The Loop

The city was soaked in poison dripping down the windows of the high-rises like rain drops . It stank with the acidity of neon signs, shivering green light in the watery haze. Smog engulfed the streets. New York City was deafeningly silent, like having your head submerged in water. The rustling of leaflets, the clatter of drizzling rain, the tinkling of flickering street lights merged into a distorted whisper. "I'm drowning... drowning," the echo echoed. Not the howl of sirens. No streams of cars. No crowds of people. Just darkness and shadows. The lurking ghosts of memories. Posters covered lampposts and the black walls of houses. Hundreds and hundreds from a single premiere. Peeled flesh beneath the peeled paper crust, mottled forever with white handprints on the scorched brick. It was as if those drowning in the soulless stone abyss were grasping at everything, climbing in vain to the top. To salvation. To light. Endless incoherent graffiti scrawled across the marks as a reminder that there was no escape. I had to find Casey. Darkness swirled in the narrow alley near the station. Empty beer cans rattled on the asphalt of elusive movement. Faded newspapers rustled beneath inaudible footsteps. They were there. Waited. The rays of the lamp in hands mercilessly sliced the viscous clubs into silhouettes. Those that did not cowardly hide in the darkness dissolved under the yellow halo of light. "Wake!" - came almost in his ear. The black shadow lunged forward in fury. A hand instinctively reached out in defense. The incandescent filament crackled with tension, blinding with a bright flash. The Shadow's resinous shell burned with a gasoline heat-lightning, freeing the lost soul. Insignificant without its darkness, the attacker retreated, disappearing into the mist. The way was clear. The quivering light of the lantern in the cul-de-sac beckoned to me like a moth. It was needed, vital now. My boots slipped into the sticky, alcoholic mud. It was as if someone had had a feast in the back alley. Celebrating success. An image came to mind. Distant and ghostly. Like they'd opened a bottle of champagne with Alice after the second book had been published. Suddenly a silhouette loomed ahead. The sound of footsteps drowning in puddles reached my ears. Fuzzy and floating like everything around it. I slowed down. — Alan Wake, the writer, — came with a commanding voice. I froze. Someone stepped out of the shadows toward me. — Was this place described in the page? — Which page? — I let out a surprised sigh. — One of the fragments of the novel we found. You know about it, don't you? Alex Casey, Detective, — the man finally introduced himself. — I need to see it. The page, — I lost my composure. — Not a chance. It's evidence, — the detective said imperiously. The neon light reflected off wet skin, glinting under his every movement. The chiseled features of his face and the clean lines of his leather jacket gave the wiry figure a rough look. He scowled menacingly, advancing leisurely as if he were stalking prey. His thoughts hummed, vibrating in the air. Their outlines appeared in fleeting images. I saw them, heard every word. I had created him once. He was my character. I saw him in the flesh. "Rumor had it that the pages of the novels were now peppered with sex. Some imitator had altered them to shake the sect from its path? To organize a new one? Or did the author have another muse that inspired him to create a bloody pornographic masterpiece?" — I didn't realize what Casey was saying. Never in my novels had sex been revealed, no matter what vulgarities filled the chapters. The detective came closer. His clenched jaw relaxed, his lips loosened, his hands trembled nervously. Was he going to snuff me? I could feel the tension. Suddenly, Casey jumped up and pressed his lips hard against mine. Thin fingers twisted through wet hair, holding my head. He kissed and kissed, pressing into my body almost to the point of pain. He bit down hard on the dry skin of my lips until a tiny scarlet drop fell onto his tongue. No. He just wanted to... I gasped involuntarily. The air was short from the pressure. A moan of bliss escaped his lungs with a muffled wheeze. My hands went to his hard chest, hoping to push him away. Protruding nipples peeked through the damp fabric of his shirt beneath my fingers. I couldn't remember such passion in my entire life. My face burned. A wave of heat washed over my skin. Everything was so real. He was real. He clung to my neck as a dog to treat. When did I correct the text? Why? The darkness was consuming, swirling beneath my eyelids, pulling my trembling body into a sweet sleep. Excitement pounded in my head along with the echo of his loud moans. I squeezed my palm involuntarily, cupping the sharp nipple under the cloth. My eyes were open. The light was gone. Extinguished signs hung orphaned over the eye sockets of the windows. Something flickered in the cul-de-sac, knocking over metal containers. Casey pulled away abruptly, leaving my dazed mind in a maddening silence. He wanted to tell me something, but he couldn't. The crimson glow like a hungry creature consumed the end of the alley, sweeping away everything in its path. Alex drew his gun. Death was waiting there. He knew it. — Stay here, — the detective hissed warningly and moved towards the noise. I could see in his eyes that he couldn't be late for this meeting. — Casey! — I yelled and ran after him. It was too late. The shots were deafening thunderclaps. The darkness rushed away. The cul-de-sac was filled with bloody puddles, raindrops dancing madly in them. His mangled body lay sprawled on the piles of debris. A victim caught in a snare. The light came back on. I let out a stunned sigh. It had taken its toll. A high price. — Damn it, — annoyance stung my throat. It hadn't started like this. — I remember dying in that alley like a nightmare, — Alex whispered. His voice grew weak. — It goes on and on. Loop by the loop... — Casey was silent for a second. I was struck with a chilling horror at these words. — You never got what you wanted. You think you know everything? — he turned to me. His lips curled into a painful grimace and he spat out a lump. — You don't really want to know anything about yourself, — Alex suddenly became silent. His body froze involuntarily. There was a ringing silence. Was it really me replaying his death over and over again in new parts of the novel, or was it Scratch? My memory failed me... I needed Casey. He knew something, he could help me. That's why Scratch killed him. I had to move on. To the Caldera Station. My tongue involuntarily licked my bitten lip. What the hell was that? *********************************** It never stopped raining in the Dark Place. I woke up on a movie set. Again. Wandering into oblivion. I had a purpose. I had to find Casey. Darkness enveloped the familiar alley. It shared its domain with the pale fog that crept slowly over the grates of the storm drains buried in the asphalt. The darkness twisted and tossed, stirring the haze, then rising to a pair of vents. It seemed as if the world had turned upside down and the top had been replaced by the bottom. Only the illumination of an abandoned police car brought the mind back to earth, deafened by the harsh siren. A tiny distant light shone in a vent of raging blackness. The soles of his boots squelched on the mud, rippling the water of the puddles. Voices rolled in waves in the vacuum of silence. Shadows whispered, releasing words folded from scraps of thoughts into the void. All that was left of them. Doubts splashed through my mind. I remembered almost nothing. The white beam slid habitually along the graffiti-stained walls, suddenly catching on a swarm that blocked the way. I froze, aiming the police flashlight at it. In an aurora agora glow, the darkness was tearing into dozens of figures, flailing and melting in an acid haze. The path opened up. I moved forward, rustling my soles on the carpet sent out from hundreds of leaflets. They were beckoning me. Leading. Casey led the way. A bright white halo flickered behind the trash cans and concrete rubble. A single bulb, providing a saving light. A step suddenly cut off in the movement. Pain pierced his shoulder. A figure loomed out of the darkness of the back alley and knocked me off my feet, dragging me a couple of yards behind it. My mind convulsed, unable to comprehend anything. Bold hands pressed my back against the wall, pressing something unpleasantly under my ribs. I stared with horror at the grinning looks like hound's, chiseled face. What was in it? — Casey! — I blurted out with fear and hope. Was he trying to kill me? — Alan Wake, — Casey hissed, staring into frightened blue eyes. An eyebrow suddenly quivered in doubt. — The Writer: A Victim of a Cult or Its Leader? — he growled. — No, — the word came out with shakily. I could feel the metallic cold of the muzzle through my shirt. The detective's face changed strangely. Maybe the "no" was a magnet, a taboo that made his heart race. Or did he believe me? Casey put the gun away. A predatory smile blossomed on the shaped face. Alex subtly lifted his chin, causing tiny streams of water to rush down his powerful cheekbones. His sharp silhouette stood out clearly, illuminated by the glow of the empty storefront. At the breeze, droplets of water floated down his shoulders, playing with tiny multicolored reflections. He froze for a second, then clung to my lips with the greed of a creature tearing off a piece. It seems I couldn't inhale. Who had rewritten the pages? Why? I wanted to howl. He gave me a painful kiss, tearing my consciousness with passion. Intoxicating, stupefying and hot like burning absinthe. Casey mooed blissfully in my ear. His lips were bitter like absinthe. Bitter like the loneliness I was drowning in. My blood was boiling. I was sinking into the green poison, choking. Merging with the neon haze of the fog that enveloped us. I clutched at a colorful tie, pulling it taut as if it were a cord around his wiry neck. Casey clutched my back, digging painfully into my skin through the thin fabric. I devoured his lips, his unshaven cheeks, his neck smelling of tart perfume with ferocity. Licked up acidic drops of cold rain. Everything whirled around in a whirlpool, sweeping away the bins rattling on the asphalt. There was a roar. A siren blasted from the powerful gust, blinding my eyes with blue-red illumination. Darkness raced down the alley, plunging the world into viscous tar. The sound of the car abruptly stopped. Casey struggled out of my grasp, raising his gun as he went. I froze. — Go away! — barked at the detective. A hail of bullets hit the wall. A cloud of cracking, twisting pain covered me. I didn't make it.