. We’ve done the best we can, but I know the FBC has access to classified files. Anything you can find, any new connection, might be relevant: no matter how small or strange it might seem.’

‘We can do that.’ Estevez stood up and stretched. ‘I also think we should take a look into the communications black-out around Watery. It seems too well-timed with our arrival to be a coincidence.’ She nodded at one of her agents. ‘See if you can set up a temporary cell tower on the edge of town: something that’ll boost the signal around Bright Falls. With any luck, it’ll cover Watery and the surrounding area.’

‘That sounds good.’ Saga smiled, her expression softening as she glanced back at Casey and Grace. Her partner had been quiet for some time, observing the proceedings with a cool, calculating expression she knew well: his professional mask, firmly in place. She watched Grace touch his forearm lightly: a silent plea for reassurance. He moved his hand to cover hers immediately, giving it a small, comforting squeeze.

‘Hey.’ She moved closer, beckoning to Grace. ‘Miss Hart, I’d like your help with something too, if you feel up to it?’

‘Of course.’ Grace’s expression brightened. ‘I want to help. What do you need?’

‘We’ve still got the paintings you gave us in the car. The ones you did that show scenes of what you saw in your nightmares.’ She glanced over at Casey, who nodded. ‘Now seems like a good time to go through some of them, while we’re all here together. See if there’s anything we recognise – anything that might give us a clue as to what we could be facing next.’

‘I’ll get them.’ Casey rose to his feet. ‘Wait here.’

Saga nodded, catching Grace’s eye as her partner stepped outside. ‘Are you really okay?’ she asked, lowering her voice. ‘I know this has been a lot to take in.’

Grace shook her head, her eyes downcast. ‘I… I’m doing my best. But this is all so unfamiliar to me. You’re all trained for this, and I’m just… trying to keep my head above water.’ She offered Saga an awkward smile. ‘But there was something I wanted to ask you, actually.’

‘Oh?’ Saga smiled. ‘Go ahead. Is it about the case?’

‘Not exactly.’ Grace shook her head, taking a deep breath. ‘Last night… well, you know what happened. Casey saved me, again. I was so frightened – I’ve never felt so helpless. I never want to feel that way again.’ She clenched her jaw. ‘I know that this isn’t over. From what you and Agent Estevez were saying… it sounds like it’s only just begun. So, I wanted to ask: can you teach me how to use a gun?’

‘What?’ Saga raised her brows in amazement. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah.’ Grace nodded firmly. ‘Just the basics – just so that I don’t pick one up and immediately shoot myself in the foot,’ she added, with a faint breath of laughter. ‘I grew up in England, we don’t have guns there – I’ve never shot anything in my life,’ she added. ‘But I want to help – and I don’t want to feel so helpless anymore.’

Saga nodded slowly. ‘Alright. I can show you, after we’re done here. I’ve got a spare pistol in the car that you can use.’ She smiled. ‘But from Casey’s account, you’re not exactly helpless,’ she added. ‘Something about you attacking one of the Shaded with a whisky bottle…?’

Grace laughed at that. ‘He makes it sound much cooler than it actually was,’ she replied drily. ‘It was more terrified instinct than anything else. I’m pretty sure it didn’t do a damn thing to the creature, either.’

Saga chuckled. ‘No matter. It bought you valuable seconds to escape. Sometimes, that’s all you need.’ She glanced up, pursing her lips as the lodge door swung open, admitting her partner back inside. ‘Casey’s going to have an aneurism over this,’ she added under her breath. ‘You know all he wants is to protect you.’

‘I know.’ Grace’s smile softened. ‘He’s a good man.’

‘Yeah. He is.’ Saga’s grin widened as Casey arrived at the table, with snow in his hair and the art folders tucked neatly under his arm. He glanced between the two women, his expression creasing in immediate suspicion.

‘You’re talking about me.’ He scowled. ‘Anderson, if you’ve been telling her any embarrassing stories…’

‘Not yet.’ Saga laughed. ‘I’ll save those for when this is all over, and we can all get a drink at the bar together. It’ll be something to look forward to.’

‘For you, maybe.’ Casey grimaced, his expression softening as he caught Grace’s eye. ‘Something wrong?’

‘Nothing. I was just asking Saga for a favour. That’s all.’ Grace held out her hands for the artwork. ‘Come on. Let’s see if I can help you, for a change.’

They began to lay out the paintings on the table, spreading them out in rough chronological order. Estevez joined them, examining each work of art with a curious expression. ‘This isn’t exactly what I expected,’ she told them. ‘These are very different to the paintings they were studying at the Lake House.’ She caught Saga’s eye and shrugged. ‘It’s certainly an unconventional lead,’ she added. ‘But you’re right: we can’t afford to ignore anything that might give us an edge. Miss Hart, can you explain some of these to us? Are there any more details you can provide that might help?’

Grace nodded. ‘I can try. It’s strange: some things from these dreams have stuck in my mind so vividly that I don’t think I’ll ever forget them. With others… it’s like trying to hold smoke in your hands. The more I try and remember it, the faster it all fades away.’

Casey nodded in sympathy. ‘I know that feeling,’ he muttered. ‘It’s always the worst parts that stay with you. The darkest, nastiest elements.’

Saga shot him a warning look. ‘Can you give us an example, Grace?’

‘Sure. This one here…’ Grace reached over, pulling out a painting that looked like a simple scene of a city street at night. The sky was dark, without moon or stars, and the only colour came from the glowing street signs that lit up the painted buildings, which all seemed jumbled awkwardly together; as though there were too many for her to fit on the same piece of paper. There was rain in the air. Here and there, reflected light glittered on the pavement. Beside one of the buildings stood a single painted figure, silhouetted in neon green, with two other half-shapes seemingly hiding in the building’s shadow.

‘This one is strange,’ Grace murmured, tapping the painting thoughtfully. ‘It’s like… half a memory, you know? All I had was a sense of place, and a sense of… well, a sense of loss. Of loneliness. In this dream, I wasn’t just an observer. I was there, in the streets: and so were you,’ she added, pointing towards Casey. ‘But it was weird. It was like there was two of you. A real one and a reflection, staring at one another, across a pool of black water like spilled ink; with the wetness of rain in the air, and under a black sky that seemed… oppressive, somehow. Like it was coming closer.’ She shivered. ‘You know how dreams can be strange.’

‘I get that.’ Casey frowned. ‘That seems… unsettling. But I’m not sure how it helps us.’ He stared down at the painting. He didn’t recognise the setting. In fact, it seemed an almost generic city-scape, if he was being honest: much like the views of New York at night that were sold to tourists on cheap postcards. He turned to remark as such to Saga, but paused at the sight of her expression. She was good at hiding her emotions – having a decent poker-face was part of the job, and one night with her at the casino had made Casey swear off playing cards for good – but now, she was staring down at the painting with her brow furrowed, and her dark eyes shining.

‘I know this,’ she muttered. ‘I’ve seen this place before.’

‘I haven’t.’ Grace shrugged apologetically. ‘Not in the waking world, at least.’

Casey frowned as suspicion rose into his mind like a tide of black water. ‘Anderson, is that what I think it is?’ he muttered. ‘Is that the Dark Place?’

‘I think so.’ Saga nodded, raising her eyes to meet Estevez’s curious gaze. ‘It does seem familiar, but trying to pin the memory down feels… impossible. Like it keeps slipping out of my grasp. Almost as though something is deliberately keeping it away.’ She frowned. ‘Let’s keep looking. Grace, can you take us through another one?’ She pointed towards one of the earlier paintings. ‘This looks a lot like the forest just outside Bright Falls. I think I recognise the bridge.’

‘That was from a nightmare.’ Grace shrugged. ‘I was being chased.’

‘By someone? Or something?’ asked Estevez, her eyes narrowed. ‘Was it a human doing the chasing, or something paranatural?’

‘Something,’ replied Grace firmly. ‘It was… a shadow. Something dark and angry and twisted. Like a monster made of smoke.’ She shivered. ‘I can remember the sound of it crashing through the trees, coming nearer and nearer…’ she broke off and shook her head. ‘It came at me in the woods, and I just remember… fear. A terrible, terrible fear; pain, and then just… darkness. As though the nightmare had swallowed me whole.’

‘Fuck.’ Casey looked up, meeting Saga’s startled gaze. ‘Anderson, that’s my nightmare. That’s my memory, from three years ago.’

‘What?’ Grace blurted out, staring up at Casey with horror in her eyes. ‘That was real? That actually happened?’

‘Yeah. Or something like it, at least.’ Casey scowled, adjusting his tie to try and shift some of the anxiety that had settled at the base of his throat. ‘It was just before the FBC showed up, last time,’ he added, nodding at Kiran. ‘When you arrested Wake, and Ilmo Koskela. The cult had attacked us, and we were chasing them down; and the Dark Presence was chasing me as well. It knocked me out. I’m not sure what happened after.’

‘I remember that incident.’ Estevez was nodding. ‘My people found you passed out in the woods after the attack. Anderson told us you were MIA, so we went looking. We brought you back to the Sheriff’s station, where we were holding Wake; then all hell broke loose.’

Casey bit his lip, holding Grace’s worried gaze. ‘I knew we were having some of the same dreams,’ he told her. ‘But I don’t know how the hell you got to seeing my memories in your nightmares.’ He shook his head. I wouldn’t wish that memory on anyone, he thought to himself. No wonder she hasn’t been sleeping – no wonder she thought she might be losing her mind. He knew just how real the fear could feel, even in a dream: knew exactly the flavour of terror that particular memory held. He reached across the table for her hand, frowning as her fingers closed around his like a vice. She was frightened, he realised: and with good cause.

‘…If only Tor and Odin were still here,’ Saga was saying, her expression thoughtful. ‘I’m sure they’d help us make more sense of it all. These dreams, I mean.’

‘The two golden oldies?’ Casey grimaced. ‘You might be right. But I bet we’d only get a bunch of half-truths and cryptic symbolism out of them at this stage. That, and a bottle or two of bootlegged moonshine.’

Saga chuckled fondly. ‘You’re not wrong there. It’s strange: I only knew them for a few days, but… I still miss them.’ Her brow furrowed in concentration. ‘My memory of the Dark Place is pretty hazy,’ she added. ‘But I know I saw them both there. I spoke to them. They helped me to find the way out, but then they just… stayed behind. I wish I knew why.’

Casey shrugged. ‘It strikes me that those two knew a lot more than they were letting on, back then. I wouldn’t be surprised if they popped up again, somewhere unexpected.’

‘I guess we’ll have to wait and see.’ Saga sighed, turning back towards the table and pulling out another painting. Casey found himself increasingly a bystander in the proceedings, watching Saga, Grace, and Kiran painstakingly going through every single work of art that Grace had brought them. He pulled out his notepad and began jotting things down, knowing that with such a sudden influx of new information, he likely wouldn’t remember everything. Names, dates, concepts: he wrote down as much as he could, leaving the majority of the questions to Saga and Kiran, only interjecting when he recognised a specific scene. Some of the paintings, he didn’t recognise at all. Others were hauntingly familiar.

‘There. That’s the last one.’ Grace nodded firmly, laying the final painting on top of the stack. She appeared to have been completely drained by the process, leaning back in her chair and passing a hand across her face. Casey reached over to give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, noticing the bruises that had begun to paint themselves beneath her eyes.

‘You did great,’ he told her. ‘Rest a moment. I’ll fix you some coffee.’

‘You’re sure?’ Grace smiled; a tight, exhausted little smile that nevertheless brought an answering one to Casey’s face. ‘Thank you, Casey. That’s sweet of you.’

He cleared his throat awkwardly, determinedly avoiding Saga’s knowing gaze. ‘Don’t mention it,’ he muttered, turning his back on the table and moving towards the kitchen. By the time he returned, Saga was speaking on the phone, her expression triumphant.

‘That was Alice,’ she told him, after hanging up. ‘She says the photographs from earlier are exactly what they needed. She and Alan will be coming into Bright Falls to meet us tomorrow. She says everything’s ready.’

‘About time.’ Casey sighed. ‘Dammit, Anderson. Are you certain this is a good idea?’

‘No.’ Saga shrugged. ‘But it’s the only plan we’ve got. I say we give it a shot; or at least, we hear them out once they arrive.’ She glanced over at Agent Estevez. ‘They already knew you were here,’ she added. ‘I’m not quite sure how, but…’

Kiran nodded. ‘Don’t worry, Anderson. We’ll get to the bottom of it. Everything you’ve shown me is connected, I’m certain of it.’ She gestured towards the case board. ‘It’s late. We’ll take another look at all this tomorrow, with fresh heads – I’ll go through it with you. I think my people will have some contributions that could be useful.’ She turned to glance at Casey, smiling slightly and nodding in Grace’s direction. ‘You two kids be careful,’ she added. Her tone was playful, but her expression remained serious. ‘My read on this is that the Shadow wants something from both of you. Not sure exactly what yet, but… my guess is that whatever it is, it can’t be good.’

‘Noted.’ Casey smiled grimly, moving to stand beside Grace before tapping the pistol still holstered at his hip. ‘Don’t fret, Kiran. Anything trying to break into the lodge tonight will get a nasty surprise.’

‘Good.’ Estevez nodded. ‘We’ll be based at the Sheriff’s station, like before. We need to go and get set up; call me if you need anything.’

‘Sure.’ He watched the FBC agents depart, the sleek black vehicles pulling quietly away, leaving the street in silence. Darkness had fallen outside, unnoticed; broken only by the gentle drift of another quiet snowfall. He watched Grace step towards the window, seemingly entranced, moving to stand carefully beside her.

‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ she murmured. ‘I mean, even though I think I nearly died in it, last night.’ She glanced up at him, a knowing expression on her face. ‘I’ve been doing some reading. After you rescued me, you were concerned I had hypothermia, so I looked it up. I remember feeling so hazy, like I just couldn’t think straight; and you were so worried about getting me warmed up…’

Casey shrugged. ‘What matters now is that you’re safe.’ He caught his breath as she leaned into him with a quiet sigh. He watched her expression settle into something that looked an awful lot like peace as he placed an arm around her waist. He remembered Saga’s words on their drive up to Watery, about how important it was to be with loved ones at this time of year. I wonder what her Christmas would have been like, if we hadn’t met, he thought to himself. Does she have family back home that she’d spend it with? Friends, maybe? Or would she be alone – like me?

He shook his head, lifting his gaze to stare back out of the window, watching the world outside slowly disappearing beneath a featureless blanket of snow. A single vehicle drove slowly past, its headlamps illuminating twin paths of swirling white, for a handful of seconds; before darkness closed in again.

‘Come on,’ he murmured. ‘You must be tired. Let’s get some rest. I’ve got a feeling that tomorrow’s going to be one hell of a day.’

Chapter Text

Night closed around the Elderwood Lodge like the jaws of a trap. Saga had insisted on checking every room, leaving a light on wherever the shadows were too deep; and after thinking about what might be waiting for them in the dark, Casey didn’t have any inclination to stop her. Nor it seemed did Grace, who had discovered a bundle of dusty old battery-powered Christmas lights inside one of the lodge’s cupboards, and had insisted on stringing up a set in every room they’d been using.

‘The more the merrier,’ she’d told him, snapping the batteries into place with the same practiced determination that he’d seen Saga load shells into her shotgun. ‘Besides, these lights don’t run on mains power. If anything was to happen, like a blown fuse or busted generator… well, we’d still have something to see by, at least.’

‘We do have torches,’ Casey reminded her drily, trying and failing to supress a smile.

‘You have torches,’ she retorted. ‘I don’t. So, I’m improvising. Don’t laugh, okay?’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’ He shook his head, wishing that he could take a snapshot of this moment: Grace sitting cross-legged, surrounded by a spiral of tangled, twinkling lights, like fireflies; the reflection in her eyes, as she paused in her work to gaze up at him. Her lips curved into a gentle smile, and his fingers twitched, darting instinctively towards his phone to take a photo, but he held back. Images have power in this place, Alice Wake had told him. It doesn’t matter what they are: words, photographs, sketches… paintings. Even something so crude as a finger-painting could be dangerous. A handful of lines on a wall. A mark in the sand. A snapshot. She had grasped his shoulder tightly, staring into his face with something bright and urgent in her eyes. There was meaning in her words – something beyond the obvious. Something she seemed desperate for him to understand. Be careful, Alex, she had said. Please, for all our sakes… watch over everyone. Especially the painter lady. I think… she might be the key to all of this.

He had wanted to ask her exactly what she meant by that, but even as he opened his mouth, she had darted quickly away. Her expression had been taut, worried: as though she’d said too much. It had flown out of his mind during their run-in with the FBC; but now the night was creeping in again and darkness was waiting outside their windows, Alice’s words echoed in the back of his mind. It was a warning, he thought. But against… what, exactly?

He knelt beside Grace on the floor, reaching out to help her untangle the last of the wires. ‘You don’t have to do this,’ he told her quietly. ‘You should rest. There’s no pressure to keep on going.’ He glanced back towards the kitchen, where Saga was still reading. ‘We’re old hands at this,’ he reminded her. ‘Pulling the odd all-nighter is just another part of the job. Doesn’t mean you have to stay up too.’

‘I know.’ She offered him a small, fond smile, trying and failing to supress a yawn. ‘But I do want to help – and I find that keeping busy helps to keep my mind off other things.’ She shrugged. ‘I hate just sitting around, waiting for something to happen.’

‘So, don’t,’ Casey urged her. ‘Even if it’s just for five minutes: go and close your eyes for a bit. Trust me, you’ll feel better.’

‘If you say so.’ She laid down the last string of lights and reached out to him. ‘What about you?’ she added. ‘Are you planning to keep on working?’

He nodded. ‘There’s some ideas I want to run past Anderson. Nothing important – nothing you need to worry about,’ he told her. ‘But I’d be a lot happier doing that, knowing you were getting some shut-eye in the next room,’ he added. ‘Grace… please?’

She chuckled at that, taking his hand between both of hers and pressing it gently. ‘Alright. Only because you asked so nicely, though.’ She stood up and stretched, grimacing as she tried to ease some of the tension out of her muscles. ‘Fucking hell. Remind me not to spend so long sitting on the floor next time.’

She reached for him as he rose to his feet, drawing him closer; and not for the first time, Casey found his heartbeat quickening as he met her gaze. Desire rose sharply within him, and for a moment that lasted half a lifetime he could think of nothing but the warmth of her mouth against his skin, and the way that she had touched him. He was only faintly aware of her lacing her hands around his waist as she stood on tip-toes, pressing a gentle kiss against his lips; which he returned as deeply as he dared, drawing a soft, breathless sound from her that sent his pulse hammering wildly. He raised a hand to caress her cheek, trying to be gentle, knowing full well that nothing more could come of this, for now; and from the heat in her gaze when she finally drew away, he knew her thoughts had run along the same lines.

‘Come and find me, if you want me,’ she murmured. Her eyes were bright with reflected light, and sparkling with mischief. ‘For the case, I mean. Obviously.’

‘Mm-hm. Sure, you do.’ He kissed her again, tangling his fingers through her hair, sighing against her lips as the warmth of her body pressed against his. ‘Rest, first,’ he told her quietly. ‘Then… we’ll see. It’s going to be a long night.’

‘Don’t work too hard, Alex.’ She gave his arm a gentle squeeze before turning away, vanishing into the room they’d set aside for her: the one beside his own, directly across the hall from Saga’s. He watched her disappear with a mixture of relief and regret, glad that she would finally get some rest; while at the same time wanting nothing more than to follow her, fall into her embrace, and make her cry out his name. He sighed and shook his head. There was plenty to do before he turned in, he reminded himself. Kiran had already emailed over a selection of files she’d deemed relevant to the current AWE, and he wanted to get up to speed on them before the morning.

By the looks of things, Saga had the same idea. He stepped into the kitchen, nodding at his partner as he poured himself a drink.

‘More coffee?’ he waved the pot at her, shrugging when she declined. ‘Suit yourself.’

‘Unlike you, I don’t run exclusively on caffeine,’ she replied, with a wry smile. ‘Besides, I’d like to be able to actually get some sleep tonight. Did you see the stuff Estevez sent us?’

‘Yeah. I glanced through some of it.’ Casey settled himself at the table beside her. ‘I don’t know exactly how relevant it’ll all be to our case, but…’ he broke off, shrugging. ‘We can’t afford to ignore anything that might help.’

‘I agree.’ Saga sighed. ‘We’re nearly there, Casey. I can feel it. There’s just something that we’re still missing: one last puzzle piece.’ She smiled tiredly, pushing her hair out of her eyes. ‘Maybe tomorrow, we’ll find it.’

Casey nodded. ‘If anyone can, it’s you, Anderson,’ he said. ‘I’m going to have a quick look through Kiran’s files before I head to bed. See if anything jumps out.’

‘Sounds good.’ Saga nodded. ‘What about Grace?’

Casey shot her a look. ‘What about her?’

Saga rolled her eyes. ‘You know what I mean. I thought you’d want to… be with her.’ She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, laughing aloud at his exasperated expression.

‘Knock it off, Anderson,’ he grumbled. ‘She gets it. She knows we’ve got work to do – I told her to go and get some rest while she still can. She’s not used to pulling all-nighters like this. Besides, she looked beat.’

‘Can’t say that I blame her.’ Saga sighed. ‘That fiasco with the FBC, before… it could have gotten nasty. I’m glad things worked out – that Kiran saw sense.’

‘Mm.’ Casey nodded. ‘Thanks for backing me, Anderson.’

‘Of course. We’re partners, remember?’ Saga nudged him, grinning conspiratorially. ‘Besides, you looked about ready to throw a punch if Estevez hadn’t backed down. I’ve never seen you like this before, Casey.’ Her expression softened. ‘You care for her. A lot.’

He shrugged uncomfortably. ‘Yeah. So, sue me, Anderson – I do.’ He fixed her with a careful expression. ‘You think I went too far?’

‘I didn’t say that.’ She shook her head. ‘I think that one of the worst things we could’ve done is allowed them to take Grace away, and out of Bright Falls. She’s a part of whatever’s happening here: for better or worse. We all are. Things are progressing, Casey. Wheels are turning – the plot is moving forwards, whether we like it or not.’ She smiled grimly. ‘At least we’re not still finding pages of Alan Wake’s stories to figure out.’

Casey nodded, huffing a breath of mirthless laughter. ‘I got sick and tired of reading my own damn name alongside premonitions of disaster. It was bad enough when his books were just… fiction.’

Saga nodded. ‘Come on. Let’s tackle at least one more of those FBC files each – then bed, for both of us. Maybe you’ll actually follow your own advice, for a change, and get some sleep: while you still can.’

*

The night was deepening. The forest grew quiet under its blanket of snow. Outside the windows of the lodge, all was still. Saga and Casey had managed another half a dozen case files each, before calling it a night. Saga had disappeared into her room with a wave of her hand, while Casey hesitated outside Grace’s door. He knocked lightly, pushing the door open after several seconds and stepping quietly inside.

She was asleep. Her pale hair spilled across the pillow, gleaming faintly in the low light from the bedside lamp. He moved to turn it off on instinct, before recalling the previous night: how she had refused to sleep without a light. So small and fragile-looking, she appeared now, alone in the oversized bed. Casey bit his lip. He wanted to do nothing more than join her; to feel her softness against him once again, even in sleep. But he knew that even his slight weight on the mattress beside her would likely wake her up. He didn’t have the heart to disturb her; and he didn’t want to lay with her uninvited. The relationship between them was still new: fragile, despite its intensity. Casey didn’t want to risk doing anything that might jeopardise it.

He smiled and shook his head, before stepping out of her room and closing the door softly behind him. He headed into his own, the one next door, knowing that he’d be close enough to hear if she cried out – if she needed him. He stripped down to his pyjama pants and collapsed into his own bed. Despite the wonderfully uninterrupted sleep he’d managed the previous night, he felt exhausted. No wonder Grace is already fast asleep, he thought to himself. It’s been one hell of a day.

With that in mind, he switched off the main lights, leaving only the bedside lamp to drive away the dark. He’d become accustomed to sleeping with the lights on, after the first incident in Bright Falls three years prior: back when the Dark Presence had left fresh claw-marks on his soul, and he was certain that he’d never be rid of his fears. His doubts. His loneliness. He’d buried it all, every single loathsome thought, so deeply inside himself that he’d hoped it would never reach the light of day; back when he woke up every night a sweating, shaking mess, his hands at his own throat, trying to tear out the awful threads of darkness that clung like a noose around his neck.

In the quiet of the night, he shivered. Those days are over now, he told himself sternly. He was doing well: doing better. Handling the nightmares differently, this time, now that he knew he was no longer alone. He clenched his jaw, staring blankly up at the ceiling. He wasn’t afraid of the dark any longer, he reminded himself. He’d faced the worst that the darkness had to offer: and he had survived. Sure, there were still horrors lurking in the night: threats both known and unknown, crawling out of Cauldron Lake. But that didn’t bother him nearly as much as it ought to, he realised. If anything came for them in the night… he’d deal with it. He checked his bedside table, where he’d left his gun and flashlight: close at hand, just in case. Saga had seemed confident that nothing was going to attack them at the lodge; but Casey wasn’t quite so certain.

With that in mind, he tucked himself up beneath the covers, breathing deeply to try and settled his racing thoughts. He already knew, on some bone-deep, instinctual level, that without Grace’s warmth in his arms, he would sleep only lightly; but perhaps that was a good thing. If danger threatened, he’d be awake and alert immediately – and he’d been on enough stake-outs with Saga in the past to know that she would be the same. He closed his eyes. Maybe I’ll be lucky, he thought to himself. Maybe this time, the nightmares would leave him be.

*

Night, in the city of endless rain. Alex Casey is standing at a crossroads, staring down the rain-slick streets, uncertain which path to take. Above him looms a string of high-rise buildings, and each of their windows is dark: like a cluster of watchful, blackened eyes. There is a terrible pain in his head. Somewhere, a payphone is ringing.

Then, the nightmare flickers: changes. He is on his knees in the dark. His shirtsleeves are rolled up and his hands are bloody, almost to the elbows: slick with hot, red wetness. In one hand, he holds his pocket knife. In the other, a spent bullet. There is a body lying in front of him: Grace’s body. She is sprawled out on wet ground, her expression creased in pain; but she does not look at him. She is watching something behind him, across his shoulder, and her eyes are wide with terror. The blood on his hands is fresh. Her head drops: her body falls limp. He tries to rise to his feet, but he is caught: trapped in something that pulls at him like quicksand; like the thick, stinking mud on the shores of Cauldron Lake. Something terrible is coming; he can feel it.

Then, the nightmare flickers: changes, again. The night city returns. He lifts his hands to stare at them, and they are clean. Above him, a single streetlamp casts a halo of light against the dark. He blinks rainwater out of his eyes as the low hum of electricity fills the air. Then, the screaming starts. Somewhere, in the dark, Grace is screaming. He begins to run. Neon lights flicker in the darkness, dying as he passes; dying, always dying. Something is waiting for him – no. Something is chasing him. A fresh terror, cutting through the grey rain curtain like a knife; an impossible horror, barrelling down the street behind him, howling through the night. He runs as he has never run before; runs until the streets blur into incomprehension around him, until his lungs burn and his head aches. He runs until he can run no more… and still, the monster is coming.

He glances around desperately. He has run into a blind alley. There are no doors on either side; no windows he can break to escape. A dead end. He falls to his knees, gasping for air, raising his face to stare at the blank walls in front of him. They are smeared with graffiti, lined with filth and jumbled trash-cans. He recognises this alley. He remembers dying here, in a dream.

He grits his teeth, rises unsteadily to his feet. If he’s going to die, it won’t be on his knees. He glances around one last time, looking for something, anything, to defend himself with it: then, he sees it. A door. Or at least, something that looks very much like a door. A crude drawing, scrawling itself in lines of black and red. The marks cut through the unforgiving brickwork, coalescing into something real. Something he can use. An escape. Hope claws its way up his spine like a frantic animal as he lurches towards it. Even as he moves, a handle appears; he grasps it with both hands. A simple twist is all it takes. The door swings wide. He falls through it, into the light and out of the dark. Behind him, he hears a terrible, furious howling from the horror in the night: the monster has been denied its prey. The door slams shut behind him with a sound like breaking glass.

The nightmare ended. Casey woke up gasping for air. The breath heaved in his lungs as though he’d just run a marathon, and there was a terrible pain in his head. He stared up at the ceiling, trying to calm his frantic breathing. He raised his hands to stare at them, half-expecting to see them still covered in blood; or stained by the mud and grime from that filthy alley.

He heaved himself to his feet, lurching towards the light switch and flicking it on full, steadying himself against the wall. A shadow slipped away from him. ‘Fucking hell,’ he muttered. The breath rasped in his throat. ‘What the fuck was all that?’

He shook his head, wiping the sweat from his brow before pulling the door wide and padding back towards the kitchen, desperate for a glass of cool water. He needed something to steady himself; to ground his frantic thoughts in reality once more. To his surprise, a brilliant light emanated from the kitchen. He wasn’t the only one awake. Saga was already there, seated at the counter, hunched over her laptop. She had a glass of wine in one hand, and a slice of toast in the other. When she saw him, her expression creased in shock.

‘Hey,’ she said. ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’

‘Me?’ Casey grimaced. ‘Fucking nightmares, again. I needed some water. You?’

Saga shrugged. ‘Same, I guess. I couldn’t sleep, so I figured that instead of just lying there getting frustrated, I’d get some work done instead. I came in here so as not to disturb anyone.’ She waved the wine bottle at him. ‘Fancy a glass?’

Casey hesitated. ‘I’m not really a wine guy,’ he muttered. ‘But… fuck it. I could use a drink.’ He allowed Saga to pour him a generous glass of red, raising it in half-hearted toast before taking a sip. ‘That’s not bad,’ he added, surprised. ‘Guess you’ve got better taste in wines than me.’

‘That doesn’t take much.’ She raised a single, interrogative eyebrow, smiling faintly at his disgruntled sigh. ‘So, go on then,’ she added. ‘Tell me about this dream you had. Another nightmare, was it?’

‘Yeah.’ He screwed up his face, wincing at the recollection. He described everything as best he could to Saga, knowing that she was putting it all together, in her Mind Place. It had all felt so real – so terribly, horribly real. Despite the warmth of the lodge kitchen, he shivered. He was still shirtless, wearing only his pyjama pants, no doubt looking an absolute state; but Saga didn’t seem to care. She appeared completely focused on what he was telling her, taking small sips from her wine glass as her brow furrowed in concentration.

‘It’s getting worse,’ she said simply, once he had finished. ‘We’re so close, Casey. Close to something – an end, or maybe a beginning. I can’t tell yet. All I know is that something is coming.’ She shook her head. ‘Perhaps we could…’

She broke off, her head snapping up at the sound of breaking glass. Casey’s heart leapt into his throat. The sound was quiet, but unmistakable; and it had come from the direction of Grace’s room. He and Saga shared a single glance, before they were both on their feet, darting back through the hallway. Saga’s gun was in her hand; she met his gaze and nodded, just once, before pushing the door wide.

Grace was still there; but she wasn’t in bed. She was sleepwalking, standing in front of the empty wall that connected with Casey’s room, except that it was no longer empty. Scrawled onto the wall was the outline of a door: the very same door that had appeared in his nightmare. The shock of it struck him like a bucket of iced water, and for a moment, he was plunged back into the dark – back into the night, into the blood and sweat and terror of it – before he drew in a deep, steadying breath. Grace had done this drawing, he realised: she had painted the doorway for him, created it… breathed life into it. Somehow, she was still able to reach him, even in that dark place inside his dreams.

‘Grace?’ He spoke her name carefully, releasing it into the quiet of the night. She didn’t respond. Her hands were almost entirely black, smeared with thick, viscous ink; as though she’d simply dipped her fingers straight into it in order to paint, with no time for pens or brushes. Casey stepped closer. A broken ink-bottle lay beside her, splintered into shards of blackened glass. Her hands moved slowly, retracing the outline of the door again and again; like a cave-painting. Casey frowned. There was red in the outline too: but it wasn’t ink. A shard of glass from the shattered ink-bottle had lodged in her palm, and blood was running down her forearm, smearing itself into the outline of the painted door. Her eyes were open, but unseeing.

‘She’s sleepwalking,’ Saga breathed, moving to stand beside him. ‘Or… sleep-painting, I think. What the fuck?’

Casey shook his head, slow panic rising inside his chest. ‘What do we do?’ he muttered. ‘Do we wake her up?’ Her grey eyes were glassy and unfocused, and her movements were oddly stilted. Blood and ink were smeared across the front of her blue silk nightgown.

‘We’ll have to,’ replied Saga softly. ‘We can’t leave her like this.’ She glanced over at him. ‘You do it,’ she added. ‘It’ll be safer for her, if it’s you. She trusts you.’

Casey nodded, knowing better than to argue. He stepped forwards, trying to ignore the way her blank, unseeing eyes sent a chill of horror through him; trying to ignore how desperately awful it was, watching something from his nightmares appearing in the real world. ‘Grace?’ he tried again. ‘Can you hear me?’

He hesitated. She showed no sign of having heard him. Blood was still seeping from the wound in her palm in a slow drip of malevolent crimson, mingling with the ink that had already scored blackened trails down her forearms, stark against the pallor of her skin. The outline of the door was growing redder and redder with the blood she hadn’t even realised she was spilling. He swallowed hard. The nightmare was clawing at him. The door had appeared when he had needed it: when he’d been at his most desperate. Most afraid. This was what saved me, he thought to himself. But how?

He pressed his lips together worriedly. He had seen sleepwalkers before, and recognised the signs. Aside from the glass in her hand, she appeared unhurt. An idea formed slowly in his mind, and he moved closer, reaching out tentatively. He wrapped his hands around both of her wrists, gently but firmly, halting her slow, mechanical movement. ‘Grace,’ he murmured again. ‘It’s alright. It worked. You saved me.’ He watched her expression carefully, hoping to see a flicker of recognition in her eyes. ‘You saved me,’ he repeated. ‘The door worked – I got out. I got away. I’m safe, Grace. You can stop now.’

For a moment, he didn’t think that she had heard him. Then, her eyelashes fluttered. Her breathing changed, quickening into rapid, shallow gasps. Her movement stilled; her hands no longer pulled against his grasp.

‘Grace?’ He repeated her name quietly. For a moment, it felt like he was calling between worlds; calling her back from the abyss. ‘Grace, please. Come back to me.’

Another breath. She blinked, slowly. Casey watched carefully, his heart thundering in his chest as her grey eyes gradually regained their focus. She shivered, her wrists still trapped between his hands, her eyes falling closed for several seconds; before they snapped wide open once again, and she was staring up at him, her expression creasing in confusion.

‘Casey?’ Her voice was thick and rasping, as though she had been screaming in her sleep; or weeping. ‘What’s happening?’

Her gaze dropped to where he was holding her. His hands seemed suddenly large and rough against her fragile wrists. He released his grip immediately, moving instead to place his hands on her shoulders, trying to ground her as she drew in a frightened, ragged gasp. Blood was still leaking from the ugly wound in her palm, the jagged piece of glass still protruding from her skin.

‘You’re alright,’ he told her. ‘It was a bad dream. You were sleepwalking, that’s all. You’re safe now.’ He glanced back at Saga, who nodded.

‘I’ll get the first aid kit,’ she muttered. ‘That wound needs dressing.’ She vanished back towards the main room, leaving Casey holding Grace, who had begun to quietly sob. Her tears were almost silent, spilling down her cheeks as she dropped her head, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

‘It’s alright,’ he told her, again and again, as though by virtue of repetition the words would become true. Grace was shivering, her face turned away, as though ashamed. He raised one hand to cup her cheek, brushing away the spill of tears with his thumb as he gently turned her face towards him. She raised her eyes to meet his, and the sheer weight of misery in her gaze was almost enough to break his heart.

‘What’s happening to me?’ she whispered. ‘Casey?’ She tried to grasp his hand, flinching as the pain from the broken glass finally made itself known. He tried to take her hand in turn, to reassure her; but she pulled back, recoiling from his touch as though she’d been stung.

‘No!’ Her voice shook, filled with rising panic. He reached for her again; and again, she flinched away. ‘No! I’ll get blood on you. Casey, I… you need to get away. This darkness, I shouldn’t… please, don’t touch me! I don’t want to hurt you!’ Her voice was shrill with fear, and the sound of it was like a knife to Casey’s heart. She stumbled backwards, retreating from him, until she was pressed against the wall, half-crouched, her shoulders hunched beneath the weight of terror.

‘Grace!’ He snapped out her name sharply, wielding the word like a knife to cut through the darkness that threatened her. ‘Listen to me. Please, just trust me a moment, okay?’ He held up both hands, palms outwards: a token of surrender. ‘I know how scared you are,’ he continued. ‘How afraid you’re feeling. This is what the Dark Presence wants, Grace. This is what it does: this is how it gets into your head! It wants you afraid, alone… isolated. It feeds on fear, and if it finds a foothold, it’ll dig its claws into you. It will hurt you, any way it can. Don’t let it in – don’t let it take hold of you!’ He was breathing rapidly, adrenaline surging through him. ‘I’m here,’ he repeated. ‘Whatever it takes, Grace. You’re not alone in this fight; and there is nothing you can do that will scare me away.’

He took a single, careful step forwards. She was still watching him with terror in her eyes, but when he reached a hand towards her, she didn’t flinch. She allowed him to take her ink-stained fingers in his, and he folded his own hand around hers with infinite gentleness. He didn’t push for more – he simply stood before her, waiting. Worry settled into his chest like a millstone as, for the span of several seconds, she did not move; but finally, she reached for him. There was hesitation in her expression, as though she were uncertain that he would welcome her: the hand she stretched towards him was trembling. Fresh tears spilled silently down her cheeks, and something clawed its way into Casey’s chest at the sight, hot and bright and viscerally protective; and now, how could he not pull her close, accepting the warmth of her embrace and returning it as fiercely as he dared? Her narrow shoulders were shaking as her arms slipped around him. She pressed in close: as close as she possibly could, skin against skin, as though she wanted nothing more than to disappear into him. He in turn folded himself around her, tucking his head into her neck and allowing her to take what comfort she could from him: from his heart, body, and soul. Her weight sank against him in a way that had become blessedly familiar over the past two days, and he breathed a sigh of relief, pressing a soft kiss against her hair.

‘It’s okay. I’ve got you,’ he told her quietly. ‘It’s going to be okay. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.’

She nodded wordlessly, allowing him to lead her out of the bedroom and back into the kitchen, where Saga had laid out the first aid kit beside the sink, alongside some clean towels. She passed Grace a glass of water, her expression softening in sympathy.

‘Will you be able to manage?’ she said, directing a look at Casey. ‘I can help, if you need.’

He smiled faintly and shook his head. ‘We’ll be alright. Get some rest, Anderson. Make sure at least one of us has a clear head for tomorrow.’

‘I’ll be fine. It’s you I’m worried about. Both of you,’ she added. ‘But… alright. We can talk this through properly in the morning.’ She sighed. ‘Take it easy, if you can,’ she added, before vanishing in the direction of her room. Casey ran his fingers through his hair, attempting to quickly tidy it while Grace was distracted, only to turn and find her watching him. Her face was pale and tearstained, shadowed with exhaustion; still, she met his eye, and smiled. It was a small thing – a tiny twist of her lips, nothing more – still, Casey’s heart gave a tremendous leap to see it. He offered her a tentative smile in return, clearing his throat awkwardly.

‘Let’s… take a look at that cut,’ he murmured. He didn’t try and take her hand again, simply offering his own, and waiting. To his immense relief, Grace didn’t even hesitate, laying her injured hand on his, palm-up. The blackened shard of ink-bottle was still lodged in her flesh. He shook his head, frowning. ‘That looks painful.’

‘It is.’ Grace huffed a half-breath of bitter laughter. ‘It kind of reminds me of the time I trod on a nail, when I was a kid.’ Her voice was hoarse, wobbling against the threat of fresh tears; but she was smiling faintly again, watching him prepare clean gauze and bandages with eyes that were warm and trusting. For the first time since he’d woken that night, Casey finally felt like he could breathe again.

‘That sounds even worse,’ he replied, trying to keep his voice low and comforting, steering the conversation back towards something resembling normality. ‘How the hell did you manage that?’

‘I didn’t do it on purpose!’ Another breath of laughter from Grace; another tentative smile directed at him. ‘And you’re right, it was worse. The nail went right up into my foot – it was a huge, rusty old thing. I needed stitches, and I had to get a tetanus shot and everything. I was walking funny for a week.’

‘I bet you were.’ Despite himself, Casey winced as he turned on the tap, running the water until it came through warm. ‘Well, at least I don’t have to give you a shot for this. But it is going to sting.’ He shot her a careful glance. ‘You ready?’ he added. ‘We need to get this cleaned out properly; make sure there’s no glass left behind in the wound. I don’t want you getting an infection.’

‘Right. You’re right, of course.’ Grace nodded, swallowing nervously. She closed her eyes for a handful of seconds, breathing deeply, as though drawing together the fragments of her shattered self: regaining the composure she had lost in the midst of her terror. Casey smiled, shaking his head in quiet admiration. There was strength there, he knew. Strength of a different kind to his; but no less valuable, for that. When she opened her eyes, there was fresh determination in her gaze.

‘Ready?’ he asked. At her nod, he guided her hand beneath the steady stream of water, carefully easing the shard of glass from her palm before cleaning out the wound. ‘These fucking nightmares,’ he muttered as he worked. ‘They were bad enough, before. Now, they’re just… fucking us all up.’ He applied an antiseptic, frowning in sympathy as Grace swore quietly in pain.

‘I can’t believe I didn’t wake up when that happened,’ she told him. ‘You’d think that cutting half your hand open would be enough to wake you from any dream!’

Casey nodded grimly. ‘Anderson was right. It’s getting worse.’ He wrapped her hand in gauze and soft white bandages, taking care that the dressing wasn’t too tight. ‘Can you remember much of it?’ he added. ‘The dream, I mean?’

She shrugged. ‘Not really. It felt so real at the time, but now it’s all just… noise. Nonsense. Like the images are slipping through my fingers.’ She clenched her other fist in frustration, swearing under her breath. ‘Fucking hell, Alex. I’m so sorry – I’m trying, but I just… it keeps on slipping away! All I can remember is… darkness. Rain, I think, and a terrible sense of urgency. As though I was in a race against time to do… something. To draw something, I think. Something terribly important.’ She shook her head. ‘Sorry. I know I’m being useless – worse than useless.’

‘Not at all.’ Casey gave her good hand a quick squeeze. ‘Maybe it’s a good thing, that you can’t remember. Perhaps something is protecting you.’ He hesitated, unsure as to whether to tell her the full extent of his own nightmare: how her drawing had, somehow, saved him. Probably best not to say anything right now, he thought to himself. He decided to wait, at least until the morning. Saga would almost certainly have an opinion on what’d happened, and he’d come to trust her insights.

‘Let’s get some rest,’ he said instead. ‘Now that we’ve got you all fixed up. There’s nothing more we can do here tonight.’

‘Okay.’ She hesitated, curling her uninjured hand around his bicep. ‘Casey… about earlier… I’m sorry I pushed you away.’ She bit her lip, raising her exhausted gaze to meet his. ‘I just… panicked. I thought I was losing my mind, again – I was terrified that I would do something to hurt you.’

‘No apology necessary.’ He covered her hand with his own, meeting her gaze with as much warmth as he could muster. ‘I mean it,’ he added, when she opened her mouth to protest. ‘I get it. I’ve been where you are – trapped by the nightmares, by the darkness.’ He drew in a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I was… three years ago, the Dark Presence took me over,’ he added simply. ‘It… got inside my head. Possessed me. Made me hurt people.’ He swallowed hard, despising the words even as he said them; hating the admission, hating the way his own words scored bloody trails through him even as he spoke, but knowing it was necessary. Knowing that she needed to hear this, and understand. Her eyes widened as he spoke; but she did not look away.

‘Casey…’ she murmured. His name lingered on her lips, and he felt the intensity of her gaze as it travelled across him. He frowned, fearing for a moment the weight of judgement; but he need not have worried. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes, but they didn’t come from fear. Her gaze was bright with sympathy, and she raised her uninjured hand to caress his cheek with infinite tenderness. ‘I… understand a little better now, I think,’ she murmured. ‘We both… we need each other, don’t we? To hold out against the darkness – against the bad dreams.’

‘Yeah.’ Casey shrugged. ‘I don’t know how, or why, but…’ he shook his head. ‘I don’t want you to be alone,’ he added. ‘Come back to bed with me. Even if you don’t want to sleep, we can talk; keep each other company. Keep the nightmares away.’ He smiled, feeling a little of the tension leave his shoulders as she nodded. ‘My room’s, uh… a bit of a mess,’ he added jokingly. ‘But I’m guessing you won’t mind too much.’

She laughed at that, pressing close against his chest and planting a soft kiss on the side of his neck that, even now, sent a thrill of heat across his skin. ‘Of course not. I bet it’s still nowhere near as messy and chaotic as my studio,’ she replied, allowing him to take her hand and lead her down the hall, and back to his bed. It was only when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror that she paused, her expression dropping.

‘What is it?’ Casey asked, noticing her distress. ‘Grace?’

‘I can’t… I didn’t even notice.’ She tugged at the hem of her nightgown, where an ugly trail of blood and ink had been smeared across the pale blue silk, like the tracks of a serpent. She shivered.

‘It’s okay,’ replied Casey quickly. ‘You can wear something of mine. Hang on.’ He turned to rummage in his overnight bag. ‘After all, you were kind enough to lend me some pyjamas, last night,’ he added, over his shoulder. ‘It seems only fair that I return the favour. I’ve got a spare shirt you can borrow.’

‘That’d be great. Thanks.’ The relief was evident in her voice as he handed her the shirt, turning his back so that she might have some privacy to change. He listened to the soft rustle of cloth against skin, smiling as he felt a familiar warmth press against him. A pair of hands snaked out to clasp round his waist, and he turned around.

‘Better?’ He looked down, unable to stop his smile from widening foolishly at the sight. It should be illegal, he thought, for a woman to look that good in one of his own shirts. The white cotton clung to her in all the right places, and the collar hung wide, revealing a hint of creamy skin that sent his pulse skyrocketing.

‘Damn it,’ he muttered, dropping his head to place a slow, lingering kiss against her lips. ‘You look a little too good in that, Grace. We’re supposed to be getting some rest, remember?’

She laughed at that, trailing her fingers up his spine in a way that sent shivers all the way through him. ‘I’m not stopping you,’ she murmured. ‘But if you want…’ she leaned up, placing her lips against his neck in a way that made him release a low, breathless groan. ‘Maybe… we could both use a distraction,’ she added softly. 'Casey, can you help me? Make me feel alive again?'

‘Sure. I can do that.’ Casey allowed his hand to drift down from her waist, past the hem of the shirt, brushing his fingertips against the softness of her thigh. ‘Trust me, Grace?’

‘Always.’ She fell into his embrace without hesitation. Her lips pressed soft kisses across his skin, leaving behind a trail of fire that left him breathless. She touched him like he was everything she’d ever wanted; like he was the most precious thing in all creation. His heart turned to water beneath the tenderness of her hands, and he allowed himself to be carried away by the flood. He felt himself unravelling beneath her, gasping for air, unable to form any words other than her name. By the time they’d both finished, Casey knew that he’d never sleep soundly again, unless she was in his arms; that he’d never know another moment’s peace unless she was by his side.

I have to tell her, he thought, as she curled herself into his body as though it was the most natural thing in the world. I have to tell her that I love her, before it’s too late. He placed a soft kiss against the side of her neck, watching her eyelashes flutter as exhaustion finally stole over her. But not now, he told himself. Soon – but not tonight. He felt her relaxing into his arms, and the warmth of her skin was a balm for his ragged nerves. The shirt he had lent her lay abandoned on the floor, alongside his pyjama pants; but Casey couldn’t bring himself to care. He kissed her again, smiling at the quiet, contented noise she made against his lips.

‘Casey…’ she murmured. ‘Are you…?’

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ he replied softly. ‘Sleep, Grace. I’ll be here when you wake.’ He closed his eyes, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing becoming gradually slower and deeper as her slight weight shifted against him. He smiled to himself, burying his head in the warm silk of her golden hair and finally allowing sleep to claim him. Somehow, he knew that wrapped in one another’s arms, no nightmares would find them: knew that within the shadow of her hair, he was finally safe. Peace stole over him, and he slept quietly, without fear, until morning.

Chapter Text

Rose-tinted dawn broke slowly over Bright Falls. Saga was awake early, sipping coffee at her window and watching the slow bloom of light as it appeared across the town, banishing the lingering stain of night.

She hadn’t slept much. The darkness had been pressing down on her lately; like cold hands at her throat. After leaving Grace in Casey’s care, she’d tried her best to get some rest, but only managed a couple more hours of fitful slumber before she was wide awake once more. The dark dreams were troubling her: more than usual. So, she’d given up trying to sleep, opting instead for an early breakfast, and time to think.

Something was coming. This much, she knew for certain. Every clue they’d found so far pointed towards an escalation. It was as though each strand of their investigation was being spun into a single, inevitable thread. That much, she had expected: the only problem was that she hadn’t managed to grasp exactly where this thread was leading them, yet. This troubled her; more than Saga wanted to admit.

She sighed deeply. She knew, at least, the vague direction that Alan and Alice were working in: they had plans to use their art to corral the Dark Presence, trap it somehow, in order to destroy it. She also knew that despite her occasional tendency to overstep, Agent Estevez’s offer of assistance had been sincere. This had cheered Saga immensely. After all, the FBC had access to resources that could aid in their plans. This time around, Saga intended to use them.

She drummed her fingers thoughtfully on the windowsill. Despite the drama that had unfolded over the course of the night, she found herself less worried about Casey and Grace than previously; odd, perhaps, given the nature of their nightmares. Still, the latest incidents had given Saga confirmation of what she’d suspected all along: that the connection between the pair existed outside of the Dark Presence’s influence. That there was another force at play here. One that might just be on their side. She’d seen its influence first-hand, watching Casey draw Grace back from the nightmare that had coiled itself around her, spilling over with blood and ink; and by his own account, Grace’s painted doorway had saved Casey from dying, again, in his dreams.

She took a sip from her coffee, closing her eyes against the growing light and slipping into her Mind Place. She’d always found it easier to sift through the growing mountain of evidence there. Somehow, the connections became clearer: sharper, more crystalline. Easier to understand, and predict.

She allowed Casey’s name to settle at the forefront of her mind. As much as he’d hate to admit it, she knew that he was vulnerable. He’d been distraught after learning exactly what had happened when the Dark Presence had invaded his body and mind three years prior. He’d had no memory of any of it; which made sense, really. After all, it hadn’t been Casey who’d hurt her, who’d thrown her into the Dark Place, who’d stolen the Clicker: who’d chased down Alan as he struggled to rewrite the story’s horrific ending. That had been Scratch: the face the Dark Presence wore. The face it had stolen from Alan Wake. She smiled grimly. That aspect of the monster, at least, was long gone. Thank god for small mercies, she thought to herself, closing her eyes and gently nudging at the strands of Casey’s mind, pulling his thoughts towards her.

What’s happening to him? she wondered. Is the Dark Presence trying to take him over again? She frowned in consternation, as the image of her partner’s face swam into view.

‘It’s not just in the lake any longer,’ came the echo of Casey’s voice. ‘It took away… a piece of me. Into the endless night, with all its rage. In dreams… the darkness wears my face. Speaks with my own voice. Does violence with my hands. Am I… the monster we’ve all been running from?’

Saga’s eyes slammed open. ‘He’s scared,’ she said aloud, surprised. ‘He knows he’s vulnerable. He’s worried the Dark Presence might take him over again – that it’ll make him hurt us.’ She shook her head firmly. That’s not going to happen, she thought fiercely. Not this time. She breathed deeply, trying to calm her racing thoughts. She’d already made a note to ask Estevez about any extra protective measures they could take, against the Shadow – ostensibly for Grace, as she was well aware that Casey would rather shoot himself in the foot than admit to any weakness.

She slowed her breathing, turning her inner eye instead towards Agent Estevez. What is the FBC really doing here? she thought. Was there a genuine alert from the monitoring station? She concentrated hard. The answering voice was faint, as though drifting to her from a great distance: or through a barrier of some kind.

‘We’re too late… to stop it all from starting,’ came the murmur of Kiran’s thoughts. ‘The timeline adjusts. Altered worlds, one after the other after the other. We live our parallel lives. One among many. Which reality do we fight for now? This… or the one that died before we got here?’

Saga frowned. ‘Estevez was telling the truth,’ she murmured. ‘There has been an AWE – she believes the monitoring station is correct. That something’s happened to change reality.’ She sighed, shaking her head to clear it. ‘But surely, we would have noticed?’ she added. Worry creased her brow as she thought back over the events of the last few days. Certainly, a lot had happened. There had been multiple incidents that could be classed as paranatural; still, there had been no single, key event that, to her, would mark the beginning of an Altered World Event. Nothing that felt like a catalyst. At least, nothing that had happened in Bright Falls.

She hesitated, opening her eyes as suspicion bloomed quietly within her. Over the time period of the supposed AWE, Alice and Alan had been working on their secret project, up in Watery. During that time, Grace had been attacked; fresh horrors had crawled out of Cauldron Lake; and another gruesome murder had been committed. She bit her lip anxiously. ‘Could it really be as simple as that?’ she muttered to herself. ‘Are they the ones responsible? Has Alan been lying to us about using the Clicker?’

She reached out again, summoning the phantom of Alan Wake. The writer’s image flickered inside her mind. ‘Saga Anderson,’ came the echo of his familiar voice. ‘It’s good to see you again. I wondered how long it would take me to reach you.’

‘Wake?’ Saga blinked, startled. ‘What the fuck?’ Alan had been speaking directly to her, in her thoughts – the same way that he’d managed to speak with her across worlds, three years ago, from the Dark Place. But he’s not in the Dark Place now, she thought to herself. Did that really happen? Or are these just more echoes from the past?

‘Alan?’ she tried again, closing her eyes. ‘Can you hear me?’

‘…Coming in over a bad signal,’ came the distant voice. ‘But yeah. I’m here. Don’t worry – we can fix it. Alice and I will fix everything. We have the Clicker. A new manuscript… everything is finished. We can turn reality… the way we need it to be. All we need is the connection… a returning darkness, to open the door.’

Saga jerked upright, out of her Mind Place and back into reality, as fresh worry dragged frozen fingers down her spine. ‘What the fuck did he mean by that?’ she said aloud. ‘Turning reality into what they need it to be?’ She gritted her teeth. ‘Was I right – have they been using the Clicker? Or is this just what they’re intending to do?’

Concentrating, she tried reaching back out to Alan; but there was nothing. No thread of thought for her to latch onto; no new voices echoing through the silence of her mind. It was as if a signal had been lost – or cut off, she thought grimly.

‘That’s enough. I’m done playing guessing games,’ she muttered. ‘The next time I see those two, they’d damn well better have some answers.’ She released a long, slow breath, steadying herself, turning to stare back out of the window. In the quiet of a new dawn, Bright Falls could easily be mistaken for any other small town. The streets were uncharacteristically merry, hung with a motley assortment of Christmas decorations. On the surface at least, it all appeared entirely unthreatening. But not to Saga. She could feel the tension, running through the town like an electrical current. If she concentrated hard, she could taste it in the air: the stannic tang of metal, bright and sharp, like the wind that comes before a thunderstorm. She could sense the last of the night’s darkness in the shadows beneath the evergreen trees. A part of the Dark Presence had escaped from the lake, somehow – on its own, or with help, she didn’t know. But she did know that a fragment of nightmare was hiding, somewhere in the town; a nightmare she was determined to end, once and for all.

She sighed, turning away from the window and reaching for her phone. It was early; still too early, really, to call home. But this time, Saga didn’t care. She missed her family with a dull, cold ache that had grown so strong that it felt like a physical presence inside her chest. She knew, logically, that they were fine – better than fine. She’d spoken to both Logan and David the previous evening, before turning in. But she also knew that fear laughed at logic: how easy it was for her sensible, measured thought patterns to become swamped by the undertow of terror that ran like a river through Bright Falls; how quickly she could be washed away by the flood.

‘No,’ she said out loud, needing to hear it: needing to speak the truth. ‘Logan is fine. She’s safe, back in Virginia. David is fine too. They’re both looking after each other – this time, the story isn’t coming for them. It’s coming for us.’ She swallowed hard. ‘It’s coming for us,’ she repeated softly. The words resonated against the pattern of her thoughts, guiding the pieces of her Mind Place into a different order. A memory from her nightmares rose into the light, unbidden: like a corpse on the surface of the lake.

‘Shit,’ she muttered. A thread of darkness pulled at her, and she blinked. The dreams she’d had the previous night had been fragmented: half-spun memories of terror, nothing more. Save for one thing: a voice. A voice that Saga hoped she’d never hear again; a voice that was not a voice, but an awful sound that had a terrible, physical presence; that had caused pain, like a scalpel being pushed into her ear.

‘I want what you have,’ the voice had said. Even in the growing light of day, the recollection made Saga wince.

‘What the fuck is that supposed to mean?’ she muttered. ‘What do we have that the Shadow doesn’t?’ She shook her head. There were too many possibilities for her to figure it out alone. But the phrase meant something – it had to mean something, she knew. The words carried too much weight to be just an incidental part of her fractured nightmares.

Sighing, she resisted the urge to dial Logan’s phone, retreating instead back into the lodge’s kitchen and beginning to prepare breakfast. She knew she’d feel better after some decent food: it always helped her to think. Besides, they had recently stocked up the fridge with fresh groceries, and Saga was damned if she was going to let them spoil.

She smiled to herself, setting aside enough of what she was making to feed the lodge’s other two occupants as well. Even though Casey could function almost entirely on black coffee, she knew that Grace wouldn’t turn down a fresh-cooked breakfast – and hopefully, that would be enough to persuade her partner to eat something too. After all, she had a hunch that very soon indeed, they would need all the strength they could get. Somewhere out there, the Shadow was waiting for them: ready to open its jaws and swallow them whole.

*

The sun had fully risen by the time Casey stirred. He blinked slowly against the growing light, surfacing gradually into awakening. There was warmth beside him; something brilliantly golden at the edges of his vision. Grace had twisted in her sleep, folding herself over until she was pressed right up against him. Her cheek rested on his shoulder, her face tucked into the crook of his neck; her arm was draped across his waist, holding him close, even in slumber. He in turn had curled his own body around hers, as though to shield her from the night. For a moment, he simply lay there, savouring the way her warmth pressed against him. It was a far cry from how he’d woken previously, thrashing his way out of the nightmare’s grasp.

‘Casey?’ Her voice was barely a whisper, husky with sleep as she stirred against him. Her slight weight moved in his arms, and for a moment, he wondered if he was still dreaming: whether the peace he’d felt in her embrace had been nothing more than an illusion, to be snatched away from him upon waking.

‘I’m here,’ he told her. ‘You’re safe.’ For surely, that was what mattered the most: that within the circle of his arms, no nightmares had come calling for them. None of his dreams had been stained by blood or marred by terror. It was a novel experience for him; one he was eager to repeat.

‘Mm.’ She raised her head, blinking in the light, before making a discontented noise and burrowing back down again. ‘It’s morning already?’ she murmured.

‘Afraid so.’ He couldn’t resist a quiet chuckle at her expression. ‘Not an early bird, huh?’

‘More of a night owl, if you must know.’ She yawned wide, before rolling over and propping herself up on one elbow. ‘I can smell… breakfast?’

Casey frowned. Grace was right; the smell of something enticingly savoury was wafting in from the lodge kitchen. ‘Wait.’ He dipped his head, pressing his lips against hers. ‘You don’t have to go right away.’ He traced his fingers down the curve of her throat. ‘We could…’

‘Mm.’ She sighed softly, tipping her head back; then laughing as Casey’s stomach gave a loud, undignified gurgle. ‘It sounds like someone needs breakfast, first.’ She grinned at his exasperated expression. ‘It’s okay, Casey. We’ll have time.’ She dipped her head, placing a kiss against his neck. ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she added softly. ‘I promise.’

Casey sighed. ‘I’ll hold you to it,’ he grumbled, dropping back into the bed and running a hand across his eyes. ‘Fine. Breakfast, first. Then… well, let’s see what the day holds.’ He hesitated, reaching out to take her hand, turning it over to inspect the bandage he’d tied the night before. ‘How is it?’ he added. ‘You holding up okay?’

‘Yeah. It’s fine – I’m fine. Stop worrying.’ She dropped a soft kiss on his forehead, before standing up and stretching. Caught in the sunshine that streamed in through the gap in the curtains, she appeared as a figure made entirely of light. The breath hitched in Casey’s throat, and he blinked, unable to look away. Her long pale hair hung like a river down her back. She moved slowly, shrugging herself back into the shirt he’d lent her that night, rebuttoning it with care before covering herself up with one of the lodge’s cozy towelling robes. She turned, catching his eye. ‘What is it?’ she added. ‘Casey… you’re staring. Is something wrong?’

‘I… no. No, nothing’s wrong.’ He cleared his throat, tearing his gaze away. ‘Breakfast, then.’ He glanced around, running his fingers through his hair and grimacing. ‘Guess I need to get dressed.’

*

Back in the kitchen, Saga grinned. The scent of food appeared to have summoned the other occupants of the lodge from their slumber. Grace padded into the kitchen on bare, silent feet. She appeared only a little worse for wear after the night’s events, with a neat white bandage wrapped around her palm. She was still cozied up in one of the lodge’s oversized robes, with tired shadows showing beneath her eyes; but her expression was warm, and she was smiling. Casey was only a half-pace behind her, moving as though he were her shadow. He was impeccably dressed as always, with a spring in his step that Saga decided to put down to finally getting a few hours of nightmare-free sleep.

‘Breakfast?’ Saga beckoned the pair over, laughing at Casey’s disbelieving expression. ‘I made French toast, waffles, bacon, fried eggs… and before you ask, I didn’t forget the fresh coffee,’ she added, shooting a look at her partner, who shook his head in apparent amazement.

‘This looks wonderful!’ Grace’s face lit up. ‘Can I help with anything? What more do you need?’

‘Just for you to sit down, and eat up,’ replied Saga. ‘I’ve got a feeling we’re all going to need our strength today. It’s going to be a long one – and a good meal goes a long way to starting the day off properly.’

Casey raised a disbelieving eyebrow. ‘Is that what you tell Logan when she won’t eat?’ he asked, accepting the coffee she passed him with some suspicion. ‘You never cook for me, Anderson. What’s the occasion?’

‘No occasion.’ Saga shrugged, deliberately avoiding Casey’s piercing blue gaze. ‘I’m just… missing my family, if you must know,’ she added quietly. ‘I used to cook breakfasts like this for Logan and David, on the weekends. Whenever I wasn’t caught up in a case, anyway.’ She shrugged. ‘Now come on, eat!’ She shot Casey a glare. ‘That means you too. You can’t survive entirely on black coffee, you know.’

‘Alright.’ Casey held up his hands in mock-surrender. ‘Guess I can force down a bite or two.’ He settled beside Grace, and Saga didn’t miss the quiet smile that passed between them as he helped himself to bacon and eggs. She sat down at the table across from them, frowning as her phone chimed with a message from Agent Estevez.

‘The FBC are flying in some gear,’ she told them. ‘They want to start getting set up down at the lake. They’re bringing down a specialised light array to help against the Shadow; plus, a new and improved containment system.’

‘I’ll believe that when I see it. Damn bureau gear always seems flimsy to me.’ Casey scowled. ‘I’m telling you, Anderson: I’ve got a real bad feeling about all of this. Any word yet from Wake?’

‘Nothing yet.’ Saga shrugged. ‘Hardly a surprise, with the communications black-out around Watery. I’m sure we’ll hear from them soon enough.’

*

It was late afternoon when the Wakes finally pulled up outside the Elderwood Lodge. Casey had taken to pacing up and down while Saga worked on the case board. Neither agent took well to inactivity, especially in the middle of a case: and the wait was starting to fray Casey’s nerves.

Grace had tucked herself away in a corner with her drawing board, deciding that the best way to pass the time was to keep her attention occupied on something other than worrying: which was easier said than done, thought Casey irritably. It was at his insistence that she remained in the room with them while she worked on her project. He didn’t trust the darkness not to try and wrap its monstrous hands around her while she worked, even during the day; and he didn’t fancy another sleep-walking episode that might result in more spilled blood and broken glass.

‘It’s about time they showed up,’ he grumbled, watching Alan and Alice’s arrival. ‘Hey, Anderson? We’ve got company!’

‘Good.’ Saga’s expression was stern. ‘I’ve got questions. Are you ready?’

‘Sure.’ He double-checked the gun at his hip, casting a careful look over at Grace. ‘Guess it’s time we got this party started.’ He moved to stand beside her, not even trying to hide the protectiveness that surged inside his chest as Alan Wake strode in. He was smartly dressed as though for an event, in a clean black shirt beneath a soft camel coat and slate-grey scarf. Alice looked much the same, her hair pulled back in an elegant twist and dressed entirely in black, as though for a funeral. Casey bit his lip, resisting the urge to make a sarcastic remark. He held his silence while the Wakes greeted Saga, observing the pair carefully. After so long spent on the job, Casey fancied himself a dab hand at reading people; and it was clear to his eye that both Alan and Alice were practically vibrating with nervous energy underneath their apparently calm exteriors.

‘Casey!’ Alan was the first to notice him, tucked away in the corner; he walked over immediately with his hand outstretched. ‘Nice to see you again. And… you must be Miss Hart?’ he added, shaking Grace’s hand. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you – it’s great to finally meet you.’

‘Oh?’ Grace’s expression creased in a nervous smile. ‘Nothing good, I expect?’

‘Quite the contrary.’ Alan’s face lit up. ‘Agent Casey speaks very highly of you. I’m just sorry you’ve been drawn into this mess – no pun intended.’

She laughed at that, shaking her head. ‘Something like that, yeah. It’s good to finally meet you, Mr Wake. I’ve heard a lot about you too.’

‘Alan, please.’ He shook his head. ‘Alice and I… well, we’ve got a plan. Casey’s probably told you – we know this fucking horror in the lake all too well.’ His expression turned grim. ‘We knew it by name, once. This has all happened before – or something very much like it, at least.’ He shrugged. ‘It can’t keep looping around like this – we can’t let the Dark Presence keep hurting people. Not when we’re finally able to do something to stop it.’ His gaze dropped to the bandage on Grace’s hand. ‘Are you alright?’ he added. ‘Did it do that to you?’

‘I… yeah. I guess you could say that. It happened in a dream – a nightmare. But I’m fine now.’ Grace shot him a bemused look. ‘How did you know?’

Alan shrugged. ‘Just a hunch.’ He glanced back to where Saga and Alice were conferring in low, urgent tones. ‘Shall we get started?’ he added. ‘Alice has been on the phone with Agent Estevez all morning. She’s helping coordinate the set-up.’

‘Fine.’ Casey placed a hand on Grace’s arm. ‘It’s almost time. Are you ready?’ he asked, ignoring Wake for the time being – ignoring every single thing that was occurring in that room, and focusing for a moment on the face of the woman he loved. The feeling was clearer than ever before, here in the light of day; even now, his heart quickened as she smiled up at him. Her clear, grey eyes were warm and trusting, as she met his gaze expectantly.

‘I’m ready,’ she told him. ‘Nervous, but… yeah. I’m ready.’

‘Good.’ He allowed himself another slow, lingering look, before raising his head to glare at Alan, who was staring at them expectantly. ‘Come on then,’ he sighed. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

*

The setting sun cast splinters of light across the fading sky like claw-marks of crystalline fire as the small group made their way down to Cauldron Lake. The low light seemed to fill the air itself with a faint, ruddy tint, as though pre-stained with the blood they must inevitably spill. There was no laughter, and very little conversation as they descended the frozen trail. Here and there, Casey caught glimpses of the lake between the stark shapes of winter trees, glinting in the dying light like a promise: or a warning. With every step, his hackles rose. His own instincts were screaming at him, to turn around and walk away – but he couldn’t. Not now they were so close to ending this, once and for all.

He risked a brief glance at Grace. She was one of the reasons he was doing this, he reminded himself. She needed to be free of these nightmares – and so did he. They all did. It had gone on long enough: the hauntings. The horror. The monster in the dark that had chased them all down, one by one – hunting them like a pack of bloodthirsty hounds. He swallowed against the lump that rose in his throat as she glanced up, meeting his gaze with a tight, nervous little smile. Every instinct he possessed cried out against her being here, with them. After all, she was a civilian – but more than that. She was his, he thought fiercely; his to love, and to protect. Yet here he was, leading her like a lamb to slaughter, straight into the deadliest danger imaginable, hoping against hope that the price of their freedom wouldn’t be her life; or the lives of any of his friends.

Upon arrival, he saw immediately that Kiran had been busy. Instead of the deserted stretch of lakeshore he was familiar with, the FBC had set up a bank of complex-looking machinery, linked to what appeared to be a series of large, spotlight-style floodlights. Kiran was on the phone when they arrived, her brow furrowed, speaking impatiently, but she raised a hand in greeting, giving him a professional nod as she did so: from one agent to another. His hope lifted slightly at the sight of her, appearing as cool and unruffled as usual. Perhaps this won’t be too bad – whatever ‘this’ is, his inner thought muttered. He still wasn’t entirely certain as to the intricacies of Alan and Alice’s plans – the artists had been incredibly cagey about the actual details of their process – but perhaps that was a good thing, he thought. His role here was refreshingly simple: shoot to kill.

He watched Alice bustle around the equipment that had been set up, making minute adjustments to the angle of the lights. There was a thick black folder clamped tightly under her arm; but other than that, Casey could see no sign of the art she had created for this moment. He caught Saga’s eye, directing a puzzled look towards her.

‘I thought this was all connected to Alice’s photos,’ he muttered, once she was in earshot. ‘That fancy exhibition she set up, in Watery. Why can’t I see any of them here?’

Saga shrugged. ‘It is. But Alan says they don’t need to move the whole exhibit down here. Apparently, it’s enough for the art itself to exist; as long as it’s in close enough proximity to Cauldron Lake.’

‘Right.’ Casey frowned. ‘So, we’re just… bait, then? Standing around, waiting to be attacked by a bunch of fucked up lake monsters?’ he added drily. ‘Or is there more to it than that?’

‘Slightly more, I hope.’ Saga smiled thinly. ‘Alan believes that we have something the Dark Presence wants. Our combined presence at the lake, so close to where it makes its home, should help to draw it out. Then, he can use the art and the Clicker to rewrite reality: to write the nightmares out of exitance. To try and erase the monster – for good.’

‘Fucking hell.’ Casey frowned. ‘This plan sounds like one hell of a Hail Mary, Anderson. I hope they know what they’re doing.’

‘I guess we’ll soon find out. It looks like they’re ready for us.’ She glanced back at Grace, who was standing behind Casey and biting her lip, uncharacteristically silent. ‘Are you alight?’ she added. ‘Grace, what’s wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ she replied quickly. ‘It’s just… I haven’t been down here since I was attacked, that first time. When I first met the two of you. I know it was only a few days ago, but… now, it feels like years. It’s… strange.’ She shivered. ‘I don’t like it.’

‘None of us like being here,’ replied Saga reassuringly. ‘Hopefully, this won’t take long. Alice was insistent that we should be ready for sunset, and that’s only a few minutes away.’

Casey nodded in agreement, wrapping a reassuring arm around Grace, sighing as she leaned her weight against him. They walked together towards the FBC base of operations, where Alice and Kiran were still conferring.

‘Are we all set?’ he asked, directing a steely glare at the FBC agents who had lined the ridge above the lakeshore. ‘We have no way of knowing exactly what’s going to come out of the lake, once we kick this thing off – but I’d bet you half a dollar it won’t be anything pretty.’ He checked the pistol at his hip, nodding his thanks as Saga passed him a spare shotgun.

‘We’re ready.’ Kiran nodded. ‘We’ve got enough firepower to torch any Shaded that try and come for us, while Alan and Alice work. From what little intel we have, they seem to be the Shadow’s current foot soldiers. I expect it’ll send them at us in waves, to try and distract and disorient us.’ She glanced across Casey’s shoulder at Grace. ‘Miss Hart, it’ll be safer for you to join us up on the ridge, away from the water,’ she added. ‘Forgive me for saying, but you’re not exactly equipped for this fight.’

Casey frowned. He wanted to argue – to keep her close by, where he could watch over her – but he knew Kiran was right. He turned to tell her as much, but was interrupted by Alice.

‘I’m sorry, but no. It’s necessary for you all to stay down here, on the lakeshore,’ she told them, shooting an apologetic look at Grace. ‘You’re all key players in the art we’ve made – you’re all in my photos. It’s you the Dark Presence is coming for – to pull the monster from the Dark Place for long enough to destroy it, we’re going to need every trick we’ve got. There’s no do-overs here: we won’t get any second chances.’

‘But I’m not in your exhibition. You didn’t take any pictures of me.’ Grace shot Alice a quizzical look. ‘How can I be in your photographs?’

Alice smiled. ‘Your image is in the photos I took of Agent Casey,’ she replied gently. ‘It’s… complicated. You’re in his thoughts, and they come out in the photographs: like patterns of refracted light. I’ll show you later, once this is all over.’

Casey pulled a face. ‘I’m not sure I like the sound of that,’ he muttered. ‘Alright, then. Grace, you stick beside me, understand? Keep your head down – and watch my back. Give me the heads up if any Shaded try to sneak up on us.’

‘Alright. I can do that.’ She squeezed his hand all too briefly, before releasing it. Casey swallowed hard and turned away, unable for a moment to bear the sheer weight of trust she was placing in him. Her life in his hands. He knew just how deadly the danger was; and how seldom their plans went correctly, here at Cauldron Lake, where the darkness made its home. Fear gnawed at the base of his spine like an animal: the helpless, spiralling worry that, as soon as the sun sank, everything they’d worked for would fall apart. But he was helpless to do anything other than nod, agreeing to stand where Alice Wake directed him. He kept Grace within arm’s reach, comforted slightly by the knowledge that he’d be able to shield her when danger inevitably threatened.

‘Ready?’ Saga called out. ‘The sun’s going down fast! If we’re going to do something, it needs to be soon!’

Alice nodded briskly. ‘We’re nearly there!’ she replied. ‘The sunset acts as a… like a bridge, I suppose. Or a threshold: a door that isn’t quite open, but isn’t exactly locked and bolted either,’ she explained quickly. ‘It’s what you could call a liminal moment. It exists, by definition, between day and night: between light and dark. In those moments when one thing becomes another, reality is less… fixed. It takes less of a metaphorical shove to move or change something.’ She smiled grimly. ‘That’s exactly what we’re trying to do. Besides, if we’re not working fully at night, then the Dark Presence has less of an advantage. It’s stronger in the dark.’

‘No shit, Sherlock,’ Casey growled. ‘That last part I think we could’ve guessed.’

‘That all makes sense, I think.’ Saga was nodding along with Alice’s words. ‘Alright, then. I think we’re as ready as we’ll ever be.’ She glanced back at Alan. ‘Time to get to work.’

Alan nodded slowly, moving to stand beside Alice, holding himself like a man on the edge of a precipice. He closed his eyes, and drew in a deep, shuddering breath. ‘This is where it all began,’ he murmured. ‘All those years ago. Alice… do you remember?’

‘I do.’ Alice Wake’s expression creased in a bitter smile. ‘Finally, Alan… I remember all of it. Everything that happened. To me, to you… to us. Everything that monster has put us through.’

He nodded grimly. ‘Then let’s be rid of it. Once and for all.’ He reached out and grasped her hand tightly for a moment, lifting his gaze towards the burning circle of the setting sun, before pulling a small, white object from his coat pocket. The Clicker. Casey felt a surge of foreboding at the sight. Hard to believe, now, the power that simple light switch had held over them, all those years ago. But here it was: back at Cauldron Lake. Back in the hands of the man whose words could save or destroy them all.

‘Brace yourself,’ he murmured, moving to take Grace’s hand. ‘Whatever happens, stay with me. I’ll protect you.’ He watched as Alan took a step forwards, towards the lake. In one hand, he held the Clicker; in the other, a table lamp in the shape of an angel. Casey recognised it as the one Alice had used, to take her photos: the light that came out of the Dark Place. He smiled grimly. This is it, he thought to himself. The setting sun cast scarlet fire across the still waters of Cauldron Lake, staining the surface a deep, bloody crimson. There was a moment of complete and utter stillness: as though the entire world held its breath.

Then, the sound of footsteps, coming from the forest. The tension in the air shattered like breaking glass. In an instant, every gun in the place was pointed towards the noise, including Casey’s own. But it was only Tim Breaker, wearing his sheriff uniform and an expression of apprehension, emerging from the treeline with his hands raised.

‘Hey there, folks.’ He glanced around bewilderedly. ‘Well, this is awkward. I heard there was a commotion down at the lake, but I wasn’t expecting, uh… this.’ He picked his way slowly towards them across the shoreline, edging around the circles of light that were cast by the floodlights. ‘Does… anybody want to fill me in?’ he added. ‘I mean, I know this is government business. You’re not obliged to keep me in the loop, but… this area is my jurisdiction.’ He met Casey’s eyes briefly, before his gaze slipped away, moving across Casey’s shoulder, towards Grace. ‘Is that… Miss Hart?’ he added. His tone lifted in surprise. ‘Agent Casey, you do know that Miss Hart shouldn’t be here, right? That she’s a civilian?’

‘I’m aware.’ Casey replied, feeling his expression crease in a thunderous scowl. He glanced over at Saga, only to find her staring at the Sheriff with a strange, furious intensity. Her dark eyes were narrowed, and her lips were pressed together in a thin, worried line.

‘Then, you’ll know it’s not safe for her to be out here, doing… well, whatever it is y’all are doing,’ the Sheriff continued. ‘Miss Hart, why don’t you step over here with me, and… I’ll give you a ride back into town?’ He glanced up at the crimson sky, streaked with clouds the colour of old blood. ‘It’s dangerous to be out here at night,’ he added quietly. ‘All sorts of things could happen.’

‘Thanks, but… I think I’m fine right where I am,’ Grace replied slowly. Casey felt her grip tighten on his arm, and he moved to stand protectively in front of her. On the shoreline, the shadows were deepening. Something was wrong.

‘Kiran, Anderson: what’s happening?’ he murmured. ‘Talk to me, goddamn it!’

‘Hey!’ Estevez strode forwards, frowning. ‘Sir, you need to step aside. For your own safety, I need you to leave this place immediately. Get back into your car, and return to the town. This is FBC business.’

Breaker shook his head. ‘Sorry, Agent Estevez. I don’t think I can do that.’ His gaze flickered, glinting faintly silver in the reflected floodlights as he turned to stare back at the lake. A thin film of sweat glistened faintly across his skin.

Saga frowned, tipping her head to one side, watching the Sheriff carefully. He looked ill, she thought to herself. Exhaustion had carved livid bruises beneath his eyes, and his voice sounded strained; but there was something else. Something more than just tiredness in his gaze. Something that made the hair prickle on the back of Saga’s neck; something behind his smile that didn’t belong to the Tim Breaker she knew. As though something else was speaking with his voice – watching them through his eyes. She glared as the Sheriff stepped away from Kiran and the FBC agents, moving cautiously around the light array towards them. He won’t step into the light, her inner thought whispered. Won’t… or can’t?

She bit her lip. Something was pulling at her. A half-forgotten memory: a loose thread in their investigation. She glanced back towards Grace, blinking rapidly as her Mind Place surged into life around her. That day at the lake, she thought. That very first day we arrived in Bright Falls: the day we found Grace here, about to be murdered. She said that someone in the town had told her to come here. To watch the sunset. Her mind slammed into overdrive as suspicion reared its ugly head.

‘Miss Hart,’ she said quickly. ‘You’ve met the Sheriff before, right? When you first arrived in Bright Falls – was he the one who recommended the view from the lake, for your art? Who told you this area was no longer restricted?’

‘Yeah.’ Grace was staring at her. ‘Yeah, I think it was, actually. Why?’

Saga shook her head. This is it, she thought to herself. The final piece of the puzzle! ‘And… the night before last – when you gave your statement at the Sheriff’s station,’ she continued. ‘When he ended up keeping you there, until after dark. Was he the one who suggested you take the short-cut?’

‘He… did, actually. He said it would be a quicker route back, that I should take it if I was… afraid of the dark.’ Grace’s voice trailed off. ‘Saga? What’s going on?’

‘Shit.’ Casey took a pace back, dragging Grace alongside as he pushed her bodily behind him, raising his gun to point directly at the Sheriff. ‘Shit – Anderson, it’s him! He’s the one it’s been hiding in – the Dark Presence! It’s here!’

Saga felt her pulse leap wildly as she met Breaker’s gaze. The eyes he raised to meet hers were ink-black and fathomless; inside them lived the endless, unforgiving night. She watched his expression crease for a moment in pain as something surged into life beneath his skin. A shadow. Then, he opened his mouth wide in a smile that did not belong to him.

‘Well done, detectives. I knew you’d figure it out, eventually.’ A low, rasping laugh tore from the man’s throat: the man who was no longer a man, but a vessel for something terrible. A monster. The Dark Presence’s laughter scraped across Saga’s mind like a hacksaw, sending a jolt of half-remembered terror down her spine. She threw herself out of Breaker’s path as, with inhuman speed, he lurched towards her, reaching out with hands that now had the strength to tear her in two. She heard Casey swear loudly, snarling defiance like an angry dog as the waters of Cauldron Lake came alive, boiling with half-formed, inhuman monsters. The rattle of gunfire filled the air as the FBC opened fire.

‘Anderson?’ Kiran’s voice was in her ear, sounding surprisingly calm given the situation. ‘Looks like we’ve been tricked. We’ll need to adjust the position of the light arrays if we want a chance at trapping this thing,’ she said. ‘My people will try to keep the Shaded pinned down with gunfire while we do it.’

‘Alright!’ Saga nodded briskly, before raising her voice. ‘Alice, Alan: I need you to hold fire with the Clicker! Keep the art away from the Shadow!’

‘Don’t worry, we’re on it!’ Alan had already pocketed the light switch. He pulled a gun and flashlight out from beneath his coat, his expression drawn and grim. ‘Saga – I’m sorry! I didn’t know…!’

‘Save it!’ She snapped in reply, dodging out of the way as a Shaded creature swiped at her, raising her torch and blasting a hole straight through the creature’s chest. It fell, shrieking and writhing in pain, vanishing the moment Saga put a bullet in it; only to be immediately replaced, reforming and reappearing, as though summoned from the black, stinking waters of Cauldron Lake itself.

‘There’s too many of them!’ she heard Casey call. ‘They’re coming out of the goddamn lake!’

‘He’s right!’ Alice raised her voice, shouting to be heard. ‘These creatures are created from the waters of Cauldon Lake: they’re endless! Kill one, and a dozen take its place!’

‘Yeah, I think we figured that part out!’ Casey snapped in reply. ‘So, what the fuck do you suggest we do?’

‘This.’ Estevez’s voice snapped briskly across their comm channels as, with a terrific sound, she wrenched the lever controlling the light array. Searing white light flashed across the surface of the lake. The Shaded withered before it like moths against an open flame, as Saga flung up a hand to protect her eyes.

‘Where’s Breaker gone?’ she called out, momentarily blinded. ‘We need lights on him, fast!’

‘He’s still coming – watch out, Anderson!’ Estevez’s voice was sharp with urgency. ‘We’re diverting power to the secondary floodlights. Keep him distracted!’

‘Easy for you to say,’ she muttered. The Sheriff was still coming for her, his expression twisted into a rictus of malevolent rage, as the monster inside him bared its teeth in triumph. He lashed out, and Saga was forced to back away. She knew it wasn’t Tim Breaker who was trying to kill them – not really. He was just another victim: another pawn in the brutal game the Dark Presence was playing with them all.

She drew in a deep, steadying breath. ‘Alright then, you fucker,’ she murmured. ‘Come on and finish it!’ She raised the beam of her flashlight. The metal casing hummed under her palm as she focused every ounce of willpower. The light flared. Breaker’s body jolted aside, flinching away from the beam like a puppet who’d just received a violent yank on its strings. Darkness boiled around him, filling the night air with fresh terror: but still, Saga did not flinch. She raised her pistol and fired. An answering shot rang out of the night as Casey appeared at her side: loyal to the end, his own gun raised. He gave her a grim, desperate nod as they stood together, shoulder to shoulder against the darkness. His own light joined Saga’s, as they both fired bullet after bullet into the heart of the monster that was coming to consume them all.

‘Kiran, now!’ Casey shouted. Breaker was almost upon them. Saga could feel the power of the Dark Presence like a tremendous physical force, beating against her skin. Then: light flared. Darkness dispersed. The blinding white light of the FBC’s floodlights seared across the surface of lake, turning the water to silver fire. For a single, triumphant moment, Breaker was stopped in his tracks: pinned by the light. His expression crumpled, as the Shadow raged. A black cloud of pure, malevolent fury came boiling out of him: screaming into the night. For a moment, Saga met his desperate, horrified gaze, before the man collapsed in a heap, released at last by the darkness. He fell down like a broken doll, his limbs sprawling horribly beneath him; discarded like a toy that had outlived its usefulness.

‘Estevez, what’s happening?’ Saga called, as she and Casey fell back. She glanced frantically around, reloading as she did. Alice and Alan were indistinct figures at the shoreline, still battling the remaining Shaded. Casey was at her back, and Kiran was still working on the lights, barking orders to her agents. Grace was some distance away, having been pushed by Casey deeper into the lake: away from the dangers on the shore. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Saga caught her breath, daring to hope that perhaps, this was it: that this was the moment they’d all been waiting for. Hoping for. Beneath the violent brightness of the floodlights, the Dark Presence appeared to be dissipating, weakening; but still, the terror in the night air grew. Saga frowned uneasily as fear clawed its way into the pit of her stomach. She heard Casey calling out, shouting Alan’s name as, from the shoreline, the writer raised the arm holding the angel lamp. For a moment, its brilliant light joined the floodlights across the lake; before it flickered and died.

‘Wake!’ Casey shouted. ‘What the fuck’s going on? Why isn’t it working?’

‘There’s something else!’ Alan replied, his voice rising anxiously. ‘Something linking the Dark Presence to this reality – another anchor, it has to be! We need to find it!’

‘Shit,’ muttered Saga, raising her eyes back towards the forest. ‘What the fuck happens now? How do we find…?’ She trailed off as something nudged against her ankle. Something had floated up from the depths of Cauldron Lake, and was drifting towards the shore. Something that looked an awful lot like a severed arm.

‘What the hell…?’ Casey stumbled, his jaw dropping in horror as, one by one, chunks of dead flesh began appearing on the surface of the lake. A rotting, foetid stench assailed them both; Saga clamped a hand over her mouth and nose as beside her, Casey doubled over and retched. The lake-water was moving, pulling the pieces together, turning from ink-black to blood-red; and with a sudden, terrible premonition, Saga knew exactly what was happening.

‘These are from all our murder victims: the missing pieces!’ she breathed. ‘The Dark Presence must have killed them. It took the parts, and hid them – all this time, they’ve been kept under the lake!’

‘But why? What the fuck is going on?’ Casey was staring around, horror-struck. Crimson foam flooded the shoreline, rising like an awful tide as a horribly familiar figure started to take shape. White bone glinted against the dullness of dead flesh as it rose slowly to its feet. Saga caught a glimpse of something out of place: the torn sleeve of a high-viz running jacket. A part from their latest murder victim.

‘Jesus Christ,’ she muttered, as realisation struck her like a bullet. ‘This is what it meant: this is what it wants! Not just a vessel, but a body of its own. It’s using the parts to create one!’ She met Casey’s horrified stare. ‘Estevez! This has to be it! This is the link – the anchor!’ she added, raised her hand to her ear, hoping against hope their radios still worked. ‘It’s Scratch – it has to be! He’s trying to return, in a new body: a new form. Find a way to take him out, now!’

She raised her gun and fired. The assemblage of dead flesh barely even flinched. It was like an awful sculpture, created by something that only knew the worst of humanity: the bloodiest, nastiest parts. Saga stumbled backwards, revulsion churning in her stomach at the familiarity of the features that took shape before her.

‘You have brought me what I want.’ A mouth that was not a mouth opened in a horrific grin, its jaw unhinging like a serpent’s. ‘The missing pieces. Everything I need to complete my final work of art.’

‘And what’s that?’ she called, firing again. ‘What the fuck do you want from us?’ I need to buy the others time, she thought desperately. If I can keep this thing distracted, maybe it’ll give Alan and the FBC time to figure out a plan to destroy it! The sockets of the creature’s sightless eyes were hollow and empty; still, it turned its face towards her, and the night air trembled beneath its awful laughter. Saga moved into the path of light; but that didn’t stop it any more.

‘I want what you have.’ The words shivered across the surface of the lake, carving ripples through the water. ‘The eyes of a seer. The hands of an artist. The mind of a writer. The heart of a warrior.’

Saga groaned as the voice sent pain lancing through her head, so strongly that it put her on her knees. She was gasping for breath, blood on her knuckles, her palms pressed hard against wet ground as she fought for air. She was dimly aware of Casey at her side, his hand gripping her shoulder, wrenching her back onto her feet as he snarled defiance at the approaching horror.

‘No chance, buddy!’ came the echo of her partner’s furious voice. ‘You stay the fuck away from her!’ Shot after shot rang out as Casey fired into the maw of oncoming darkness. ‘The eyes of a seer aren’t on the menu today, you fucker. And you can’t have my heart either: it’s promised to a lady!’

The lights flickered. Fell laughter filled the night sky, quickly turning into a howl of anguish as the floodlights snapped back into life. Kiran’s voice was steady in Saga’s ear. ‘Get the hell away from that thing, Anderson,’ she instructed. ‘I’ve radioed the chopper for an air strike: ETA one minute. You need to move, now!’

‘Fuck!’ Saga swore, grasping Casey’s arm. ‘Come on! We need to grab Grace and run!’ The lights still wounded the Dark Presence, weakened it: but in the sanctuary of its new body, they no longer stopped it. It lurched clumsily, away from Saga and Casey. For a moment, she breathed a sigh of relief; before realising that it had found a new target. With Casey at Saga’s side, Grace was no longer protected.

A hand that was not a hand reached out. Grace screamed in terror. The artist’s hands were white-knuckled on the handle of her now-useless flashlight, and she was stumbling backwards, deeper into the lake. She lashed out, striking the monster hard. Bone broke beneath the blow, shattering into fragments as thick, reeking blood spilled from the wound; still, it kept on coming.

‘Grace! Get the fuck away from her!’ Too late, Saga turned to see Casey running, sprinting through the bloodied waters as though his life depended on it. He caught Grace’s arm and yanked her back, the pair of them losing their balance as the waters of Cauldron Lake rose around them. Saga was shouting, trying to call a warning, barely able to hear herself over the sound of the paranatural forces that threatened to split the sky in two. She staggered back, allowing Kiran to grab her and drag her to safety as behind them, the whir of helicopter blades filled the night with muted thunder. The flash of the missile strike was accompanied by a burst of blinding yellow light, brighter than anything she’d ever seen. Saga swore violently, clamping a hand across her eyes to protect them.

The monster bellowed. Rage and pain filled the night air, as chunks of rotting flesh rained down across the surface of the lake. A black cloud of unfathomable anger burst into the night, filling the air with a sound like the beating of terrible wings: the Dark Presence, returned to form. A cloud of wrath. It exploded into the night like a storm-cloud, knocking them all off their feet with the sheer violence of its passing. It came hurtling towards Grace, who’d been thrown back by the missile blast. A voice in the dark shivered through the air: ‘I will take her. She, at least, is mine.’

‘No!’ Saga staggered back to her feet. But it was Casey who got there before her: Casey who outpaced the monster, Casey who threw himself across Grace’s crumpled body, stepping deliberately into the path of the oncoming darkness. He raised his gun, for all the good it would do, as the Shadow boiled around him in a black, loathsome cloud. Then, with a sound like breaking glass, it vanished. Violet light roared across the surface of the lake as an Overlap was torn violently open. For a handful of desperate, agonising seconds, Saga stared into Casey’s horrified eyes; then, he was gone.

Light dispersed. The waters grew still. With frightening suddenness, the wind dropped; and there was only the peaceful, twinkling stars reflected in the tranquil waters of Cauldron Lake. The monster had gone, vanishing back under the surface; and it had taken Casey with it.

Chapter Text

It was a sombre group that returned to the Elderwood Lodge that night. Saga drove with Grace, who seemed almost completely numb with shock. Agent Estevez rode with them, after giving instructions for her agents to take care of the equipment down at the lake. The drive back was uneventful, despite the darkness that pressed in on them from all sides: as though now that the Dark Presence had taken something it wanted, it was satisfied, for now, to leave them alone. Saga shivered, replaying the scenario that just happened at the lake over and over again in her mind. There was nothing more I could do, she told herself sternly. We did everything we could – we all did. There was no way we could have stopped the Shadow – and no chance I could have stopped Casey from stepping in front of Grace the way he did. But despite this, anxiety kept clawing at her. Her own mind was beginning to play tricks, suggesting that maybe if she’d just been a bit faster, or smarter, or worked a bit harder, then… she wouldn’t have lost her partner. Again.

‘God damn it,’ she snapped, slamming her hand against the steering wheel. ‘God fucking damn it all.’ She shook her head, before remembering her passengers, and shooting an apologetic glance towards them. To her credit, Kiran simply nodded understanding, her expression mirroring Saga’s own frustration, while Grace seemed to barely even notice the outburst: trapped as she was in the echo chamber of her own misery.

It was raining by the time they arrived back at the lodge. It drummed against the window as Saga made a fresh pot of coffee out of habit, before remembering that their habitual coffee-drinker was no longer there, with them: that he had been dragged into the darkness beneath the lake by the monster they had tried, and failed, to destroy.

‘Well, that was a colossal shit-show.’ Estevez’s voice cut through the deepening gloom. ‘At least we know our equipment works. I just wasn’t expecting the Sheriff to fuck us all over like that.’ She glanced down at her phone. ‘My people have him secured,’ she added, in answer to Saga’s raised eyebrow. ‘He’s still out cold. They’ve put him in the containment unit we had prepared for the Shadow. My hunch is that he’ll be alright, now that the Shadow’s been forced out of him: still, better safe than sorry.’

‘That’s something, at least.’ Saga sighed, folding her arms and glancing tiredly back at the case board. ‘At least now we know the answers to most of the questions we had over the course of the investigation. My guess is that the Dark Presence – or at least, a fragment of it – hitched a ride inside Tim Breaker’s head when he found his way out of the Dark Place, without him knowing. It must’ve been hiding inside him all this time, just… watching. Waiting. Building up its strength. Influencing his thoughts, his actions… it was manipulating him, all this time.’

Estevez nodded grimly. ‘Explains why he was so weird about some things when we arrived. Like the lights, and the lack of heat down at the station.’ She huffed a frustrated sigh, leaning against the back of a chair. ‘Fucking hell. I can’t believe I missed that.’

‘We all did.’ Saga shook her head. ‘Don’t beat yourself up over it. It won’t do any good – and right now, we need to figure out a plan. I won’t leave Casey alone in the dark, to be trapped in that hellscape for the next dozen years – or however long it could take him to find a way out of that fucking place.’

‘He might not be able to.’ The door to the lodge swung wide, admitting a grim-looking Alan Wake. His eyes were dark with worry, and his hair was slick with rainwater. The night followed him inside. Alice was right behind him, her lips pressed into a thin, worried line. She went immediately to Grace’s side, sitting down beside the shivering woman and clasping her hands tightly.

‘What the fuck do you mean by that?’ Saga glared at Alan. ‘Of course he will. You got out – and so did I. So, why wouldn’t Casey?’

‘Because he won’t be able to navigate the Dark Place in the same way that you and I did.’ Alan shook his head. ‘Look, I’m not saying this just to piss you off. It’s true. You have a talent for finding your way – and you had Tor and Odin too. They helped you escape the Dark Place. Hell, it took me thirteen years to write my way out – and that was with you and Alice, both helping me!’ He gestured impatiently. ‘Look, I know Casey’s a good agent. But the Dark Place… it fucks with your head. It eats your mind: your memories. It makes you forget. Eventually, you’ll forget everything.’

‘Everything?’ The word spilled from Grace’s lips as though it had been punched out of her. Her expression was strained, her skin ashen beneath a layer of muck and grime from falling into the lake.

‘Everything, I’m afraid. You, me… all of us.’ Alan shifted uncomfortably. ‘Also… Casey’s not a writer. He can’t write his way out using a story, like I did – or use another art form to punch through an Overlap from his side.’ He glanced back at Saga. ‘You’ve got seer talents. They helped you navigate the Dark Place. Does Casey have anything like that – anything at all?’

‘Not that I know of.’ Saga heaved a sigh of frustration, clenching her fists. ‘Alright, then. We’ll have to help him. We can figure out a plan to pull him out ourselves, from this side.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Right?’

‘Right.’ Alan nodded, glancing uncertainly at Alice, who was speaking in hushed tones with Grace. ‘Yeah. We can do that. I’m sure we can figure something out. It might just take some time.’

Estevez shook her head. ‘Time’s the one thing we don’t have. The way I understand it, the longer Alex is trapped in the Dark Place, the deeper he’ll likely travel into it – which will make it harder for us to pull him out.’ She fixed Alan with a steely glare. ‘This would be a great time to start having some bright ideas, Wake,’ she added, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. ‘After all, this disaster at the lake was your plan. For your sake as well as Alex’s, I sincerely hope you have a back-up.’

‘We… yeah. Let me just… hang on.’ Alan turned back towards his wife, reaching out to her for support. ‘Alice?’

‘Just a moment.’ Alice had an arm around Grace, who was shivering violently. ‘Alan, she’s hurting. She’s still in shock, I think. The horror at the lake, then losing Agent Casey like that…’ She glanced between Saga and Kiran, raising her brows worriedly. ‘Is there somewhere she can go lie down for a bit? You don’t need her at the moment, right?’

‘Sure.’ Estevez nodded, her expression softening in sympathy as she met Grace’s tearstained gaze. ‘Miss Hart, the best thing you can do for Alex right now is to recover your strength,’ she added. ‘We’ll need you and your art to help us pull him out, once we’ve figured out a plan. Take some time, rest while you can, and I’ll come get you when we’re ready, okay?’

‘Okay.’ Grace blinked, tears welling in her eyes as she shook her head. ‘I’m sorry – it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t been there…’

‘No.’ Saga shook her head firmly, interrupting Grace as she clasped a steadying hand around the trembling woman’s forearm. ‘You can’t think like that. Nothing that happened tonight is your fault – or any of our faults. I can promise you that. It’s the fucking Dark Presence that’s to blame: and I am going to make damn certain that it pays for what it’s done.’ Her expression creased in determination. ‘Estevez is right. Get some rest, if you can. We’ll need your help later, and it’s important that you’re ready for what comes next.’

‘Alright then.’ Grace nodded slowly. ‘I’ll just… I’ll see you in a bit, Saga.’

Saga watched her disappear down the hall, towards the room they’d set aside for her. She waited until she heard the door swing closed, before releasing a long, slow breath of relief. ‘Fucking hell,’ she murmured. ‘I didn’t want to say this in front of Grace, but… Casey might really be up shit creek, if we can’t find a way to reach him.’

‘Then we’ll force one.’ Estevez’s voice was steely. ‘In all the files I’ve read on the Shadow, it seems to have its own rules and rituals that it plays by. If we can understand those, we can make them work to our advantage.’ She glanced between Alan and Saga. ‘You were both trapped in the Dark Place three years ago. As I understand it, there was a… a metaphorical angle to this prison, as well as a literal one. Alan, you were trapped in an imitation of your Writer’s Room, created by the Dark Presence; and Anderson, you were stuck in a fucked-up version of your own Mind Place, until you broke free. Right?’

‘That’s right.’ Saga nodded quickly. ‘It was like… an echo chamber, reflecting everything back at me, magnified a thousand times. All my worries, my fears… not just about the case, either. I became my own worst enemy. My own fear was keeping me trapped there.’ She drew in a deep, steadying breath. ‘Once I’d figured that out, I was able to open a door. Explore the rest of the Dark Place: travel through it, to find a way out.’

‘Exactly.’ Alan nodded, his expression grim. ‘I was able to write a story to get out. To project my consciousness out into the Dark Place, to hunt for an escape. There were layers upon layers of the city. I was able to work through them, changing things as I went – but I could only travel within the bounds of the story, and Scratch was hunting me the whole time.’

Estevez frowned. ‘Then, following the same fucked-up logic… Alex will likely be trapped somewhere too. A room, in the dark, with all of his worst fears: everything bad that’s ever happened to him.’

Saga and Alan exchanged loaded glances. ‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ muttered Saga. ‘Casey’s not exactly had an easy life.’

‘Do you think he’ll be able to fight it? To break out of the loop?’ Alice fixed Saga with an intense expression. ‘The same thing happened to me as well. When the monster first came for us, on Diver’s Isle. It was a long time ago, but… I can still remember it.’ She shivered. ‘I was kept prisoner in the dark for so long. Trapped with all my fears, my doubts, my… my photos. If Alex can break out of the Dark Presence’s trap, then we should be able to help him. We – Alan and I – we might be able to guide him through the dark city. But you need to be honest with us, Saga. We need to know how to act – and how you think he’ll act. You know him better than anyone else here.’

‘I do.’ Saga squared her shoulders, meeting their collected gazes with grim determination. ‘Casey’s had a lot of shit in his life – but he’s tough. He fought his way through it all once already, and he’ll do it again. I know he will.’ She shook her head, smiling slightly. ‘He trusts us,’ she added, her voice softening fondly. ‘And while he can certainly be an annoying, stubborn, grumpy, cynical ass sometimes… he's also my friend. And I know that he would fight to the death for the people he loves.’ She shot a knowing look at Alan. ‘We can’t let him down. He’ll be reaching out to us, any way he can. It’s up to us to reach back.’

‘Then that’s what we’ll do.’ Alan pushed his hair out of his eyes, his expression lighting with fierce determination. ‘Saga, you were able to communicate with me through the Overlaps last time. It was because of the story, I’m sure of it. We were connected. Even though it was patchy, and we were hearing each other at different times: different points in the narrative.’ He winced. ‘Fuck, it’s complicated. We’ve tried to make things simpler this time around, but I think we’ve made it all worse.’ He shot a worried glance towards Estevez, who folded her arms and glared. ‘Listen: I’ve got an idea,’ he added. ‘But you’re not going to like it.’

‘I think I can already guess where this is going.’ Kiran narrowed her eyes. ‘Alright then, Wake. You want to write another story, don’t you?’

Alan shrugged. ‘It’s the only thing I’m good at. It’s the only thing I can think of that might help – and I need to help Casey! I owe him that much. I’m the reason he’s here – the reason why he and Saga were drawn into this whole mess in the first place. It’s all because of me. Because of my writing. So please, give me the chance to fix this.’

Saga and Estevez shared a glance. ‘It might be the only way,’ Saga replied. ‘But let’s not rush into anything. We can’t afford any more mistakes. Alan, you can’t just go off on your own this time. This is a joint federal case now – I’m officially bringing you and Alice in as consultants. Which means that we all need to work together.’

‘Yeah. You’re right, of course.’ Alan nodded, reaching for the coffee that Saga had made, pouring himself a cup and downing it immediately. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s do this.’

Time passed. The darkness slowly deepened. Nobody noticed the rain turning gradually to snow as the temperature lowered. At first, Saga had been worried about more Shaded showing up in the town, eager to finish what they’d started. But it seemed that they weren’t the only ones needing to regroup and recover their strength. Estevez had dismissed the rest of her team when they’d arrived back at the lodge with the unconscious Tim Breaker, instructing them to take some rest while they still could: the same as Grace.

Saga frowned. There had been no sound from Grace’s room since she vanished some time ago. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t be cause for concern, but this time, her instincts were tugging at her. Something felt… off. There was something about the silence she did not like.

‘I’m going to go check on Grace,’ she told the others, pouring a fresh glass of water and grabbing the first-aid kit from the cupboard. ‘She’s been awfully quiet.’

‘She’s sleeping, isn’t she?’ Alice raised a single, quizzical eyebrow. ‘Surely it’s better not to disturb her – not until we need her help.’

‘I just want to make sure she’s okay. We were all pretty caught up in it earlier. She could have gotten hurt, down by the lake, and been too numb to ask for help.’ Saga shrugged. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll just poke my head around the door, like I do when I check on Logan.’ She ignored Alice’s protests, padding quietly up the hall and towards the door to Grace’s room as unease stirred in the pit of her gut. She hesitated outside, listening carefully, before pushing the door wide.

‘Grace?’

The room was empty. Saga caught her breath. ‘What the fuck?’ she muttered, before darting next door to check Casey’s room as well, just in case; but that was empty too.

‘Hey – we’ve got a problem! Grace is missing!’ Saga raised her voice, calling out to the others, who came running.

‘What the hell do you mean, she’s missing?’ Estevez snapped, glaring over Saga’s shoulder at the empty room. ‘Well, there’s no signs of a struggle, so we can hopefully rule out a kidnapping. Do you think it was the Shadow? Or could she have been sleepwalking again?’

Saga shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. But that window’s open, and I’d swear it was closed before.’ She moved around the bed to check the latch, before noticing a folded piece of paper that had been left on the pillow. It had Saga’s name on it. She picked it up and flipped it open, and felt her stomach drop as she quickly scanned its contents.

‘Oh, shit,’ she muttered. ‘She’s gone, Estevez. She’s gone to find Casey.’

*

Darkness was coming. There was no way to escape.

Grace knew this, now. She had watched as though in slow motion the inevitable descent of the Dark Presence: the cloud of wrath that had ensnared Casey in its grasp. It had dragged him down, below the surface of the lake, into unfathomable depths. She had cried out to him, called his name, like she had in dreams so many times before; but from this nightmare, there was no waking up.

She had sat silently in the back of the car as Saga drove them to the lodge, numb from guilt and grief, feeling half-mad with the memory of terror. The monsters from her dreams had surfaced into reality. There was no escape, now: and no turning back. Grace felt her vision tunnelling, the road stretching out ahead, into darkness: as though her future had already been written. A dark path, leading her onward, into an abyss.

Returning to the lodge had been awful. Despite the noise of the others returning with her, the place had felt hollow and empty. She had felt hollow, and empty. She missed Casey’s reassuring presence at her side. His warmth. His careful smile. His quiet strength. All of it: everything they’d had, everything that he had been, it was all… gone.

Except… he wasn’t dead. That much she understood from Saga and Agent Estevez. She’d overheard their urgent discussions on how to bring him back, and the troubles they might face – that Casey himself would face, lost and alone in the Dark Place. Trapped in a nightmare dimension, under Cauldron Lake. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stop shivering. She was freezing cold, soaked to the skin from the icy touch of lake water, and filled with premonitions of dread. Something was clawing at her: a terrible sense of urgency. Like a voice inside her head: her own voice, familiar yet strange, calling to her as though from a great distance away. Now – you have to go, now! it seemed to say. You have to find him!

‘Are you okay?’ A pair of warm hands reached out to clasp hers. Grace looked up, into the worried gaze of Alice Wake. Her expression creased in sympathy as she sat down beside her, pulling Grace into a fierce embrace. ‘I’m sorry – I’m so sorry,’ she muttered. ‘You must be hurting – do you need anything? Water, a drink…?’

‘No. I’m… no.’ Grace shook her head. ‘I just feel… numb. Casey, he…’ she broke off as a flood of fresh tears swept over her. ‘He saved me, again. Just like he always does. Did. Only this time, it cost him everything.’

Alice smiled through her own tears. ‘That’s just the kind of guy that Alex is,’ she replied softly. ‘Always looking out for the people he loved.’

Grace nodded. Her throat was too tight to speak. She remembered seeing a black, malevolent cloud hurtle towards her, in countless dreams; remembered how Casey had always been there, by her side, to protect her. Perhaps that was a premonition, she thought to herself. Perhaps he was always going to sacrifice himself to save me – maybe there was nothing I could have done to stop him. To change things.

‘I… I’ve seen it happen before,’ she managed, swallowing hard against her grief. ‘In my nightmares, I mean. Casey being… swept away, by an awful tide of darkness. The only difference is that in the dreams, I was being pulled down too. We were trapped in it together.’

‘Together?’ Alice tilted her head. Her blue eyes narrowed as though in sudden thought. ‘Then… maybe that’s the clue,’ she breathed. ‘You and Alex, I mean. He can’t do this alone, and neither can you. You’ll have to work together to fix this.’

‘But how?’ Grace shook her head. ‘Saga said he’d been taken someplace under the lake. How the fuck am I supposed to find him? He’s been taken somewhere I can’t follow!’

‘No. He hasn’t.’ Alice smiled grimly, pausing only to glance over at the others. Alan, Saga, and Kiran all appeared deep in their own conversation, paying no attention at all to Alice and Grace. Alice lowered her voice conspiratorially. ‘I did it,’ she murmured. ‘I found a way into the Dark Place on my own. I did it to save Alan, because I knew that I could – and because I loved him too much to let him die alone.’

‘How did you do it?’ Grace couldn’t help but lean forwards as hope flared wildly inside her, like a candle in the dark. She clasped Alice’s hands urgently. ‘Alice, if there’s a way I can get there, find Casey… please, you have to tell me!’

Alice hesitated, only for a moment. ‘Alright,’ she muttered. ‘But you have to go, now. You don’t have much time, and if Saga figures out what you’re trying to do, she will try and stop you.’ She shook her head. ‘Grab what you need, and sneak out of here. Head back to the lake. Make sure you take a light, and something of Casey’s: it’ll help you find him.’ She paused for a moment, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. ‘If the Dark Place wants you… if it’s hungry for you… then all you need to do is walk out into the lake. Walk until you’re afraid: then keep on going. Walk until the water closes over your head; until all you can see is darkness. That’s the way in.’ She glanced around, lowering her voice urgently. ‘Take this,’ she added, shoving her camera into its travel bag, pausing only to attach the flash. ‘I’ve got a hunch you’ll need it more than me. And here…’ she pushed a brown manilla folder into Grace’s hands, gesturing for her to hide it. ‘I stole this from the FBC,’ she muttered. ‘Read it – it’s their report of everything that happened to Alan and me, in the Dark Place, last time. It’ll give you all the information you need.’

‘Alright.’ Grace stuffed the file beneath her coat to hide it, before slinging the camera bag across her back. ‘Alice… thank you.’

‘Don’t mention it.’ Alice smiled. ‘We do what we can for the ones we love,’ she added softly. ‘I can get you away from the others, for a little while, but you’ll only get one shot at this. Grace, please, just… make it count.’

‘I will. I swear it.’ Grace tightened her grip on Alice’s hands, swearing her solemn promise as the other woman rose gracefully to her feet, wrapping a protective arm around Grace and announcing to the rest of the room that she needed some rest. Grace nodded along, trying not to let guilt rise inside her as she met Agent Estevez’s worried gaze. For all her stern exterior, Kiran was actually extremely kind. It didn’t feel right lying to her, or Saga; but she shoved the thought away. The need to find Casey twisted like a knife between her ribs, even stronger and more desperate than before. It’ll be worth it, she told herself. Casey needs me. I know that now. I won’t leave him to suffer – to die alone in the dark. Together, we’ll find a way out: together, we can fix this. I know we can.

The moment the bedroom door swung closed behind her, Grace was moving, grabbing fresh clothes out of her travel bag and changing speedily into practical trousers and a clean top, running a brush through her hair. She didn’t know how long she had before somebody came in to check on her – but she wanted to be long gone by then. She eyed her old coat with irritation; damp and cold as it already was, it would be useless on the trek down to the lake. She sighed, turning away; before something caught her eye.

The FBI jacket that Casey had lent her was still hanging over the back of the chair. She bit her lip, unable to prevent fresh tears from flooding her eyes at the memory. So long ago, it seemed, that first meeting: despite the fact that it had occurred a mere handful of days in the past. She smiled sadly. He’d been so insistent that she should wear it; utterly sincere in his concern for her wellbeing, albeit in a gruff, awkward kind of way. The first time he had smiled at her, she wondered if she’d imagined it. She’d cursed herself for a fool, knowing full well that this handsome FBI agent almost certainly wasn’t interested in her, a random civilian; that he was simply here to do a job. Nothing more. But… she’d been proved hopelessly, wonderfully wrong.

She picked up the jacket and put it on. It was too large for her, but Grace didn’t care. She knew, deep in her bones, that it was right: that this was the thing she needed to take on her journey into the dark, to find the man she loved.

Love. There had been no mention of the word between them, yet. Grace had bitten it back, every time it lingered on her tongue: swallowed it down like a bitter pill, reminding herself again and again that Casey was only here because of his job. Because of the dreams. Because of the murders. That was all. He wasn’t here for her – and once the case was solved, he would leave.

She shivered. The thought was like a cold hand wrapped around her heart. The threat of losing Casey had been a constant shadow in her mind: fear, where there had previously been none. Despite this, she had fallen for him. She’d fallen so hard and fast that it made her head spin. She remembered lying with him, in the silence of the night. His arms around her: his gentle strength. The way that he had looked at her, with eyes the colour of fresh midsummer skies. How his perpetual frown softened when she touched him or took his hand; his expression filling with quiet wonder, as though he couldn’t quite believe that she was real. He’d been awkward around her at first, like a large dog in a small room, his gaze constantly moving – looking everywhere but at her. As though looking into her eyes had been like staring directly into the sun: blinding. Dangerous. She, on the other hand, had barely been able to look away. Something had hooked into her, dragging her gaze, again and again, towards this man: this handsome stranger, with the glacial eyes and spectacular cheekbones. Except… he didn’t feel like a stranger. He’d felt like home.

‘Damn it all,’ she muttered to herself, rubbing a hand across her tired eyes. ‘Damn it all to hell and back again.’ She picked up the flashlight from the table, pocketing a handful of spare batteries and the stolen FBC file to read later. Time was running out; she had to leave, and quickly. She wrote a brief note to Saga and left it on the pillow, before glancing around. She was not so naïve as to believe she’d be able to manage without a weapon, but unlike the federal agents, she had no gun: and no way of acquiring one without being noticed. There was nothing here that she could use, except…

She laughed softly. There was a baseball bat propped in the corner of the room. ‘You’ll do,’ she murmured, grasping the handle and giving it an experimental swing. ‘Alright, then. Time to go.’ She slung Alice’s camera bag across her shoulder, before unlatching the window and clambering out. She landed with a soft thump on the grass outside, wincing at the sudden cold. There was snow in the air: a change in the texture of the wind. She made her way towards the spot where her car was parked, careful to avoid being seen. It was only a short drive to Cauldron Lake. Grace already knew the way.

Step by careful step, she descended the path that led to the lakeshore, passing giant redwoods and green-black pines. Alone in the dark, the enormous trees seemed to forebode disaster, built on too large and grand a scale to feel in any way safe or familiar. She thought of England, her home: the quiet woodlands and gentle summers. The gnarled old apple tree at the bottom of the garden, beside the gate of her childhood home. The trees had always seemed friendly, back then. Now, they loomed in warning. Her breath came in puffs of frantic steam in the frozen night, as she tugged Casey’s jacket more closely around her for comfort. She kept her gaze fixed on the path ahead, wary for any sound that might herald the approach of danger, but the forest was deathly still. A sickroom hush lay over the shadowed trees, and the only things she could hear was the crunch of her boots along the frost-lined path, and the ragged sound of her own breathing.

The wind dropped. The trees seemed almost to part before her as she descended towards the lake, laying bare a path that had not been there earlier that day. Something was waiting for her, down at the lake. She fought down the fear that rose like bile at the back of her throat, as the pale beam of her flashlight cut a narrow path through the dark. The lake at night seemed extraordinarily lonely. The stories she’d heard about it swirled together in her mind, tinged with bitter grief. Guilt, too, lay like a stone in her stomach. After all, Casey had been taken by the darkness while trying to protect her: he had offered himself in sacrifice to his very worst fear in her place. She had seen for herself the monstrous nature of what lived below the lake. Beneath these calm, placid waters lurked a mind-bending terror.

She clenched her fist. Here, on the shores of Cauldron Lake, what she was about to do seemed like nothing short of madness. But she trusted her art to show her the way: trusted the instincts that had guided her this far. She trusted Alice Wake. As if in a dream, she heard a voice, drifting faintly across the surface of the water: the voice of Alan Wake. It was muffled, incomprehensible, the words obscure and without meaning, but the voice was sharp with urgency. She shivered as the cold bit into the tender skin at the back of her neck. She stared out over the lake, serene beneath a sky full of stars. The water glistened invitingly. Grace knew what she had to do.

Step by careful step, she descended. The water lapped around her ankles, shockingly cold, the mirror of the surface breaking into a thousand blackened fragments. She kept going. The water rose. Fear took her, coiling like a serpent around her spine; still, she kept going. It was becoming harder now, to wade out into deeper waters: the lake was black as ink beneath the endless night, stretching seemingly into infinity. She glanced up at the jagged shape of Mirror Peak, towering above her, like a giant of old. She swallowed hard. Keep going, the voice of Alice Wake seemed to urge her. Walk until you’re afraid: then keep on going! She walked until the water rose to her neck: it felt like icy fingers at her throat. She was forced to inhale sharply, taking a deep breath and holding it as the water closed over her mouth and nose. She shut her eyes, blocking out the light, moving slowly but surely into the dark.

Light vanished. Darkness remained.

Chapter Text

Past. Present. Future. The language of the dead: the totality of time, wrapped up in a neat little handful of syllables, in a place where time itself becomes meaningless. Alex Casey is sitting at a small dark desk in a small dark room, where there is only one small, dark window looking out over pitch-black nothingness. The bitter taste of black coffee and yesterday’s whisky rasps at the back of his throat. A spread of legal documents lies before him, the neat, printed text blurring almost to illegibility by the exhaustion that weighs him down like a millstone.

He'd been searching for something. Hadn’t he? Casey frowns, and wipes a hand across his brow. The room is lit only by the yellow light from a single lamp. The shade is painted with a garish pattern of flowers, which cast distorted shadows on the walls. He blinks. He knows this place. What the hell is he doing back here?

He glances back down at the desk. Divorce papers, he realises: that’s what the legal documents are. This is the motel he’d booked into right after his wife had told him that she was leaving him; that she no longer loved him. Pain blooms inside Casey’s chest at the memory, opening wide like the petals on a blown rose. He’d stayed here for some time, trying to get his head straight, unwilling to act like a stranger in his own home. He’d be lying if he’d said the divorce had come out of nowhere: looking back now, the writing had been on the wall. He’d just been too blind to see it, until it was too late.

He shivers, glancing around at the familiar, miserable setting. A narrow, single bed that had squeaked every time he’d sat on it; décor that should have been left back in the nineties. A graveyard of whisky bottles beside the desk. He’d taken some leave from work while trying to come to terms with the pain of her betrayal. He could remember, clear as day, the anger; the agony inflicted on him. He’d tried – he’d really, really tried to make things work. To make it right. It had all been for nothing.

He shakes his head, frowning. His thoughts come only slowly, as though he’s having to reach into the dark and drag them out, one by one. Why is he here, he wonders. The divorce had been a long time ago, now. He’d made peace with it – or at least, he thought that he had. This was an old, tired anger that he’d stepped away from long ago. He’d found new purpose in life. New people. He could not go back into the past and change it, but he had learned to look into the future with something resembling hope.

Piece by piece, his memories return. He stands up from the desk and begins to pace. He know, now, why he is here. The Dark Place has drawn something out of his memory: reaching into his mind to seize a bitter moment from his past, using it to construct this prison for him. He smiles grimly. The monster had done a good job, at least; he had to admit that. When he sits down experimentally on the bed, the springs creak in exactly the same way that he remembers; and when he glances up, there is the same mildew pattern on the ceiling; a damp, spreading stain that, from a certain angle, looks a lot like a map of Canada. But there is one thing missing, he realises. There is no door. Only four bare walls and a single barred window: no exit. No escape.

I’m in the Dark Place, his inner thought whispers. Caught like a rat in a trap: with no way out. Fuck. He hesitates. No, he thinks. There is one way. A way he’s only thought about once, in the past, in the depths of his despair: when the darkness had been deepest. He strides back over to the desk and tugs open the top drawer. A revolver lies there. Casey knows, without looking, that it will already be loaded: but only with a single bullet. He picks it up. The gun is a cold lump of metal in his hand, glinting dully as he turns it against the light. He smiles grimly. He knows exactly how this story is supposed to end.

‘No,’ he says aloud. ‘I won’t do it. I’m not playing your sick fucking games.’

He replaces the gun carefully, sliding the drawer closed and releasing a quiet sigh. The room is cold: his breath is misting up in front of him, but Casey doesn’t care. It is a sign that he’s still alive; and as long as he is alive, he can think. He can fight. He can figure a way out of this prison; a way to return to his friends. A way home.

Wincing, he places a hand against his ribs. Pain lurks there too: a starburst of pain, as though from a bullet. He glances down, sees blood on his fingers. These are the memories that haunt him. The agony of a wound that he had never suffered in real life; that had only ever been a work of fiction, in Alan Wake’s crime books. There had been others, too: other bullet wounds, broken bones, scars and scrapes and more bruises than he could reasonably count. He shakes his head bitterly. Here, in the Dark Place, stories can come to life. No wonder, then, that these old ghosts have returned to haunt him.

As if in a dream, he hears a voice: his own voice, strange yet still familiar, coming to him faintly, as though somebody has left a radio playing in the next room. He doesn’t recognise the words, but he knows them for what they are. Lines from another one of Alan Wake’s damn books: lines spat out by his literary counterpart, PI Casey: stumbling from one gruesome murder to another.

‘…I stared down at the victim. Her face was even whiter than the wedding dress she was wearing, with a corpse-glow about her that made the kerosene lamp seem dull by comparison. I struck a match, and lit a cigarette to calm myself. My nerves flared with the match strike. The brutality of this murder had put me on edge. There was violence in the air. It hung over the building like a storm cloud, and I was the guy flying a kite in bad weather. I put the gun down and walked away. It wasn’t my problem, I told myself. The cops could handle this one. I took a drag of my cigarette, knowing I was lying to myself; trying to pretend that it was none of my business. That the fear I’d witnessed in her dead, sightless eyes wouldn’t haunt me, until my dying day.’

He shakes his head again. He should have expected this, he tells himself: after all, he’s been haunted by the ghost of the fictional detective for years. He remembers reading Alan Wake’s account of how he’d written his way through the Dark Place three years prior. How he’d used the phantom of the fictional Casey as his guide – even killing him all over again, by his own account: shooting him with a dead man’s pistol. Casey smiles bitterly. Maybe the same would happen for him: maybe, his fictional counterpart would be the one to lead him out of the darkness, and back into the light.

He lifts his eyes and stares once more at the four blank walls, in the futile hope that a way out might suddenly present itself, as though summoned by the phantom’s words: but there is nothing. No escape. Just a ringing silence and the sound of his own heartbeat. It seems like Alex Casey has finally run out of luck.

‘No,’ he says aloud, needing to break the silence somehow. ‘I’m not out of luck just yet. Not completely.’ After all, he has allies on the outside, who were surely working, even now, to help him. He has friends, colleagues… and her as well. Grace. A lover – and something more. His frown softens back into a smile – a real one this time – as her image shifts in his mind’s eye. A feeling surges into life inside his chest: as swift as tears, and as powerful as grief. As bright as the memory of lingering summer sunshine. Warmth fills the hollow space inside him, where before there had been only pain.

He breathes deeply. At the very least, he has done what he intended: protected her by any means necessary. He’d kept her out of the darkness’s monstrous grasp. Wherever she was now, in the real world… Grace was safe. A damn sight safer than him. Saga would look after her, he tells himself. Even now, he knows that Saga would be figuring out a way to help him. To reach him. To create a connection that could bridge the gap between worlds: a way to stretch her hand out, into the darkness, and pull him out. He knows it’s a faint hope. A fool’s hope. But it is all he has, so he clings to it. He has no idea if what he’s imagining is even possible. But one thing he does know, with iron-clad certainty, is that if such a thing were possible… then Saga Anderson was the one who’d make it happen.

He looks up. The blood on his hands has gone: vanished, as though it were never present. Perhaps it hadn’t been. But more importantly, there is something new. A door, where there had previously been nothing but a blank, faceless wall.

He blinks. Had he imagined it, he wonders. Had there been a door here, all along? He sits for a little while and simply stares at it, waiting for it to prove just another trick. But then, he hears something. A quiet, familiar step on the far side. A breath of warm air, carrying the scent of rain, and a hint of something else: something sweeter. Grace’s perfume.

‘Grace?’ He is on his feet in a moment, listening intently. For a moment, the silence is all-consuming, save for the rasp of his own breath and the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears. Then, quietly: the sound of rain, falling. A gentle pattering. He remembers what he’d told Grace, what seemed like a lifetime ago: ‘I always liked the rain. It feels like… home.’

He moves towards the door. The sound grows louder. Could it really be that simple, he wonders. He draws in a deep, steadying breath. He can no longer hear footsteps, but the faint sound of rainfall does not cease. The door handle is made of brass, and it glints in the light invitingly. He reaches for it. The metal is frozen, ice-cold to the touch, but it turns willingly beneath his palm. With a sound softer than a sigh, the door opens; and Alex Casey steps out, into the rain.

It falls quietly, gently… endlessly. A grey veil drawn across the night city. He knows this place, he realises. This is a New York that is not New York: this is a place he’s read about, both in the FBC’s files and the books of Alan Wake. A place he’s been seeing in his dreams. The sky is hazy, and the rain casts haloes around the street lamps and neon signs that are the only sources of light that pierce the deepening gloom. But even as he stares, Casey realises that something is wrong. Different. The high-rise buildings are all slumped together, like drunks in an alley; holding one another up, as though their foundations have somehow shifted, or grown unstable.

The lights flicker. The night is ever-present, and with a certainty that writes itself into his bones, Casey knows that this is a place where day will never come. He swallows nervously, reaching for the reassuring weight of the gun at his hip; but there is none. He shakes his head, cursing softly. The monster that has brought him here has also taken his weapon away, leaving him defenceless.

Well. Not entirely defenceless. Casey smiles grimly, stepping back inside the motel room, only for a moment. He grabs the pistol from the desk drawer and shoves it into his belt, before walking away without a backwards glance. He hears the door swing shut behind him, and knows without needing to look that there will be no trace of it remaining. He glances keenly around, and soon spots what he is looking for.

The alley he finds himself in is filled with trash of all kinds. Graffiti scrawls its way across the walls, and the rain runs in rivulets from broken gutters; and there, not ten feet away, is a length of busted pipe, hanging from the edge of a building. With a swift kick, he’s able to dislodge it; and now, now he has a weapon. He swings it a couple of times to test the weight. It isn’t exactly elegant, but it will certainly leave a sizeable dent in the skull of anybody stupid enough to stand in his way. Staring down the rain-soaked alley, Casey narrows his eyes. The ground beneath his feet is a bewildering miasma of reflections: a mirror world, trapped inside the thin film of rainwater that lies over the city streets like a shroud. He turns up his collar against the night and pushes his hair out of his face. Somewhere out there, he knows, is an exit. He simply needs to find it.

He breathes deeply. The rain is quiet comfort against the fear that snaps at his heels like an angry dog. Faintly, he catches the scent of Grace’s perfume once again. It makes him hesitate. Is she here? he wonders. Here, in the Dark Place? His heart stutters for a moment, before he dismisses the idea. No, he reminds himself: she couldn’t be. He’d thrown himself into the path of darkness for her. He can’t quite recall all of what’d happened at the lake: but he does remember that. He was alone: he had to be. Still, there was something…

He closes his eyes and forces himself to breathe slowly and deeply. He turns on the spot until he catches a hint of that faint, sweet scent again, opening his eyes to see a narrow passageway, leading into the dark. Strange: the sound of the rainfall seemed louder here. The Dark Place works in loops and rituals, he knows this: signs, shadows, wonders, Alice Wake had called them. Well, he thinks to himself, the shadows were certainly real enough. Perhaps the signs and wonders could be too. Perhaps this, the sound of gentle rains, is a sign that has been left for him. A guide. He will follow the sound, he decides: follow the sound of the falling rain, until it leads him somewhere. Until it leads him home.

Alex Casey begins to walk. The path leads him onwards, into darkness. The rain does not stop falling.

*

‘In the places where the night is deepest, the stars also shine the brightest.’ This is something her father had always told her, to comfort her as a child: seven-year-old Grace, afraid of the dark and the cold and the silence: of how night would fall without warning, arriving suddenly, in the depths of winter, where nothing green was growing. Even darkness must pass, he had said. Walk with me, little sparrow: come outside and watch the dawn break, watch the stars vanish from the sky one by one. He had taken her hand, and they’d walked down to the apple tree at the bottom of the garden. He’d picked her up and placed her in the sanctuary of its branches, so they could see eye to eye. Together, they would stand and watch as slow dawn flooded the sky with light.

No such dawn arrives here. Grace wakes up to the dark city and its rain, her cheek pressing hard against rough ground. She has finally washed up here: wherever the hell here is, she thinks. She blinks. She is lying in the basin of an old fountain, long since rusted up from misuse and neglect. The surrounding buildings swim slowly into focus as she pulls herself to her feet, wincing as various aches and pains make themselves known. Her foot nudges against something else that has washed up alongside her, beside the baseball bat: an old tote bag, with something inside it.

Grace frowns. She recognises the bag, as though from half a lifetime ago – although in reality, it had barely been a few days since she’d lost it. This is the bag she’d had with her, that first evening she’d decided to visit Cauldron Lake: the bag she’d dropped when she was first attacked; that she’d thought lost when Saga and Casey had appeared as if from nowhere, to save her from the monsters.

She picks it up and opens it with caution, surprised that the contents have apparently survived intact. Inside is a pad of watercolour paper, and her paint box. A small vial of black ink. The book she had been planning to read. She reaches inside and pulls the book out. A short story collection, by a woman called Celia W. Kae. She isn’t familiar with this writer’s work; the book had been a gift. She frowns, unable for the moment to remember exactly who the gift had been from. Her recollection of the time before Bright Falls is hazy, as though the memories are slowly eroding away. She shrugs, replaces the book, before hefting the bag across her shoulder. Instinct tells her that there is more to this than meets the eye: that the lost bag appearing beside her in the Dark Place is more than mere coincidence.

‘It will be useful for something, surely,’ she mutters to herself. ‘But what?’ She raises her eyes to stare at the dark city. She has never visited New York, but she knows what it’s supposed to look like. She takes her first, shaky step out of the bowl of the fountain, moving towards the light. The ground is wet and slippery beneath her feet, and the air is grey with rain. Surprisingly, she isn’t completely drenched; just damp, as though she’d been out in the drizzle for too long. She tugs Casey’s jacket more tightly around her, eyeing the street signs with trepidation. There are shadows there that move like puppets, incongruous against the dark. Shadows with nothing to cast them. She clenches her jaw, and tightens her grip on the baseball bat. Nothing attacks her as she moves warily down the street – yet. She heads for the place where the light is brightest: what looks like an open door of an old warehouse, spilling a wedge of incandescent light out into the street. There, she knows she will be safe. She can take stock, recover her strength… and make a plan to find Casey.

Safe in the light, she collapses into an old chair, heaving a sigh of relief. The door has brought her into what appears to be a janitor’s closet: a small room siphoned off from the main bulk of the warehouse. There’s a desk pushed up against the wall, thick with dust and obviously no longer used. A scattering of yellowed paperwork lies across it, alongside an empty scotch glass. Beside that sits a grubby old shoebox, grey beneath a further layer of dust. There also appears to be a leak: a puddle of stagnant water glistens ominously from the far corner of the room, beside a discarded mop and bucket. Clearly, nobody has been here in a long time.

Curious, Grace leans over. The papers on the desk appear to be some legal documents. They’re written in a language she doesn’t understand, although she recognises it as something Nordic. Pale moths flutter listlessly around the central light, trapped in a seemingly endless spiral. Grace frowns. There is something here, she realises. Something more than I can see. A presence. She closes the door against the night, sealing herself in, before sitting down and again and forcing herself to breathe deeply, ignoring the dust that’s tempting her to sneeze. She closes her eyes, and remembers the reason she is here.

Casey. She says his name, in her mind. There is no answer – not that she expected one. Still, she is here to find him: and this seems as good a time to start as any. She can remember, now, the dream she’d had the previous night: the terror of Casey’s chase through the darkening streets, and how she’d created a door for him. She bites her lip anxiously, wondering if it will work a second time.

Time passes. Just how much, she does not know. Her watch has stopped working ever since she walked into the lake. Still, she sits beneath the light and remembers the door that she had painted: that she had forced into existence, inside a dream. Inside the Dark Place, as she now knew – or at least, a version of it. Layers upon layers, she thinks. Was I dreaming of the Dark Place – or was it dreaming us? Were we really here? She focuses on the shapes, forms, textures: the roughness of brick beneath her palm. The viscous slip of ink beneath her fingers. The ice-cold metal of the doorhandle as it had taken shape beneath her hands. The breath begins to come hard and fast into her lungs, as though she is running. For a moment, she thinks it hasn’t worked. Then…

Grace falls off the chair in shock. Somewhere, inside the Dark Place, a door has opened. She can feel it. There is pain, and a sudden, intense pressure against the side of ribs, as though she has been struck by something.

‘Fuck,’ she breathes, scrambling back to her feet. ‘Fucking hell. What the hell?’ She pushes her hair out of her eyes, blinking rapidly against the headache that surges into life inside her skull: reward for the effort she’s just expended. But Grace doesn’t care. ‘We did it,’ she says out loud, needing to hear the words: confirmation of what’s just occurred. ‘He found the door – he opened it! He’s here, somewhere. I know it.’

She hears a faint rumble in the night air as though in answer, like distant thunder. Something vast and dark is moving, outside her sanctuary of light. Grace bites her lip again. She knows she cannot stay here indefinitely. The light won’t last forever; and sooner or later, she must take her chances with the shadows. She clenches her fists, glancing down at the FBI logo on the borrowed jacket. ‘I’m not supposed to be doing this,’ she says aloud. ‘I’m not… qualified, for this.’ She sighs irritably, blinking as the spiralling dust motes lift and twinkle in the light. ‘Fuck it. Guess I’m here anyway.’

She glances around, hoping to spot something else that might be useful. Pinned to one of the walls is an old map, surrounded by a handful of yellowing picture postcards. The map is badly faded with age, and the street names have entirely worn away; but it shows Grace a path through the warehouses. There are dark marks along one edge that look like warning signs, and a red X close to a large building that fills her with unnamed dread.

She shivers. A chill has crept into the air. It reminds her of Bright Falls and its gentle snowfall; reminds her of the reason she is here. She whispers Casey’s name, speaking it against the quiet of the night; and at the sound, something bright and golden lifts within her. She can recall the sound of his voice, and the warmth of his hands. She smiles, resettling Alice’s camera bag across her shoulder, before steeling herself to step back into the dark.

‘I’m on my way,’ she mutters. ‘Just hang in there, Casey. Please, just… don’t forget me. Not yet.’

Chapter Text

Alex Casey is lost. The darkness is thick and cloying, and the night feels like a noose around his neck, tightening with every step. Every street he walks down looks the same. Each one leads him to a dead end, or loops him back around to the same spot. Caught in a loop, he thinks, realising the truth of Alan Wake’s words. I’m trapped here. There’s no way out. The night sky is bleeding into the darkening streets, filling them with blackness until he can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. The thin line of horizon no longer exists: there is only night, unending.

There are shadows here too. Shadows that fade out at his approach, whispering in his ear as they disappear into the dark. But some of them don’t fade. They reach for him, with blackened hands and twisted fingers: hungry, and full of rage. Casey has lost count of how many times he’s been forced to use his flashlight to defend himself, burning away the darkness inside them before taking a swing with the lead pipe. It’s been working well for him – until now. Now, his batteries are dying, and the light he holds in his hands is failing. The meagre beam can no longer cut through the darkness that threatens him, and Casey is forced to run. His lungs burn and sweat runs into his eyes as he forces his weary limbs to keep going. There is a terrible pain in his head. In the distance, a payphone keeps ringing. Somehow, he knows that the call is for him – knows that he should answer it. But he cannot find the road that will lead him to it.

‘Drowning, you are drowning,’ the shadows whisper as he passes. He has tried to follow the path of the rain, closing his eyes every now and again, and listening to where the sound is loudest; but now, he can no longer tell which direction he must turn. The night blocks all sight, and his memories are fading. He pauses for breath beneath a street lamp, whose bright white light gives him a moment of blessed respite. He sinks down on his haunches to try and regain his breath, crouched beneath the sheer weight of misery that settles on his shoulders at the realisation that, slowly, inevitably… Casey is beginning to lose himself.

He can see it happening. For a moment, it’s as though he has stepped outside of his own mind, forced to watch it crumble from a distance. His own thoughts turning to nothing but ashes and dust. Memories he once held are slowly fading: disintegrating beneath the touch of darkness, like the slow collapse of sandcastles beneath an incoming tide. The waves are washing everything away. Darkness like a slow flood, entering his mind: consuming it. His fingers tighten around the broken pipe, but there is nothing here that he can fight. He swears quietly, biting back the bitter sting of tears that catches at the back of his throat. He knows that he is not alone – that there are people out there, somewhere, trying to help him. Or at least, he had known it once. Now, he is not so certain.

He rubs a hand across his brow, trying again to remember. He can recall a sturdy presence at his side: the scent of coffee and sweet pastries. The warmth of a hand on his shoulder, accompanied by bright, teasing laughter. A woman’s voice. His friend. Saga Anderson.

He swallows hard. The recollection has hurt him: as though he is forcing himself to reach inside his own mind and drag his fingers roughly through the memories, rifling desperately for the recollections he knows must still be there, somewhere. The Dark Place makes you forget. Alan Wake had said that, back in Watery. He’d tried to warn him – to warn them all. That much, at least, Casey could remember: he remembered the warning, for all the good that it had done. He shakes his head, as the ghost of a voice comes drifting through the city streets.

‘…Be careful,’ it seems to say. ‘Please, hurry – and be careful, Casey.’

His head snaps up and around at the sound of his name. He knows that voice. He’d heard it before: heard those precise words, whispered down the phone with a terrible, frightened urgency that even now turns his heart to water. ‘Grace,’ he mutters. ‘God, not you as well. Not here.’

He clenches his jaw. Some things could travel between worlds, he knew. These are echoes of the past, memories from the time when he’d found her in the forest: safe in the light, but trapped by the dark. Just like he was now. He clenches his fists as fresh anger surges through him. That’s all these are, he tells himself. Memories given voice by the power of this place: just old echoes. Like a haunting. Nothing more. He grits his teeth and heaves his body upright. He hopes there are no other voices waiting for him in the dark.

*

Grace is following a blood trail. So far, it has led her a meandering path through a maze of vast, grey buildings: industrial warehouses, their grey corrugated sides patchworked with graffiti and thick with rust like old bloodstains. The lights are few and far between. She must hurry through patches of complete and utter darkness that yawn wide as though to swallow her, like the maw of an enormous beast. Her hands are white-knuckled on the flashlight she has brought with her, the beam pitifully thin and pale against the sheer enormity of the Dark Place. She can feel it: the weight of terrible inevitability, hanging above her head. Like the night itself has grown wings and rage, forcing her to duck her head and scurry like an insect. This is the place of annihilation. The words repeat endlessly inside her head, over and over, in a loop.

She misses Casey: so much that his absence has become a physical pain in her chest. Even in her nightmares, he had been a constant presence at her side. Warm, sturdy… unafraid. Now, she is alone. The Dark Place is strange to her, and although she has read and re-read the file Alice had stolen from the FBC to give to her, she feels woefully underprepared. Shadows move in the dark, reaching for her with their awful hands. So far, none of them have caught her; yet.

She has reached what seems to be the end of this strange, industrial district. A billboard is hanging on the chain-link fence that appears to mark the boundary, smeared with inevitable graffiti; still, she can make out the image underneath. It’s an advert for one of Alan Wake’s movies: Cold Casey. The image of the fictional detective fills most of the frame, glaring down at her from behind the barrel of a gun. The face on the poster is shockingly familiar: the double of her own Alex Casey. Her heart gives a frantic jolt when she first sees it.

‘Fucking hell,’ she mutters to herself. ‘That’s… him. He looks just like Casey. God, no wonder Alex hates these films – this guy could be his twin!’ She hesitates. How on earth has this happened? she wonders. Does Casey actually have a brother: a twin? Did he tell me, and I just… forgot? Or is this the Dark Place again, playing tricks? She blinks rainwater out of her eyes, pausing for a moment to breathe. She knows her memory is beginning to fail her, the threads of her thoughts unravelling even as she tries to grasp at them. She’d been prepared for this; or at least, she thought that she had. Now, she is not so sure. She cannot recall all of her time spent in Bright Falls: but she remembers Alex Casey. Remembers the warmth in his voice when he’d spoken her name; remembers the love she still carries for him. She has already lost him once. She will not let the Dark Place trick her into losing him again.

She turns her face away, ignoring the scowling detective and searching instead for a way forward. The chain-link fence appears to mark the boundary between this strange, semi-industrial area and the city proper. Through the grey rain haze she can dimly discern the distant shapes of high-rise buildings and faintly flickering street lights. This is the way she needs to go. The fence is padlocked shut, strung with yellow police tape and topped with vicious-looking razor-wire, but there is a slim gap underneath where an enterprising person might just squeeze through: which is exactly what Grace has just done.

She rises to her feet, wiping away the worst of the mud and glancing around. The buildings here appear abandoned: darkness lives inside the windowpanes, and smashed glass litters the asphalt. Here and there, strangling vines and strange, reddish plants have begun crawling up the sides of the dilapidated high rises. Grace shudders, turning her face away and moving forwards. Her footsteps ring loudly on the road that she must follow. One foot in front of the other, she reminds herself. Just keep going – you have to keep going! But it is difficult. The shadows here are deeper. Fear wraps cold hands around her heart as she makes her way into the city. This is it, she realises. This is the heart of the nightmare. Frozen dread slithers down her spine as the flashlight flickers, and dies in her hands.

‘Shit,’ she breathes, shaking it frantically, as though by dint of sheer desperation she might bring the flashlight back to life. She looks up. The darkness is coming closer: shadows upon shadows, moving down the street, toward her. There are far too many of them; Grace knows she cannot avoid them all. Her hands tremble, and she backs away. On instinct, she reaches for the only other thing she has that might provide a light: Alice’s camera. She fumbles to remove the lens cap with nerveless fingers as the shadows draw closer, checking that the flash is securely attached before gritting her teeth, and pressing the shutter button.

Click. A blinding flash of light sears the night air, coupled with a terrible smell of something burning. Grace blinks. The shadows that were caught in the light have been destroyed: they dissolve into the night with a terrible, hissing scream. Grace’s breath catches in shock as the camera clicks quietly, the film advance lever snapping the next frame neatly into place.

‘Well, shit,’ she mutters, blinking against the unexpected sunspots. ‘That… worked better than I expected.’ The night snaps at her heels, and thunder rumbles through the air in distant threat, or promise; but now, Grace knows exactly what to do. She raises the camera again as more shadows come stumbling towards her, reaching out with ugly, twisted fingers.

Click. The light flares again, and the street is finally clear of shadows. Breathing hard, Grace loops the camera strap around her neck and offers up silent thanks to Alice Wake. She knew exactly what she was doing, when she gave me this, she realises. Did Alice know all along that this would happen? That I’d need this kind of light? The thought is a worrisome one, and brings with it a host of other questions; but they aren’t something that Grace can think about right now. There had been something hiding inside the light. An image, present only for a moment, at the heart of the camera flash; like a vision.

Grace swears softly. It had been clear as day: a flashback to the real world. Saga and Casey, on the shore of Cauldron Lake, outlined against a livid sunset. The colours had seemed astonishingly bright, set against the endless rain and shadows of the night city. She shakes her head. She knows it isn’t a memory – or at least, it isn’t her memory. It’s something else. Something new: something important. A connection.

‘Fucking hell,’ she mutters, glancing around anxiously. A sudden urge sweeps over her, to try and capture the image. She has to find a way to remember it; otherwise, it will fade away like cheap newsprint, along with her other memories. She hurries towards the nearest streetlamp, tucking herself into the pool of light. A place of safety. She empties out the bag that had surfaced in the dark beside her, picking up her old paintbox with shaking fingers.

‘Is that why I found these?’ she mutters, peeling open the fresh pad of paper, hesitating a moment before opening the vial of black ink as well. ‘What the hell is going on here?’ She pulls an old dip-pen out of the paintbox, and it’s the work of a moment for her practiced hands to capture the familiar landscape of Cauldron Lake on the paper, splashing red and orange paint across the sky to serve as a sunset. She uses the ink to mark out the silhouettes of Casey and Saga, moving quickly so that she does not forget. Already, she can feel the Dark Place pulling at her, whispering softly in her ear; like dark fingers gently tugging at the threads of her memory, trying to unravel her mind. She uses the dip-pen to sketch out the harsh lines of winter trees; and in her haste, the metal nib tears at the soft fibres of the paper, leaving marks scored into the surface.

‘Fuck it, that’ll do.’ Grace sits back, breathing hard, as though she’s been running. ‘Could this be connected to a way out?’ she wonders. ‘A way home – back to the real world?’ She shivers, glancing around again. Outside this small sanctuary of light, the darkness is waiting. Grace swallows nervously. I must have been mad to come here, she thinks. She feels watched, the eyes of some unseen audience suddenly upon her: reading her mind, seeing into her thoughts. She turns slowly on the spot beneath the pool of light, as though expecting a curtain to twitch aside and reveal a vast, silent crowd, arrayed across the dimly lit city: but there is nothing. Nobody to confront, or to confess to. She is alone.

She shivers. The feeling vanishes, as swiftly as it came. But it has left a stain at the back of her mind that the rain cannot wash away. Paranoia has slipped into the hollow space beneath her ribs and now it sits there, gnawing at her bones. She glances back across her shoulder. The street is empty still. No restless shadows flicker in the night. Beneath the lamp, she knows that she is safe: but she also knows that she cannot stay here for long. It is hard – unbearably, unbelievably hard – for her to summon enough courage to step back outside of the circle of light: but eventually, she does so. She packs her painting things away, stowing them in her bag as, once again, she feels a sharp stab of pain and a terrible pressure, slamming against her ribs.

‘Fuck,’ she gasps, the breath catching at the back of her throat as she clamps a hand across her side, forced to her knees by the intensity of it. It lasts only for a moment – half a heartbeat, if that – causing Grace to swear loudly, struggling back to her feet against a wave of dizziness that washes over her. Not for the first time, her hands are stained with blood and ink. She tries to wipe them clean, but this time the marks won’t go away.

I have to hurry, she realises. This is a sign: it has to be. I have to reach Casey before it’s too late – for both of us. She clenches her jaw tightly. The road stretches onwards, into darkness. The night city is beckoning. Grace takes a careful step forwards: then another, and another. The Dark Place spreads its wings in welcome, as the ghost of a fictional detective’s voice begins to echo faintly through the rain-slick streets. Somewhere, up ahead, a payphone is ringing. Grace knows the call isn’t for her – but she knows exactly who it’s intended for.

*

The gun has fallen from his belt. It lies on the ground in front of him. Casey stares at it, unseeing. The urge to use it is like a growing pressure inside his head. A black cloud beating at his skull. This is a feeling he knows all too well.

He turns the ugly lump of metal over in his hands: he has picked it up without even realising. With infinite care, he tucks it away at the back of his belt again. He breathes deeply, feeling something release its hold on him, staring upwards at the glowing green light that illuminates the same blind alley he’s been down a hundred times already; that he will likely walk down a hundred times more. As though in a dream, he hears the disembodied voice of the fictional Alex Casey, drifting through the night air. He is still haunted by his own ghost.

‘…I could hear a crackle, underneath the static. A voice on the police radio that didn’t belong to this city: that didn’t belong anywhere. A ghost that says my name. A woman’s voice. She calls to me, tells me to be careful: to stay safe. God, the way her voice trembles… I know, somehow, that she means it. She says my name as though it’s a blessing, not a curse; the only damn woman in this city to ever do that. An angel in the static. The ghost in the radio-waves. Sometimes, I lie awake at night just… listening. Waiting. Hoping. I want to hear her say my name again.’

Casey shakes his head. It feels waterlogged, as though he has spent too long trying to swim against the current. He is exhausted, on his knees, in the dark. He can no longer fathom just how long he’s been here. Time passes by in an endless, unforgiving stream. The darkness looms over him: an abyss, ready to open its jaws and swallow him whole. He’s been searching for something – fighting, for something. He knows this. But he can no longer remember what it is. Something had stolen into his mind: stolen the light that lived there, and left darkness in its place.

He curls an arm around his stomach, and coughs until he retches, trying to throw up the horror that has burrowed into him. The night like blackened fingers at his throat. Whispers that he can no longer understand. He presses his palms against the wet ground, trying to remember. There had been someone: a woman. She had said his name, softly and without anger. Without doubt. Without shame. She had called to him in the night, and he had answered. He screws his eyes up tightly, trying again to remember. All he can recall is a shape: a silhouette. A woman made of light. He can no longer remember her name.

Dimly, he can hear something. A voice, harsh against the softness of the endless, cloying whispers that come from the shadows that begin to crowd him once again, now that he has been forced to stop running. Something is calling to him, but he cannot discern the words: the only pattern he recognises is the sound of his own name.

More echoes, he thinks grimly. That’s all the noise is. Echoes of a past he can no longer recall or fathom: more visions, sent to torment him. The woman he could no longer remember. The life he had forgotten he had lived. The only real thing here was the darkness. To believe anything else – that anybody else could be here, calling to him, searching for him – surely, this is nothing but a slow road to madness. He blinks rainwater out of his eyes, stumbles back to his feet… and is caught. There is a blinding flash of light, and ice-cold fingers that close like a vice around his wrist.

He flinches away on instinct. A monster has found him, in the dark. Too exhausted to run, Casey uses his own body weight against the shadow, planting his feet and throwing himself violently backwards, pulling the monster down with him. He lands on his back, able to roll and cushion the blow, as whatever it is that has him in its grasp is thrown off-balance. It stumbles forwards as he tugs, hard, and its body slams into the unforgiving pavement. Casey smiles grimly as its grip falls loose, twisting away and grabbing the lead pipe, raising his arm to swing; then stops.

The creature – the monster, the shadow, whatever it was – is crying quietly in pain. He hesitates. He knows that sound, he realises. It pulls from the well of terror in him: fear not for himself, but for another. Someone he knew. Someone he had cared for, once. He drops the bloody pipe, stumbling from exhaustion; forced back to his knees by it. He falls hard on wet ground, expecting nothing but pain.

‘Casey? Casey!’

The hand reaches out again. It grips his collar. The figure pulls itself upright; pulls him closer, forcing him to raise his head. He stares upwards, into a pair of rain-grey eyes that are achingly familiar; into a face that had once haunted him. His vision blurs with unshed tears as sudden pain pierces his chest: something bright and sharp and golden. Like a bullet made of light, he thinks hazily. He has seen one of those before, he knows he has, but he can’t remember where. He can’t remember anything.

‘I… I know you,’ he breathes, his heart beginning to beat out a violent rhythm in his chest. ‘I… I’m sure that I do, but I don’t… I just can’t remember.’

‘It’s alright. Casey… it’s going to be alright, I promise.’ A woman’s voice, barely above a whisper; still, it cuts through the night like a knife, slicing away the darkness that threatens him. A hand lifts to caress his face with a fearsome tenderness. A thumb brushes across his cheek, wiping away the spill of tears he hadn’t even realised he’d shed: and with that single act of unimaginable intimacy, Casey feels something break inside him. He can trust this woman. He knew her, once: and she knows him. The breath hitches in his throat as he stares into her face, trying desperately to remember her name; to claw it out of the damaged part of his psyche. It was still in there, somewhere. It had to be. The knowledge is a part of him, veined in the red and blue of him: he knows that she is branded somewhere inside his soul.

‘…Grace?’

The word spills from his lips, little more than a ragged gulp of sound. But it glows in the night like a match strike. The darkness that presses against him gives way, just a little; just enough for him to focus. Enough for him to see her sharp intake of breath when he spoke her name; to see the fierce, desperate hope that lights her eyes. He repeats the word as best he can, fighting for his sanity against the night that crowds his mind, like the press of knives against his skin.

‘Casey…’ her voice trembles on his name as fresh tears spill from those astonishing pale eyes. ‘Alex, it’s me. I came to find you. But we can’t stay here.’ She glances over her shoulder. The shadows at the end of the alley are deepening. ‘We have to move,’ she tells him. ‘Are you hurt? Can you walk?’

‘Yeah. No. I mean, yeah, I can walk. I’m not hurt.’ He takes the hand she offers him, heaving himself back to his feet. The darkness is still calling to him, wrapping itself around him like sticky threads of spider-silk, trying to pull him down; pull him under. But he grits his teeth, and stands his ground. In an instant, Grace slips underneath his arm, pulling it over her shoulder to steady him, taking some of his weight.

‘I know a safe place,’ she tells him. Her hand wraps around his. ‘It isn’t far. I just need you to come with me, okay?’

‘Okay.’ He shakes his head, trying to clear it. Darkness fogs his vision, and his thoughts are decaying, even as he reaches for them: his own memories are slipping through his fingers. Grace. He didn’t know who she was, or why she was here, or why she was helping him. All he knew was that he trusted her. He allows her to guide his feet as they move like water through the pitch-dark streets. He can feel the wetness of rain on his face. He blinks as a haze of red and violet light casts strange shapes against the darkness behind his eyes, before realising that they have reached a door. With a grunt of exertion, Grace pulls it open, spilling light across the street.

‘In here,’ she tells him. ‘We’ll be safe, for a while. You can rest.’ The light inside is pure, incandescent white, violent in its brightness. She takes his hand and pulls him into the glare; and immediately, a terrible weight lifts from his shoulders. A veil is torn from his eyes. Suddenly, he can see clearly again. He can think clearly, again. He can…

‘Grace!’

Her name rips out of him, as though it’s been punched from his chest. Memory rushes through him, like a dam long since silted up that has suddenly burst: memory flooding his veins and bloodying his hands. He stares into the face of the woman he loves, unable for the moment to think of any word other than her name. He collapses into her arms, barely able to speak: her name fills his entire world. He holds her as though she is both the beginning and the end of everything: and perhaps she is, he realises. He has found the one soft thing in a place filled with awful violence; and in this one act of tenderness – of taking his hand and leading him out of the dark – she has saved him.

He closes his eyes tightly, breathing in her perfume and the scent of rain that, even now, lingers in the shadow of her hair. Her grip on him is hard and bruising, and he clutches her warmth against his own. Her body heaves with silent, shuddering sobs: she is holding him like a lifeline, her fingers tangled in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. When he moves out of the embrace to kiss her, she cannot raise her arms: they are shaking, loose. The effort it has cost her to find him, in this place, has torn pieces out of her. Her palms are smeared with blood and ink as though she’d scraped a path through the dark city with her bare hands, searching for him. Perhaps she had.

‘I thought I’d lost you,’ she tells him. The words are little more than gulps of painful sound. ‘Casey…’

‘It’s alright,’ he tells her. ‘Grace, it’s alright.’ He pauses for a moment, raising both hands to cup her face with infinite care, tracing his thumb across the curve of her lips. Her rain-grey gaze has pierced him like a bullet. The harsh overhead light casts shadows across her face, along the hollow of her throat. She is torn and bloody, anger and fear still blazing in her like a beacon; mingled now with a terrible hope, and joy. In Casey’s eyes, she has never looked more beautiful.

‘I love you.’ The words that he had been so frightened to say before now slip from him with ease. What else is there to say, in this place where they have both fought to find one another – where they had both been so very nearly lost? He holds her as though she is the only living being in a city full of ghosts, and when she presses a fierce kiss to his lips, he cannot help but return it in full force. Her fingers clench hard around his bicep as he wraps a protective arm around her waist, pulling her in as close as he possibly can.

‘I love you too,’ she murmurs. She is breathing hard as though she has been running, her chest heaving, her eyes bright with unshed tears. ‘I love you, Casey. I have done, since the moment I met you.’

‘I know. Me too.’ He can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all – to find love, here of all places! She joins him, and soon they are laughing together, falling into one another’s arms in a breathless heap. Their laughter is a shield against the darkness that scrapes its claws against the door to their sanctuary; but for the moment, Casey doesn’t care. Here, in the Dark Place, time has no meaning. There is no past, or future: there is only now, and now – now, he has the woman he loves back in his arms, and very little matters outside of that.

‘How the fuck are you even here?’ he asks, shaking his head in wonderment. ‘How did you find me?’ He listens quietly as she explains everything that had happened after the chaos at Cauldron Lake, watching her face move as she speaks. There is blood at her temple; a deepening bruise there too, as though she’d been struck. Her long pale hair hangs in tangled ropes down her back, and her clothes are smeared with mud and grime. With a start, he realises she is wearing the jacket he had lent her, what seems like forever ago. He reaches out to touch the FBI logo on the sleeve, smiling slightly as she shakes her head, seeming embarrassed.

‘Alice said I would need something of yours,’ she tells him. ‘Something that would help me to reach you, in the Dark Place: to find a way through the maze. This seemed… right.’

‘Well, clearly it worked,’ he replies. ‘Still, it doesn’t solve the problem of just how the hell we’re going to get out.’

‘I know.’ Grace shrugs. ‘I’m sorry – I don’t have any answers for you. I wish I did. Saga and Alan were working on something before I left – I overheard them talking. Alan mentioned… writing another story.’ She hesitates. ‘I don’t know what that means,’ she tells him. ‘But I trust them to know what they’re doing. After all, without Alice’s help… I wouldn’t have found you.’

Casey nods slowly. ‘I’m glad you did,’ he replies simply. He reaches out to touch her hair, wondering at the softness of it: at the fact that such softness could exist, here, in the Dark Place. She lifts her hands to hold his. Her fingers are still stained with ink; she has not tried to wash them clean, yet. He raises them to his mouth, presses her fingers to his lips. Exhaustion blurs his gaze, but he is unwilling to look away, fearful that in the moment of a blink, she may vanish; and he will once more be alone.

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she tells him, reading his inner thought as though it were written plainly on his face. ‘Casey… you look so tired. It’s okay to rest – I’m not going to leave you here alone.’ She twines their fingers together, pulls him close. He revels in the warmth of her embrace. Here, within the circle of her arms, the night seems less oppressive. The overhead light hums faintly. A single moth is fluttering there, beating its soft, pollened body against the incandescent bulb. The room they are in appears to be a storage cupboard of sorts. Junk and broken furniture is piled haphazardly against the wall. A spill of water glistens in one corner, beside a rusty mop and bucket. He eyes it with some uncertainty, as recollection tugs at him. This place feels familiar, in a way he can neither describe or understand.

‘What are you thinking?’ Grace asks him. ‘Alex? Is something the matter?’

‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘Well, aside from the obvious,’ he adds, with a wry smile that at least draws a soft breath of laughter from her. ‘Grace…’

‘I’m here,’ she replies immediately. ‘I’ve got you.’

‘I know.’ He tucks his head against her. The only way he can allow himself to close his eyes is like this: his cheek pressed into the warmth of her skin. Her hands are in his hair again, and Casey wishes he could simply fall into sleep with her, and wake up the following morning, in the sunlight.

‘Rest,’ she tells him again. ‘I’m here, and I’m not leaving you.’ She takes his hand, and tugs. Casey allows her to pull him down, until they are lying awkwardly together. His head rests on her chest; she has curled herself beneath him, protecting his body from the cold floor as best she can. Her warmth is all that he can feel. Despite his mumbled protestations, his eyelids flutter as exhaustion steals over him like a thief. Dimly, he is aware of her removing the FBI jacket and laying it across them both: the closest thing they have to a blanket.

‘I’ll keep watch,’ she tells him. ‘I won’t sleep a wink, I promise. I’ll wake you if there’s trouble.’ She runs her fingers through his hair again, and Casey cannot help but groan into her touch. He’s been running, for so long – he’s been so tired, for so long. He wonders for a moment just how long it’s been since he last slept, before dismissing the thought as unimportant. Time moves strangely in the Dark Place: such questions and their answers become meaningless. Her hands are in his hair; her lips are at his cheek, pressing soft kisses to his skin.

He closes his eyes against the night. Quiet dreams break over him like gentle waves across the shore: against his known past, and their unknown future, together. Light passes, disperses. Here, now, the only thing that contains meaning is this.

Chapter Text

A red dawn was rising over Bright Falls as Saga strode briskly up the street towards the Sheriff’s Station, armed with fresh determination, a new hunting rifle, and a plan. She dodged aside as a salt truck trundled past, moving slowly up a road that was still thick and white with last evening’s snowfall. Her breath steamed in the frozen air. It was still early enough for most of the town to be safely in bed; and were it not for the pressing need for action, Saga would’ve liked to still be sleeping too.

‘Thank fuck the coffee machine’s still working,’ she muttered, taking a sip from her travel-mug and sighing in satisfaction. It had been a strange start to the day, waking up at the lodge alone. She’d become accustomed to Casey’s morning routine, and his regular pre-coffee grumpiness. To wake up to nothing but silence had been… disconcerting.

We’re going to get him back, she told herself sternly, ignoring the lingering terror from the previous night that still plucked at her thoughts, banishing it to the far corners of her Mind Place. Alan and Alice are already working on a plan to fix this – to fix it all. She sighed to herself, running over the threads of possibility in her memory. As much as she hated to admit it, Grace had apparently done them all a favour, vanishing into the night to find Casey. The way Alan had put it, it would be easier, now, for them to forge a connection between realities, with artists on both sides of the metaphorical door. The power at the lake thrived on creativity: and it was Alan’s hope that by combining three strands of art – Alice’s photos, Grace’s paintings, and his own writing – they could create something new, and powerful. Something that went beyond ritual. Something that could not just open an Overlap, but that could reach across the threshold and into the night as well. At least… that was the plan.

But first, she had some business to attend. Saga steeled herself before stepping back into the Sheriff Station, where Kiran was waiting for her. Somehow, the FBC agent had contrived to look as sharp as ever in her tailored suit; not like somebody running entirely on black coffee and three hours of sleep. She nodded crisply at Saga, casting a wary glance at the duty officer manning the front desk before beckoning her into the main building.

‘Our guest is finally awake,’ Kiran informed her, as they made their way into the offices that the FBC had commandeered as a temporary HQ. ‘Breaker seems very happy to talk – he was asking for you, actually. Wanted to know whether you were okay. He doesn’t seem to remember much of what happened, which isn’t really surprising.’

Saga nodded. ‘It sounds similar to when Casey was possessed by Scratch. He said that he couldn’t remember anything from the time when the Dark Presence took him over. He described it as like a… a black hole. Not like sleep, or even unconsciousness. Just a void.’

‘That tallies with other similar accounts of paranatural possession that I’ve read about,’ Estevez replied grimly. ‘Look, he seems fine, but… we’re keeping him contained, for now. I’m not taking any more chances with this thing.’

‘Good idea.’ Saga nodded, raising her brows at the sight that met her eyes. Tim Breaker was sitting down inside the FBC containment unit, looking bruised and bloodied, but very much alive. He was eating a bacon sandwich with every sign of enjoyment; and Saga realised with a start that this was the most normal – the most human – she’d seen the Sheriff appear since she’d arrived in Bright Falls. He stood up when she came in, directing a hopeful smile in her direction.

‘Hey, Agent Anderson. I guess this might sounds strange, but it’s really good to see you safe and sound.’ His voice sounded thin and rasping, but there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

‘Sheriff Breaker,’ she nodded in careful greeting. ‘How are you feeling today?’

‘A lot better,’ he answered immediately. ‘I’m… god, how do I say this? I am so, so sorry. For everything that happened – for all of it.’ He winced. ‘I’ve got to admit, I don’t remember much. But I do know that… it was bad. Wasn’t it?’

‘It was.’ Saga sighed. ‘Look, I won’t lie to you. Things aren’t exactly looking great right now – for any of us.’ She hesitated. ‘How much can you remember?’ she added. ‘Do you remember anything of what happened last night, at the lake?’

‘I… a bit, maybe. Not much, I’ll admit – nothing that I think would help.’ Breaker groaned softly, putting his head in his hands. ‘My mind… it’s clearer now than it has been in… I don’t know. It feels like forever. Being in here, it’s… strange.’ He gestured at the containment cell. ‘I feel like I can finally breathe, for a change. Like some weight’s been lifted off me. I know that sounds stupid.’

‘It doesn’t.’ Saga shook her head. ‘Tim… I need you to tell me everything, okay? Everything you can remember. Even if it sounds awful. We need to know exactly what we’re up against.’

‘I can do that.’ Breaker nodded, determination lighting his features. Saga winced internally at the heavy bruising that patterned the Sheriff’s face, remembering all too well their tussle at Cauldron Lake; the brutal way in which the Dark Presence had used him. She watched him pacing the meagre length of his cell, pressing his fingers to his temples as though to aid his recollection.

‘There’s some things that I don’t remember at all,’ he confessed. ‘It’s like there’s a bunch of holes in my memories. I guess I’ve got the Dark Presence to thank for that. I think… it’s been with me for a long time. Ever since I escaped from that dream: what your people called the Dark Place. Except… I didn’t realise it. Not at first. I thought I was just… sick. Forgetful. Traumatised, maybe. I don’t know.’ He shrugged. ‘I kept getting memory blanks. Days when I’d wake up not knowing where I was, where I’d been, or what I’d done. I just put it down to stress. PTSD, you know? Something like that. Then…’ he broke off and shuddered, running a hand across his face. ‘Now, I think… no, I know it was my fault,’ he added softly. ‘The killings. Those awful deaths. God, I don’t…’

Estevez stepped forwards. ‘The killings were the work of the Shadow,’ she told him bluntly. ‘We think it’s been using you as a vessel to work through. Controlling you, periodically. It committed the murders with your hands, stole the body parts, used you to transport them to the lake, then… retreated. Hid itself at the back of your mind. We know it’s weaker here than it is in the Dark Place; we think that’s why there was a regular time patten between killings. It needed to rebuild its strength after each incident.’

Saga nodded agreement as a fresh thought occurred to her. ‘It was you who took down the Restricted signs around Cauldron Lake, wasn’t it?’

‘I’m afraid so.’ Breaker nodded uncomfortably. ‘I had no idea why I was doing it at the time. I just did it, you know? Well, I suppose you don’t.’ He shifted awkwardly. ‘It was the same for weeks. I was doing things and not knowing why I was doing them. It was especially bad around Miss Hart. I’m not sure why. I think this thing, the Dark Presence… it wanted her, badly, for something. After she arrived in town, I kept finding myself in the woods outside her cabin at night, not knowing how on earth I’d got there, or what the hell I was doing.’ He shuddered. ‘She must’ve thought I was crazy. Acting like an awful stalker, or something.’

‘I don’t think she knew what was happening.’ Estevez shrugged. ‘We know you’re not responsible for what’s occurred here, Sherriff. But you should have reached out to us once you’d figured out that something was wrong.’ She sighed deeply. ‘You’ll need to remain here until the case is concluded,’ she added. ‘We believe that the connection the Shadow made with you in the past will leave you vulnerable to any further attacks it might make.’

Breaker nodded, seemingly without hesitation. ‘Honestly, I’m just grateful to be alive right now. Like I said, I feel better than I have in ages. Mentally, I mean – physically, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.’ He winced. ‘Look, I want to help any way I can. Make up for… well, everything. But if the most useful thing that I can do for you guys is to stay here until the danger has passed, then… yeah. You won’t hear any complaints out of me.’

‘Thank you, Sheriff. We appreciate your cooperation with this.’ Estevez nodded, sympathy flickering for a moment across her stern expression, before she beckoned Saga aside, towards the rear entrance. Once they were out in the fresh air, she breathed a soft sigh of relief. ‘Our tests show negligible traces of the Shadow on him,’ she told Saga quietly. ‘The same as showed in Alex, before. In theory… he’s clean. But it’s highly likely that the connection will still be present for some time. He’s a liability, Anderson.’

‘I know.’ Saga frowned. ‘Will that containment unit protect him, do you think? If the Dark Presence tries to take him over again?’

‘Yes. It’s designed so that nothing paranatural can get in or out. After the disaster at Cauldron Lake before… well, let’s just say that some urgent improvements were made.’ She shook her head. ‘Honestly? I’d say he’s safer in there than we are out here.’

‘Then that’s where he needs to stay. At least, for now. Can you spare an agent to keep an eye on him, while we figure out the rest of the plan?’

‘Consider it done.’ Estevez nodded brusquely. ‘I’ll let my people know. They’ll remain here on standby while we drive up to Watery to meet the Wakes, in case we need backup for whatever comes next.’

‘Sounds good.’ Saga returned to the front of the building, downing the last of her coffee while she waited for Estevez to finish up. Alice and Alan had departed Bright Falls late the previous night, returning to Watery and leaving Saga to catch up on some much-needed rest. After all, she’d be no use to anyone running on empty; and while her sleep hadn’t exactly been peaceful, it had at least given her a few hours to recharge and refuel.

Arriving at Watery with Agent Estevez, Saga found herself shivering, and not just from the cold. Something was needling at her. Half a memory: something long forgotten, buried under the weight of countless other thoughts and fears. The area where the Wakes had set up their art felt… strange. As though it had been laid across the landscape as an afterthought. Like a late addition to a painting: an edit made to a story already in progress. A thing that didn’t belong – which was absurd, she reminded herself. She’d already visited this place, with Casey, a few days prior; and the only strange thing here had been the Wakes themselves.

‘What the fuck is all of this?’ Estevez was staring around at Alice’s exhibition in horror. One of her eyes began twitching. ‘You… do you two know just how much fucking trouble you’re in? How many paranatural crimes you’re potentially committing, even just by being here, at a known threshold site, with all of this…?’

Saga tried not to snort with laughter at the shocked expression on Alan’s face, as he was forced to step back from the heat of Kiran’s temper. She moved to stand beside Alice, giving her a careful nod as she rummaged for something in one of the boxes.

‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ Saga said quietly. ‘You helped Grace disappear last night.’

‘I did.’ Alice nodded, unrepentant. ‘You worked it out, then.’

‘It wasn’t hard. I’m a detective, remember?’ Saga shot the other woman a wry smile. ‘I am curious, though. Why did you do it? Why’d you help her?’

Alice shrugged. ‘The Dark Place can be cruel. I knew she was going in, after Alex. I thought that she deserved the best possible chance at finding him.’

‘You knew?’ Saga raised a single eyebrow. ‘She hid her plan from all of us. How’d you figure it out?’

Alice glanced up, surprised. ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? She loves him. Of course she was going to go after him.’ She sighed. ‘I didn’t have much help to give. Just some advice, and my film camera – the one I was using to take photos before, with the modified flash. I figured it could be a… light in the dark, perhaps. It’s also a connection: between us and her, between here and the Dark Place. Something that lives in both worlds: photography is just a play of light and shadow, after all. Captured light, reacting to different shapes, chemicals, processes…’ she shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It just felt right at the time.’

Saga nodded slowly. ‘I get that. I just… wish you’d told me. That’s all.’

‘Sorry.’ Alice smiled ruefully. ‘I guess I just thought you’d try to stop her.’ She glanced over at the exhibition frames, most of which had been temporarily covered up with clean dust sheets. ‘It also gave me an idea,’ she admitted. ‘Come with me. I want to try something.’

They moved together across the divided spaces within the church hall. Alice removed the dust sheets as they went, revealing frame after empty frame. Saga frowned in confusion. ‘These are all blank,’ she murmured. ‘Alice, what happened to your photos? Did someone remove them?’

‘Oh, they’re here.’ Alice pointed towards an array of stands at the far side of the room. ‘These are spares I had set up, just in case. I had a hunch that we might need some extra bits and pieces. I suppose I was hoping that, by giving Grace my camera, we might be able to see what she’s seeing – what she’s been taking photos of. In the Dark Place, I mean.’ She grimaced. ‘That’s if she’s even using it. There’s no way to know for certain. I just thought it might help us – help you and Alan to figure out a way to get them back.’

Saga nodded slowly. Her thoughts were drifting, between here and the Dark Place. She remembered the rain grey of the dismal city streets, and the terrible sense of loneliness. The despair that had pressed itself against her. It had taken her real, conscious effort to shrug it off. The feeling had been pervasive: even now, it slid unbidden into her dreams. She knew that Casey had been suffering similar feelings as well, even before their return to Bright Falls; knew that he had been lonely. Vulnerable. Hurting. She shivered. She hoped he was okay.

‘I need some air,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’ She shot an irritable glare towards where Alan and Estevez were still bickering. ‘Try and snap them out of it,’ she added. ‘There’s no point in us all being here if we can’t work together!’

She stepped back into the weedy church grounds, glancing up the leaden sky. Grey clouds stretched across the town as far as the eye could see, in shades of slate and silver that promised even more rain. The scrub plants and thin trees shivered as a cold wind sang around the eaves of the old building, lifting Saga’s hair with teasing fingers. She turned up her collar against the chill, glancing back across her shoulder at the sound of footsteps, coming from the path; but it was only Alan. He nodded to her in silent greeting, leaning against the old wrought-iron fence and lighting a cigarette.

‘I’m not sure how we’re going to do this,’ he said quietly. ‘At least before, we had an obvious place to begin. The horror story gave us structure: all I had to do was edit the content. The manuscript pages. Now… we’re starting from scratch again.’ He smiled bitterly, blowing a thin stream of smoke from between his lips. ‘Hah – from Scratch,’ he muttered. ‘Quite literally, in this case.’

Saga nodded, watching him with some curiosity. ‘I didn’t know you smoked,’ she said.

‘I don’t,’ replied Alan. ‘But this is tough. I’ve got a feeling I might need to call on Casey again – my Alex Casey, I mean. The fictional one. I haven’t written him for years.’ He shrugged. ‘I sometimes used to smoke when I wrote his scenes, back in the day. It helped me get into the character, and figure out what was going on inside his head. I know that probably sounds stupid.’

‘It doesn’t.’ Saga sighed. ‘Is there a way that I can help? After all, I was your co-author, last time. We wrote the ending together. We saved them all – Alice, Casey, Logan. We can do it again. I’m sure of it.’

‘I wish I had your certainty.’ Alan smiled thinly. ‘You’ve already done a lot, Saga. Whether you realise it or not. I already have a couple of ideas, but I’m not sure whether…’ he broke off and glanced around. From behind them came the scrape of a door, swinging wide on rusted hinges. From one of the church’s old outbuildings stepped a familiar figure, wearing a set of battered overalls.

‘Ahti?’ Saga’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Is that really you?’ The janitor was humming to himself as he trundled across the path towards them. He raised his hand in greeting, appearing entirely unsurprised to see them both.

‘Ah, Miss Anderson! It has been some winters since last you were here. It is good to see you. We come around in full circle once again, eh?’ Ahti smiled broadly, pausing in his stride and leaning casually on the mop he carried. He turned a knowing look towards Alan, who was staring at the newcomer with a look of wary resignation.

‘Hello, Ahti,’ he said quietly. ‘I was wondering when you’d show up. I suppose now is as good a time as any.’

‘Hello again, Tom.’ Ahti greeted the writer cordially. ‘I see you are returned to your roots, now. He who asks for the road does not get lost. It is time you are moving in the right direction.’

‘Can you help us, Ahti?’ Alan nodded cautiously. ‘You opened the door for me, when I was lost before. I didn’t expect to see you here, at the end: but it makes sense. At least, as much sense as anything else.’ He shared a glance with Saga. ‘Our friends are… they’ve become lost,’ he added slowly. ‘Can you help them find their way? Or help us, to help them?’

At that, Ahti laughed and shook his head. ‘Ah now, Tom. We are not riding on the back of a hare. There is time, still. Time to take into your hands a life, and make it worth the living. Not just for you, but for your friend as well.’

‘For my… friend?’ Alan frowned. ‘Do you mean Agent Casey?’

Ahti shrugged. ‘There is no point fighting back for a life that is not worth the struggle, no? You must give a man something to fight for. An ending that is happy. And then, he will learn again to live – and live well! Hah!’ He grinned, appearing delighted by Alan’s perplexed expression. ‘You must look to pull them both out of the water,’ he added. ‘Like a… a life belt, yes? A circle that saves from drowning: it must all come around, to the beginning again.’ He moved his hand impatiently, in a circular gesture. ‘You know this too, Miss Anderson?’

‘I do,’ she nodded. ‘Ahti… you seem to know a lot about all of this,’ she added carefully. ‘Can you give us any insight? Do you know what the Shadow’s goal might be?’

At that, the janitor hesitated. He fixed her with a slow, calculating stare, moving his mouth as though chewing on the inside of his cheek. For a moment, Saga felt as though her inner thought was being held up to the light, and examined. When the janitor next spoke, it was with deliberation, as though he were choosing his words with great care.

‘The knowledge is inside your own head already,’ he told her. ‘You just need to wake it up, now. Ahti will help.’ He gestured over at the distant shadow of Bright Falls, towards the thin line of horizon where Cauldron Lake was waiting. ‘It is like, uh… kuultopaperi, yes? One atop of the other.’ He pressed his hands flat together, palms downwards, as though demonstrating. ‘You both have seen it. They are both existing at the same time, in layers. The city and the city.’

Saga and Alan exchanged loaded glances. ‘We’ve seen it,’ replied Alan carefully. ‘Are you saying that Scratch is planning to bring the Dark Place to Bright Falls, again? In the same way that happened last time?’

‘The answer is both no and yes,’ replied Ahti. ‘It waits for tonight, like waiting for the rising moon. If you do not stop it, we all will pay the learning costs.’ He shrugged. ‘It will bring the other place into this place. It is a bad plan. There will be no more layers – no traveling between. Both at the same time, yes? Many floors to mop – too many, even for Ahti. I would rather go to them, not the other way around!’ He laughed as though at some private joke; and suddenly, Saga understood.

‘Bringing the Dark Place to Bright Falls,’ she breathed. ‘For real this time: not just as some new, twisted reality, but physically bringing it here: overlapping this place with something else! In the same way that Scratch tried to manifest a physical body, down at the lake. Right?’

‘Yes yes,’ Ahti nodded, his expression becoming serious. ‘Opening the sky up like a window and letting the night move inside. Just a spot of darkness: but it will flood over.’ He shrugged. ‘It will bring too much black water. Even for Ahti to manage.’

‘Then how do I stop it?’ Alan leaned closer, his expression folding in horror. ‘Ahti?’

‘You will need both of them,’ he replied, pursing his lips and leaning once again on his mop. ‘Your friends that are like two berries, yes? The man and the man. One light, one dark. Both of them at once, to take away the other. It is simple, but hard as well: they must find their own balance.’ He shrugged. ‘I can get you what you need, Tom. To open the door for them. The photographs that your artist lady is now taking. But you must be like a pot of sour milk: you cannot rush these things. They must find their own time.’

‘Photographs?’ Saga caught Alan’s eye, and nodded. ‘What photographs do you mean?’

At that, Ahti gestured expansively over his shoulder. ‘They told me to keep them safe for you,’ he replied. ‘In the shoebox where she left them, as the sugar on the bottom. I have been waiting – now, you can get them yourself.’ He jabbed his thumb towards the open door, nodding at both Alan and Saga before sauntering slowly away. The pair exchanged loaded glances, before walking over to the outbuilding that Ahti had so recently vacated. The low hum of music greeted them as they approached: the faint, tinny sound of a radio, still playing.

Saga stepped around the open door, frowning. Inside was what appeared to mostly be junk: old furniture, a broken lamp, a stack of yellowing paperwork. A faded map had been tacked onto the back of the door, so old and worn that the street names had bleached almost entirely away. A crumbling desk had been pushed up against the far wall, beside a heap of empty bottles that were grey beneath a layer of dust. On the desk sat something that Saga recognised: an old shoebox.

She caught her breath. ‘I know this place,’ she murmured. ‘I’ve seen this before, I’m sure of it. But I can’t remember where. A dream, maybe?’ She hesitated, glancing over and catching Alan’s eye as he halted at her side. ‘I feel like I even know this song,’ she added. ‘The one playing on the radio. But I’m not sure where I know it from. This is… weird.’

‘Yeah.’ Alan nodded. ‘It’s weird. I feel like I’ve been here before too. But I didn’t even know this part of the building was here. Like it didn’t exist, until now. Until we needed it.’ He shivered. ‘Fuck it. Let’s see what’s inside the shoebox.’

Saga nodded, lifting the lid with caution and peering inside. It was empty, save for a small, cylindrical container: a film cannister, she realised. She picked it up, holding it carefully between thumb and forefinger, and giving it an experimental shake. ‘There’s a film in here,’ she realised. ‘Photographs, waiting to be developed. Could this be what Alice was hoping to find, for the rest of her exhibition? Something that’s come out of the Dark Place?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, it could be!’ Alan’s eyes widened. ‘If these were sent to us from the Dark Place, then maybe they can help. They could provide inspiration for the story. They could show me what I need include to make it real, to make the new fiction come true – or at least, true enough to help Casey!’

‘Then let’s get these to Alice. You said she’s got a darkroom set up here, right?’ Saga nodded. ‘We need to see what’s on this film, right away!’ She hurried from the outbuilding. The song on the radio continued to play, the once-familiar melody drifting after her, like a fading ghost.

*

‘Alice!’ Alan broke into a run. ‘Alice, we need you. I need you to develop these pictures, as soon as possible!’

‘Alan?’ Alice appeared from behind the screens she’d set up, her brow creased anxiously. ‘What’s wrong? What’s happened now?’

‘Nothing’s wrong. But we’ve found something. Ahti showed us, just now. I think these have travelled here, from the Dark Place, in a shoebox – in the same way that Saga found the bullet of light, all those years ago!’ Alan was speaking a mile a minute, his words tumbling over one another in their eagerness to be heard. ‘If I’m right, then these could give me the plot threads I need to follow, in order to create another story. To make it breathe; to make it live!’

Alice nodded briskly. ‘Then let’s not waste time.’ She held out her hand for the film, barely even blinking in surprise, seeming to take these new developments entirely in her stride. ‘It’ll be faster if I do this alone,’ she added, in a warning tone to her husband. ‘I know you’ll want to be there, to watch. But it’ll be quicker for me to get these developed without you hovering over my shoulder the entire time – and I assume you’ll want these right away.’

‘I… right. Of course, you’re right.’ Alan ran a hand through his hair. ‘We won’t disturb you, I promise. We’ll wait out here.’

‘Hold on a moment.’ Estevez stepped forwards, eyeing the film in Alice’s hands with deep distrust. ‘Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?’

‘Getting things moving,’ replied Alan. ‘Agent Estevez, you have to trust me on this. I think these photos might be the key – finally, I’ll know how to start the story! The one that’ll help Casey and Grace!’

‘But how?’ Estevez’s brow was furrowed. ‘And… aren’t we forgetting something? The Dark Presence, anyone?’ she added. ‘Look, I’m not saying that finding this isn’t a step forwards. Whatever the fuck this turns out to be. But we can’t afford to lose sight of the fact that the Shadow is almost certainly still hunting us: still hunting you. It’s dangerous, it has its own agenda, and we still haven’t figured out its end goal!’

‘Actually, we have.’ Saga moved to stand beside Alan. ‘From the hints I got from Ahti just now… I think that the Dark Presence has the same goal to before: bringing the Dark Place to Bright Falls. Bringing it to life. But last time… it did that by twisting reality. Remaking it, in the image it wanted. Scratch’s fucked-up nightmare world.’ She grimaced at the memory, shaking her head sharply against the recollection. ‘This time… it’ll be different. It’ll split reality open and bring the Dark Place here – physically, this time. Make it so that the nightmare world overlaps this one, like… like a tracing paper drawing, laid across a painting. Bringing the nightmares to life.’

‘And just how the hell did you figure that out?’ Estevez scowled. ‘I mean, that sounds pretty fucking crazy. But… it does sound like something a paranatural entity might try. God knows, they’ve tried everything fucking else.’

Saga shrugged. ‘That’s what Ahti told us. I think that was the gist of it, anyway. It’s still a bit unclear.’

‘Ahti? The fucking janitor – Anderson, are you being serious right now?’ her eyes widened, and she glanced between Alan and Saga for confirmation. ‘This had better be a joke. We’re not taking advice on potentially world-ending paranatural events from… the janitor?’

‘Yes, we are!’ Alan bristled irritably. ‘Look, we will figure it out, Estevez. But this is important, god damn it! We need to find Casey!’

‘I’m not saying that it isn’t!’ Estevez’s voice rose in frustration. ‘Trust me, I want to help Grace and Casey as much as you. And I promise you, we will! But we all need to keep in mind that this exactly the sort of paranatural shit that the Shadow could very easily use to manipulate reality. To manipulate us into doing what it wants. If we just rush ahead without taking proper precautions… we might end up making matters worse. We could be opening up a doorway for the Shadow without even realising it!’ She broke off and turned away, pinching the bridge of her nose and breathing deeply.

‘Then… what else do you suggest we do, Agent Estevez?’ said Alan softly. His voice was gentle, but it rang like a bell through the hollow spaces of the old church. Dust motes danced in the light that surrounded him.

‘I don’t… I don’t know.’ Estevez raised her hands. ‘I don’t… look, all I’m saying is that we need to be careful. The moment we start opening windows into the Dark Place, and peeking inside… something is going to notice.’

‘You’re right. We’ll only get one shot at this. Let’s make sure we get it right.’ Alan lifted his eyes to meet Alice’s clear blue gaze, smiling slightly as she nodded encouragement. ‘I think… it’s time I wrote us a story,’ he added quietly. ‘Or rather, a handful of stories. One for each photograph. Stories about finding light, in the darkness: about hope in the face of evil. About redemption.’ He nodded towards the undeveloped film. ‘I can use the photos for inspiration. The same way I used those flashes I’d get, before. The visions. I can build a series of stories around them, constructing a… a path, for Casey and Grace to follow. A narrative that reaches across the threshold, from light to dark and back again. Then, when we’re ready… we can haul everything down to Cauldron Lake, if we have to. Re-open the Overlap, using the stories as a ritual; and pull them out.’

‘A story for each photo?’ Saga raised her brow worriedly. ‘Won’t that take far too long?’

Alan shook his head. ‘I’m not talking about full-length novels. Short stories are a viable art form for this sort of thing: they act almost like snapshots. Collections of individual, shorter narratives that come together, in order to tell the over-arching tale.’ He shrugged. ‘Hell, even poetry might work. I’ll know for certain once we can see the photos.’

‘Then let’s get on with it.’ Estevez shook her head. ‘Damn it, Wake. This sounds like it could be dangerous. Not just for you, but for Alex and Grace as well. It’s one hell of a gamble – do you really think it’ll work?’

‘I can’t say for certain.’ Alan shrugged. ‘But it’s the best plan we have – and this feels right somehow, you know? Like it would work in a story.’

‘Then that’s good enough for me.’ Saga nodded, meeting Alan’s stare with a steely one of her own. ‘You’d better dig out that old typewriter of yours, Alan. You’re going to need it.’

Chapter Text

In a city built on dreams there is infinite space, yet the roads all lead to nowhere. The roads themselves will sometimes quicken beneath your feet, like the moving tracks at the airport. They take you nowhere, faster. Casey knows this, even in sleep: he has seen it. Felt it, the pulse of the city beneath his heels, trembling against the soles of his shoes like the slow thumping of a gigantic heart. The rhythm rumbles through his dreams, seeming endless. He wakes slowly, with a dryness in his mouth and the light beating redly against his closed eyelids.

It takes a moment for him to recall exactly where he is, and what has happened to bring him here. Then, he remembers. The darkness that had gouged pieces from his mind. The hand that had grasped him by his collar. The soft grey eyes that had guided him out of the dark, and into the light: the quiet desperation in them. The relief in her voice when he had held her, and called her name. Grace. She is still here: he had sprawled himself over her in sleep, tucking his head into the crook of her neck like an animal searching for warmth. Her arms are around him still. One is hooked across his waist; he can feel the weight of it against his ribcage.

‘Grace?’

His voice is a low, cracked murmur. He needs water. Still, he knows that she has heard him. He feels the lift of her sternum beneath his body, hears her faint intake of breath when he says her name. He opens his eyes and blinks against the light.

‘I’m here, Casey. It’s alright.’ His name softens on her lips. He can hear the sheer weight of relief in her voice as her arms tighten fractionally around him. ‘Are you okay? Do you… remember what happened?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I remember.’ He rolls over to prop himself up on one elbow, raising his head to stare at her. ‘I remember,’ he repeats. ‘All of it, I think. Grace… are you alright? Did you sleep at all?’

She shakes her head. Her breath comes in a slow gasp of relief. ‘I was so worried,’ she confesses. ‘I thought… you might forget again. Alan said the Dark Place fucks with your head – and he wasn’t kidding.’ She lifts her hand, rests it briefly against his cheek. Her expression finally cracks into a smile. ‘Casey…’

‘Hey, it’s okay.’ He can’t help but return her smile, feeling something softening inside him at the expression on her face. ‘I’m fine, Grace. I’m a tough cookie. Stop looking at me like I’m some kind of wounded bird you’ve got to put out of its misery!’ He lowers his head again, pressing a kiss to the side of her throat. He feels her pulse flutter beneath his lips. ‘I’m alright, I promise,’ he tells her, lowering his voice. ‘Come on, stop giving me that worried look.’

She nudges at him playfully, relief rising from her like steam. ‘I had bloody good reason to be worried,’ she retorts. ‘Damn it, Alex; never frighten me like that again, okay?’

‘Yes ma’am. Understood.’ He laughs at the look she gives him: frustration mingled with the kind of happiness he never thought he’d see directed at him again. ‘Anyway, judging by how tired you look, I reckon I’m doing a damn sight better than you, right now,’ he adds. ‘You didn’t get a wink of sleep, did you?’

She shakes her head again, and rolls her eyes. ‘I told you I’d keep watch, while you slept. I’d not be much of a watchman if I fell asleep too!’

‘Hmm.’ He frowns at that. ‘You could have shut your eyes as well, you know. Just for a minute or two.’

‘Rubbish. I promised I’d stay awake, and keep you safe. I keep my promises.’ She curls her hand around his. ‘If you’re feeling better, then I’m happy. That’s all I give a damn about.’

He shakes his head, placing an arm around her and helping her rise to her feet as they both stand and stretch. The darkness has no dominion here, in this small brightly-lit room; still, he can feel it waiting for them outside. The monster has not forgotten them.

‘Fuck,’ he breathes, wincing as pain traverses his side. ‘Any trouble?’ he adds, nodding towards the door. ‘Did those shady bastards try anything?’

She shakes her head. ‘No. I did hear footsteps a while ago, but whatever it was, or whoever… they passed on by after a few minutes. It’s been quiet ever since.’

‘Well, that’s something.’ Casey frowns. ‘I guess we should take stock; figure out where we are, and what to do now.’ He hesitates, looking her over carefully. Tiredness has stamped its shadows beneath her eyes, which look more hollow than he’d like. He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, frowning as his fingers hover over the deepening bruise at her temple, and the dried blood that’s settled there. ‘Grace… you look like hell,’ he adds quietly. ‘What happened here? Do you remember?’

‘It… doesn’t matter.’ She shrugs. ‘What matters is I got to you in time.’ She glances away, refusing for a moment to meet his gaze; and in that handful of frozen seconds, Casey realises exactly what it is she isn’t telling him.

‘It was me,’ he breathes. ‘Wasn’t it?’

‘No.’ She shakes her head sharply, then winces at the sudden movement. ‘Well, yes – but you didn’t know what you were doing, I think. When I first found you… you didn’t know it was me. I guess you thought I was a monster – a shadow.’

‘I knocked you down. Slammed you into the ground,’ Casey remembers, his expression darkening. ‘Jesus fucking Christ – I could have killed you!’

‘But you didn’t.’ Her smile softens, and she reaches out. She touches his arm as though barely able to believe that he is here: that he is real. ‘Casey, I don’t know what happens now. But one thing I do know is that now you’re here, my head feels… clearer. Better. I can think again. I can remember things that I know I was forgetting, when I was out there on my own! We’re better together, I’m certain of it.’ Her grip tightens on his arm. ‘Look… I know you’re probably angry with me for coming after you. For walking into danger, after you went to all that effort to protect me. I’m sorry.’ Her grey eyes search his, and for a moment there is a flicker of fear there. The sight drops something sickening into his stomach.

‘No,’ he tells her quickly, catching her hand and raising it to his lips. ‘I’m not angry. Damn it, Grace; I could never be angry with you.’ The thought that she might fear his reaction to her presence unlocks a visceral self-loathing inside him. He cannot shift his eyes away from the ugly bruise developing at her temple, and the slight crusting of dried blood that has settled in the soft hairs beside it. He digs in his jacket pocket for a handkerchief, and with infinite care, wipes the blood away.

‘It kills me that I ended up hurting you,’ he murmurs. ‘Doesn’t matter if I knew I was doing it or not.’ His fingers drift to trace the curve of her cheek, as he drops his gaze to meet her anxious, sea-grey eyes. ‘All I ever wanted was to keep you safe,’ he tells her. ‘That’s never changed – and it never will, I swear it. Grace… can you forgive me?’

‘There is nothing to forgive,’ she tells him, without any hesitation. ‘Don’t you see that?’

She smiles as he drops his hand, leaning close and resting her head briefly against his chest, and at that familiar weight, Casey’s heart lifts. For a moment, language fails him: there is nothing to do but place his arms around her and hope she understands. He closes his eyes and holds her as tightly as he dares. Her warmth reminds him of that first slow morning they had spent together: the dance of sunlight across her bare skin, and the way that she had touched him. He remembers sitting with her, sharing breakfast in that tired old diner, watching her put too much sugar in her coffee; and all he’d been able to think was, I love you. She had glanced up, noticing his attention, fixing him with that sweet little quizzical smile. For a moment, he’d thought he would be brave enough to say it. But he’d hesitated too long: the silence stretched, and the moment passed. Instead, he pushed the milk closer to her so that she wouldn’t have to reach for it. I have time to say it, he’d told himself. I still have some time. Then… the darkness had come.

‘Grace… I meant everything I said, before.’ He lifts his hand back towards her cheek, guiding her eyes towards his. ‘I love you. I think… I’ve always loved you, somehow. I don’t know how or why it happened so fast, but… it’s real.’ He hesitates for a moment, watching glittering tears form in her grey gaze – happy tears, he hopes. ‘I just… thought that you should know,’ he adds, immediately feeling foolish as she laughs.

‘I know.’ Her eyes search his. ‘Casey… I meant it too. I should have told you, before now. But I was… I don’t know. Scared, I guess. I knew it wouldn’t be forever – knew that you’d break my heart.’

‘What?’ Casey blinks, surprised at the shadow he sees lurking in her gaze. ‘Why the hell would you think that?’

‘Because you’ll leave.’ Now it’s her turn to look surprised. ‘Won’t you? After the case is closed, I mean. You and Saga only came here as a part of your job. To solve the murders, and all of that. I figured that once you were done… you’d forget about me. You’d leave me behind.’ She swallows hard, as though she is having to force the words out against her own will. She opens her mouth to speak, but Casey decides he will not let her continue any further down this avenue of thought, instead pressing a fierce, determined kiss to her lips.

‘Don’t be an idiot,’ he tells her. ‘What in the hell makes you think I’d even dream of leaving you behind?’ He twists his fingers through hers, tugging her as close as he possibly can, until she is pressed against him. ‘Come with me,’ he tells her. ‘Once we’re out of here – and Grace, we will get out of here – I want you to come with me. Back home, to Virginia. I was going to ask later… but I see that now’s as good a time as any. Hell, maybe I should have asked before, but…’ he breaks off, shakes his head, bites his lip at the confession. ‘I was scared too,’ he admits. ‘I didn’t think that someone like you could give enough of a damn about someone like me to up sticks and move halfway across the country.’

She laughs at that; a soft, watery laugh that comes accompanied by a flood of fresh tears. But this time, at least, she is smiling. ‘Well, I guess you were finally wrong about something, Mister Detective,’ she tells him, prodding him lightly in the chest. ‘It looks like you’re not getting rid of me that easily.’

‘No. I’m not. And I wouldn’t want to, either.’ He joins her laughter, as she tucks her head against him and drops her arms, wrapping him once more in warmth and her embrace. A weight lifts away from him. Despite the darkness that presses in on them, Casey’s heart is singing. The light falls between them like water as she pulls back to stare up at him.

‘Well, now that we’ve figured that out… I guess we really should start to find our way home,’ she tells him. She looks better now, he thinks; her cheeks have flushed lightly pink from laughing, and there is a sparkle in her eye that was absent, before. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any bright ideas?’

He pulls a face at that. ‘Not yet. But I’m not exactly at my best before a cup of coffee, most mornings. If this even is the morning, anyway.’ He hesitates, wistfully eyeing the bag she had placed beside the door. ‘I suppose it’s too much to ask that you brought any with you?’

‘Sorry.’ She shoots him an apologetic look. ‘Maybe we’ll stumble across an all-night diner, or something – although honestly, I’d be wary about eating or drinking anything we find in here.’

‘You’re probably right.’ He pulls a face. ‘Alright, then. From what you told me, it sounds like Anderson’s already on the case. She and Wake are planning something that’ll help us out.’

Grace nods agreement. ‘From what little I could overhear, yeah. It sounded like it. But I don’t know what – and I don’t know how long it could take.’

‘Time’s weird in the Dark Place.’ Casey shrugs. ‘I don’t actually know how long we’ve already been here – although I’m guessing that’s partly because I was losing my goddamn mind.’ He smiles thinly. ‘What I’m trying to say is, we shouldn’t wait around. The longer we’re here, the more danger we’re in.’

‘Agreed. But I don’t know where else to go. My whole focus was on finding you, and now…’ Grace shivers, glancing around as though she can still see the darkness surrounding them. ‘This place is a maze. The streets seem to change, when you’re not looking. I first woke up some distance away from here, on the edge of a fountain: near a bunch of old warehouses, outside the city. I could try and lead us back there, but something tells me that it’ll be a lot harder for us to get out than it was for me to get in.’

Casey winces internally. ‘I’ve got a hunch that might’ve been a one-way ticket.’ He tries to ignore the uncomfortable thought that she’s only here because of him: that he’s the entire reason that Grace is now in such deadly danger. ‘I’ve got one idea,’ he adds hurriedly. ‘We could start by finding that damn payphone that keeps on ringing. I want to know just who’s so desperate to speak to me; and just how the hell they’re putting in a call to nightmare city.’

‘That sounds… like a pretty good place to begin, actually.’ Grace’s expression lifts. ‘Alright, then. I’ll follow your lead, Casey. Let’s go.’

*

They make their way through the neon-lit streets. This time, Casey finds that he’s noticing details that he’d been unable to focus on before, blinded as he had been by the brutality of the endless night. With Grace at his side, a light seems to move with them: a light that lives inside his own head. Her presence banishes the mind-numbing perils of the dark, and he finds the night weighs less heavily on his shoulders. The rain is still a gentle veil drawn across the fading distance, but the greyness of it no longer feels so oppressive.

He glances to his side, noting with a smile how a scattering of raindrops have become trapped in Grace’s hair, shining like a handful of tiny diamonds. She appears to be taking the strangeness of the Dark Place in her stride as best she can, and Casey feels a spark of pride flare into life inside his chest. She might only be a civilian, not a trained agent or officer; but never again would he doubt her courage. He offers a hand to help her up as they climb yet another rusted fire escape, emerging on the roof of a large building that appears, at first glance, to be a studio of some kind. Posters advertising a recent talk show have been hung along the outside of the main wall. The sheer normality of them makes Casey feel desperately uncomfortable. In the Dark Place, nothing is ever as it seems; and he feels immediately distrustful of the handsome talk show host with the million-dollar smile.

Above these posters is another series of advertisements, and with a start, Casey recognises his own face – or rather, the ghost of it. He grits his teeth. These are adverts for yet another of Alan Wake’s awful movies. The shadowed face of PI Alex Casey is scowling down at him. The grim expression on the fictional detective’s features must surely mirror his own, as annoyance claws its way up his spine.

‘Fuck me,’ he mutters. ‘Again with this bullshit?’ He glares up at the film poster. Alex Casey looks even more dramatically unkempt in this particular photograph than usual. His hair had been pushed artfully askew, he was ill-shaven, and glowering at the camera over the rim of a near-empty whisky glass: drowning his despair in Jack Daniels again, no doubt. Casey rolls his eyes at the cliché of it all, turning his face away and changing direction, hoping that Grace hasn’t noticed.

For several minutes, he thinks he’s gotten away with it; until the pair of them are forced to dodge a cluster of particularly aggressive shadows. They hurry down another fire escape to get away, turning a sharp corner and coming face to face with yet another movie ad, this time on a billboard.

‘So, do those, uh… freak you out?’ Grace asks, her expression dropping at she stares up at the scowling face of Alex Casey, magnified to many times its usual size. The image looms over the city, like the world’s worst guardian angel; this time, the detective is carrying a gun, aiming it directly into the camera. With a start, Casey recognises it as the same gun – or at least, the same model of gun – as the one he’s been carrying. The one that came to him, out of the dark. Its dull weight is still some measure of reassurance at the back of his belt, for all that it only contains one bullet.

‘Only a little,’ he tells her. ‘To be honest, Grace, after half a lifetime of being called Cold Case Casey every other day, being the butt of every damn joke at the office… you get used to it.’

‘Oh, shit. I’d forgotten about that – Casey, I’m so sorry.’ Her expression creases in sympathy. Not for the first time, he finds himself infinitely grateful that Grace is one of the few people he knows who isn’t a fan of Wake’s books. Who doesn’t already associate his name with a fictional character; to whom the name Alex Casey means, first and foremost… him. The real man. The man she loves. The thought sends a tingle down his spine, and he cannot help but smile.

‘I noticed one of those big billboards while I was trying to find you,’ Grace is telling him. ‘It scared half the life out of me, at first. Then I realised it wasn’t actually you.’ She squeezes his hand nervously. ‘This place is all kinds of strange,’ she adds quietly. ‘Alice did try to warn me, but… I don’t think anything could have prepared me for all of this.’

Casey nods. His throat tightens. You didn’t have to come here, he thinks. You didn’t have to step inside this nightmare. You could have stayed away, and nobody would have blamed you for it. Hell, you could have run a thousand miles from here: away from the horror and strangeness of it all. But you didn’t. You walked into the dark with open eyes, to save my soul. I will never forget that. He shakes his head. The words are waiting for him, on the edge of speech. He opens his mouth, but even as he does so, another shadow appears, lurching out of the night with blackened, grasping hands. They are forced to defend themselves; and the moment is gone.

‘Let’s keep moving,’ he tells her instead. ‘There should be a service entrance around here somewhere. If we can get off the street and inside one of these buildings, we might be a little safer.’

‘Okay.’ She follows his lead without question, her grey eyes warm and trusting. Casey bites at the inside of his cheek, wishing that he felt more worthy of trust. They move slowly, clambering like insects across the grey flat roofs and fire escapes, meeting one locked door after another; until eventually, they’re forced back down to street level. Above them, the face of the fictional Alex Casey continues to glare into the night. The real Alex Casey ignores it as best he can, the same way that he’s tried to ignore the ghost that has haunted him for years. For damn near as long as he can remember, the echo of the fictional detective has been a constant shadow across his shoulder. Ever since PI Casey breathed his way into life between the pages of Alan Wake’s best-sellers; ever since he’d first felt the faint scrape of pain from an injury sustained that didn’t actually belong to him. He’d grown reluctantly accustomed to that particular unpleasant aspect of the hauntings: the drifts of half-forgotten agony that would flutter for a moment too long beneath his ribs. After all, his fictional counterpart had been shot and left for dead more times than Casey cared to count. He knew the crimson vivacity of his own blood on fresh snow; he’d bled out in half a dozen different New York streets, under different shades of neon light that all felt the same, in the end: that each cast a distorted halo around the last gasps of a dying man.

With the release of each new book, Casey had hoped it was over – but even with the death of Alex Casey in The Sudden Stop, the hauntings hadn’t ceased. The echoes of Wake’s writing had continued to bleed across time, from the Dark Place, reaching for him with bloodied hands: placing scars across his heart, and black stains on his soul.

He pauses in his stride as the realisation strikes him, with a suddenness that appals. The Dark Place: this is the soul and centre of it. The power behind the misery that has hounded him across time. The ghosts that have haunted his nightmares for years. He swallows hard, raising his head to glance at Grace, who has paused a few paces ahead of him and is now waiting patiently for him to catch up. What the hell else is going to bleed out of this place and into real life now, he wonders. What problems are we about to cause some other poor bastards? How many ghosts of our own are we about to create, or witness?

With a shiver, he remembers the disembodied voice he’s heard echoing across the silent city since he arrived: the ghost of Alex Casey, trapped in another blood-soaked murder story. He frowns worriedly, wondering if he should tell Grace about it – whether he should warn her. Has she heard the voice too, he wonders. Or is he the only one this particular ghost is haunting?

‘Alex?’ She moves closer, retracing her steps. Her brow creases anxiously. ‘What’s wrong? Are you feeling alright?’ She reaches up to place a hand on the side of his cheek, and Casey feels his stomach twist at the fear he sees in her eyes.

‘No. Nothing’s wrong,’ he hurries to reassure her. ‘Just… thinking about an old story. That’s all. Nothing that matters right now.’ He places his hand across hers, gives her fingers a slight, reassuring squeeze. ‘I’ll tell you when we get out,’ he promises. ‘I’ve just got… well, call it a hunch. I think we might start seeing some nasty things in the dark. I don’t want to hang around in this spot for too long – maybe you were right, and we should try and find a way out of this part of the city.’ The freezing rain nips at the soft skin of his throat, and he shivers. ‘It’s full of ghosts,’ he adds quietly. ‘Too damn many of them.’

‘If… okay. If that’s what you think is best, we’ll do it.’ Grace purses her lips worriedly. ‘What kind of nasty things?’ she asks him. ‘Worse than that awful monster: the Dark Presence?’

‘I don’t mean like that. Although… that bastard’s still lurking around here, somewhere. I’d put money on it.’ Casey shakes his head sharply, biting his lip almost hard enough to draw blood as he shoves away the memory of the black, boiling cloud of wrath that had closed around him like the jaws of a trap. ‘All I meant was that this place seems to contain… echoes, I guess you could call them. Thoughts and ideas and stories becoming trapped here, settling like sediment at the bottom of a wine bottle. With nowhere else to go, they become… I don’t know. Stagnant. Distorted. Dangerous, maybe.’ He pulls a wry face. ‘That’s a shitty metaphor, but you get my drift. Things work in loops, here. Time runs differently. Wake had to keep on going through his loop, or spiral, or whatever the fuck it was, before he could get out. The stuff he wrote here ended up leaking out, and affecting people in the real world. I just don’t want us to get caught up in the same way – or trapped in Wake’s loop by accident.’

‘Could that happen?’ Grace breathes, her eyes widening. ‘But it’s in the past. That’s all already happened. We can’t change the time that Alan spent here, right?’

Casey shrugs. ‘No. But that doesn’t mean we’re not at risk from something else. Especially if you start painting stuff while we’re here. Art can affect the architecture of the Dark Place; but then, you already know that.’ He glances pointedly towards the bag she still carries, raising a single, cynical eyebrow at her shocked expression. ‘I spotted the sketch-pad,’ he tells her, by way of explanation. ‘Kind of hard to miss, actually. I assumed you’d brought some travel paints or whatever with you too.’ He smiles faintly. ‘I’m not exactly Sherlock Holmes, but I like to think that I’m still a pretty good detective. Even on a bad day.’

‘I… yeah, about that.’ Grace is shaking her head, looking thoroughly confused. ‘I meant to tell you. As soon as you woke up, I wanted to show you everything I’d found, what I’d figured out, but then I just… forgot.’ She glances around anxiously. There is hunger in the night air. A faint scent of blood that comes drifting to them on the breeze. She catches Casey’s eye. ‘I have been painting, Alex. But only a bit, and it’s nothing… well, I’ll show you. But not here. It doesn’t feel safe.’

He nods confirmation. ‘You’re right. I just got a real bad feeling, all of a sudden. I don’t know why, but I reckon we’d better not stick around to find out.’ He glances around, trying to untangle the threads of his thoughts. Planning a route through the Dark Place was a fool’s game, he knew this; they would have to rely on instinct, and intuition. He glances warily up at the high-sided building beside them. No matter how many doors they try, the studio refuses to give up its secrets. ‘I don’t think we’re getting inside any time soon,’ he adds. ‘The place is locked up tight, and I’m sick of going in circles.’ He’d hoped to find some measure of safety for the pair of them inside the sturdy building, away from the shadows that haunt the streets. Now, the odd, blocky shape resonates with a peculiar sense of foreboding. A narrow alley runs down one side of the building: they are standing at the mouth of it, peering down. Sharp stripes of shadow lie across the entrance, the light banded by the blades of a broken fan. A cold breeze whispers towards them, and with a start Casey realises that there are words there, trapped beneath the weight of wind: obscure and without meaning, but he can hear them nonetheless. He frowns, peering down the street as though looking for a sign. ‘Did you… hear that?’ he asks quietly.

Grace nods. Her expression is tense. ‘It sounded to me like somebody saying your name.’

‘I didn’t catch that.’ Casey’s frown deepens. ‘You must have better ears than me.’ He hesitates on the edge of the alley, caught in the rhythm of banded light. Much of the street ahead lies in darkness, save for a pool of quiet lamplight roughly two-thirds of the way down, tinted a deep, welcoming green. The sight makes something clench in the pit of Casey’s stomach. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t hesitate to lead Grace forwards. But this time, his heart is seized with unexpected dread. Something terrible has happened here, he realises; or is about to happen. Fear sinks its claws into his spine as he grabs Grace’s hand with a suddenness that makes her gasp.

‘We need to go,’ he snaps. ‘Fuck. Grace… we shouldn’t be here.’ He half-turns at the sound of distant footsteps, swearing softly before dodging behind a row of overflowing trash cans, safely out of sight from whatever is approaching. Grace is at his side, sticking to him like his own shadow, seeming to understand his urgency without him needing to put words around it. Her grip tightens anxiously on his hand as they crouch together in the dark, waiting.

It isn’t long before Casey sees the sight he has been both hoping for, and dreading. Another echo of the past: the shadow of Alan Wake. He is moving confidently down the street, walking slowly towards the pool of green light. At his side, he hears Grace give a low gasp of surprise as the figure passes by.

‘That’s Alan, isn’t it?’ she breathes. ‘What the fuck is he doing here? And why does he look so… different?’

‘He’s not really here,’ he tells her quietly. ‘This is just another echo of something that’s already happened. Another part of the story that’s already been written.’ He grits his teeth. ‘Grace, we can’t change it. You might not want to watch – if I’m right, I think I know what happens in this chapter.’

Grace says nothing. Her eyes are fixed on the scene that is about to unfold before them. Casey feels nausea stir in the pit of his gut, knowing he is about to witness the brutality of his own murder.

He tries not to wince as the shadow of Alex Casey – the fictional one, not the real one, he has to remember that – appears out of the dark, and begins interrogating Wake. The low growl of the dead detective’s voice echoes through the darkening streets.

‘There’s a piece of evidence, a manuscript of a novel. You wouldn’t know anything about it?’

Casey narrows his eyes, taking a good, long look at his literary double. For all that they appear alike, there are still some differences. This version of Alex Casey has clearly been hitting the bottle too hard, he thinks. There is stubble on his cheek; a little of the city’s darkness tangled in his hair. He looks tired. Still, those cold blue eyes are gimlet sharp; they glint menacingly in the dim light as he takes a threatening half-pace towards the writer. His hand twitches towards the gun at his hip, and Casey notices with no surprise at all that they both carry their pistol in the same fashion.

‘Stay here.’

Alex Casey’s voice drops to a low, commanding snarl as the air turns to black and crimson. The real Casey finds himself watching with bated breath, his jaw clenched tightly against the violence that howls through the night. He can recall this interaction from the FBC files, and from Alan’s own account. He knows what will happen next. He watches, feeling oddly detached, as the detective draws his gun and paces down the blind alley. The sound of sudden gunfire shatters the night air; and Casey is forced to gasp quietly in pain as the ghost of a fictional bullet rips violently through him. At his side, Grace is trembling. He gathers her into his arms as best he can and waits for the path to clear; for the misery to end. He hopes it happens quickly.

‘Just hold on,’ he tells her from between clenched teeth, trying to ignore the feeling that something has just torn a bloody path through his own chest: trying to ignore the life he can feel leaking out of him, even now. ‘It’ll be over in a minute.’

Sure enough, it isn’t long before Alan Wake’s echo reappears. This time, he carries a gun and a flashlight, looted from the dead detective. Casey heaves a sigh of relief. The pain in his chest has vanished, disappearing as though it were never there. They wait in silence until the sound of Alan’s footsteps fade, as the writer continues on his journey: spiralling ever deeper into darkness.

‘Come on. Let’s get the fuck away from here.’ He grasps Grace’s hand and pulls, surprised when he meets resistance. She is staring up at him, her expression creased in horror.

‘Don’t you want to see?’ she whispers. ‘Don’t you want to know what happened?’

He shakes his head wordlessly. How can he tell her that he already knows exactly what just happened, he thinks. He has seen this scene play out a hundred times, in his dreams; felt the echo of every damn drop of misery or violence that’s been inflicted here. He bites his lip. How can he tell her that this is the ghost that haunts him? Grace has already moved away, hurrying down the silent street. Casey is forced to follow, already knowing what she will witness: knowing that she will need his comfort.

The dead detective is sprawled at the alley’s end, among the trash-bags and graffiti that marks the end of the line for Alex Casey. His face is smeared with blood: he lies in a widening lake of it. The slow flood of hideous crimson seeps from an awful wound in his chest. His sightless eyes are open still, staring blankly upwards, as though waiting for a dawn that will never come. Beside him, Grace lets out a rough, strangled sob.

‘Oh my god.’ She is breathing hard and fast, one hand clamped across her mouth. ‘Oh god, Casey…’

‘It’s alright. It’s not real. It’s just a… an echo. A scene from one of Wake’s fucking awful books. That’s just a… a character, in a story, with a bad ending.’ He grips her tightly. ‘Grace… it’s not real.’

‘I know. I know, but… fuck. It looks so real. Alex… he’s dead.’ She moves towards the corpse as though dragged by an invisible string. ‘He deserves better than this, at least,’ she mutters. Casey watches her kneel down among the blood and grime, heedless of the red that stains her clothes. She reaches out with infinite care, gently closing the sightless eyes of Alex Casey; and at her touch, the real Casey feels something strange stir inside his chest. A flicker that feels an awful lot like… peace. It vanishes immediately, gone so fast that he’s left wondering if it was even there at all; but the memory remains. Grace stumbles back to her feet, returning to his arms with her eyes wet with tears. She throws herself against him in a bone-crushing hug, burying her head in his chest with a muffled sob. He holds her as best he can, not knowing what else to do. There is nothing he can think of that might relieve her grief, save for folding her in his arms and offering the warmth of his own body as both salve and shield against the night: against the old horror story, given life and form once more, even after years have passed. He grits his teeth and waits for Grace’s breathing to even out, knowing that she is pressed close enough to feel the pounding of his own heart; knowing that she needs to feel the lift of life within his chest. To know, without a shadow of doubt, that he is here, with her – warm, close, and alive – and that he is not, in fact, the corpse whose eyes she has just closed at the back of this cursed alley.

‘Grace,’ he breathes, lifting his hand to cradle her head. ‘Grace… hey, come on now. No more tears, huh?’ He allows her to pull back slightly, using his thumb to clumsily wipe away the tears that have spilled from her reddened eyes. ‘He’s just a dream, Grace. This all may look real, but trust me, it’s not. This place fucks with your head – you said so yourself.’

She nods, swallowing hard and trying to smile once more. ‘Yeah. You’re right, of course. I’m sorry, Alex.’

‘Nope.’ He shakes his head. ‘You got nothing to apologise for. Well, except for getting my shirt all wet, again.’ His tone turns teasing, as he attempts to coax another smile out of her. ‘Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.’

‘I’m with you on that.’ Grace nods, scrubbing her hands across her face and breathing deeply, trying to regain her composure. ‘Should we… follow him?’ she adds, biting her lip before throwing a concerned glance up at Casey. ‘The echo of Alan, I mean. After all, he did manage to get out, in the end. Maybe he can show us how to do it too.’

Casey shakes his head. ‘He was caught in a loop. Trapped in the same repeating pattern over and over: writing the same stories, again and again. The only place he’ll likely lead us is back to the beginning.’

‘That means we’ll need to find our own path.’ He watches a muscle flicker briefly in Grace’s jaw as she grits her teeth. She looks pale and drawn, still red-eyed from crying, but her expression is grimly determined. Casey nods agreement, looping an arm around her shoulders and carefully steering her away from the blood-soaked murder site, and back up the narrow street. She keeps her gaze fixed on him the entire time, refusing to look away, as though already well aware that she will not be able to stomach another glimpse of the dead detective.

‘Let’s find some place that we can take a breather,’ he mutters. ‘Somewhere in the light. Then, you can show me what it was that you discovered, before; and these new paintings.’

Together, they begin to retrace their steps back through the night city. As the crime scene vanishes from view, the breath catches briefly in Casey’s throat. He feels a sudden lightness wash over him: a weight lifts from his shoulders. Their path is still dark, but even as he looks, the clouds part briefly, revealing a handful of faint, glimmering stars. It’s only for a moment: he blinks, and the blackness rushes back again, endless and all-consuming. Still, he can’t help but breathe a little easier.

There’s still hope, he realises. Not much, admittedly: but it’s there. Somewhere underneath it all. He smiles slightly, treading softly through the rain-dark streets as storm clouds flood across the sky with a low rumble, like distant thunder. Hand in hand, he and Grace head towards the light. That’s all we’ve got to do, he tells himself firmly. We need to follow the light. Then, we’ll find a way out. A way home.

Chapter Text

The night is growing colder. Casey is certain of it.

What began as a chill in the damp air has become the kind of temperature that makes the breath shiver out of him in urgent puffs of steam. He shoves his hands into his pockets in a vague attempt to warm them. In this place that knows neither dusk nor dawn, he wonders: are there seasons? Does spring ever come to the Dark Place – and if so, what would it look like? For a moment, he imagines the ghostly high-rises surrounded by budding plants and pale flowers, before shaking his head to dismiss the thought. Such things would never survive: there is no sunlight here. Only different shades of night.

‘What’re you thinking?’ Grace is lying across him, her head resting in his lap, pillowed by her folded jacket. She is exhausted, and has spent the last few hours trying to hide it from him. It isn’t until they find another hidden room with a bright light that she had allowed herself to collapse into his arms.

‘Nothing much,’ he tells her, smiling faintly and brushing a thumb across her cheek. He has removed his own coat and laid it across her like a blanket, the same way that she had done before, for him. In this way, one becomes a mirror of the other: both alike. Both different. Two halves of a whole. She is watching him from beneath her lashes, drifting somewhere between waking and sleeping. There is an extraordinary vulnerability in her, when she is in this state. He combs his fingers through her hair, and she allows it, smiling into the touch as her eyes flutter closed.

‘You were thinking something,’ she murmurs. Her voice is low, caught between thought and memory. ‘You have that look on your face. That frown you get – a little crease between your eyebrows, when your thoughts have run someplace else, away from the world.’

‘Mm.’ He shakes his head. ‘Just thinking about… ah, nothing important. Spring, I guess. Spending so much time here in the dark has got me wanting to see the sun again.’

‘I get that.’ Grace sighs, and her breath mists up in a cloud of steam. She is shivering. Now that they’ve stopped moving, the cold has caught up with them both. ‘Casey… can I ask you something?’

‘Sure.’ He blinks in surprise. ‘You do know you can just ask, right?’

She moves one shoulder against him in an awkward shrug. ‘It’s about this place. About the, uh… the other Alex Casey.’

He nods slowly. He’s been expecting this, ever since they watched the scene from Alan Wake’s horror story play out in front of them, in real time; ever since Grace had reached out to close the eyes of the dead detective, hoping to finally grant him peace. ‘Shoot,’ he tells her. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Everything.’ She huffs a small breath of laughter. ‘I don’t know. Fuck, I don’t… Casey, you knew what was going to happen, didn’t you? In that… that scene, as you called it. The bad ending. You know more than you’re letting on about all this.’

At that, Casey shakes his head. ‘I don’t know anything,’ he tells her. ‘Not for certain. I’ve got a few hunches, some ideas, but that’s all.’ He hesitates, uncertain just how much to tell her. ‘There are… more stories trapped here than just that one,’ he tells her. ‘That much, I’m certain of. Before we met, I was… hearing things. Voices, in the dark. Well, one voice in particular.’ He pulls a wry face. ‘It sounded like narration. Bits and pieces from Wake’s detective stories. It’s like they’re… fused into the fabric of reality in this place. The character of Alex Casey is just… everywhere. Another part of the scenery.’ He sighs. ‘I’ve got a hunch that’s not the last we’ll see of him.’

Grace’s eyes flutter open. ‘Wait,’ she mutters. ‘That’s what I heard, before?’

‘Could be.’ Casey frowns. ‘Tell me.’

‘I… it was just before I found you. A voice, in the night – god, I thought it was you! Then, I thought it was just this place, trying to trick me, get under my skin: something doing a bloody good imitation. But I was… wrong, wasn’t I? Or right the first time, almost.’ She catches him in her pale gaze and holds him there, transfixed. ‘There’s more to this than you’ve told me, isn’t there?’ she adds quietly. ‘He doesn’t just sound like you, or look like you, Alex. He practically is you. I could see it, in your eyes, when… when that awful thing happened. You were in such pain.’

He nods slowly. She has uncovered his secret thought more easily than he could have imagined. She is looking up at him from this place of vulnerability, trusting him to answer her. A part of him wants to do nothing more than stand up and walk away; anything, to avoid revealing the scarred part of his soul to the woman he loves. He doesn’t want to diminish himself in her eyes, any more than he already has. Would she think less of him, he wonders. The ghost across his shoulder: the echo of Alex Casey that has haunted him for years. Would this be a deal-breaker for her? After all, she signed up for him, and only him: not his literary double as well. Two for the price of one, he thinks bitterly; one man, and one half-man. He’s still not sure which one he is, some days.

‘Casey.’ She pulls his hand against her cheek. The pad of his thumb is against her lips, and she kisses it with careful tenderness. ‘I can see those wheels spinning, in your head. Talk to me.’ She threads her fingers between his, interlocking them together. ‘I know you don’t want to tell me. But… this feels important. It’s all interconnected somehow. You, me, the other Casey… we’re all linked. I’ve been hearing his voice too, telling me parts of a story I don’t understand – but I want to understand, Alex. This is all tied up with the power inside Alan’s writing, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah. It is.’ He swallows against the sudden dryness in his throat. ‘Alright, Grace. I’ll tell you what you want to know.’

Time passes. Slowly, with words that stumble but do not falter, Casey finds himself telling Grace things he hasn’t even shared with Saga yet. For the first time, he manages to put words around the echoes in the dark that hunt him – that haunt him. He tells her about the nights he’s woken up to the pain of these phantom injuries, drowning in another man’s memories; the times when he’s died in his dreams, over and over, sleep slipping out of his grasp and becoming just another enemy. Just another source of misery. Even as he speaks, the ghost of an old wound comes back to haunt him. He tries hard to ignore it, pressing a hand against his side and gritting his teeth against the memory that moves against his flesh; a memory that doesn’t belong to him. That doesn’t belong anywhere. A desperate, dirty fight in a downtown bar: one that had ended with a black eye, and a shattered ribcage. He keeps his gaze fixed on Grace’s face, ignoring the awful, grating sensation of broken bone beneath his palm. She is his anchor: he draws strength from her clear grey gaze. Her eyes are bright with tears that gather but do not fall as she watches him, her stare never once faltering, or growing distant. There is no judgement there, he realises. No anger. Just quiet understanding, and sympathy.

Once he has finished, a ringing silence fills the room they have taken as sanctuary. He’s breathing hard as though he’s been running, despite barely having moved a muscle. His chest aches. He has been holding himself rigid the entire time, shoulders braced as though to ward off a crushing blow. All he receives instead is tenderness.

‘Damn it, Alex.’ She moves to pull herself upright, so she can look into his face. They are eye to eye, with the light between them. ‘I… could tell you were in pain,’ she murmurs. ‘But I didn’t understand why.’ Her lips brush his cheek, featherlight against his skin. ‘There were times when… well, I didn’t know what was happening. But I could see something, hurting, inside you. I wish I’d known – I wish that I could’ve helped, somehow.’ She kneels to place careful hands on his sides, her palms flattening against his ribs as she presses lightly against that slender ladder of bone; as though she must check for herself that he is still whole, and unbroken.

At her touch, the ache vanishes. He covers her hands with his own, unable for a moment to find the right words to place around what he’s feeling – not that it matters. She seems to understand exactly what it is that he can’t say. These are the moments that linger: trapped within time’s stream, like wildflowers pressed between the pages of an enormous book. A softness that has been laid across a story that’s already been told. It doesn’t affect the tale in any meaningful way; still, they leave behind indelible impressions of their presence.

Past. Present. Future. Here in the Dark Place, time has no meaning. How long have Casey and Grace been here, together? How long is a piece of string?

Rational divisions of life press at the edges of their sanctuary. The urge to divide everything into days, hours, minutes: time chopped into pieces, jointed like meat on a board. This place is an abattoir of time. Minutes fall with the rain, running into the gutters like so much of life that is wasted. Seconds flicker by in a haze. Days stretch like the high-rise buildings, vanishing into the night. Somewhere, a door is opening.

Eventually, Casey finds that he can speak again. He lifts his hands to cradle Grace’s face. His voice is hoarse with effort. ‘Come on,’ he manages. ‘We can’t afford to fall apart now. There’s too much at stake.’ They pull apart; and the spell is broken. Time flows past them once again.

‘Sorry. You’re right, we should…’ Grace is still shivering. She wraps her arms around herself and moves around the narrow space, stamping her frozen feet, trying to warm up. ‘Alright. Let’s go.’

Casey shakes his head. ‘Not until you tell me just what you meant, before. You told me you’d been painting again.’ He nods towards the grubby bag she’d placed beside the door. ‘Looks like it’s your turn to do some explaining, huh?’

‘Of course.’ Grace nods, her expression creasing anxiously. ‘Damn it, I keep forgetting. I don’t know why.’ She reaches towards the door, dragging her things closer. ‘You remember, I told you that I lost a bag of stuff? Down at Cauldon Lake, on the first day we met?’

Casey nods slowly. ‘I remember. We never found it.’

‘Well… that’s because it washed up here. It was lying on the ground beside me, when I woke up in the Dark Place.’ She tips the bag out as she speaks, emptying its contents. Casey finds himself frowning as she explains how she’d been forced to use Alice’s camera to defend herself against the shadows, before she found him: describing the strange visions she’d been seeing at the heart of each flash. How she’d been trying to paint the scenes as best she can. He shifts uncomfortably, as memory slips beneath his skin. The things she is describing are familiar to him, but he doesn’t understand why until she flips open the paper pad and shows him exactly what she’s been painting.

‘Fucking hell,’ he breathes. ‘Grace… these are the paintings. The ones we found, at Cauldon Lake – the ones we’ve been finding, all along!’ He stares from one painting to the next. They are precisely the same – because they are the same. He recognises the careful figures, marked in black ink; the scrapes that have been left in the paper, as though the artist was in a hurry to get the work done – which she was, he realises, with a shock that hits him like a bucket of iced water.

‘That’s why when we showed you the paintings, you didn’t recognise them,’ he tells her. ‘It was because you hadn’t painted them yet!’ He points at one in particular, that illustrates a flaming sunset across Cauldon Lake, with himself and Saga standing there, in silhouette. ‘This was the first one we found. In my apartment, back in Virginia – the one that fucked up my plumbing.’

Grace is shaking her head, bewilderment etching itself across her features. ‘How the hell…? Casey, no. That’s not possible. How did I create these here and now, only for you and Saga to find them in the past?’

‘I’m not sure.’ He hesitates. ‘Time moves strangely in the Dark Place,’ he remembers. ‘The way Alan explained it… it’s like a river current. Past and future get all muddied together, in the eddies. The undertow sweeps stuff away, and it resurfaces when you least expect it.’ He grimaces at the sight of several other paintings, created after each time Grace had been forced to use the camera flash to defend herself, while clawing her way through the city to find him: all scenes that he now recognises. ‘Anderson wondered if it was possible that these were being sent to us, from the Dark Place,’ he murmurs. ‘In the same way the pages were, last time. Guess she was right.’

‘But sent by who?’ Grace shakes her head frantically. ‘Not by me – I’ve no idea how we’d even start doing something like that! I just painted them because they seemed important!’

‘And they were. They are, I mean – fucking hell, Grace. This is the thing that kicked everything off, for us. That got me and Anderson back on the trail of Cauldron Lake. Well, that and the nightmares.’ Casey taps the painting thoughtfully. ‘Keep hold of them, for now,’ he adds. ‘I think that’s for the best. We don’t know exactly what’s going on here. How it all hangs together. At least, not yet. Guess that’s one more thing to find out.’ He smiles grimly. ‘You got any more bombshells to drop on me?’

‘Not that I know of.’ Grace releases a soft, breathless laugh. ‘Just when I thought things couldn’t get any weirder.’ She pauses for a moment, a thought seeming to occur. She lifts the camera she carries carefully, turning it around to inspect it closely. ‘Alex, we may have a slight problem,’ she tells him. ‘The frame counter here is…blank. There’s no numbers on it. I’ve got no idea how many shots are left before it runs out.’

Casey frowns. ‘Is there any more film? Did Alice give you any spare?’

‘No.’ Grace shakes her head, feeling around the inside of the camera bag, just to be certain. ‘There’s nothing. Just the empty cannister.’

‘In that case, you’d better only use it when we need it.’ Casey shrugs. ‘Look, I can’t pretend to know what the hell’s going on with all of this. But Alice Wake is… smart. In my book, she’s a damn sight smarter than that writer husband of hers, but…’ he trails off, and shrugs his shoulders. ‘Clearly, she gave that to you for a reason. My gut says that we should let things play out. See where this goes.’

‘And… what if it goes wrong?’ Grace frowns worriedly. ‘What if I fuck it all up?’

‘You won’t.’ He leans down to drop a kiss on the top of her head. ‘I’ve got faith in you. Apparently, so does Alice. She sent you in here to find me – and you did. Against the odds.’ He smiles faintly. ‘Come on. It’s time we were making tracks.’

*

Time moves around them as they step outside the sanctuary of light, and back into the night. Now that Grace is no longer alone, she doesn’t feel quite so afraid. She stays in Casey’s shadow, a half-pace behind or beside him most of the time, trusting his instincts to guide them. After all, he’s been here before – albeit, only in his dreams. Still, it’s better than nothing.

‘Casey? Can I ask you something else?’ she murmurs, as they navigate another narrow row of streets. Somewhere ahead, a payphone is still ringing.

‘You know you can.’ He glances back at her, amused. ‘What’s on your mind?’

‘I was thinking about the dreams I was having, before coming to Bright Falls. Those awful nightmares.’ She hesitates. ‘I know it sounds crazy, but I’m beginning to recognise things. I think… a lot of my dreams happened here. Almost like it was a film set, or something: a stage for the nightmares to play out on.’

‘That doesn’t sound crazy at all.’ Casey scowls. ‘We know that weird shit finds its way out of the Dark Place, and affects reality. It affected Alan Wake for a lot of his life, apparently. Those strange flashes of inspiration he always talked about. Maybe you’re just… sensitive to it, like him. Artists, writers, poets… the power at the lake doesn’t exactly seem choosy about who it draws into its path.’ His gaze lifts to glare down a fork in the road. ‘Left, or right?’ he adds. ‘We’re still trying to find that damn phone – and your ears are sharper than mine.’

‘Uh… left.’ Grace replies, tilting her head to one side and listening intently for a moment. ‘It sounds close. We must be almost there by now.’

He shrugs irritably. ‘It’s been sounding close for the last god knows how long. That doesn’t actually mean we’re any closer.’ He reaches for her hand, and they walk together down the ill-lit city street. Grace finds herself drawing closer to Casey’s side as the night presses in against them both. She can feel it: the weight of premonition, hovering above them. Something else is moving through the shadows, unseen. She remembers what Casey had told her, before: The Dark Presence is still lurking around here, somewhere. I’d put money on it. The thought sends a shiver through her that has nothing to do with the temperature.

‘Hey.’ A slight tug on her arm gives her pause. She turns to discover that Casey is watching her, his normally stern expression softened into concern. ‘I felt that. Grace… you’re shaking.’

‘I’m fine.’ She tries to offer him a reassuring smile, and feels the expression twisting on her face as she catches a flicker of movement, towards the end of the street. ‘Casey – there’s something moving, up there. Not a shadow – something else,’ she adds, lowering her voice to an urgent hiss. ‘Beside the street lamp – do you see?’

‘Yeah. I see it.’ Casey’s face creases into a thunderous scowl as he pushes Grace behind him, for protection. ‘Shit. Get behind something – don’t let him see us!’

They dart behind an overflowing dumpster, taking refuge in its shadow. Their movement seems to catch the attention of the solitary figure, who halts at the mouth of the alleyway. He lifts his hands to light a cigarette. The match strike flares in the night, briefly illuminating the newcomer’s chiselled features. With a jolt of shock, Grace recognises the achingly familiar figure, silhouetted against the overhead lights. The echo of Alex Casey. His hair looks rough and dishevelled, falling forwards on one side, across his eyes; but his gaze is as sharp and knowing as ever, and no blood streaks his handsome face this time. Grace’s heart curls itself into a fist and begins pounding at the inside of her chest.

‘It can’t be,’ she breathes, disbelieving. ‘He’s dead!’

Beside her, the real Casey shakes his head. ‘He’s a character, from a story,’ he murmurs. ‘They never really die. You can flip open a book at any page and still find them, alive and well, at any time. I had a hunch we’d see him again.’

Grace nods slowly, swallowing hard against the surge of emotion that sweeps over her at the sight of the fictional detective. The figure appears to flicker beneath the fitful yellow street lamp, cast alternately in light and shadow, as the voice of Alex Casey echoes through the night towards them.

‘Last night, I dreamed that these city streets ran red with blood. That I was sunk in it, up to the elbows, in murder. The bodies were as still as only the dead can be. I turned to confront the murderer, the monster behind it all, to find myself staring at a man wearing my own face; or as close to it as you could get without looking into a mirror. Behind him stood a woman, made of light. I pulled my gun, but my hands were wet with the blood of the innocent. We struggled. The gun slipped. It fell between us. A shot rang out, and I woke up with a pain in my chest, and one hell of a hangover. Was this a premonition of the future? Or just another ghost, sent to torture me? I tried to drown the memory with a double shot in my morning coffee, but the echo of it remained. Like a bloodstain on my soul. There are some things that even the rain couldn’t wash away.’

Silence falls like an axe. The echo of Alex Casey stares towards their hiding place, drops the spent cigarette… then walks away. The light dies with him. The echoing voice fades. Once again, there is only the night. For several seconds, Grace can do nothing but stare at the spot where the fictional detective had vanished. She feels a gentle movement, and pressure at her arm: Casey has wrapped his own arms around her, and is tucking her into his embrace once more. His expression is strained.

‘God fucking damn it,’ he mutters, as though to himself. ‘More of this bullshit.’

‘Casey?’ She says his name as though it were a prayer: a beacon of sanity among the endless, maddening night. ‘What the fuck was that? Another story echo?’

‘Must be.’ Casey is frowning. ‘Although I don’t recognise the story from Wake’s old novels. Maybe this is something new.’ He meets her worried gaze with a doubtful one of his own. ‘Did you hear what he said? About a… a dream of a man, that looked like him?’

‘Yeah. I heard.’ Grace swallows nervously. ‘Do you think he means you? He mentioned a woman too – is this story about us?’

‘Maybe.’ Casey shrugs. ‘We don’t have enough information to go on, yet. But I’m sure as hell not eager to chase him down, and start asking questions. God only knows what’d happen if he actually saw us – if he saw me.’

‘Good point.’ Grace listens carefully. The sound of footsteps has vanished; wherever the fictional detective has disappeared to, he is no longer in their path. ‘Is it safe to move, do you think?’

‘As safe as it’ll ever be,’ mutters Casey. ‘You okay? Ready to keep on going?’

‘Yeah. I’m fine. Just… a bit freaked out.’ Grace shoots him a look. ‘I’m almost certain that’s an entirely reasonable reaction to what just happened, though. Frankly, I’d be more concerned if that hadn’t freaked me out.’

A smile flickers for a moment across Casey’s features. Not for the first time, Grace is caught off-guard by the softness in it. She can’t help but return the smile, feeling her heart quickening again, for an entirely different reason than before. She wraps her hand around his, and squeezes lightly.

‘Lead on,’ she tells him. ‘Should we keep going, up this street?’

‘Sure. Let’s see what the other Casey was guiding us towards – or guarding against.’

Hand in hand, they move carefully up the darkening path, towards the place where the literary detective had vanished. Grace watches Casey’s expression lift, as they step out of the damp alley and into the broad sweep of a main street. To their left is an old-fashioned diner, lit up in shades of blue and red, its neon sign bleeding colour into the night; and there, dead ahead, is the payphone. Or rather, a pair of them: but only one booth is lit up in crystalline white light, and it’s from here that the ringing is coming.

‘Shit,’ Casey mutters. ‘Come on!’ They hurry across the road towards it, around the thin shadows of leafless trees, passing beneath the glowing red eye of an old stop-light. Behind the phone booths, another enormous high-rise rears into the night, looming above them like a threat. Grace keeps a wary eye on the buildings as they move, unable to shake the feeling that someone inside is watching them. A cold wind gusts down the empty street, bringing with it a fresh squall of freezing rain. Casey breaks into a run. He manages to reach the phone before the caller rings off, swearing under his breath as he grabs the receiver.

‘Hello?’ He lifts the receiver to his ear. The call connects. ‘Yeah, that’s me. Who the fuck are you?’

Grace squeezes his arm briefly before moving away, tucking herself into the neighbouring booth to avoid the rain. The phone beside her is dead, as is the overhead lamp. Broken glass crunches beneath her feet; she has stepped out of the light, and into the dark. The payphone’s casing has been split open and its innards torn out: wires in shades of red and burgundy spill from the damaged box like so many tangled intestines. She shivers, and looks away. Her glance drifts back towards Casey, who is standing beside her, bathed in light. The brightness catches on the rain-slick slope of his cheek; it tangles itself in his hair. She presses her hand flat against the cracked glass that divides both booths. In theory, she is close enough to touch him. In practice, she can’t.

‘God, you’re beautiful,’ she murmurs, knowing that he won’t hear her. She recognises the expression of concentration on his face: the professionalism of the detective, brought to the fore by whatever cryptic message is being relayed to him down the line. This is a different Casey to the one she knows so intimately, whose kisses dance across her skin like gentle rains. This is the field agent. The specialist. The man who can stare down monsters and murderers and the very worst of humankind, and not even blink. Cold Case Casey, with his heart of ice, she thinks, as she watches those glacial eyes lift to stare intently at the building to their left. A thrill of something shivers through her as she observes the minutiae of his of his expression. A slight arch of a single eyebrow: cynicism. He doesn’t believe a word of what this phantom caller is telling him – or at the very least, he doesn’t trust it.

Wordlessly, he replaces the phone, pursing his lips as the line clicks into silence. He blinks against the light, turning his head to stare at her. Grace feels her heart stutter for a moment beneath the intensity of his gaze. She wonders what he sees when he looks at her.

‘Well, that was… interesting.’ His scowl is back. ‘D’you want to step in here? There’s room for two,’ he adds, beckoning her closer. ‘At least this one’s got a damn light.’ He moves aside, allowing her to squeeze into the narrow booth beside him. The light moves like water across her skin. Grace feels something slip away at its touch. A shadow. She releases a quiet breath of relief, although exactly what she’s feeling relieved over, she isn’t certain. Beside her, Casey is frowning. His eyes narrow, and Grace finds herself turning to follow the line of his gaze. To their left hangs a sign for the Oceanview Hotel. Casey is glaring at it, as though it had personally offended him.

‘According to our mystery caller, that’s the way we need to go,’ he tells her. ‘The next stop on our journey. He says there’s something inside the hotel that we should witness.’

‘Witness?’ Grace blinks rainwater out of her eyes. ‘That sounds, uh… concerning.’ She shivers as a frozen wind curls around them both. ‘But… okay. If that’s what you think is best.’

‘I don’t. But it’s the only lead we have.’ Casey grits his teeth in frustration. ‘The only other plan we had was to find that other Alex Casey, and see if he leads us to anything connected with Wake, in the real world.’

Grace shakes her head quickly as a wave of anxiety floods over her at the idea. ‘I’m not so sure we should go looking for him, Alex. It could be dangerous. We might get lost. Anyway, my hunch is that if this ghost, this… echo, whatever it is… if he is a part of whatever Alan’s working on back home, then… when the time is right, he’ll find us.’

‘Okay.’ Casey nods, just once. His frown softens as he looks at her. Some of the sharpness leaves his gaze. ‘I trust your judgement on this, Grace.’

‘You do?’ She blinks, surprised. ‘I… thanks, I guess.’ She lifts her hand to push back the strands of hair that have fallen across his face. He stands completely still as she touches him, barely even breathing, as though she is a wild thing he doesn’t want to startle, and frighten away. His skin is warm; her hand is growing colder. Above them, the night rolls onwards in a never-ending tide, against the jaded yellow street lamps that stripe the plaza behind the phone booths in shades of black and amber, like a cat’s eye.

‘Are you okay?’ she asks him. ‘Casey…’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.’ He releases a long, slow breath as she drops her arm, moving slowly to take her hand in his, sharing some of his warmth. Frustration etches itself across his handsome features. ‘Damn it, Grace. I feel like… I know the voice of that guy on the phone, just now. But I can’t place it, and the fucker wouldn’t give me his name. He just said, you’ll see.’

Grace can’t help but chuckle at that. ‘Well, that’s maddeningly unhelpful.’ She nudges his arm carefully. ‘You looked like you were miles away, just now,’ she adds. ‘Lost in your thoughts – in your own private world.’

‘Me? No.’ He shakes his head, with a quiet half-laugh. ‘I was just thinking. That’s all. You know, this place… it’s starting to feel less like a maze, and more like a puzzle. You know, those sliding block things, for kids?’ His smile widens at her bemused expression. ‘I guess maybe you didn’t have those, growing up in England,’ he adds. ‘You had to find the right place for each block: the spot where all the lines and colours match up. Connecting all the little pieces together, until they create something new. The whole image: the bigger picture.’ He squeezes her hand gently. ‘You’ll see. I know it sounds dumb, but… trust me on this one?’

‘I do. Trust you, that is. You already know that.’ She squeezes back. ‘Alright. It’s time we were moving again.’ She lifts her gaze back towards the ominous bulk of the Oceanview Hotel. ‘Maybe we’ll be lucky this time,’ she murmurs. ‘You never know. Perhaps whoever it was you spoke to really does want to help us out. Stranger things have happened, after all.’

They walk away from the payphone, heading back across the street and towards the dilapidated hotel. The neon-lit sign appears to be the only thing still powered; at first glance, the whole place is completely run-down and empty. Blank windows stare out over the street, like so many dull, sightless eyes. Even the exterior wall seems to be falling into disrepair. Parts of it are crumbling, and the entire building sits at an odd slant to the rest of the street, leaning sideways like a drunkard, as though some vital thing inside it had slipped: the foundations becoming suddenly unstable. Grace tries to swallow down her nerves as they approach, eyeing the thick reddish vines that appear to be strangling half the building with deep distrust.

There’s no getting into the front entrance. The doors have been padlocked and boarded up some time ago, if the layers of graffiti that have been plastered across the boards are anything to go by. For reasons he seems unwilling to explain, Casey chooses to ignore the signs directing them around the side of the building, presumably to a service entrance. Instead, he uses the length of broken pipe he still carries to smash the lock on a downstairs window, prying it open wide enough for the pair of them to slip inside.

‘It’s faster this way,’ is all the explanation he offers. ‘I don’t like the look of that side-alley. Too many ghosts.’

At that, Grace simply nods. She’s not in the mood to question Casey’s choices, especially when she notices another green-tinted lamp lighting the side of the building. The shadow of a half-remembered horror is lurking in his eyes; there is a tightness in his expression that she has come to recognise. The echo of an old pain lingers at the edge of his gaze. She grasps his arm as he moves towards the stairwell, forcing him to wait.

‘Where does it hurt this time?’ she asks him. The question is a simple one, but from the shock on Casey’s face, she might as well have just asked him to grow wings and fly to the moon. His mouth moves as though to speak, but no words fall out. Instead, he simply takes her hand in both of his, and presses it to a spot at the base of his ribs.

Grace blinks. For a moment, she imagines that something moves beneath Casey’s skin. The faint shift and grind of bone beneath her fingers – the echo of a shattered sternum – before she shakes her head sharply. Casey is warm, soft, and whole beneath her palm. No bullet bites into his flesh. No fresh flood of crimson spills down the front of his shirt. Instead, a quiet sigh of relief escapes his lips, as though the warmth of her touch has finally laid to rest an old ghost.

‘Thanks.’ Casey shakes his head. ‘Fucking hell. This awful place.’ He drops his hands and glances around, frowning in recognition. ‘I’ve seen all this before,’ he mutters. ‘In a dream, I think. We need to head up a couple of floors.’

Grace glances towards the elevator, wrinkling her nose at the sight of the smashed-in doors that have been smeared with more graffiti. ‘Something tells me we might have to take the stairs.’

‘Smart thinking.’ A faint smile once again graces Casey’s handsome face. ‘We’ll make a detective of you yet.’

‘God, I hope not.’ Grace chuckles at his indignant expression, as they head across the hotel lobby and begin making their way up the stairwell. The stairs are desperately ill-lit: the only illumination comes from the emergency lights that blare from every corner like beacons of bad omen, turning the rich pile carpet from a sophisticated burgundy to an ominous crimson. It stretches endlessly before their feet: a bloody path, stark against the bland magnolia of the cream-washed hotel décor.

There are shadows here too, black against scarlet, lingering in the deepening gloom. Most seem content to let them pass; but some of them don’t. Grace is forced to use Alice’s camera again to defend them both, casting blindingly white light along the narrow corridors. The shadows shiver into nothingness beneath the touch of light; and between the camera flare and Casey’s easy swing of the lead pipe, they are able to make progress.

‘That’s one hell of a useful thing,’ Casey says, eyeing the camera with renewed respect. ‘More handy than I thought it’d be. A shame we’ve got no idea how many shots you’ve got left on it.’

Grace frowns. ‘I haven’t exactly been paying attention to how many photos I’ve been taking. I was just using it for a light, you know?’ She pulls a face. ‘They’ll probably all be awful. Not that it matters, really – but every shot I’ve taken will be blurry and out of focus. I doubt this film would even be worth developing: all I’ve been doing is point-and-click.’

‘Is there any way you can check? See what kind of pictures might already be on there?’ Casey frowns as they reach the landing, glancing up at a brass plaque that lists the room numbers. The words ‘DISAPPEAR HERE’ have been daubed across it in thick black letters.

‘Not that I know of. I could open up the back, but if there is a film in there, it would ruin whatever was on it. You can’t expose it to direct light – at least, I don’t think so. I’m not an expert.’ She pulls a face. ‘I could check, but… I don’t want to risk fucking up whatever else is on that film: any photos Alice might have taken, before. They might be important.’

Casey nods slowly. ‘So could they. The photos you’ve been taking, I mean. Assuming the camera still actually works.’ He shrugs. ‘Hell, I don’t know. All this artsy stuff – it all seems pretty complicated to me. God knows how it’s going to work out, in the end.’ He glares up the narrow corridor, staying Grace’s movement with a hand on her arm as she heads for the next flight of stairs. ‘Hold on. The room we’re looking for is on this floor: number 665.’

‘You’re certain?’ Grace glances around, frowning. The corridor they’re facing looks a mess. Half the carpet has been shredded, as though torn by some gigantic hand; and the rest is blotched with ugly, rust-coloured stains. Creeping mould has patterned the walls and ceiling, where the steady drip-drip-drip of a slow leak has formed a black, ominous puddle roughly halfway down. At the far end, the ceiling has entirely caved in: the way is blocked by a fall of shattered roof-beams.

‘Fucking hell.’ Casey narrows his eyes. ‘You know, Wake talked about this place. The hotel, I mean. He set a murder story here – some play that got out of hand.’ He curls his lip in disgust. ‘He didn’t say it looked like this.’

‘That was three years ago, wasn’t it? Maybe things have changed.’ Grace glances around uneasily. Her shoulders twitch, as though she’s being watched. There is a heaviness in the air; a strange, persistent dampness that’s making it difficult for her to breathe. ‘It looks… abandoned,’ she adds. ‘Not just this part, but the whole building. I was expecting… well, I’m not sure. But not this.’ She glances up at Casey, for reassurance. ‘You’re sure that’s the right room number?’

‘As sure as I can be.’ He shrugs, hefting the broken pipe in readiness, giving her arm a quick, reassuring squeeze. ‘Whatever happens, we’ll be ready for it. But if shit gets bad, fast, then just… get behind me.’

‘Okay.’ She nods, following Casey’s lead as he begins to pick his way down the narrow corridor, wrinkling her nose at the scent of decay that lingers in the air. In the distance, music begins to play. She doesn’t recognise the song, but somehow, the melody is achingly familiar. She finds herself humming along softly, shooting Casey an apologetic look as he turns to stare at her across his shoulder.

‘Catchy tune, huh?’ he mutters.

‘Yeah. Sorry.’ She pulls a face. The melody had nestled in her mind, like a secret; now, it was draining away again, like water in cupped hands. If she closes her eyes, the strangeness of the abandoned hotel will overpower her, so she keeps her eyes fixed on the breadth of Casey’s shoulders as he moves though the darkness before them. The red emergency light glints off the lead pipe in his hand. His step is light, predatory; like a big cat moving through jungle.

‘Here,’ he breathes. ‘Careful. There’s water on the floor.’ He gestures towards the entrance to room 665. The door is hanging open, half-off its hinges. This is where the slow leak from the floor above has been dripping in. Grace is forced to half-step, half-leap over the black pool of stagnant water that lies across the threshold. Inside, the room is bare; save for an old-fashioned film projector.

‘That’s… not what I was expecting.’ Grace frowns. ‘Is that… a message?’

Casey shakes his head. Grace hears his sharp intake of breath as his expression becomes taut with worry. ‘It’s a message all right. But not for us.’ He glances around urgently. ‘Shit – I can hear footsteps.’

‘The door.’ Grace grabs at his sleeve. ‘Quick – we can hide behind it!’ He follows her lead, stepping into the narrow shadow behind the door. He curls an arm around Grace as she tucks herself in, her back pressed against his chest. The echoing footsteps grow louder, and the shadows around the half-open door seem to move on their own accord, coalescing into a flickering miasma as a familiar figure steps inside. The echo of Alan Wake. Grace’s breath catches sharply in her throat.

This must be another shadow of the past, she realises. From when Alan was trapped here: caught in a loop, like Casey said. She watches as Alan strides confidently towards the old projector, seemingly unphased by the way the room seems to glitch and flicker around them. He hits the switch. Shadows move in the dark. Patterns of light shift and flutter across the ceiling. Grace is struck with an overwhelming dizziness; she grabs onto Casey’s arm, as the room around them changes.

As though in a dream, she watches another chapter of Alan Wake’s story play out in front of her. Alan is rain-drenched and breathing heavily. In one hand, he holds a gun. The muzzle hovers dangerously close to the face of the room’s only other occupant: a man tied to a chair, who looks startlingly similar to Alan himself. Grace bites her lip hard to prevent herself from gasping out loud. She knows this scene, she realises. She has read about this moment in the stolen FBC file.

The man in the chair is Thomas Zane – or at least, a version of him. Poet, film-maker, celebrated auteur… bloodied and beaten, he looks like none of these things. He looks in pain. Grace can’t help but wince at the blood that flecks his face; the cascade of red that stains his pale shirt. The arm that Casey has wrapped around her tightens momentarily. Grace wonders what he is thinking; whether this is something he’s watched play out in his nightmares too.

She swallows nervously, as the confrontation between the two men descends into violence. Darkness like black ink spills out into the night, alongside raised voices and a single, defiant gunshot. Alan’s voice rings out in a desperate, furious plea: ‘I told you not to try anything!’ The gun in his hand is trembling. Even now, Alan appears unsure of how far he’s willing to go to break free from his prison. Killing, it seems, still isn’t easy for him. He turns around and walks away. His shadow fades, along with his footsteps. The room is left utterly silent; the only sounds Grace can hear is the frantic hammering of her own heart, and the slow drip of blood from Zane’s corpse. A red stain marks the latest plot twist that Alan has scratched violently into the story.

Grace shakes her head, releasing a slow, careful breath. She isn’t sure what she expected. Certainly not this: not for Tom Zane to jerk back upright in his chair, spitting out lines of poetry from between bloodied teeth. His smile borders on the manic; the bullet hole in Zane’s forehead is still leaking an awful, sticky crimson. He lifts one hand to wipe it away, as casually as an actor would wipe away paint.

‘Now that is drama!’ he exclaims. His gaze shifts, travelling across the room, eventually settling on the spot where Casey and Grace are hidden in the shadows. His unwitting audience. Grace feels something shiver down her spine: a threat. There’s no way he can know we’re here, she tells herself. This is an echo of the past – something that’s already happened. We’re just… bystanders. Observers. Aren’t we?

Nevertheless, Tom Zane is staring directly at her, his deep blue eyes burrowing into her soul, wearing a grin that is far too knowing. ‘Did you see that?’ he says. ‘Pure fucking cinema! All in one take, too!’ Blood trickles from the corner of his lips as he throws back his head and laughs. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, leaving a crimson smear. He holds his hand up to the light, turning it this way and that, as though admiring the bright, wet tint of his own blood.

‘I’d call that colour a cadmium scarlet,’ he murmurs. ‘Lovely and bright, but edging into perylene maroon, perhaps. Something a touch… darker.’ His smile stretches, and he looks back up to meet Grace’s hidden gaze. ‘But that’s just me,’ he adds. ‘Why don’t we ask the artist what she thinks, hmm?’ He opens his arms with a flourish, beckoning towards them. ‘Oh, come out, the pair of you,’ he adds. ‘Stop hiding in the shadows. I can see you, you know – come over here, and have a drink! You must be thirsty, after all that running around. It’s been such a long night, after all.’

Slowly, Grace feels Casey’s arm loosening. She tilts her head, half-turning to glance up at him, wondering what on earth she should do. But this time, Casey isn’t looking at her. His expression is fixed, the professional mask slipping smoothly into place. He steps, slowly and deliberately, into the light. Zane’s stare is intense; like a steel bar, pinning them in place. Casey meets it head-on.

‘Tom Zane, I presume,’ he says slowly. ‘I’m Alex Casey.’

‘Are you?’ Zane’s eyes widen in mock-innocence. ‘Are you sure about that, Aleksi Kesä?’ His smile becomes wolfish. ‘You know, I thought I’d killed you once already.’

Casey smiles grimly. ‘I guess it didn’t stick.’

‘Apparently not.’ Zane throws a devilish wink towards the stone-faced detective, receiving the barest lift of an eyebrow in response. ‘Don’t worry: we’ll try harder next time,’ he adds with a chuckle, before gesturing towards the well-stocked mini bar. ‘Now then, what can I get you? Whisky is on the house this evening – as is the wine, my dear,’ he adds, waving expansively towards Grace. ‘Can I offer you a glass, madame?’

‘No.’ Casey folds his arms, replying for them both. ‘But you can give me some answers.’

‘Ugh, boring.’ Zane pulls a face, seeming almost to pout at the blunt refusal. ‘God, you’re so uptight. You know, it’d do you the world of good to loosen up and relax a little, hmm? After all, you’re not going anywhere. We’ve got time.’ He levels a knowing stare at Casey. ‘All the time in the world,’ he adds softly. ‘Are you sure I can’t tempt you?’

‘Can you help us?’ Grace ventures, moving to stand beside Casey. ‘Can you tell us how to get out of the Dark Place?’

Zane shakes his head, seeming to ignore the question. ‘You’re safe here, for now,’ he tells them. ‘The thing that’s hunting you. It can’t get in. I know – it’s tried.’

‘Hunting us?’ Casey narrows his eyes. They glint dangerously in the light. ‘You mean the Dark Presence. What do you know about it?’

‘Nothing that would interest you.’ Zane grins. ‘But I do know that a hunt without violence feeds nobody: and the thing that hunts you is very hungry indeed.’

Grace feels her stomach clench at his words. Casey was right, she realises. It’s still out there. It’s still after us. She swallows nervously. Zane’s room is well-lit, at least: the darkness does not hold sway here.

‘This place is my sanctuary,’ Zane is telling them, as he moves across the room to pour himself a drink. ‘The end of ruin. My own little palace of privacy.’

‘Hardly what I’d call a palace.’ Casey is watching him carefully. ‘Just a room in a busted old hotel.’

Zane begins laughing, as though he’s just told them all a joke. ‘Ah, but that’s the wonder of it! The brilliance – don’t you see? Tangled in glorious liminality – hotels are all such transient places, after all. Permanently impermanent: nothing stays. Nothing takes root here. People come, and people go: trapped in an endless cycle. Caught in a loop, you might say.’ His eyes are bright with mischief. ‘It’s the perfect roost for an artiste, such as myself. Filled with endless, bounding inspiration – and a free bar!’

‘But it’s falling apart,’ Grace says. ‘The hotel, I mean. It looks like the foundations have slipped, somehow. There are leaks everywhere, and half the ceiling outside is collapsed. Doesn’t that bother you?’

He leans forward. ‘Exactly – exactly! That’s the whole point! Don’t you see how exquisite it all is? The wonder of decay: the divinity in it?’ He holds out his arms in an extravagant gesture, spinning as though to take it all in. ‘Out of destruction comes the most marvellous creations. The most extraordinary language in the world is born of suffering. The most glorious art comes from pain. But… you already knew that, didn’t you?’ He fixes Grace with a knowing stare. ‘How much art did you create, while you thought you were dying?’ he adds softly. ‘Pain translated into paint and paper: given form, shape, beauty; purpose! Is that not the most wonderful act of creation?’ His smile turns animal; he bares his teeth. ‘Don’t pretend that I’m not right,’ he tells her. ‘Didn’t it bring about some of your finest creations? All that fear, anger, hurt… the pure rage that consumed you! And you – you allowed it to, didn’t you? Because after all… you were making art.’

The words hang in the air like raindrops, halted for a half-second before they fall. Grace feels a tremendous pulse of something surge through her. Anger, maybe: how dare this stranger, this man she doesn’t know, speak so casually of her own bitter experience? As though he has simply rolled up his shirtsleeves and reached out, pressing his hand into the flesh and blood of her, withdrawing a memory that she has buried. That she has told to no-one. Beside her, Casey has stilled completely. She can feel his pale eyes staring at her, boring into the side of her head. His hands clench into fists as he turns his body towards Zane, shifting his weight, ready for a fight.

‘Who told you that?’ she says, gritting her teeth as she meets Zane’s gaze. His eyes have a terrifyingly magnetic quality. She finds herself being drawn deeper into those spiralling blue-dark depths. ‘How did you…? No. You’re just guessing. You don’t know me.’

‘Don’t I?’ Zane’s smile softens, only for a moment. ‘I see. Perhaps I was mistaken.’

‘Yeah. You were.’ The breath comes sharply to her throat. ‘We – we need to leave,’ she adds, wrenching her gaze away and turning back towards Casey. ‘Alex, we should go. I don’t think there’s anything for us here.’

At that, Zane laughs. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t quite say that,’ he replies. He turns his attention back towards Casey. ‘Didn’t you come here looking for answers? Isn’t that why you answered my call?’

‘It was.’ Casey is looking at him steadily. His gaze doesn’t waver. ‘But if all you’re going to do piss me off, then I’m not interested in anything else you’ve got to say. So far, all you’re giving us is more questions – and bullshit.’

‘One man’s bullshit is another man’s philosophy.’ Zane is grinning as he throws himself onto the couch, lounging back with one leg propped over the other. ‘Oh, Alex Casey, do I have a part to play for you,’ he adds softly. ‘Didn’t you ever wonder why you felt so drawn to Miss Artist over here, as if you already knew her? Didn’t it ever strike you as odd?’

At that, Casey stiffens. He casts a glance back towards Grace, who nods. ‘Maybe.’ His answer is guarded. Foreboding flutters for an instant in the pit of his gut. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because the answer’s so obvious!’ He laughs out loud. ‘You two: honestly, it’d be adorable, if you weren’t being so damn oblivious. Don’t you get it by now?’

‘Get what?’ Casey finds his voice rising in frustration. ‘Enough fucking around, Zane!’

‘Alright! Alright. If you’re too dumb to figure it out, I’ll help you.’ He takes a deep drink from the glass in his hand, throwing his head back and inhaling deeply. ‘Time… is a story,’ he says, spreading his arms wide as though making an announcement. ‘The connection you first felt with one another is simply… a plot-line, carried over from a different part of the story. This part, in fact. The part where you both find each other, in the dark; where you both finally confess your true feelings!’ His smile widens. ‘Come on, what’s more romantic than that? It’s a great chapter!’ He laughs as he glances between them, watching their expressions as though he were at a spectator sport. ‘You really didn’t guess?’ he adds incredulously. ‘You didn’t figure it out on your own? Alex, I thought you were supposed to be a detective!’

Casey shakes his head. His heart has begun trembling in his chest; not in fear, but anticipation. He feels breathtakingly close to a revelation.

‘What do you mean?’ Grace leans forward. Her shoulder moves against him, nudging at his heart beneath his ribs. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘I know.’ Zane yawns widely. ‘But you do – don’t you?’ he adds, lifting his head to meet Casey’s stare. His eyes are radiant, and empty. ‘You know how things can bleed through time and space; you know how the ghosts of the heart and of the past can creep up on you, out of the dark. Stories that have already been told. The monster that lives across your shoulder: the one that whispers in your dreams. Paradoxes that come pre-packaged for convenience.’

He smiles once more; but his expression has turned blank and dangerous. Casey blinks, as the room they’re standing appears to flicker: glitching in and out of time. It lasts barely half a heartbeat; still, he understands the implication. Their time here is running out. The lamp in the corner glows red, as though in warning.

‘I understand,’ he says quietly. ‘Now… I get it.’ Zane half-turns to stare at him from the corner of one eye; a strange, predatory expression.

‘Do you?’ he murmurs softly. ‘I’m not so sure you do, Aleksi Kesä. After all… you still don’t know who’s writing your story, do you?’

Casey shrugs. ‘Maybe I don’t want to know.’ He moves to brush his fingers against Grace’s wrist. It’s time they were leaving. She glances up at him, seeming to understand the unspoken implication. She nods almost imperceptibly, taking a half-pace towards the door and offering Zane a smile.

‘Thank you for talking to us,’ she tells him. ‘But really, we should go now. Time’s getting on, and I think we’ve still got quite a way to travel.’

Zane shakes his head. ‘Perhaps not as far as you might think,’ he murmurs. ‘You know, you could stay a little longer. Sit down, and share a drink, like civilised people. Like I said: we’ve got all the time in the world.’

‘No.’ Casey deepens his tone, adding a layer of quiet menace. ‘No, I don’t think we will, thanks.’ He places a hand at Grace’s back and moves with her, towards the exit, as the light flickers again. There is a sound like the soft crackle of static. Another blood-red lamp sputters into existence at the edge of Casey’s vision. He blinks. Zane is standing in front of them now, blocking their path to the door. There is a sudden, deadly pressure in the air. Darkness has begun to bleed into this meagre sanctuary, he realises. While they’ve been busy talking, the night has slowly crept inside. Grace lays her hand on his arm. He can feel her warmth even through his jacket. There is a chill inside the hotel that hadn’t been present before; the cold arriving with them, like a ghost. Zane’s smile has become dangerous; there is blood on his lips still, and a wildness in his eyes.

‘Casey?’ Grace’s grip tightens on his arm. She is holding herself taut, braced for sudden violence, like a rubber band stretched to the limit of elasticity. There is tension in her face. The line of her expression is sharp with the fear she is trying to conceal, and at the sight Casey’s heart gives a furious twist inside his chest. She shouldn’t have to be afraid of anything while I’m here, he thinks to himself. Fuck this. I’m done playing games.

In a single, fluid movement he tugs the gun from the back of his belt, pushing Grace behind him for protection as he points the pistol directly at Zane. ‘Back the fuck up,’ he tells him. ‘We’re leaving. You aren’t stopping us.’

At that, Zane simply laughs. He steps forward, closing the distance between them, until the muzzle of the gun is pressed against his flesh. ‘That bullet isn’t meant for me,’ he says softly. ‘I could tell you who it’s for – but where’s the fun in that?’

‘What the hell do you mean by that?’ Casey scowls. ‘Actually, no. I don’t give a fuck what you mean.’ His finger tightens on the trigger. ‘We’re done. I’ve had enough of this bullshit. Grace – let’s get out of here.’

‘Good luck with that.’ Zane is chuckling again, seeming entirely unconcerned with Casey’s threat. ‘Honestly, good on you for keeping on going!’ he adds. ‘After all, they spent so long crafting this story: trying to get it all right. It would be very unsporting to derail it at this stage.’ He steps aside with a melodramatic flourish, waving them forwards. Casey keeps his gun trained on Zane as they move cautiously towards the exit, keeping a half-eye on Grace as she reaches for the door. The light flickers rapidly as she grasps the handle, and pulls. Casey’s heart lurches into his stomach. There is a sudden, violent sensation of movement: a crackle in the air like static. He blinks. They are back on the street once more, beneath the wetness of rain and the endless, unforgiving night.

‘Fuck,’ mutters Casey, fighting the urge to vomit as he glances anxiously around. Grace has seized his arm in an iron grip. He sees his own bewilderment mirrored in her grey gaze as she stumbles, almost falling.

‘What the hell just happened?’ she gasps, steadying herself against his shoulder, as he reaches out to help her.

‘I’m not sure.’ He glances down the street. Something is wrong. The lights that were there before are dead and dark. Shadows coalesce at the end of the alley. Casey shivers as the weight of terror fills the air, alongside a rumble of something that sounds like thunder, but isn’t.

‘Alex?’ Grace turns to follow the line of his gaze. ‘Oh, god. Is that what I think it is?’

‘Let’s not stick around to find out.’ He grabs her hand. ‘Come on!’

Together, they hurry up the darkening street. The lamps blink out as they pass, one by one. Casey takes the lead, guiding them back towards one of the rooms they’d previously taken as refuge. He curses quietly under his breath, hoping against hope that the bright white light that had been inside would still be there: that it might offer them some measure of protection. Darkness gathers in their wake, the blackness of the night coalescing into something vast, ancient, and terrible. A presence.

‘Shit,’ he breathes. The Dark Presence is moving too fast, coming too close. He can feel it now, the monster snapping at his heels: the hunger in it. The blinding rage. Malevolence on a cosmic scale, lurching through the city towards them. It travels with a sense of terrible inevitability, like an avalanche.

Casey breaks into a sprint. Grace is beside him, gasping for air but managing to keep pace. Ahead, he spots a thin sliver of white. The door he’d been hoping for is opening. Hand in hand, they make a mad dash for the light, as the night opens its jaws to swallow them whole. The door swings wide, allowing them to fall through: out of the dark, and into the light. Grace stumbles, falling hard on the cold stone floor, as Casey turns to face the darkness. With monumental effort, he slams the door on the approaching terror. The light inside flares, blinding in its brightness. He is forced to shield his eyes, shaking his head against the dull hum of electricity that buzzes against him like an insect for a handful of anxious seconds, before silence falls once more.

‘Holy shit,’ he mutters. ‘That was far too fucking close.’

In the distance he hears a furious, animal howling. The Dark Presence has been denied its prey once more. But now, it knows they are here – and Casey knows, with a certainty that hums through his bones, that it isn’t going to just go away. It knows both their names: and it will never stop hunting them.

He opens his arms, allowing Grace to fall into them. She is sobbing quietly; from relief or fresh terror, he isn’t certain. The soft sound of her misery reawakens the old anger that has lived for so long inside his chest. He clenches his jaw tightly. Alice Wake had the right idea, he realises. It’s not going to stop. It’s just going to keep coming for us, again and again. Then only way to end this nightmare… the only way we’ll ever be free… is if we kill it.

Chapter Text

He sat at his typewriter and wrote a story. The story he’d always been writing. The only story he’d ever written. The fate of Alex Casey lay, once again, in the writer’s hands. In more ways than one.

Alan sat back, pushing his hair out of his eyes and sighing deeply. He’d been wondering where to begin, at first; hobbled by the sheer enormity of the task that lay before him. The burden he’d taken on his own shoulders. To use his writing, once again, to shape reality: to bring Casey and Grace safely out of the dark, and back into the light. His fingers hovered, uncertain, over the typewriter keys. There could be no mistakes. There was no margin for error. Alice and the others could act as his editors later, helping to keep the narrative in check. But for now, this first act of creation lay with him: and him alone.

Well, not quite alone. He smiled faintly. Alice had disappeared into her darkroom with the mystery camera film he and Saga had discovered, promising to come and find him once she’d developed the photographs. Shadows, waiting to be revealed: echoes of darkness, as she’d been so fond of saying. They would serve as writing guides, later. But with time slipping rapidly away, Alan knew that he couldn’t afford to wait.

He closed his eyes. The darkness was still there, waiting for him. It hovered a half-breath away, behind the curtain of reality. He turned his mind away, trying to concentrate. He already had some story threads he could use; and what’s more, he knew exactly what to do with them.

‘It looks like I’ve got another case for Casey,’ he murmured. ‘Welcome back, old friend.’ He reached for the voice of the private investigator, surprised for a moment to find that the character’s thoughts were already etching familiar patterns in his mind. He’d been concerned that stepping back into Alex Casey’s shoes might feel… strange. Unnatural. That he’d be too influenced by his friendship with the real Casey to write the fictional one properly. After all, real-world Casey had proved to be quite a different man from his literary counterpart.

Fortunately for Alan, he’d been wrong. Alex Casey was still there, in the dark, waiting for him. He could feel the story, hovering at the tips of his fingers. All he had to do was put the right words around it: the words that would make it stay. That would make it real.

Alan Wake smiled. The writer was writing again. Everything else could wait.

*

‘Do you know what I’d like one day?’

‘Tell me.’

‘A garden.’

‘A… what?’

‘You heard me. A garden!’

‘Yeah, I heard you.’ Casey smiles through his exhaustion, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘I guess I’m just surprised. That’s not what I expected you to say.’

‘And why not?’ The pair are sitting with their backs to the wall, taking a moment in time to breathe. Grace is resting her head on Casey’s shoulder. He can feel the faint flutter of her laughter as she shifts against him.

‘No real reason,’ he tells her. ‘But usually, when people say stuff like, guess what I want one day, it’s something pretty fucking dumb. Or, the crazy kind of expensive. You know, like private jets, giant mansions, a getaway in the Bahamas. Something like that.’ He chuckles softly. ‘But a damn garden? Really?’

‘Sure.’ Grace’s voice is bright with laugher. ‘And why not? Somewhere safe, quiet, and peaceful. Full of light. Full of life, you know?’ She half-closes her eyes, as though imagining. ‘Somewhere with a fountain, maybe. And some trees,’ she adds softly. ‘Little ones, I mean – not like the big scary ones near Cauldron Lake. Like… little apple trees. The ones that let the light inside, turning everything into shades of green and gold. Places for birds and things, you know?’

‘I guess.’ Casey shrugs helplessly. ‘To be honest, it’s not something I’ve ever thought about before. But… yeah. When you say it like that, it sounds nice.’ He can’t help but laugh softly at the hopeful expression on her face. ‘You do know that we’re about as far away from something like that as we could possibly be?’ he adds drily. ‘Completely trapped, alone in this city, in the dark and the cold, and the rain… Grace, we’ve got nightmares knocking on the door outside! And you’re thinking about a garden?’

She wrinkles her nose, burying her face in his shoulder to muffle her laughter. ‘Well, excuse me for wanting to think about something else, for a change!’ Her laughter fades. ‘God, it still feels so… unreal, at times. All of this, I mean. But then, as soon as we’re back out there, it’s going to become all too real again, isn’t it?’ She sighs against him, tipping her head back once more. ‘Sorry. You’re right, it’s dumb. I guess I’m just feeling a bit homesick.’

‘Don’t apologise.’ Casey nudges her gently. ‘Go on, then. Tell me about home.’

She shakes her head. ‘Some other time, perhaps.’ She shifts her weight, stretching out her arms before pulling a disgruntled face. ‘We should probably get going again. Like you said before, we can’t afford to fall apart now; we have to keep making progress…’

‘Wait.’ Casey takes her hand, stilling her awkward movement. ‘I want to know,’ he tells her. ‘We’ve got time. The city’s not exactly going anywhere. Neither are the monsters. Besides, we still need to figure out our next steps; and as soon as we start making tracks, the fucking Dark Presence is going to be right on our tail. I just know it.’ He sighs quietly. ‘Take it from an old cop: breathe while you can. Rest when you have the chance. Don’t rush when you don’t need to. We’ve still got a little time.’

He watches carefully as her expression softens. The light falls across her face, casting a shadow on the wall behind. He can feel the weight of her grey gaze as her eyes search his for meaning. He tries to think himself into her expression, wondering exactly what it is she sees, when she looks at him like this. The intrusive thoughts of the detective: the echo in his mind that he can never quite switch off. The voice that always asks, how, what, why. The questions tremble on the edge of speech. What is it that you see, when you look at me? he thinks. Why do you love me? He bites the words back, hating it: hating the doubt, the mistrust that’s been beaten into him, year after year, after so long spent on the job; hating even the rasp of his own voice that seems so naturally given to suspicion. The way it can so easily turn even these careful, private moments into something resembling an interrogation. He swallows hard, and looks away.

‘Alright.’ She leans in to place a kiss against his cheek. The swiftness of it surprises him, the warmth of her mouth startling against the night’s chill. When she pulls back to look at him, her rain-grey gaze fills his entire world. ‘What would you like to know?’ she says. ‘Ask away, Casey. Anything you like.’

He hesitates, caught off-guard by the sincerity in her expression. Honesty is a rare quality in his line of work. He pauses for a moment to wonder: what exactly is it he wants to know? What is it that he wants from her? The answer is obvious, and immediate: everything. Everything that he has missed over the years, through no fault of his own other than living on a different continent.

He shakes his head. ‘Let’s start at the beginning,’ he says. ‘Tell me about home. The place where you grew up. What’s it like?’

‘England?’ She laughs and shakes her head. ‘Surely you’ve seen the movies.’

‘I don’t mean like that.’ He gives her hand a gentle, encouraging squeeze. He isn’t a man naturally inclined to tenderness, having known so little of it throughout his own life; but for Grace, he will always try. ‘I want to know about you,’ he tells her. ‘What your corner of the world looked like.’

‘It was… quiet.’ She is smiling now, her gaze shifting to focus somewhere just above his shoulder. As though she’s looking somewhere else: into the distant past. ‘I grew up in a small town on the south coast,’ she tells him. ‘Mostly, I remember the rain. It rained all the time – it’s funny, I know there were other things, but… it’s most of what I remember. The grey sky, the green of the parks and gardens in the spring. The smell of the wet earth – and me in my bare feet, making muddy footprints in the flowerbeds.’ She laughs quietly. ‘I remember… there was this grand old magnolia tree by the front of the house. I used to climb it when I was bored, or lonely. I’d take a book up there, and read. The flowers in spring were so huge and white and fat-looking; but they smelled amazing. I always imagined… I remember thinking they looked like cupped hands, full of light.’ She laughs quietly and shakes her head, cutting off the memory. ‘That sounds silly, now that I come to tell somebody else.’

‘No. It doesn’t.’ Casey finds himself smiling at the faint, embarrassed blush that appears across her cheeks. ‘It sounds… nice.’ He watches her expression change as he encourages her to talk, reaching back into the past for the memories that he hopes will make her smile. He knows that once they step outside, back into the night, her smile will disappear; replaced by the frantic, driving fear that leeches out of the Dark Place like a rising tide, threatening to wash them both away. It makes these quiet moments feel all the more precious to him: as something to hold onto. To fight for. At times like this, there is a softness inside her that he wishes he could reach. He wants to see for himself these memories of spring; the flowers like cups of light. He nods carefully as she tells him of her father, who would walk with her in the gardens whenever she was having nightmares, as a child. How losing him when she was eleven had been the first scar the darkness had left across her heart.

‘I grew up with my mother,’ she tells him. ‘I’m an only child. For years, it was just me and her: the two of us, against the world. And the dogs, of course. I miss them so much.’ She smiles sadly. ‘Now, it’s just me.’

At that, Casey can’t help but give her a gentle, disapproving nudge. ‘You have me,’ he tells her. ‘Remember?’

She tips her head back and laughs. ‘How could I forget?’ she replies. ‘I came all this way to find you, Alex Casey. I’m not about to lose you again. Not without a fight.’ She twines her fingers into his, pulling at his arm as a troubled look steals across her face. ‘Do you think… was Tom Zane right, do you reckon?’ she adds. ‘About us, I mean?’

Casey finds himself beginning to frown again. ‘I’m not sure. But I guess it makes a certain kind of sense – at least, as much sense as anything does in this place.’

Grace is nodding slowly. ‘The way he described it… it sounded similar to what’s been happening to you. The memories and dreams you sometimes get, that don’t belong to you – that belong to the made-up Alex Casey.’

‘Maybe.’ Casey shrugs. ‘It that is the case, it’s one hell of an improvement on those.’

‘It’s just so strange. To imagine that everything that’s happening to us… that what we’re doing, here and now, has already influenced things that’ve happened in the past.’ She breaks off, looking thoughtful. ‘It makes me wonder… as a kid, I used to be afraid of the dark. At night I’d get these awful, reoccurring dreams. About an endless flood of darkness, that would come rushing across the sky like a giant wave and swallow up all the stars. It makes me wonder… was even that because of what’s happening here? How deep does it all go?’

‘I don’t know.’ He lifts his arms helplessly. ‘I’m sorry, Grace. I don’t have all the answers. I wish that I did.’

‘No, of course. I’m just thinking out loud.’ She shakes her head as though to clear it. ‘I’m sorry – I’m just trying to make some sense of it all, in my head.’

Casey sighs at that, reaching out to tug her quickly into his arms, grinning at her soft noise of surprise. He buries his head in her hair and plants a kiss at the side of her neck. ‘You worry too much,’ he tells her. ‘The way I see it: right now, we’re stuck here. Getting upset about cause and effect isn’t going to do us or anybody else a damn bit of good. We don’t know how it’s all going to play out, yet. But there’s one thing I do know for certain.’

‘And what’s that?’ She tips her head back, staring up at him and smiling. ‘Care to enlighten me?’

‘Sure.’ He chuckles at her eager expression. ‘That day at the lake, when we first met. I didn’t know you. But at the same time… I did. I just didn’t know it yet. It sounds crazy, but… now, it’s starting to make sense.’ He takes her hand in his. ‘All I could think about was wanting to protect you,’ he adds. ‘God, I loved you – right from the start! And you – you said you felt the same kind of way too?’

‘Yeah.’ Grace’s smile has softened. The warmth in her gaze makes his heart flutter in his chest. ‘I did. I still do.’

‘Right.’ He can feel the heat climbing into his cheeks. He clears his throat awkwardly. ‘So, I figure that after it all happened, between us… once you came looking for me in the Dark Place, determined to drag me out by my damn collar…’ he breaks off, laughing at her expression. ‘That’s what’s been seeping through. All these years, I’ve been feeling like there’s a piece of me that’s gone missing. Turns out, what I was really missing was you.’ He raises her hand to his lips, turns it over to press a kiss against the soft skin at the inside of her wrist. ‘Grace, I think I’ve loved you all my life,’ he tells her quietly. ‘I just didn’t know it, until now.’

He clears his throat again, trying not to grin stupidly at the look on her face. For a half-breath of time, she seems frozen, hesitating between words and movement. When she decides on the latter, her full weight hits him like the heat of summer against his chest. The dark collar of the borrowed jacket moves against her throat, lifting to reveal pale skin. He tucks his head towards it, breathing in the scent of her: perfume and the smell of rain, beneath the blood and grime of the night city that has begun to stain them both. Her hands are around him, moving across the breadth of his shoulder, one dropping down to clench around his waist. She is pulling at him, wanting him closer, despite the fact that he is already as close as he can possibly be, without laying down on top of her. Her other hand lifts to tangle in his hair. She breathes his name like it’s the only word she knows: the only word she’s ever known. He closes his eyes tightly, not realising just how much he had needed this too: needing to feel her, warm and whole and alive.

‘Well, as revelations go… I’d say that’s a pretty good one.’ Grace’s voice is muffled, from where she’s pressed her face into the crook of his neck. ‘It seems you’ve got everything perfectly figured out, huh?’

‘Not quite everything.’ He sighs as raises her head reluctantly, watching fresh worry etch itself back into her face as he speaks. ‘We’ve still got to decide just where the hell to go from here. I hate to say it, but we’re fast running out of options. I don’t suppose you’ve got any bright ideas?’

Grace shrugs. ‘Do you think there might be a clue in those paintings I did, before? Alice told me that art can reach through the Dark Place – that it can change it. Alan’s writing was able to change parts of the city as he travelled, opening up different paths. Maybe… I could try painting us a door, or something? See if I can force a way out?’

‘I’m not sure it’ll be as straightforward as that. But I guess it won’t hurt to try.’ Casey reaches for the bag to pass over, grunting faintly in annoyance as the strap slips from his fingers. The contents spill out across the floor of the room they’ve taken as sanctuary. He swears quietly under his breath, passing the pad and paint-box over, hesitating as he realises that among the fallen art supplies, there is also a book.

‘Was this always in here?’ he asks, picking up the slim grey paperback and looking it over curiously.

‘Yeah. I got it before I came to Bright Falls.’ Grace busies herself with the paint box. ‘I’d planned to read it on the journey into town, but I never got round to it – you know how it is. It was still in my bag when I lost it at the lake.’

Casey frowns. A memory is tugging at him. There is something uncomfortably familiar about the photograph on the book’s front cover. An image in monochrome. A sweeping city vista, the buildings picked out in black and white; and amongst them, the blurred impression of a face, in shades of grey. He frowns. No, he realises. There are two faces there, one overlaid across the other.

‘This looks a lot like some of Alice Wake’s photographs,’ he mutters. ‘The cover art, I mean. She likes monochrome, as a rule. But this…’ he flips the book open at random, glaring at the image of what appears to be a tower block, accompanied by a short section of text. Casey swears quietly beneath his breath. He has seen this before. This is the page he and Saga had found, alongside their latest murder victim, at Cauldron Lake.

‘Fuck,’ he breathes. ‘Grace… I’ve seen this before. I’m sure of it. That day at the lake…’ he trails off, frowning. The page they’d found had been waterlogged, the text blurred into illegibility, save for a handful of words. Now, he can read the whole thing. He scans the text quickly. His heart drops like a stone.

‘What is it?’ Grace leans over curiously. ‘Casey, what’s wrong?’

‘I don’t… I’m not sure. But this feels horribly familiar. Like a dream, almost. Or something I’ve already forgotten.’ He snaps the book shut, flipping it over to scan the cover art once more. His mind races, trying to figure out the connection. He glares at the author name, stamped across the top: Celia W. Kae. He doesn’t recognise the writer; still, there is something familiar about this too. He turns it over in his mind, narrowing his eyes, before realisation strikes him like a thunderbolt.

‘Fucking hell. It’s an anagram,’ he says. He could’ve laughed out loud with sheer relief. ‘The name,’ he adds, meeting Grace’s puzzled gaze. ‘The writer’s name, here on the cover: Celia W. Kae. It’s an anagram of Alice Wake. This is her doing – hers, and Alan’s. I’d bet money on it.’

‘What?’ Grace’s eyes widen in shock, her lips moving, silently spelling out the letters. ‘Why didn’t I spot that?’ she adds, frowning. ‘And more to the point… why is it here, now?’

‘I don’t know.’ Casey shrugs. ‘But I do know that Alice helped save us all back in 2023. We just didn’t realise it, at the time. Her photos helped Wake and Anderson get where they needed to be. To figure out a story ending. The only ending that would save Anderson’s kid – and me.’ He tries to take a breath as a half-forgotten terror rises to grasp him by the throat. Memory slams into him like a freight train, sending his mind spiralling back into the dark. The monster taking over his body. The darkness bleeding into his mind. The night worming its way inside him like a parasite. The threat of death – no. A fate worse than death. Annihilation of the self: all that he had, gone; all that he had loved, gone. The breath comes hard and fast into his lungs as he struggles for air against the memories that are clawing at him, like an animal beneath his ribs.

‘Alex?’ Grace’s hands are at his collar, loosening it clumsily, helping him to breathe. Her grey eyes are wide and frightened. She takes his hands into hers and kisses them. ‘Alex, come back to me,’ she tells him. ‘It’s alright – it’s just a bad memory. A nightmare. You’re okay – you’re safe here, in the light! See?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I know – I’m okay.’ He blinks, raising his eyes towards the light as the fear begins to disperse. ‘Fucking hell,’ he mutters. ‘This godawful fucking place. I hate every moment of being here.’ He takes a deep, steadying breath. ‘The sooner we’re done with this shit, the better,’ he growls. ‘God, I can’t wait for it to all be over.’ He reaches out for Grace once more, needing her warmth: needing to feel simple, human connection once more. He tucks his head into her hair, desperate to wipe away the stain of darkness that the monster has left behind.

‘It’s alright. We’ll be alright, Casey. We’ll get out of here. Saga and Alan will figure out a way.’ Her words are quiet comfort against the endless night. Casey takes another breath, feeling his spirits lift at the conviction in her voice. ‘If you’re right, and Alice is behind this story collection, then… Alex, they might’ve already found a way to reach us. This could be it!’

‘Yeah.’ He nods. ‘Yeah, you’re right. Hold on – let me take another look.’ He opens the book once more, and flips through it. ‘Do you remember how you got it?’ he asks Grace. ‘The store where you bought the book from?’

‘I… no.’ Grace shakes her head, frowning. ‘Sorry. I don’t think… I didn’t buy it. It was given to me by… somebody. But for the life of me, I can’t remember who.’

Casey nods slowly, unsurprised. He narrows his eyes, focusing on the text. It’s been formatted like poetry, the words trickling down one side of the page, like water from a spilled glass. The sentences are clipped; fragmented, almost to the point of nonsense. Despite this, echoes of meaning still remain.

‘This doesn’t seem like a regular book,’ he tells Grace. ‘Is there anything more you know about it?’

She shrugs. ‘It’s supposed to be a short story collection. The ones I’ve read before have been pretty good. Lots of little stories, all adding up to some larger meaning at the end, you know? Just like you said before – the big picture.’ She shrugs. ‘I don’t know much about it, beyond that. I didn’t get the chance to read it before I arrived in Bright Falls. Then… well, you know how quickly everything happened.’

‘Sure.’ Casey purses his lips as he skims through the pages. Each story appears to be accompanied by a monochrome photograph. Black against white: shades of grey that begin to spell out their own distorted story. Alice Wake’s photography. He recognises it now, as though a veil has been torn from his eyes. He’s seen some of these photos before: they were a part of her exhibition, up in Watery. Others, he knows instinctively. They are images from the Dark Place.

‘How’d she get these?’ he murmurs. ‘More to the point… what’ve they got to do with these stories? What the hell is going on here?’

Grace is at his shoulder, skim-reading as he flips through the pages. ‘Casey… is this about us?’ she asks quietly. ‘I can see your name amongst the text. And those photos… I recognise some of them. They’re the places that we’ve been. Are these stories about you, trapped in the Dark Place? Or is this all about the fictional version of you, again? The other Alex Casey?’

‘I don’t know.’ Casey swallows down the anxiety that’s trying to claw its way into his throat. He can feel it: the lines between fiction and reality are blurring again. The old ghost has returned to haunt him. ‘They could be both. There does seem to be some… reoccurring characters.’ He grimaces. ‘You’re right about one thing. This is definitely Wake’s writing – I recognise his style. I’d know those damn convoluted metaphors anywhere.’ He pulls a face. ‘Fucking hell. Wake must be desperate, if he’s started writing Casey again. I thought that after last time, he was done with the whole detective novel thing. He swore not to write another word.’

Grace shrugs. ‘Maybe it’s a good thing? You said yourself that there’s a weird connection between you and the Casey character. Maybe… if he gets free, then you can too?’

‘I doubt it’ll be as simple as that. But it’s a nice idea.’ Casey sits back down with a soft grunt of effort, beckoning Grace to join him. ‘Let’s take a quick look, before we leave. See if there are any clues inside. Hidden messages, that sort of thing.’ He opens his arms, smiling as Grace tucks herself in at his side, leaning her head against him. ‘If we’re lucky, this could be it,’ he adds. ‘If Alan or Alice really did create this story-book to help us, then it might be a guide towards… a door of some kind.’

‘And if we’re unlucky?’ Grace flashes him a mirthless smile. ‘Let’s be honest, Alex. Luck hasn’t exactly been on our side lately.’

‘Then it’ll all be a load of bull, and we’ll be back where we started.’ He smiles grimly. ‘But at least we’ll know.’ He takes a slow breath, trying to steady himself. The pages seem to flutter in his hands as though eager to be read, trembling in anticipation. He knows, somehow, that what’s written here will be important. He just doesn’t know why.

Slowly, with hands that shake very slightly but do not falter, Alex Casey turns to the opening chapter, and begins to read.

*

‘Fucking hell.’ Alan Wake ran his hands through his hair. It was taking too long. The stories were coming together, but the process so far had been slow. Painful. Like pulling strands of thought out of his own mind, and painstakingly weaving them into a pattern. He needed a break; but there was no time.

‘Alan?’ Saga appeared at his side, holding out a mug. ‘Fresh coffee,’ she told him. ‘You looked like you could use a pick-me-up.’

‘Thanks.’ He reached for the mug gratefully, and took a swig. ‘Fuck me, that’s strong,’ he added, wincing slightly. ‘Tastes good, though. That’ll keep me awake – probably for the next week or so.’

Saga shrugged. ‘Sorry. I guess I’m used to making it for Casey. He always used to say that drinking shit coffee was even worse than no coffee at all.’ Her frown softened. ‘Do you think he’s alright?’ she added quietly. ‘Casey, I mean. I’m worried about him. The Dark Place… well, it’s easy to lose yourself in there.’

Alan nodded tiredly. ‘Honestly? I’m not sure. I hope so – I hope that Alice was right, and that Grace has found him by now. But there’s no way to know for certain.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m trying, Saga. The stories… so far, they’re coming together. It feels like all the right pieces are slotting into place. It’s just… slow.’

‘I get that.’ Saga nodded, taking a sip from her own drink. ‘Look, I know we’re on the clock here, but… I’d rather you took the time, and got things right. I learned the hard way that rushing things always ends in a screw-up somewhere down the line. We can’t afford mistakes right now.’ Her expression creased in puzzlement. ‘When we asked Ahti about the Dark Presence, he said it waits for tonight. What do you think he meant?’

Alan shrugged. ‘Scratch was always stronger at night. I doubt that’s changed.’

‘Yeah, but this felt… different. Significant. As though he wasn’t just talking about any old night-time, but this night in particular.’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘One more mystery.’ She leaned across the table where Alan had set up his typewriter, observing the photographs that were piling up beside him. Alice had been bringing them to him, one by one, as she’d finished the development process. They were all snapshots: images that had come to them, out of the dark. Windows into another world. Another reality. A reality he could write about. That he could pull Casey stories out of, piece by piece: like drawing water from a well.

‘Is that… a hotel?’ Saga was frowning, staring at the latest image Alice had given him. ‘Some of the hotels I’ve seen in New York looked a bit like that. Less run-down, of course.’ She pulled a disgusted face. ‘Admittedly, not by much. I’ve stayed in some real dives, before – especially one time, a few years back, when Casey and I went undercover.’ She smiled faintly at the memory. ‘That was one hell of a weekend.’

Alan chuckled. ‘I bet that’d make a good story. Care to share any of the details?’

‘Not right now.’ Saga smiled grimly. ‘I’m pretty sure you need to be focused on a different kind of story at the moment. I don’t want to distract you.’

‘Right.’ Alan nodded carefully. ‘In that case, uh… I’d better get on with it. Thanks for the coffee, Saga.’ He watched the detective walk away, vanishing behind the screens that Alice had set up. She was worried. That much was obvious – not that he could blame her, he thought to himself.

He reached for the latest photo Alice had given him. Most of the images that had come from the camera so far had been blurred and indistinct: fragments of time, captured in a split second on film. Some were filled with little more than shadows. The night, unending. But occasionally, there were hints. Details that Alan was able to pluck from the shadows; the things he could use to inform his writing. Building blocks for the stories he was creating. Things like place names, street numbers; the rough shapes of high-rise buildings. Neon street signs, bleeding their light into an empty sky. A cluster of distant warehouses, their walls thick with rust like old blood. A road that stretched into eternity. There was even a photograph of Casey – badly blurred, as though the hands that held the camera had been shaking – but Alan was certain it was him. He would always recognise Casey, as easily as he’d recognise his own face in a mirror. The lost detective was little more than a silhouette in the photograph, trapped at the end of an alley and surrounded by shadows: pinned down by the sheer weight of his own misery. It was a scene Alan knew by heart, as though he’d written it before. Perhaps he had.

He smiled grimly. It was one hell of a story collection he was creating, he thought to himself. Tales of light and dark: of anger, pain, love, sorrow… and redemption, eventually. Of course, the redemption couldn’t come too early in the narrative. There still had to be an arc.

He narrowed his eyes, scanning the latest photo carefully. This one is red: he notices the colour before any other detail. It’s one of the very few images that Alice hasn’t developed purely in black and white. For a moment, he wondered why, before dismissing the thought immediately. Alice has her reasons. He knows this. He’d never questioned her artistic decisions before, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to start now.

His frowned deepened. He knew this scene. He’d seen it before. A memory stirred, thrumming like blood beneath his skin. A hotel, filled with shadows. Red light like a warning sign. A hunger in the air. There was a room number at the back of his mind that hovered just below the surface of the image. As if in a dream, he heard it: a whisper. His own name, accompanied by a faint, mocking laughter. As though someone else was making a joke at his expense. He gritted his teeth. He knew exactly who that voice belonged to.

‘Get out of my fucking head,’ he muttered. He’d already set a story here, at the Oceanview Hotel. At least, he thought that he had. Or had that been a part of the dream too? The memory is hazy, fading beneath the passage of time like cheap newsprint in the rain. But at least it’s familiar ground for him to tread. A place he already knows how to write. The words shift eagerly beneath his skin: the story, waiting to be told. He knew exactly who was waiting for Grace and Casey inside room 665. All he had to do now was write the story, using the other Casey as a vessel. A guide. A way in. He knows the structure the scene will need: how the encounter will have to unfold, in order for them all to make progress. This part of the tale will have to end in violence.

He winced internally at the idea of real-world Casey pulling a gun on Zane. Would he do it, he wondered. What would have to happen – which story beats would he have to hit – in order to force Casey’s hand: to incite him towards threats of violence? He shook his head, smiling faintly as an idea presented itself, as clear as day. There is one thing, he thought. If anything threatened Grace… if she felt afraid for her life… that’d probably do the trick. He remembered with awful clarity the nightmare that had unfolded down at Cauldron Lake: the way Casey had hurled himself into the monster’s path the moment it had tried to take Grace.

He took another swig from his coffee, trying to settle his nerves. He knew the direction this part of the story would take them. They were all trapped within the strands of narrative now. There was no escape. He could sense it: the darkness was coming. There was a single thread of night that had begun to tangle among the words as he was writing them, as soft and subtle as spider-silk. It was quiet: but it was there. He knew it. Like a drop of blood in the water; like a scratch at the back of his mind. He smiled grimly. His fingers trembled for a moment above the typewriter keys. He knew, better than any of them, just how dangerous this was. What they were doing. How the odds were stacked against them. He raised his eyes towards the darkness that lurked outside the windows. Would the story threads bind it, he wondered anxiously. Would the narrative hold against the Dark Presence? Or would it find its way of the trap they’d already laid?

He shook his head. It was too late to back down now. He had to keep writing.

*

Casey is frowning again. He hasn’t finished reading the book yet. But at this point, he isn’t sure that he wants to. Everything he’s read so far is making him feel desperately uncomfortable. On the surface, this is just another set of Alex Casey stories. A handful of fragmented snapshots into the mind of a detective whose world was crumbling around him. A man haunted by the ghost of a woman he can’t remember, and a past he’d rather forget; all while trying to investigate a series of brutal murders.

He shakes his head. The fictional murders have unsettled him, but not just because of the violence in them. After all, staring death in the face is just another day in the life of a field agent; and Casey has died too many times in his dreams already. No, the thing that worries him is the fact that the killings in these stories are echoes of the ones that he and Saga have been investigating in Bright Falls. The seemingly unconnected victims. The bloodbath crime scenes. The missing body parts. It all told a worryingly familiar tale. Especially when combined with the fictional Casey’s desperate hunt for the woman whose name he doesn’t know; whose voice haunts him at night. Who calls out his name, in the dark. It reminds him all too vividly of his thoughts about Grace, during the early days of their investigation. How her voice had found him in the same way, before he’d even known her name. How he would reach for her, in his dreams, only for her to slip through his fingers upon awakening.

He glances down at Grace. Her warm weight rests against him still, her head dropping on his shoulder as she reads alongside him. She’s a faster reader than he is. He knows this from the way she waits patiently for him to turn each page. He watches fresh worry etch itself into the line of her forehead as she reads. The current story is set in a hotel, and without even looking, Casey is willing to guess what happens there. He recognises some of the fragments of narration he’s been hearing echoing around the city: the voice of the fictional Alex Casey. The old ghost, still haunting him. He knows that PI Casey’s encounter in the hotel will descend into violence, mirroring their own meeting with Tom Zane. As though they have, unknowingly, been treading the same paths as the literary detective this whole time. Or has he been following them?

Casey shivers. He isn’t sure which way round it is: who’s been mirroring who. Have they been walking a path that has already been laid out for them, he wonders. Are he and Grace acting as little more than characters? Are they being swept along by a story that’s already been told? Or have they been unwittingly directing the narrative all this time, through the choices they both make?

He shakes his head, dismissing the uncomfortable thought. After all, none of this is new to him. Not really. Over the last few years, he’d grown accustomed to reading echoes of his own life in Alan Wake’s novels. It no longer unsettles him the way that it used to. Not now that he knows something about the forces behind it all.

He eyes the camera bag still slung across Grace’s shoulder with faint distrust. It’s been useful, certainly: Alice’s modified flash has proved to be more than capable of driving away the shadows. Without it, Grace wouldn’t have made it through the city to find him; and for that, he’s grateful. But now, he finds himself wondering what else the camera has been illuminating, all this time. What else is being captured, and contained, in that half-a-heartbeat’s worth of light?

He frowns down at the book in Grace’s hands. He has no idea how the images on the camera have been finding their way back to Alice and Alan, and right now he doesn’t care. What troubles him is one particular photo that’s been used to illustrate a story. Blurry, dark, and indistinct: still, he knows it in his bones. It’s the photo that Grace took when she first found him. He’d been on his knees, alone, in the dark. He only half-remembers it; but the photograph confirms it. It was the image of a man at the end of his wits. Caught in a nightmare that had closed around him like the jaws of a steel trap. A man inches away from losing his mind entirely. She’d used the flash to drive away the shadows, so that she could reach him – not that he’d realised, at the time. Trapped by the night, he’d seen her as just another shadow. Another monster, wanting to hurt him. He swallows hard as bitterness churns in the pit of his gut. The memory has him by the throat: how close he’d come to attacking her. To killing her. He can remember the ache in his arm as he raised the broken pipe, ready to swing: the sweat on his palms, and the pain in his head. The terror that had clawed its way into his chest the moment he’d recognised her voice. How he’d struggled to remember her name.

He breathes deeply, glancing away from the book that may or may not hold their future within its pages, and looks instead at the face of the woman who has saved him. He has stopped caring, for now, about the adventures of the fictional Alex Casey. All he can think about is just how he’s going to get them both free of this nightmare. How he’s going to give her the life that she wants. We have to get out, he tells himself. We’ll do it, somehow. All this struggle, all this pain... it’ll be worth something, in the end. It has to be. He finds himself wondering what sort of a place he can find for them to live, back in the real world. His heart flutters at the idea. He wonders if she’s ever visited his home town, and whether she would like it there. He finds himself running over the residential areas in his mind, trying to figure out what sort of places will come with a garden she might like. Somewhere with water, she’d told him. A fountain, was it? And… some kind of trees?

He watches her face move in the light, her expression changing as she turns a page. She appears troubled; more so than usual. With a faint sigh, Casey dismisses his dreams of the outside world, preparing to face the problems at hand once again.

‘This is… new,’ she murmurs. ‘I don’t think I know this part of the story.’ She glances up at him, her grey eyes wide and questioning. ‘All the other parts of the book have felt like… I don’t know. Echoes, I guess. The fictional version of Casey has been walking through the same parts of the city as us: having similar encounters, told through the lens of Alan’s hard-boiled kind of prose. Like… the noir-style fiction, you know?’

Casey nods. ‘I’m vaguely familiar with it,’ he says drily, offering her a wry smile. ‘So, what’s new about this part?’

‘I don’t recognise the setting.’ Grace shrugs awkwardly against his shoulder. ‘We haven’t been here. I don’t think this has happened to us – yet.’

‘Show me.’ Casey peers down at the section of the book. The photograph that accompanies the text is almost entirely black. Hardly any recognisable fragments remain: the majority of the frame is taken up by an ominous dark shadow, like a smear of ink across the lens. The sight sends an uncomfortable feeling spiralling through him. A premonition of terror. The darkness is coming for them, he realises. They would be wise to not be here when it arrives. He tilts his head, listening. A faint sound whispers past the door to their sanctuary: footfalls. Not a monster, yet. A man.

‘Do you hear that?’ Grace mutters. Her hands are white-knuckled around his. ‘Is that… him? Again?’

‘I think so.’ Casey narrows his eyes, shifting Grace carefully to one side so that he can rise soundlessly to his feet. He checks that the gun is still tucked at the back of his belt. The footsteps outside have slowed, coming to a halt close by. A faint, orange light glimmers for a moment, appearing through a crack in the door, as Casey breathes in the faint, sulphurous smell of a fresh match strike. He smiles grimly. He knows exactly who is waiting for them on the far side of the threshold. He catches Grace’s gaze and holds it, nodding reassuringly as the echo of Alex Casey’s voice drifts through the night city once more.

‘The voice in the static was at it again. I was two dry martinis deep in a dive bar when I heard her call my name. Her voice bled into the song that was playing on the radio, muddying the words, making me hate it. I knocked back my drink and stepped outside. It was the kind of dark that’s thick enough to take a bite out of and chew. The only illumination came from the match I struck, to light a cigarette.’

The voice pauses. Casey feels his heart quickening in his chest. Grace’s hand closes urgently around his wrist. He can see the wildness in her eyes, and knows without asking that this part of the story – whatever it is – has caught her by the throat. The same way the last one caught him. A thin coil of blue smoke drifts through the crack in the door, as the voice continues.

‘I tried to pretend I was done looking for her: the lonely angel. I still didn’t know her name. I only knew that she was calling to me for help, and I wasn’t a damn step closer to finding her. I could taste my own bitterness in the cigarette smoke, and the last gasp of the dry martini. No wonder I couldn’t find her: this sordid city burns and buries anything good and pure that ever stepped into it. No angel could walk these streets. Not without falling. Not without losing her wings, and becoming just as scared and scarred and fucked up as the rest of us. Just as flawed. Just as broken. Just as… human.’

Casey holds his breath, waiting for the footsteps to fade away; for the phantom to vanish, returning to the night. But this time, the echo of the private detective is simply… waiting. He can see a shadow moving through the crack in the door, black against the dim orange light. This time, the fictional Casey appears more troubled than usual. The phantom is pacing, back and forth. He catches Grace’s eye, and nods. Wait, he mouths silently. Not long now – then, we’ll go. She nods understanding, and something inside Casey’s chest seems to unclench a little. He picks up Grace’s book, fighting the urge to open it up and flick through the pages, until he finds the story that this part of the narrative is from – because surely, it has to be in here. This is the reason Alex Casey’s voice has been following them both; this is why the old ghost has returned to haunt him. They are both caught up in different versions of the same story. Two tracks, leading in the same inevitable direction. Two paths: one destination.

He shivers. Time is running out. In the far distance, he hears a faint rumble of something that sounds like thunder. He tucks the book carefully into his jacket pocket, just in case. Outside, the phantom has paused its pacing. The old wood creaks as the literary detective leans back against the door. Casey’s eyes widen in shock. The phantom has weight, he realises. Here in the Dark Place, the fictional Alex Casey has a real, physical presence. He’s no longer just an echo, or a ghost. He’s becoming more than that. He’s becoming real. Becoming human.

‘I decided to take one last shot at finding her. The studio where they broadcast the radio show was only a few blocks downtown. Maybe the guys there would be able to tell me something; maybe they wouldn’t. Still, it couldn’t hurt to ask. Besides, I had questions for them about the murder that happened there last week. Two birds, one stone. I stepped back into the bar, and ordered another dry martini to go. If I was going to deal with any of these show-biz media types, there’s one thing I knew for certain: I damn well didn’t want to do it sober.’

Casey held his breath. The door creaked again as the phantom – the echo, or whatever it was – shifted its weight. Footsteps rang in the night as it turned and walked away. For several seconds, all Casey could hear was the echo of the night winds, and the frantic pounding of his own heart.

‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ he mutters. ‘That was too close for comfort.’ He lifts his eyes to meet Grace’s worried gaze. ‘What the fuck was that?’ he adds. ‘Grace – he leaned against the fucking door. I heard it. He was there – he was real!’

Grace is nodding. ‘I know. Alex… I have no idea what’s going on. But it seems to me that the further we go, down the story’s path, then… the more solid the other Alex Casey is becoming. The more real. This time, I could even smell his cigarette smoke!’

Casey shakes his head. ‘Fuck me,’ he mutters. ‘I hate all of it. All of this bullshit.’ He taps the pocket of his jacket, where he placed the book for safe keeping. ‘Did you want to read ahead some more?’ he adds. ‘Before we go, I mean. Do you want to try and figure out the ending?’

‘No.’ Grace shakes her head sharply. Her answer is immediate. ‘I don’t think… Alex, I’m not sure I want to know how this all ends. If it’s a bad ending for the other Casey, then… I don’t think I’ll be able to carry on down this path.’

Casey raises his brows in surprise. Grace’s voice is thick with tears; he can see them, glittering at the edge of her pale gaze. He steps closer, reaching out to place his arms around her waist, drawing her into the warmth of his embrace. ‘Why not?’ he asks, trying to soften his tone. ‘Grace, it’s okay. I thought you’d want to know what we might be up against, that’s all. Even if it is bad.’

‘Because… he deserves better.’ She swallows awkwardly, trying to blink away the tears, seeming suddenly embarrassed. ‘The other Alex Casey, I mean. He deserves a happy ending. I know you must think I’m being stupid, and he’s only a fictional character, but… god, he feels so real, you know? And… he seems so sad all the time. So tired. So… beaten down by life, in all of these stories. I’m not sure if it’s because you share the same name, or because of this weird connection between you two, but… I don’t know. I feel for him, Alex. Seeing him so alone, hurting and miserable like that… it feels like it’s breaking my heart.’ She is blinking furiously, trying to brush away the fresh tears that spill down her cheeks with the back of her hand. ‘I just think… he deserves more,’ she adds quietly. ‘He deserves to rest – to finally find a bit of peace.’

Casey shakes his head slowly in disbelief. A quiet smile softens the hardness that has crept into his features ever since his fictional counterpart reappeared. He holds her close, allowing Grace to rest her head against his chest. Her warmth in his arms; her heart in his hands. It turns out, there’s room in her heart for both of them. For him, and the ghost that lives across his shoulder. ‘I don’t think it’s stupid,’ he chides her gently. ‘You should know me better than to say that. You’re just… you’ve got a lot of heart, Grace. In my book, that’s no bad thing.’

He holds her for a moment, allowing her to regain her composure. ‘Let’s take this one step at a time,’ he tells her gently. ‘One story at a time, hmm? Perhaps it’s time we started to follow Alex Casey’s lead.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ she asks. ‘I thought you didn’t want him to see us.’

‘I don’t. But unless I’m much mistaken, the fictional Casey is on his way to a studio. The same studio that’s in the next section of the book.’ He pulls the book out of his pocket and taps the cover meaningfully. ‘I reckon we could do a lot worse than follow his lead, and work our way back to that studio building we saw before. Maybe this time, there’ll be a way in.’

‘Okay. I suppose that makes sense.’ Grace sighs. ‘About as much sense as anything around here makes. I swear, this place is making me lose my bloody mind.’

‘Don’t say that,’ Casey snaps, louder than he’d intended. He hesitates at the shocked expression on her face. ‘Fuck. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…’ he shakes his head, reaching for her hand and pressing it against his own heart. ‘I came so close,’ he tells her. ‘To losing my own mind here, Grace. You remember – there was a moment when I didn’t recognise you. I didn’t know who the hell you were, or why you were helping me. Hell, I… I came this close to swinging at you! I could’ve…’ he breaks off, shaking his head quickly as she moves closer, her expression softening into sympathy. ‘Grace, if… if you’re starting to feel the Dark Place creeping up on you, in your head, then you need to tell me. I mean it.’ He searches her grey eyes carefully, trying to swallow down the anxiety that flares into life inside his chest. She looks paler than she did before. ‘Are you okay?’ he adds. ‘Is this place finally getting to you?’

‘I… yes, and no, I suppose.’ She shakes her head. ‘I’m sorry too. I should’ve said, but I didn’t want to worry you. I thought that I was fine. That it was just a headache. Then… earlier on, when we were talking, I realised there were things from my past I couldn’t properly recall. I was searching for memories that just weren’t there anymore. It was as though something had reached into my mind, and taken them away.’ She shivers in his arms, swallowing down another sob. ‘Maybe you were right: this place is starting to get to me. Maybe it’s been quietly taking pieces out of me all along, and I didn’t… I just didn’t notice.’

Her eyes find his. Fear twists inside her like a living thing. A serpent, coiled around the column of her spine. Casey doesn’t know how he looked in those final moments of his own horror, before Grace’s name had punched its way out of him; but now, now he can imagine it. The same terror lives inside her eyes. The same dread. The same sense of helplessness. There is nothing here that they can fight or flee from; no witnesses to confront or confess to, save for one another. They are alone, trapped, in the dark.

No. Not alone. They still have friends, on the outside, helping them. Casey feels a muscle quiver in his clenched jaw. He remembers Alan’s words: the Dark Place makes you forget. He had thought that now they were together, they’d both be protected from that particular peril. That the love he carried for her as a torch into the darkness would be enough. He was wrong.

What is it that the Dark Place contains? The dead. Time. Dark matter, stretching across the infinite. The cosmos: empty space, and points of light. It is the light that he must reach for, Casey knows this; but it is difficult. He struggles to glimpse anything beyond the sea of night that stretches away from him in all directions. Without true stars to guide him, he must navigate as best he can with what he has: a story-book. A camera. A dead man’s gun. Combined, they have to mean something. But whether he is simply too blind to recognise the pattern woven into the story threads around him, or whether it’s the night itself that blocks his sight, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he must find a way to save both himself, and the woman he loves.

He lifts both hands to cradle her face, trying to be gentle. ‘It’s okay,’ he tells her, repeating the words as though he could re-write reality by the strength of his conviction. ‘We’re so close, Grace. We’re both going to get out of here – and you’re going to be fine.’ He dips his head to press a gentle kiss against her lips, and is surprised by the desperation with which she returns it. She kisses him like it’s her final act on earth; as though this, him, them, is the one memory that she will cling to. The one light that remains steadfast amongst the endless, maddening night. Her warmth crashing against his, in the dark. I love you. Emotion that eclipses language, that lands beyond it: thought and feeling that transcends even time itself. Just like it has done for them, here.

Eventually, they part. Grace is flushed and breathless. ‘I’ll remember that,’ she tells him. Her voice is a fierce whisper. ‘No matter what comes next. I’ll always know you, Alex Casey. Even if everything else fades away.’

Casey nods. His throat is too tight for words. He touches his forehead briefly against hers, before taking her hand and squeezing it tightly. ‘Come on,’ he manages. ‘The sooner we’re out, the better. I’ll check on the next chapter before we leave here – the one about the studio. If I’m right…’ he breaks off, glaring at the book with fresh suspicion. It had fallen open on the floor beside him, the pages showing the exact spot he had been looking for. He bends to retrieve it, his scowl deepening. He scans the fractured paragraphs, skimming across the text until he finds what he’s searching for. There is no mention of Grace by name: but he’s almost certain that the lonely angel his literary counterpart talks about refers to her. From behind the closed door comes another rumble of approaching thunder. The rain is falling again.

‘Wait,’ he murmurs. ‘No – this isn’t right. It can’t be.’ His frown deepens. There, buried in the text, is the repeat pattern of their encounter with Zane, told through the lens of Wake’s detective writing. But this isn’t the scene that troubles him. He ignores the fictional Casey’s account of his altercation with the renegade artiste, concentrating instead on the following scene. The one Grace had been skimming through. The one accompanied by a photo made of darkness. Like smeared ink, the blackness is now reaching over the frame of the photograph, breaking out of its bounds like a living thing, sprawling across the text itself, rendering parts of it illegible. Damaging the narrative. Fracturing the story. Casey’s stomach drops. Among the spill of ink, he can discern two words: his own name, and the word grace. Above their heads, the light flickers. For a moment, darkness reigns; only for a fraction of a second. Still, it’s long enough for him to realise something. They are no longer safe here.

‘Shit.’ He snaps the book closed, and shoves it back into his pocket. The Dark Presence is coming for them. The distant howling of the wind intensifies as he glances around the narrow room, his mind turning over the possibility of escape. There’s no other exit here, save for the single entrance: no windows to climb through, no back door to break down. Grace is watching him carefully. She is braced for sudden movement. He can see the tension in the line of her shoulders. She doesn’t know what’s unsettled him – but she guesses that something is wrong. The light flickers again.

‘Casey?’ she breathes his name. ‘What’s happening?’

He shakes his head, realising that the howling sound he can hear is not in fact the wind; that the far-off rumble he heard before wasn’t approaching thunder. Something is beginning to seep into their sanctuary, through the crack in the door. A twist of blackness: like a drop of ink into a glass of clear water. A single thread of night; still, it’s enough. The incandescent light flickers one last time.

‘We have to go.’ He grabs her hand. ‘No time, Grace. Be ready to run.’

She nods wordlessly. The last thing he sees is her grey eyes staring up at him, before the darkness reaches them. With a sound like breaking glass, the light vanishes, plunging them into shadow. In the half-a-heartbeat of time before the Dark Presence launches its attack, there is a sudden and appalling stillness. Time bends, stretches… reaches its breaking point. Fractures. Snaps back again. A return. All Casey can hear is the frantic pounding of blood in his own ears, and the low gasp of Grace’s fear. Her grip on his hand tightens.

‘Now!’ he growls, as the door to their one-time sanctuary cracks beneath the violence of the Dark Presence’s rage. The door splinters inwards, and the monster roars inside. Casey is already moving, pulling Grace with him, darting behind the shattered door that had swung wide on its hinges, narrowly avoiding the black cloud of wrath that comes boiling in. It fills the entire room like smoke, thick and dark and choking; and for a moment, the doorway is clear. Casey seizes his chance, bolting past the nightmare that dogs their steps, and back into the night. The breath rasps in his throat as he forces his aching limbs to run as fast as he possibly can, knowing that the trick he has played on the monster has bought them only seconds; knowing that the darkness is already giving chase.

‘Which way?’ Grace gasps. A crossroads appears before them, lit only by the red glow from a handful of broken stop-signs. Casey swears beneath his breath. He knows they are going to need to loop back around if they want to reach the studio from Alan’s story. He casts a frantic look across his shoulder. The darkness is still coming. It moves at hurricane speed, faster than a man can run. Casey tries to speed up, and stumbles. His foot catches on the curb. He falls to the ground. He releases Grace’s hand, swearing aloud, knowing that this time, the darkness will take him; this time, his end is inevitable.

‘Go!’ he snaps, lifting his eyes to glare at Grace, trying to force her to understand. ‘Grace, run!’

A sudden flash of light sears the night. Blinded, stumbling, he scrambles to his feet, tasting blood from where he’d fallen on the frozen asphalt. For a moment, he is lost; before he feels the familiar warmth of a hand closing around his wrist. Grace is pulling at him, calling his name, her voice shrill with urgency. He blinks the sunspots out of his vision, and sees her frantically pressing buttons on the camera. Alice’s camera: the one she had modified especially for use against the dark. She lifts it again; and this time, Casey has the foresight to close his eyes, before the world goes white. It wasn’t just a modified camera flash that Alice had designed, he realises. This was a weapon.

He risks a glance across his shoulder. The black cloud had recoiled from the light as though stung, folding back on itself, howling in agony. He can still feel the terrible rage pouring from it, spilling into the night, fouling the air. The light has bought them time: but only a little. Together, he and Grace make a frantic dash down the drowning street, through the relentless rains that won’t stop falling. The blocky outline of the studio building looms out of the darkness like an old friend. For once, Casey is relieved to see the familiar billboard for Wake’s latest movie glaring down at them, out of the dark. The monster is still coming; but now, he can see a door. A red door, with the words In Between picked out across it in smart white script. A thin wedge of light slips through: the door is open. Only a crack; but it’s enough.

Gasping for breath, he heads towards it. Grace is still behind him, but her pace has dropped. He can hear the way her lungs are rasping desperately, fighting against the slick, sickening miasma that bleeds into the very air in advance of the Dark Presence. He can feel it too: darkness seeping into the air like tendrils of spilled ink, slowing him down, dragging him back…

They reach the building. He throws his shoulder against the door, knocking it wide and almost falling through. Grace is behind him. So is the Dark Presence. It boils towards the narrow entrance to the building, and for a moment, Casey catches the glimpse of a familiar face inside it.

‘Not today, you fucker,’ he mutters. He puts his weight against the door. Grace joins him, and together, they slam it closed on the approaching horror. Casey drops the security bar into place, as Grace raises the camera one final time. He screws his eyes tightly shut as the light flares redly against his closed lids. From outside comes a low roar of ancient, cosmic fury… then, silence.

Again, the Dark Presence is forced to retreat; for now.

*