[ voice ]

[philosopher]

[The voice being recorded is both hushed (out of respect for the speaker's present environment) and weak (for reasons yet to be explained).]

Diane, it's... 6:36 pm on May 17, 2012. By my calculation, that means I've been asleep for... two hundred and seventy-nine months. Twenty-three years have passed since my last recording, Diane, and I have to say: I look pretty great for my age.

The last time I remember speaking to you, it was from the floor of my room at the Great Northern Hotel and I had just been shot. I don't remember a whole lot else, but the doctors tell me I've lost quite a bit of blood so that's to be expected. I feel both frustrated and grateful. Grateful to be alive, and frustrated because the investigation is facing yet another setback.

"Setback" may be an understatement. Diane, you are not going to believe this. As I just told you, it's been twenty-three years. That's twenty-three years in the blink of an eye. They tell me I've traveled through time, and that's apparently a common occurrence around here. Here being the city of Siren's Port, Canada - that's an island off the coast to the west of Vancouver, Diane. Have you ever heard of a place like that? I sure haven't.

The frustrating part is that my ticket was one-way. Preferable, yes, to the other one-way ticket I was facing - but gosh I really felt it. I was on the verge of something. Will I ever know who killed Laura Palmer?

[There's a pause and murmuring in the background, along with the squeaking of a cart being rolled into the room.]

- Ah, more on that later, Diane. Nurse Irene is here.

[Click.]

Comments

[philosopher]

And have you seen what's out there, yourself?

[bestseller]

Some of it. I was one of those lucky few who arrived during the peek hours of when they like to come out and play.

[philosopher]

What exactly did you see?

[bestseller]

I don't know exactly. Undead. Infected. Hell, you could even go as far to call them zombies, but I know that's not really a popular choice of description these days. But they didn't fit the criteria of your standard rotting humans.

Thought I could take them out with a flashlight, but a quick beam of light on whatever they were and I bolted for safety. It seemed to have multiple heads; some moving, some hanging down. That was enough for me.

[philosopher]

So these creatures... They simply disappear with the daylight?

[bestseller]

Not sure if disappear is the right word, but they seem to go back into whatever dark hiding spot they crawled out from once day comes. I know for a fact that you're safe as long as the sun is shining.

[philosopher]

I don't suppose you know why they appear when they do? What draws them out?

[bestseller]

As clueless as you are. Sorry.

[philosopher]

No, thank you. Is there anything else I should know about?

[bestseller]

In Siren's Port? Always.

Anything you think could happen, happens here. Slavery? Black market services at the underground mall? We got it. [Okay, maybe not that last bit.]

[philosopher]

[Neither seem to shock him.]

What is the law's stance on those activities?

[bestseller]

They let it happen.

One of the corporations in charge of this town actually conducts the act. Or so I've been told.

[philosopher]

I see.