MIDNIGHT CITY · CHAPTER 03
Elodie
The Late Night Radio Host
They say that every city has its own voice. Some hide in the noise of the streets, others in the whispers of dark alleys. The voice of Midnight City can be found somewhere between two radio frequencies. Elodie is waiting there. With a carefully unsorted music selection, a dry sense of humor, and the remarkable ability to find exactly the right words just when no one has asked for them. On 91.4 FM, the night belongs to her. At least that's what she claims.
FROM THE CITY ARCHIVE
Behind the Voice
Anyone who only knows Elodie from the radio might think she always has something to say. In fact, she is one of those people who can tolerate silence remarkably well.
Away from the microphone, she is an attentive observer. She remembers casual remarks, unusual noises, and the little stories that others have long forgotten.
Her studio is a hodgepodge of old records, handwritten notes, and things that really have no business being there. Elodie considers tidiness an interesting concept that she would like to try out someday.
She keeps the messages from her listeners with particular care. Some contain song requests, others long stories. Some consist of only a few words.
When asked why she keeps all of this, she once replied:
"You never know when someone might need their own words back."
BEHIND THE SCENES
Little Secrets
01 - The Thing About Coffee
Elodie generally drinks her coffee cold. She claims it's on purpose. No one believes her.
02 - The Forbidden Playlist
In her studio, there is a list of songs that she will not play under any circumstances. She stubbornly refuses to comment on its contents.
03 - Three Clocks, Three Opinions
Three clocks hang in her studio. None of them shows the same time. Elodie finds this extremely practical.
04 - Unknown Sender
She keeps anonymous music requests in a drawer of her own. She has never explained why.
05 - One Last Question
When asked if she listens to her own radio show, Elodie replies:
"Only when I want to find out who is talking nonsense again."
MIDNIGHT CITY · EXTRA
Private Transmission – 91.4 FM
Not every story is meant for every ear. Elodie has one more story to tell. But this broadcast is not meant for everyone. Hidden in the tracklist of your Midnight City edition is a secret solution word. Decipher the message and enter the word below to unlock an additional story from Midnight City.
For anyone who is still awake
“Good evening, Midnight City.”
A short pause.
“Or good morning. I have no idea when exactly you decided to make your sleep problems my problem.”
Elodie looked at the small red light above the microphone.
ON AIR.
Two words that required an astonishing amount of confidence when you actually had no idea what you were doing.
“If you’re wondering who the hell is talking: fair question. My name is Elodie, and apparently, I’m your new nighttime companion starting today. I know, I’m just as excited as you are.”
She leaned back in her chair.
“Before anyone complains: No, I’m not a trained therapist. No, I can’t fix your relationship problems. And if you want your ex back, the best I can recommend is that you think about it very carefully one more time.”
A faint crackle traveled through the headphones.
“But I have music. Pretty good coffee. And apparently, a working microphone. That’s at least three things that are going surprisingly well in my life right now.”
Elodie looked at the sliders in front of her.
“So make yourselves comfortable. Or uncomfortable. I’m not your mother.”
She pressed a button, and the opening notes of an old song filled the studio. Then she took off the headphones.
“Holy shit,” she whispered.
She had actually done it. Her hands were shaking. And that was pretty ridiculous, considering she had seriously thought about just disappearing again only an hour ago.
——————————————
Midnight City hadn’t exactly welcomed Elodie with open arms.
More precisely, the city hadn’t done anything at all.
It had simply existed.
With its narrow streets, old buildings, flickering neon signs, and countless windows behind which lights were still burning at impossible hours. A city that apparently couldn’t sleep any more than she could.
Elodie liked that.
At least she liked it more than places where all the sidewalks were folded up at nine at night and you almost had to apologize if you were still awake after midnight.
She had arrived a few days ago. With a suitcase, a bag full of things she probably didn’t need, and a pretty bad idea of what was going to happen next.
She hadn’t intended to stay. Actually, she was only here because of one person. Someone she desperately wanted to find again. And who, by the looks of it, was damn good at not being found.
At first, she had treated the city like a task. She had walked through the streets, searched for clues, asked questions, and clung to every little piece of information. But eventually, she had realized that Midnight City wasn’t particularly cooperative when you tried to squeeze answers out of it.
Instead, the city had sent people to her.
People who couldn’t help her. At least not in the way she had expected.
There was the man in a small bistro who had refilled her coffee without a word after Elodie had stared blankly at a piece of paper for almost an hour.
A young man at a bus stop who had explained that she was walking in the completely wrong direction. And who had then sat down next to her, even though a bus had long since come.
And a stranger she had stood with one night under a far too small awning while the rain turned the street into a single black mirror.
They hadn’t exchanged names.
He had told her about his dog, who was afraid of vacuum cleaners. Elodie had claimed that was probably the most sensible thing she had heard in days.
They had laughed.
Ten minutes later, the rain had eased, and they had both gone their separate ways.
It hadn’t been anything special. And yet she remembered it.
Maybe that was exactly why.
In the past, Elodie had barely noticed encounters like that. She had always been on the move. From one place to the next. From one apartment to another. Between jobs, people, conversations, and all the things you start without ever really finishing.
She had learned early on that you shouldn’t get too attached to places.
Eventually, you were going to leave anyway. People weren’t always much more reliable.
Some stayed for a while. Others disappeared as soon as things got complicated. And some were still there, but somehow still out of reach.
Elodie had gotten used to dealing with things like that by making jokes.
She was pretty good at it.
There was hardly an awkward situation that couldn’t be defused with a sufficiently inappropriate comment.
Sadness?
A bad joke.
Disappointment?
Two bad jokes.
Someone asked her how she really was?
“Great. My problems now have their own waiting list.”
Usually, people laughed. And then they changed the subject.
That was practical.
That way, no one had to find out that Elodie sometimes lay awake for entire nights wondering if she was actually missed by anyone.
She had never particularly wanted to be good at being alone. She had just eventually become that way.
As a child, she had been obsessed with a small radio. An old thing with a scratched-up casing whose antenna had to be held at a very specific angle so it wouldn’t sound like someone was throwing gravel into a washing machine.
At night, she would secretly lie underneath it, pull the blanket over her head, and listen to the voices of strangers.
DJs talking about music.
People calling to wish other people a happy birthday.
Some crazy people telling their life stories at three in the morning, even though no one had asked.
Elodie had loved those broadcasts. Not necessarily because of the stories. But because of the voices. Because someone out there was awake.
Someone who was talking. Someone who broke the silence.
And because sometimes it felt like that unknown person was speaking directly to her.
Back then, she hadn’t thought about why it meant so much to her. Later, she had forgotten about the radio.
Or at least believed she had.
——————————————
There had once been someone with whom Elodie didn’t feel like she always had to say something.
Someone with whom even long pauses weren’t awkward.
Someone who knew her bad jokes, still thought she was funny, and sometimes even knew what Elodie was thinking before she had found the right words for it herself.
It had been one of those rare connections you take for granted as long as they exist.
Until they were suddenly gone.
Elodie still remembered one of their last conversations. Not because anything particularly dramatic had happened.
Quite the opposite.
It had been a perfectly ordinary evening. They had talked. About trivial things. About plans that might one day become reality. And eventually, the conversation had turned serious.
Just for a moment.
A question had been asked.
An honest question.
Elodie had realized that something was wrong.
But she hadn’t known what to say. So she had made a joke.
She could still remember the brief smile that followed. And how the conversation had slowly fizzled out after that.
Later, she had asked herself countless times what would have happened if she had just listened.
If she hadn’t immediately tried to save the mood. If she had said, You can talk to me. Maybe nothing would have changed.
Maybe everything.
She didn’t know.
And that was exactly what made it so hard.
When that person disappeared from her life, far too many questions were left behind.
Elodie had tried to find answers. She had asked around, followed old leads, and pieced together things that probably didn’t belong together at all. Until one of those leads had led her to Midnight City.
A place she had known almost nothing about before.
Now she was here.
And she still had no idea where to look.
————————————-
She had met the lighthouse keeper one evening when she had already decided to give up the search.
The walk to the lighthouse had been longer than it looked from below. Elodie suspected that in this city, all distances were deliberately underestimated just to annoy newcomers.
By the time she finally reached the top, the wind had completely messed up her hair and her coat was soaked to her knees.
The man had been standing in front of the lighthouse, looking out at the water. He didn’t seem surprised to see her.
Elodie found that suspicious.
“If you charge admission up here, I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you,” she said. “I’ve spent all my money on coffee along the way.”
The man smiled. “Then I hope it was good coffee.”
“Honestly, it was pretty disappointing.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Me too. We all have our cross to bear.”
The man laughed softly. Then they were silent.
Elodie wasn’t sure why she had stopped.
Maybe because the man wasn’t trying to start a conversation.
Maybe because the wind was so loud up here that you could barely hear your own thoughts.
Or maybe because for the first time since she had arrived, she didn’t feel like she had to be somewhere.
“Are you looking for someone?” the man finally asked.
Elodie turned her head. “Is it that obvious?”
“You keep looking back at the city. As if you’re afraid of missing something.”
Elodie wanted to come up with a quick-witted reply. Something about how he apparently had a highly questionable side job as an amateur psychologist.
But instead, she just shrugged.
“Yes,” she said.
The man waited.
“I’m looking for someone.”
“And have you found them?”
“Do I look like I’ve found them?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s wonderful. I love honest people.”
That same little smile.
Elodie crossed her arms.
“You know what the most annoying thing about this whole thing is? I have no idea if this person even wants to be found.” She looked out at the dark water. “Maybe I’m here for nothing.”
The lighthouse keeper didn’t answer right away. Then he said, “That’s possible.”
Elodie looked at him in disbelief.
“Wow. You really are excellent at cheering people up.”
“I just think I shouldn’t promise you anything I don’t know.”
He was right.
Unfortunately.
And Elodie hated it when strangers were right.
“Sometimes,” he continued, “we don’t find what we were originally looking for.”
“Now comes something really profound.”
“No.”
He reached into his coat pocket.
“I actually just wanted to give you this.”
In his hand was a key.
Old, made of heavy metal, with a small, worn-down fob.
Elodie stared at it. “What is it?”
“A key. It belongs to an old radio station in the city.”
Elodie looked back at him. “And why are you giving it to me of all people?”
“Because it hasn’t been used in a long time.”
“That explains very little.”
“Maybe you should take a look at it.”
She looked at the key. “And what am I supposed to do there?”
The man shrugged slightly. “You’ll have to find out for yourself.”
Elodie sighed.
“You know, normal people give you directions when you’re obviously lost. Instead, they hand out keys and cryptic life lessons.”
“Did it help?”
She wanted to say no.
Instead, she took the key.
———————————————-
The next evening, Elodie stood in front of the building.
It was on a quieter street, slightly away from the bright shop windows and busy intersections.
A narrow building with tall windows, a heavy front door, and an old sign whose letters were barely legible.
She looked up at the facade.
“Of course,” she muttered. “Why would it be a cute little café? No, it has to be an abandoned radio station. Perfectly normal.”
She put the key in the lock.
It fit.
That surprised her more than it should have.
The door opened with a sound that made it seem like no one had asked for her opinion in years.
Inside, it smelled of dust, wood, and old electrical equipment. A narrow hallway led to several rooms. On a table, yellowed papers were piled high. Old photographs hung on one wall, showing people with headphones and huge microphones.
And at the end of the hallway was a door with a small window.
Behind it was the studio.
Elodie stopped in the doorway.
It was smaller than she had expected. A table. A mixing board full of buttons and sliders. Two microphones. An old turntable. Shelves of records. And a large window behind which the city lights stretched out.
It wasn’t a particularly impressive room.
Nothing about it looked modern.
Some things obviously hadn’t been used in a very long time. But someone had once gone to the trouble of making the place comfortable.
A small lamp sat next to the mixing board. In a corner, a blanket lay over an armchair. A clock hung on the wall, running five minutes slow.
Elodie set down her bag.
“Well,” she said to the empty room. “At least we have somewhere to sit.”
She walked slowly around the table. An old notebook lay on a shelf. The pages were filled with names, song titles, and little handwritten notes. Some entries consisted of only a few words.
For someone having a hard night.
For anyone who is still out there.
For someone who needs a little courage.
Elodie kept flipping through. The last few pages were blank. She left the book open.
Then she noticed a small slip of paper next to the microphone. It had only one sentence on it:
You don’t have to know who is listening.
She looked at the words for a long time.
Maybe it was an old note from a former DJ.
Maybe someone had deliberately left it there.
Maybe the lighthouse keeper really did have a rather peculiar sense of humor.
Elodie sat down. She didn’t know if the equipment even worked anymore. And if it did, whether anyone in the city still owned a radio.
But after some experimenting, two speakers being accidentally turned on, and a sound that suspiciously resembled a dying toaster, the mixing board came to life.
A small red light illuminated.
Elodie stared at it. Then at the microphone. She thought of her old radio. Of the strange voices. Of the nights under the covers. Of the feeling that the world suddenly became a little less empty as soon as someone spoke.
And of that one person she hadn’t properly listened to back then.
Maybe this was completely pointless.
Maybe no one would tune in.
Maybe tomorrow she would discover that she had accidentally broadcast her voice to the entire city and was now officially the most hated person in Midnight City.
There was only one way to find out.
She put on the headphones.
Took a deep breath.
And pressed the button.
————————————
“Good evening, Midnight City.”
That’s how it had started.
With a mediocre joke, a far too fast heartbeat, and the serious question of whether she had just made the dumbest decision of her life. And that really meant something to Elodie.
By now, the third song was playing.
She had taken off her jacket, set the coffee next to the mixing board, and figured out how to switch between the records and the microphone without blowing up all the speakers.
A considerable step forward.
When the song ended, she leaned forward again.
“And we’re back. For anyone who has just tuned in: Welcome to a show whose concept I still don’t quite understand myself.”
She looked at the open notebook.
“I thought we could start with something simple today. For example, why people generally make the worst decisions as soon as it’s past midnight.”
She paused.
“No, seriously. What is that? During the day, we’re reasonably functioning adults, and at night we suddenly think: You know what would be a good idea? Text my ex, question my entire future, and eat a family-sized pack of cookies.”
Elodie smiled.
“If you feel called out: I’m not judging you. At least, not particularly.”
She reached for her coffee. It was cold by now.
“But maybe we don’t have to figure anything out today at all.”
The sentence was unexpected.
Elodie herself was surprised by it. She looked out at the windows of the houses. Here and there, lights were still burning. Someone lived behind each of those windows. People who laughed, argued, worked, cried, or simply couldn’t sleep.
Maybe someone was sitting on their kitchen floor right now, wondering what was going to happen next.
Maybe someone was waiting for a message.
Maybe someone missed a person they could no longer reach.
And maybe there was someone out there who was just as desperately searching for an answer as she was.
Elodie moved closer to the microphone.
“You know, I think we spend a lot of time trying to fix everything.”
She absentmindedly twirled a pen between her fingers.
“Something goes wrong, and a solution has to be found immediately. A plan. Five steps to a better life. Preferably with a nice headline and a motivational quote underneath.”
She made a face.
“God, I hate motivational quotes.”
A soft laugh escaped her.
“But some things just can’t be fixed right away. Some questions have no answer. At least not yet.”
She paused.
“And maybe that’s okay too.”
For the first time that evening, she didn't try to fill the silence with a joke.
"Maybe today you don't need anyone to tell you what you did wrong. Maybe you just need someone to listen."
Elodie looked at the second microphone. At the empty chair beside it.
"Or someone to remind you that you're not the only one still wrestling with your thoughts at this hour."
She smiled faintly.
"So, if you're sitting at home alone right now, working late at night, walking the streets, or staring at your ceiling for the fourteenth time: you're in the right place."
She raised her coffee mug.
"And if it makes you feel any better: I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing with my life either."
Another song began.
Elodie turned off the microphone.
And for the first time since arriving in Midnight City, she didn't feel like she urgently needed to be somewhere else.
————————————————
The first reaction to her show came just after two.
A sudden ring made Elodie jump so badly she nearly spilled her coffee over the mixing board.
"Damn it!"
She stared at the phone on the other end of the table.
It rang again.
Elodie looked around the room as if a responsible adult were supposed to appear somewhere and tell her what to do now. No one came.
That was rude.
The phone rang for the third time.
She answered.
"Radio ... uh ... good evening?"
Silence.
Then a tentative voice.
"Hello?"
"Yes, hello. You're speaking with Elodie. If you'd like to complain about my show, I'm afraid I have to inform you that our complaints department is currently unstaffed."
On the other end, she heard a soft laugh. Then silence again.
"I really just wanted to know ...", the voice began hesitantly.
Elodie waited.
"If you're actually there."
She frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"Well. If there really is someone sitting there. Or if it's all just a recording."
Elodie looked at her coffee cup, the old mixing board, and the layer of dust she had stirred up while tinkering around.
"Oh, I'm definitely here. I can even assure you that this disaster is happening completely live."
That little laugh again. It sounded a bit less uncertain this time.
"Good", the voice said.
Elodie waited for another question. It didn't come.
"Can I help you with anything?", she finally asked.
"No. Not really."
A pause.
"I just couldn't sleep. And then I heard your voice."
Elodie heard the faint static on the line.
"I thought I might be the only one still awake."
Something in her chest tightened. She knew this feeling. Better than she wanted to admit. Earlier, she probably would have made a joke. Something about insomnia or the countless questionable things people did in the middle of the night.
But this time, she didn't.
"No", she said softly. "You're not."
On the other end, there was silence. Then she heard a barely audible exhale.
"Thank you", the voice said.
"You're welcome."
"Will you be broadcasting again tomorrow?"
Elodie looked at the microphone.
At the old notebook.
At the city lights.
Just a few hours ago, she had wondered what she was even doing in this place. Now a complete stranger was asking her a question she suddenly had an answer to.
"Yes", she said.
And smiled.
"I think so."
———————————-
After the call ended, Elodie sat for a while longer with the phone receiver in her hand.
She hadn't asked for their name. Not their age. Not what had happened or why this person couldn't sleep.
She knew nothing.
Except that somewhere in Midnight City, someone was feeling just a little less alone. And strangely, that was enough.
She put the receiver back.
Then she picked up the notebook and wrote on the first blank page:
First broadcast. At least one listener. No complaints yet.
She looked at her entry.
Below it, she added:
Maybe not a complete disaster after all.
It was a small start.
Nothing particularly spectacular. No great revelation. No one had suddenly explained the secrets of the universe to her. She still hadn't found the person she was looking for. And she still didn't know why the lighthouse keeper had given her that key of all things.
But maybe she didn't need to know that today either.
Maybe it was okay not to keep looking for a while.
Not to chase after every thought for once.
To just stay in one place for once.
Elodie had spent so long trying to reach someone that she had barely noticed how much she herself longed to be heard. She had walked through the city and asked questions that no one knew the answers to.
And yet, completely strange people had sat down beside her.
They had laughed with her, refilled her coffee, and kept her company without asking for any explanation.
None of them had solved her problems. None had brought back the person she was looking for. But they had made sure she didn't have to walk her path completely alone.
And now, for the first time, she had passed some of that on.
Not with a particularly clever speech.
Not with great advice.
But with her voice.
Elodie looked at the empty chair beside her. She thought of the conversation from her past. Of all the things she hadn't said back then.
Maybe one day she would get the chance to do it better.
Maybe she would find the person and finally ask the right questions.
And maybe then she would also learn to endure the answers.
But even if that never happened, she didn't have to stay stuck in that one missed moment forever.
She could start listening differently now.
She could be honest with herself when she was hurting.
And she could turn this small room into a place where people didn't have to find a perfect explanation for their feelings before someone would listen.
—————————
Around three in the morning, Elodie got up and opened the window.
Cool night air flowed into the studio.
The streets had grown quieter.
Somewhere, a car was still driving by. In a building across the street, a light went out. Further back, a neon sign blinked, probably in desperate need of repair for years.
Elodie leaned against the windowsill.
From here, she could see far across Midnight City. Not everything. The city was bigger than she had first thought. Much bigger.
Somewhere out there was still the person she had come for.
Maybe just a few streets away.
Maybe on the other side of the city.
Maybe long gone again.
The thought hurt.
But this time, it wasn't the only thing she could think about. She had plans for tomorrow. She wanted to dust the shelves. Get a decent coffee machine. Find out if the second microphone worked. And probably desperately look for a manual for this damn mixing board.
An astonishingly ambitious plan for someone who originally didn't want to stay for more than a few days.
Elodie shook her head with a smile.
"Well, wonderful", she murmured. "Now apparently I have responsibilities too."
She closed the window and returned to the microphone. One last time, she turned it on.
"Okay, Midnight City. That's it for today."
She glanced at the clock.
"If you're still awake, you should probably try to sleep. I know, that's pretty stupid advice coming from me."
She smiled.
"But before I go, one more thing."
Outside, a cloud drifted in front of the moon.
"I don't know what's keeping you awake tonight. Maybe something big. Maybe something completely ridiculous that you'll have to laugh at yourself about tomorrow. Maybe you miss someone. Maybe you said something you wish you could take back. Or didn't say something that hasn't let go of you since."
Elodie exhaled slowly.
"I can't promise you that everything will be better tomorrow."
She looked at the small red light.
"But I can promise you that you don't have to pull yourself together here before you're allowed to call in."
A short pause.
"And if you still don't know what to say ... then just start anywhere."
She pushed the chair a little closer to the microphone.
"After all, I'm not particularly good at it either."
A small, crooked smile.
"So. Goodnight, you hopeless night owls. Drink water, don't make any decisions after two in the morning, and for heaven's sake ... don't text your ex."
She reached out her hand to the switch.
"We'll hear from each other tomorrow."
The red light went out.
Elodie sat for one more moment. And when she finally stood up, there was something she hadn't felt in a very long time. Not the certainty that everything would be okay. Not even the hope that all her questions could be answered. But a feeling that was much smaller and yet much more important.
She wanted to come back tomorrow.
Not just because a familiar voice might one day appear on her frequency out there.
But because now there were people waiting to hear her voice again.
For the first time in a long time, Midnight City was no longer just another place on her search.
It was a place she wanted to stay.
Elodie took her key, turned off the studio lamp, and stepped out onto the night street. Behind her, the door clicked shut quietly.
Above the rooftops, the beam of the old lighthouse turned.
Once.
Then again.
And somewhere in a small room, a stranger sat before an old radio that now only emitted a faint static.
Maybe that person would turn it on again tomorrow.
Maybe one day they would call in themselves and tell something they had never told anyone before.
Maybe they would just listen.
Both were okay.
Because sometimes you don't need an answer. Sometimes a voice that stays is enough.
And Elodie had decided to do exactly that.
