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Sunrise hits Alice's eyes with all the gentleness of a bird flying into a window. She winces, and sits up, turning off her own, much dimmer, lamp. Ow. She brushes the sleep from her eyes, a bit surprised at the lack of buildup of crust she expects. Did she oversleep? Checking the alarm clock as she turns it off preemptively- No, it's nine. Not too bad. Why does she feel like she's been asleep for days, then?
Never a nice feeling. Time to get dressed, then.
Her clothes are haphazard in her suitcase, but it doesn't take long to find something comfortable enough. She's got to be professional for later, but the dress shirt can wait until that later. It's short sleeve weather down here, anyways. Or, she thinks as she steps outside, it should be. It's a bit colder than she expected.
Darker, too, but not by too much. Like the sunrise took half an hour too long to get moving, and is still catching up with that hesitance. Alice glances up. A bit cloudy. That wasn't on the forecast, but with any luck, it'll burn away in time for the exhibition.
Serena's probably still awake. Alice should call her, remind her to take a nap before everything needs to enter full swing. There's a payphone nearby, right? She saw one on her way in for the night. Sure enough, it doesn't take long to find. She feeds it a quarter, dials Serena's little box by the projector booth, and waits for her to pick up. If she doesn't, Alice will probably just head out there in-person. Can't hurt.
Second ring, the other end picks up. "Hey, Serena? Is everything ready over there?" The line is quiet, but she thinks there's breathing. "Serena?"
"Yeah! Yeah," There she is. "Sorry. Uh. This is going to sound insane, but I think I saw your husband?"
---
The intruder comes back just about every week, now. It took years to ramp up to this point, from the gentler haunting it started as to this outrage it displays these nights. She'd think it would have better things to do, were she not mostly sure this thing crawled out of the dark to torment her specifically.
It wears Alan's face.
There's... Ways that could happen. She thinks of distant, hazy memories of people full of shadows, unsure of where they come from. With that memory comes a memory of light, scouring and cleansing it away. That makes sense. It was him, though. Almost. In appearance and words, just not actions. There is some awful disconnect between what she expects and what happens, every time he visits.
There had to have been some way to catch him, put him in one place and understand, for once, what was happening. An ambush was what she chose, and she had the materials for it. Motion-activated cameras, flash set as bright as she can make it. Drive it off, kill it, free her husband from whatever is inside of him, or simply record the damn thing. She didn't know what was going to happen.
But it is morning, and she was not woken up by scratching at her door. All she has in her hands for the trouble is a single picture. The thing in Alan's shape clearly wasn't expecting this. If Alice had taken this under better circumstances, she'd have laughed.
It looks like him. This isn't an unfamiliar expression on his face, anger and surprise mixed like that. The favoured response to most people taking pictures without permission, in those last two years. It makes sense from him, and that's the sharpest pain of them all, so far. The thicker beard is the only unfamiliar thing about the picture.
Even its behavior, raving mad and violent, isn't entirely unfamiliar. She knows it's always been one of Alan's worst traits, that anger lashing out at anything in reach, particularly when he's drunk. He's never hurt her like that, though. Always careful, even when he's mad at her. She wishes, not for the first time, that she'd never taken him to Bright Falls.
A bit like a ghost, she hesitantly assumes. Unfinished business, maybe, or some other type of being dead or not quite dead. Serena's call, as always, echoes in her mind. Alan could find a way to talk to her. Maybe this is his way, warped and distorted, but still him.
She tries to stay strong. Alice sighs and sets the photo down. She'll see what she can do.
---
Her bedroom door shakes as the thing with Alan's face hits it again and again. It shudders, but holds. She's had to replace it a couple times, and knows quality doors by now. Alice sits in her chair opposite the door, as she has done every day for the past week. The room is painfully bright. It keeps things out. He's not getting in.
The thing snarls and wedges its fingers under the door. Alice stands up and shines her flashlight, brightest one in the store, on them. It hisses and returns to the other side of the door, and makes no further moves. Alice sighs and returns to her seat. The monster is quiet. Finally.
She stays firmly on vigil anyways. Quiet doesn't mean safe. "Are you still there?"
"Let me in, Alice? Please." He sounds so much like he used to. It stings. Alice swallows.
"Who are you?"
"I love you," he says, plaintive. "I want to come home."
She wants to open the door, she'll admit that, while no one can hear her. She wants this to be Alan. It can't be. If it's him, twisted in some way- She can't entertain the idea. He sounds like he means it.
Behind the door, quiet and sad, "Alice?"
"What happened?" She asks. Her husband's response is cut off when she continues. "Alan. We can't live like this."
He doesn't respond, for a moment, but there's a sound like fabric moving against itself. "It's dark," he says, voice oddly hollow. "You're all that's left."
She doesn't have anything to say to that. What can anyone say to that? Alice steadies herself. "I'll talk to you tomorrow," she insists.
The monster hits the door lightly, it sounds like, a limb or head just shy of gently touching it. Then the now-familiar sound of nails down painted wood, and soft footfalls as he leaves. Alice shuts off all but her most gentle lamp and resolves to get some decent sleep in.
---
The Bureau couldn't stop the hauntings, but that doesn't matter, anymore. She knows what's happening, what has happened a dozen times before, and what will keep happening. Until they're done. Until, finally, they both survive. She knows what she has to do. Alice collects the photos she'll need. This part is never pleasant.
---
With the stipulation that probate hold off for a month, Alice has left most of her estate to Barry. She doesn't know if that request will be honored, but she may as well try. If this is the last time this happens, she doesn't want to go through all the hassle of legally being declared alive again. It almost certainly will not be the last time she stands over the lake like this.
Preparations have been made. Barry has been given some of her and Alan's more delicate things, old memories she doesn't want anyone else touching. Her family has been gifted a generous sum of money in her will, if it comes to that.
More importantly, Barry and Serena have been told where she's going. Serena will probably tell those other friends of hers that dealt with the dark on that night that Alan impossibly dragged himself above, but Alice has never known them. She probably should have, really, but it's always been hard to connect with people who think they know what she's gone through. The point is that her closest friends know that she'll be gone for a while, if she ever comes back. She's apologized for the likely case in which she doesn't.
Serena, always the good friend, had tried to talk her out of it. Alice hadn't had the heart to tell her why, exactly, she was going back. Obviously, the attempt at keeping Alice out of the lake wasn't going to work. With that revelation, Serena had told her, with that weight to her voice that she always got on the topic of the dark, to keep a light on at all times.
Though she already knew that would generally be the wisest thing to do, Alice thanked her, and asked her to stay quiet about it. Serena didn't want to be the only one who knew. Alice directed her towards Barry, and hung up.
The wind is minimal today. Her camera is firmly planted on the ground, and all she has to do is turn it on, turn on the motion sensors, and let herself be captured on film in the same way her husband's other half has been. He'll be devastated to learn of her death, too.
Alice takes a deep breath, letting the cold air clear her head. All she needs to do now is jump.
The camera turns on as it has hundreds of times before. She stands straight, turns, pauses, and walks to the edge. She considers the drop for a brief moment, and remembers the first time she ever made this plunge, no prior memories to help her along. Just faith that she was right, this would work.
Even with that knowledge, as she steps off the edge, fear lights up and burns her. What if, this once, it doesn't work? She is falling faster than she can think. She can't breathe, just gradually tip forward to meet the water face-first.
It rises to meet her. She reaches out her hands to meet it first.