The Breach

There it is again. 

Anxious but not surprised, she looks out the bedroom window and across the desert basin, the slight breeze picking up a small amount of dust into the air, the calls of nature filling the void of night. But deep in her bones, a familiar vibration starts up again, consistent in its length and muted intensity, just as it had been throughout her youth. After all, it was the reason she had moved from this place and why she’s always hesitant to return. It had been almost twenty years since she last lived here, but even after all that time, her body still remembers the dreaded frequency that pushed her beyond her limits—physically and mentally.

The anxiety has her heart rate on the rise, the flood of familiar ailments from her childhood suddenly coming back to mind as she listens for anything out in the silence, knowing full-well that the frequency can’t be heard, but felt.

With a deep breath, she takes a strong cannabis edible and reflects on what brought her here in the first place. That strange call to her soul, the idea that haunted her dreams and forced her awake in a cold sweat. The unanswered questions that swarmed her innermost thoughts, the unexplainable happenings when she feels the frequency.

Her eyes fluttered open as she took a desperate, deep breath. The room seemed unfamiliar for a split second before she remembered where she was, the deafening silence only muted by her breathing. 

“What happened?” she asks the doctors, the wires pulling against her skin. They share a look of clear apprehension and avoid her gaze.

“We believe it’s best for you to see a few of our colleagues. We’ll provide final clinical notes and recommendations in your records.”

“You can’t just force me away without an explanation.”

“The data shows severe abnormalities in brain function. We strongly recommend that you see someone who can treat them better than we can. Please.” They gesture towards the door. Confused, she gathered her things and left, the door quickly closing behind her with the ‘click’ of the lock.

After that session, she spent the following few years seeing a spectrum of neuroscientists. Some provided closure with diagnosing physical reasons for her experiences, while others raised more questions than they answered. Indeterminate causality, unexplainable somatosensory nociception activity to stimulation, countless other things that doctors alluded to but could never give her a straight answer. Five years had passed since she last visited home, and the memories wouldn’t let her stay away anymore.

Each time she drove across the dirt road up to the house over the years, she could feel the reverberation through her. It would come and go in waves, disrupting her sleep with nightmares of bright light and falling into deafening blackness. Dreams turned into spells of waking up along the southeast fence of the property, nights at the home into stays at the hospital. Her mother stopped taking her back home after those first few visits. 

 The unearthly calling outside her window catches her attention. It’s subliminal and haunting, and she immediately recognizes it. The dark permeates the vast fields as she looks out across the grounds. The child in her screams to draw the blinds and block out the sound. Her feet carry her from the comfort of the home and out onto the porch, the sound appearing again as her soles hit the dusty ground. Two lights in the distance appear through the black, like eyes watching her. A spotlight shines into the sky across the basin, miles and miles away but clear against the dark of night. 

The two lights rise a couple of feet above her and seem to move towards her in unison. Her heart rate picks up and everything in her tries to will her back into the safety of the house, but her feet remain planted. She watches the lights through tears, the hypnotic frequency becoming louder.

It’s all she can hear, all she can feel. 

He sits in the stone circle, the radio clutched in his hand tightly. Hope of interaction has boiled into anticipation over the course of the night. This was the first time the crew had planned anything involving the Homestead, and he was both apprehensive and cautious. The stories he had heard from others about what had happened there were among the most intriguing, both from first-hand “witnesses” and the research group from the ‘90s.

As the drum circle continues its sacred song, the thrumming frequency echoing into the night sky, his attention is brought back by the crackle emitting from the radio. 

“Bucky?” Steve calls out. “We’re seeing that 1.6 frequency again. Are you seeing anything out there?”

“Nothing yet. Anything showing for you, Sam?”

“Uh… maybe? You might want to come over here and check it out.”

“On my way.”

Nat gives Bucky an unsure look before he starts carefully descending the ridge. Sam is closely examining the monitor with Peter.

“Look at this,” Peter says when he sees Bucky walk up and shifts behind Sam. On the screen is the thermal imaging from the camera set up outside the Homestead facing into the dilapidated building. The normal colors of the trees and grass are prominent, given the summer desert night. The building is on the cooler side, but in the dead center of the air hovering over the second open floor of the Homestead is an indistinct figure—completely black in color with an ombre purple aura. Its center is blinding white, dissipating into the surrounding cold black like some luminescent phosphorescence.

His eyes widen and dart from the monitor to the spot where the figure should be, but he sees nothing in the dark. Without a word, he takes his flashlight and treks the rest of the way from the base of the ridge to the Homestead, not heeding the calls of care from his fellow investigators. 

“God damn it, Bucky is going into the Homestead,” Sam’s tense voice sounds over the radio.

“What do you see?” Steve’s concern is evident, but Bucky doesn’t hear him; he’s too focused on seeing this for himself, consequences be damned.

Since childhood, Bucky had been fascinated with anything unexplainable about the cosmos. Nights were spent looking through his family’s old telescope, days spent reading Sagan, Hawking, Aristotle. The mysteries the universe held always called to him, holding onto the idealistic hopes that he would be a part of humanity’s way forward. It’s what motivated him to pursue a formal education in astrophysics, why his highest ambition was to be involved with space exploration, to answer the mysteries that the universe was waiting for someone to discover.

When he was asked to join a confidential government agency researching UAPs after his doctorate, he couldn’t say no. While what he did was a complete secret for the better part of five years, he knew it was important and fulfilling work. This classified study is what brought him to Skinwalker Ranch.

The results of the private research done in the ‘90s by Howard Stark were still under lock and key, so he had to start his investigation from scratch. The information that did come out of those reports fascinated him beyond anything he could’ve imagined. He knew he needed to get out there and start experimenting to see if he could replicate the results. 

He had heard a story from a former military member that worked security during the time of Stark’s research. 

“I was doing my normal rounds at dusk with two other security members. There had always been an uneasiness that settled on the ranch the darker it got, but when we made our way to the Homestead, that feeling just amplified. It was almost palpable. There’s a path that branches off from the main dirt road and wraps around to the back of the Homestead. The second I crossed that path, everything became dead silent except for this low droning that I could feel. It made me immediately nauseous. After a few more steps, I saw a black figure with glowing silver eyes hovering over the open second floor, through the tree. It was like light was bending at the core of the figure, but I couldn’t be sure—I turned tail after a few seconds, collapsed on the other side of the path, and threw up. By the time I caught my breath, everything was back to normal.”

Theories of what this figure could have been resurface in his mind as he stumbles across the main dirt path towards the Homestead. He has half a mind to ask over the radio if the figure is still there, but the moment he oversteps the same phantom boundary from the recounting, everything becomes deathly quiet. The breeze disappears immediately, the stillness of the area creating an unease deep within him. There’s no droning, like he was expecting, just the slightest whisper of sound coming from the second floor. 

He stands at a distance away to look in through the collapsed floor. A shimmer of light catching on something holds his attention as he pinpoints where the vacuum of sound is coming from. He dashes into the Homestead, up the dilapidated stairs, and onto the landing of the top floor. All is black; no hint of stars or moonlight can be seen through the open roof. He looks at his hands, also shrouded in the darkest abyss. Determined, he follows quiet whispers, barely audible through the dark.

Suddenly, the reverberating droning overwhelms his senses and he drops to the floor. Clutching his ears, he gathers his strength to see into the clearing of the room. His breathing constricts, like an anvil sitting on his chest. His movements are labored and heavy as he fights to move, his eyes never leaving the sight he witnesses.

In an instant, a pair of blinding white eyes meet his and sound implodes in on him, crashing in like a wave and ripping him of his consciousness.

The low, repetitive beep rouses Bucky from a deep, unrestful sleep. The pounding in his head matches the tempo, it feels like, as he takes in his surroundings. 

“Buck,” Steve says quietly but with urgency as he rises from the seat at the bedside. “Jesus, you really scared me there.”

“What happened?” Bucky gingerly sits up, wincing a bit. 

“You need to take it easy,” he sets a hand on Bucky’s shoulder to still his movements. “Look, you’ve had a minor brain injury. They didn’t need to do surgery or anything,” he assures quickly, “just a concussion. They said you’ll make a full recovery.”

“Fuck,” he groans quietly and settles back into the upright pillows. “What did Sam get off the thermal?”

“Look,” Steve sighs. “I know you need to know what happened and what we were able to record, but we really need you to rest and heal. And as much as I want to continue this research with you, after what happened… I’m really hesitant about you coming back to the ranch.”

“I understand that, I really do. And if this were anything else, I know I’d follow your advice, but you don’t know what I saw, Steve. Hell, I barely know, but I need to find out. You have to let me do that.”

Steve debates internally in silence for a moment before another long, heavy sigh escapes him and he sits back down. “Tell me what you remember.”

. . .

He presses the replay button again, his gaze intent on the screen mere inches away from him as he watches the recording for the twelfth time. Each time, Bucky sees his warm-colored figure cross in front of the cooler foliage on the FLIR recording, get lost in the first floor of the Homestead, and appear in the clearing of the second. His figure is a stark contrast to the floating black only a few feet away from him, the deep purple expanding outwards from the center. A single pulse of the white core of the figure makes Bucky’s yellow and orange one drop to the floor before exploding in a surge of lavender and white before disappearing completely. 

The figure itself looks almost human. He traces the vague outlines of a head, shoulders, hips, down to pointed feet before his eyes settle back on the white core. He doesn’t remember any heat, just the heavy compression of his chest and loss of breathing. Some auditory fluctuation pulled at his insides until he blacked out. 

He sits back in the chair and sighs in defeat. Out of all his experiences on the ranch, this had been the most severe—one that could’ve cost him his life. And yet, those few conscious moments added fuel to the fire, giving him the drive to see whatever this was through to the end. 

Blue and white are swallowed by the void, light disappearing into overwhelming nothingness. No white fire, no cold, no sound. The reflective orbs of light appear ahead, growing in size and intensity, an unearthly call echoes across the expanse of space—

Cass awakes with a start, the shining sun casting over her skin with an uncomfortable heat. She groans as she sits up, blocking the light from her sensitive eyes, the feeling of dirt and dead twigs under her palms. How long had she been out here?

Where is ‘here’?

She looks out across the basin, finding the fenced southeast end of her family’s property only a few feet away. The small grove of trees that line the back are silent and still. Trepidation starts to rise in her then, flashbacks of countless mornings from childhood where she’d wake up in this exact spot, facing the trees. 

The last thing she remembered from the previous night was leaving the house giving chase to something. By the time the edible had kicked in, she had lost track of time and her movements, the line between reality and a dream becoming hazy. The growling she heard was distinct, a verbal cadence to the sound at first. She didn’t remember there being any animal or growling when she’d have these sleepwalking spells as a child, dream or not. Could it have said something initially? Was it even growling? It seemed less… alive, like it was more of a low vocalization, almost a droning, maybe. 

She makes her way back to the house, a feeling of unease settling in her stomach. So many questions that are left unanswered, ones that her mother had tried to answer. 

There’s a part of her that still can’t believe that she’s out here, in this house that holds equally good and bad memories, the ghosts of those before her. Her mother Awena raised her in this house, learned about the history of the area and its people from her. It was her that Cass ran to when she’d have nightmares of white fire, the one who would lift her from the dust and dirt in the dead of night, taught her the beautiful and terrifying things the sky held. The stories remained with Cass, even as they moved across the country when she was ten, as she grew up trying to understand the blackouts that littered her childhood. Her mother’s influence is what brought her back to Fort Duchesne, back to the heart of those stories. 

In between panic attacks and drug trips, she starts going through all of her mother’s things throughout the house. That first morning at the house was like walking into a time capsule: the same faded burnt orange walls, the same furniture situated exactly as she remembered, the same knickknacks on shelves with local art being the only new addition. It was a sensory experience of smelling childhood all over again, the better memories tinted now with the weight of grief. 

She eventually makes her way to her mother’s room, a sense of guilt washing over her. It had been a year since Awena passed, and this was the first time that Cass could face the family home. Her mother had moved back a few years prior, and aside from the funeral, Cass avoided her hometown completely. She couldn’t face the place without Awena, so a friend of the family kept up with the house until Cass was ready. Now that she’s here, she tries to find acceptance for the time lost. 

Cass notices a small gap between the bedside table and the wall, finding nothing of interest hidden behind. She grabs the back of the table to move it more when her fingers depress into the back with a soft click. A hidden wing opens at the back, and to her surprise, she finds a journal hidden inside. 

Her eyebrows furrow as she scans the pages, her mother’s unmistakable handwriting filling every page—dated journal entries, drawings, recipes, and a ribbon bookmark settled part way through. She flips to the bookmarked pages.

Tied to a shorter ribbon is a key, settled between the two pages. Recipes for peyote teas and edibles are on one page, and on the other seems to be a version of the peyote ceremonies held on the reservation. She checks the hidden wing for anything else, finding nothing, before she starts searching for whatever the key may go to. She looks for hidden drawers and false bottoms in the furniture, loose floorboards and hidden cutouts behind pictures. She takes her search to the kitchen, hoping she thought in the same way Awena would. 

She searches cabinets, running her fingers along the bottoms of shelves and backs of drawers. Finally, she feels a hidden small shelf under the kitchen sink cupboard, her fingertips brushing against a metal box. Taking it out, Cass finds its the vintage space-age lunchbox of hers from childhood. The key from the journal unlocks the small padlock round the box’s closure. 

Inside is a bag of peyote buttons, about a half ounce of cannabis, a few hand-rolled tobacco cigarettes, cedar matches, and a couple of tea bags filled with dried something or other, probably peyote based on the recipes in the journal. Cass sets the box on the counter, her eyes casting over every piece of furniture in the kitchen and into the back entryway. A plain sage green sheet covers a large trunk by the door, a couple of homemade cushions sitting atop and pairs of shoes to the side. 

She removes the sheet and cushions and brushes her hands against the dark wooden trunk, unlatching the closures. Cedar logs, a bigger bag of tobacco and corn husks, a bag of natural coal, and a softer folded piece of canvas fabric all sit inside. The materials for the ceremony that she had noted.

Cass spends the rest of the afternoon scanning the journal, trying to get a grasp on what caused Awena to hold a hallucinatory ceremony, and repeatedly. 

Nahokos - “naashá, naaltsoos, dóó naasháhii”

“dilγéhé?” 

Andrea Granum, 1978

Deseret - Knapp, 1996

Saturdays 8pm (until sunrise)

• Prayer
• Sacramentals
• Water rites
• Meditate

Notes like these litter the pages. She recognizes some of the writing as Navajo (what little she could recall from her mother’s side of the family), but the notes are mostly vague. Some of the journal entries note visits to the chief of the reservation, getting advice on the ritual and the use of peyote for spiritual purposes. She sees her name included a few times, a section towards the beginning recalling the things that she’d tell Awena about her dreams, the instances where she’d appear in a haze at the southeast edge of the property in the mornings. Perhaps some notes on similar experiences from others—a few names are noted throughout. It’s more than she could’ve dreamed of finding.

Fuck it.

She leaves the journal open at its bookmarked place, reading over Awena’s handwriting for the peyote recipes. It’s been a long journey, and she doesn’t want to delay this anymore. If there was even a hint of a possibility of finding answers, she was going to take it. 

As the sun sets, she takes the edible and sips the tea. She takes a deep breath to prepare for what was about to come, a renewed determination setting upon her. Grabbing shoes (“why didn’t I wear these last time”) and a few blankets, she settles on the ground below the front stairs, keeping one around her shoulders for the cold desert nights.

With a cedar match, she ignites a bundle of white sage (just to be safe) and moves it around herself, the smoke encircling her. She waits out the last of her lucidity reflecting on the previous night; the lights, the sounds of it before she blacked out. It was a sound she can’t place, and hardly remembers, and the not knowing is unsettling. 

Dark falls upon the basin and with it, the familiar nausea-inducing vibration rises. Like clockwork, faint lights appear in the sky above the distant mesa, her eyes following their rapid movement. The frequency intensifies as they flicker in and out of existence, and to her sudden realization, towards her direction. From the trees off the opposite end of the property, she feels a presence, a similar pull to the frequency that catches her attention. Tunnel vision blurs her periphery, two lights shining from the depths of the dark on the other side of the fence, orbs of fire that she had come to know. As the frequency intensifies and the light burns brighter, her feet bring her towards the edge of the property, her eyes transfixed on the lights. 

Her movements echo through her in waves, familiar desensitization moving from the core of her chest outward. Her sense of awareness fades, first with her feet carrying her forward, the blanket falling from her shoulders, the cuts on her palms from the old wooden fence. The presence in the dark holds her consciousness in a chokehold, the black in her peripherals start to seep through as she collapses. 

The next rocket launches off the pad as Bucky watches the same hazy spot in the sky, the smoke from previous rockets clouding the area as it shoots through the night sky.

Seconds after lift-off, the rocket suddenly explodes as if on impact.

Every team member exclaims at the unexpected explosion, the rocket recovery team quickly scrambling to gather the pieces of what was left over. 

“Buck,” Peter calls out, Bucky quickly moving to the monitor where Sam is examining something on the screen, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“This.” Sam motions to a hazy light that curves around a shape of nothing. “There’s nothing there, but it looks like it’s forming around something.”

Bucky leans in closer, both Peter and Sam making minor adjustments to the series of shutter frames that were taken of the impact area. Smoke and light bend around a darker mass that wasn’t distinguishable against the rest of the sky. “We’ll have to do some more cleaning up, but this is weird, right? This blob thing?”

“It’s definitely bending around something.” As Sam adjusts the exposure and saturation more, a shape starts to become clearer. In the center of the nothingness, a vague figure starts to appear, remaining stationary for a few frames before disappearing. 

“Is that what’s been showing on the aerial LIDAR?”

“I—”

“Christ! We need Helen!” Steve yells from across the area past the landing pad. Attention is turned towards him as Helen and a couple of EMTs on standby run to him, the small group collapsing to the ground. Bucky, Sam, and Peter run to them, followed by the rocket guys. Steve sets an unconscious young woman on the ground as one of the EMTs starts checking her vital signs. 

“We cleared the fields before the experiments, though.” Bucky looks to Clint, the head of security for the ranch. 

“No one was out there; we would’ve seen her on the cameras. I have no idea who she is."

“Is she okay?” The two of them turn to Helen.

“No obvious signs of a concussion, steady pulse. Just a few scratches on her palms and knees that we’ve cleaned, as far as we can tell. We need to take her in to be sure.”

“I’ll go,” Steve offers as the EMTs strap the woman on the stretcher. “I’ll call you with any updates.” Bucky waves Steve off as Helen and the EMS unit leave, returning to the rest of the group.

“I don’t feel comfortable continuing tonight until I can get eyes on the rest of the ranch,” Nat says. “I don’t know where she came from, and we need to make sure no one else is here.” 

“Agreed,” Bucky sighs sharply.

The five of them pack up the equipment with the rocket crew, the sunrise just beginning to dawn. Rhodes and Tony fly in shortly afterwards to discuss the incident. It takes Clint and Nat until early morning to clear the ranch, all the while Bucky, Sam, Peter, and Tony go through the hours of footage, combing through recordings from every camera. 

As far as anyone could tell, the woman just appeared out of nowhere. Earlier on a call, Steve said he found her a few feet from the cleared landing pad, a handful of bushes hiding her from view. The cameras didn’t catch any obvious movement in the area, and none of the motion cameras in any other area of the ranch went off, so they didn’t know where she could’ve come from—or how long she had been there after the experiment started.

He groans softly as he leans back in his chair. The way the light formed around the anomaly reminds him of the figure from the FLIR—some form of a void, something that can’t be visually seen but warps light around it. Then there was the vague figure in the center of the darkness, the one that lasted a fraction of a second. The timing was uncanny, even if it ended up being nothing of note by the end. But then again… the timing matched when they found the woman.

He’d have to wait for the analysis to come in before even entertaining those kinds of ideas. For now, it’s just another unexplainable phenomenon added to the growing list of strange things happening on the ranch.

Cass wakes with a start, scrambling back on the bed with a sharp inhale. She takes a moment to calm her breathing, the heart monitor beside her bed slowing. It takes her a second to figure out her surroundings, flashing back to childhood in this same setting, but more pressingly, she doesn’t remember how she ended up there.

A nurse shows up when she presses the call button. “Good to see you awake, I’m nurse Quinn.” The nurse starts to check her over once more, taking the clipboard from the front of her bed. “How are you feeling? Any pain?”

“No, I feel fine.”

“Do you remember why you’re here?”

“Uh,” Cass pauses and tries to recall the last thing she remembers. “I don’t know, I think I passed out somewhere. How did I get here?”

“A mister…” the nurse checks the clipboard, “Steve Rogers brought you in. He said that he and his colleagues found you on their ranch and weren’t sure how you ended up there. Do you know Mr. Rogers?”

Cass shakes her head. 

“What’s your name, then? You’re listed as a ‘Jane Doe’.”

“Cassia Willow.” 

The nurse scrawls on the clipboard. “Well, you didn’t sustain any injuries outside the few cuts on your palms and knees.” Cass looks at her palms, some gauze wrapped around her hands. “Your blood work was normal, aside from the substantial amounts of cannabis and peyote in your system. We took some X-rays to determine internal injuries, which came back negative. We also did a CT scan due to the nature of where you were found. You were shown to have atypical activity in the postcentral gyrus, which is the area of your brain that interprets sense of touch.”

“Makes sense. I have a medical history of nociception abnormalities.”

“Really?” The nurse writes more down. “A doctor will stop by later for more questions about your history. We’ll keep you for observation while getting copies of your medical records, but for now, I’ll let you rest. I’m a button press away.” The nurse closes the door behind her.

It’s not her first time here, she remembers. She’s seen the sterile insides of this place too many times, even down to the same dated medical pamphlets offered on the walls. Awena would joke about that.

Last night—she exhales. Lights in the sky. Then lights beyond the fence. Leaving the property… then it seemed like it became more of a vision. She could see what was happening but couldn’t feel anything. The blue light from the first night became almost tangible, in a way. She reached out to touch it, anticipating warmth of the same fire from her youth, but was met with a core-shattering vibration, frequencies, and wavelengths coursing through her in increasing intensity as the white engulfed her completely.

After that point, she can’t remember anything. Maybe a few fragments here and there. Next thing she knew, she was waking up in the hospital. She touches the gauze wrapped around her palm. She recalls climbing over the back fence of the ranch—the first time she had done so in all the time that she’s had these experiences.

A soft knock appears at the door, tearing her from her thoughts. The same nurse enters. “Mr. Rogers and his colleague are here. They were hoping to talk to you.”

Cass nods. Two men enter the room: both tall and well-built, one blond with a standard high and tight cut, short beard, and kind, concerned blue eyes, and the second more timid, longer dark brown hair that’s brushed back behind his ears. His darker blue eyes catch hers briefly before she looks away. 

“Hi,” the first one starts. “I’m Steve, this is Bucky. We’re from Skinwalker Ranch—I’ve been here since we found you late last night. I’m relieved that you’re okay.”

“Thanks,” she replies quietly. “I’m sorry about all this; I’m not even sure how I ended up on your property.”

“That’s okay,” Bucky reassures. “More than anything, we wanted to make sure you weren’t injured in any way.”

“Just these.” She shows them her wrapped palms. “Who are you guys? I haven’t heard of anyone at Skinwalker Ranch in a while.”

“The new owner has asked us to come in to investigate the phenomena that’s been happening there.” … Hm. 

“Then you would’ve seen me wander on the ranch, right?”

“That’s the thing,” Bucky chuckles lightly. “We have no idea where, when, or how you ended up there. We have cameras that record every inch of the ranch and none of them picked you up.”

She hesitates to tell them anything. “Can’t help you with the camera thing, but I do live a couple miles north of your ranch, and I have a sleep disorder that can sometimes make me sleepwalk. I’m sure I made my way over there. Somehow.”

“Somehow.”

“I know what kind of security the place has; there’s no way I’d trespass on your property willingly.”

“We believe you, don’t worry. We’re as much at a loss as you are. We mostly just needed to see if you were okay. Do you remember anything from last night?”

“I remember walking for a while before blacking out last night and waking up here. How did you find me?”

“We were conducting nighttime tests and just found you on the ground. We checked the property before we started, and it was all clear. There were groups of people wandering the whole area during the night, and no one ever saw you.”

“Honestly, you kind of just appeared out of nowhere,” Steve gives a soft laugh.

“I guess it’s just another thing to add to your list of unexplainable phenomena.”

“We’ll let you rest,” Bucky says. “We’d really like to have you visit the ranch if you’re up for it. The rest of our team is as curious as we are.” Cass nods in agreement before they leave.

Skinwalker Ranch. It had been on her mind for the longest time, being one of the few obvious correlations for the experiences of her past. Each night since returning, she knew she would see the same lights over their side of the mesa, becoming ever reliable as the vibration increased and brought her feet further away from her home towards them. She gave up on trying to figure out what they were or their purpose a long time ago—just knowing that as soon as the lights appeared, she would have to heed their unearthly call.

And sometimes, they would actually have a call.

She’s reminded of the droning from the first night again. She wishes she could remember the sound better, try to replicate it in some way. There was something about it that had suddenly become familiar… like, distinguishably familiar. 

As much as she tried, she knew she wouldn’t remember anything from the previous night, not without some herbal assistance. She hopes that the next time won’t land her in the ER again.

Sometime in late afternoon, she’s released from the hospital. Her doctor noted his interest in her medical history, advising her to take it easy and to be extra vigilant of her surroundings. It was nothing new to her, having been told the same discharge instructions from countless other hospital stays. On her way out, she sees Bucky slumped in one of the chairs near her room, eyes closed and resting on his hand. Cute.

She nudges his boot and he stirs a bit, taking her in before standing quickly. “Sorry,” he clears his throat and brushes his hair back. “I didn’t want you to be totally alone here.”

She smiles a bit. “I appreciate it.”

They walk down the halls and out into the late morning sun. The fresh air is refreshing, Cass taking in a deep breath of the dry Utah summer air as the warmth cascading over her skin. She blocks the sun from her eyes. “Where to?”

“Anywhere with good food, then your ranch.”

“How ‘bout both?”

As Cass walks up to the main house (the “command center”, as Bucky referred to it), a host of individuals are on the covered porch waiting to greet them.

Steve introduces the group: Sam (“Dr. Wilson, technically”, as Bucky rolls his eyes), Peter (a student working on his doctorate), Natasha (Nat) and Clint as security, Helen as the resident physician, Rhodes as Tony’s pilot and military consultant, and Tony himself, the owner of the ranch. Over lunch, the team takes turns explaining what work they’re doing. It reminds her of similar groups of people from her youth who stayed at the ranch, ones that the town would gossip about. She had supposed it was their doing that evoked the lights in the sky and the vibration frequency. The parallels to her experiences since coming back suddenly make sense, almost in a curious way.

“Anyway,” Peter continues. “Rocket goes off without a hitch, and the next second, it explodes. While everyone is scrambling to get the rocket pieces and the data, Steve finds you. He went with you to the hospital while the rest of us went through all the footage.” He places his laptop in front of Cass, playing the recordings of the whole series of incidents. “One second, nothing; the next, you, somehow.”

It was peculiar. From what she remembers, she was making her way towards the ranch. Well, pulled, really, following something. It’s not that far on foot from her property, so she could believe that she walked the whole way. But none of that matches up with the footage, which is baffling. Even when they take her to where she was found, she doesn’t know how she could’ve ended up here without anyone’s awareness. 

But there’s something about the area that physically resonates with her, her eyes casting to the skies. There’s something unexplainable about it, as if there’s some semblance of the beckoning of the lights. She feels the frequency course through the air like electricity, more than she’s ever felt it while conscious. 

Bucky’s already watching her when she turns back to the group. “There’s somewhere else I’d like to show you.” 

She follows him, Steve, and Sam to one of the off-road vehicles, and they take off north. They stop a few yards off from a dilapidated two-story house, the foliage overgrown every crumbled wall. It’s undeniably familiar, her feet carrying her from the UTV to the structure. Steve hands her a small Geiger counter. “To be safe.”

“We were here the night before last doing another experiment with a drum circle. While they were doing their ritual, we saw something on the second floor of this place. I only got a glimpse of it, but something was there.”

She walks into the building, despite the silent protests of Sam and Steve, but Bucky follows. The frequency can still be felt, less so this time, as she looks out onto the mesa from the second floor. Hot flashes hit her in waves, with increasing intensity the longer she stays out there. The sudden electronic crackling of a Geiger counter tears her away from her thoughts. It’s her own.

They leave, more questions peppering her mind to take back home.

“I don’t know if you know about the area, but local legends say there’s a portal there,” Sam says as they drive back to the main house. “We can’t determine what we caught on recording, but it’s definitely weird. And not the first weird thing that’s happened in the last few months.”

“I know the stories about the ranch. My mother’s side of the family is Navajo, so I grew up being told to avoid this place.” Something keeps bringing me back, though.

They show her the recordings of that night. As Bucky described, the light form appears in infrared, Bucky’s form entering the frame briefly before it disappears in an explosion of white light. The more she sees what they’ve captured, the more she wants to return home.

“Why show me all of this?” she asks Bucky as they get into his truck to drive her back.

“Since I started working here, I’ve learned to trust my instincts, even if I don’t understand it at that moment. I can’t explain it, but I had this feeling that you should see everything we’ve recorded.”

She doesn’t trust him yet, despite the warmth she feels from him. “Maybe I could be here for one of your experiments sometime. See if your instincts are right.”

“Only if you feel comfortable.” His eagerness betrays his concern, which makes her laugh a bit.

“Tomorrow night, maybe. I have things to take care of tonight.”

He walks her up to her property’s gate. “You’re right, you’re not that far from the ranch at all.” He looks across the dusty space of her family home. “You have my number—call if you need anything, okay? Anything.”

“Got it.” She watches as he leaves, catching his eyes one last time before he’s gone.

She takes a deep breath. Despite blacking out last night, she remembers much more than the previous night, and paired with the tour of Skinwalker Ranch, she’s more motivated than ever before to take another attempt for answers.

Ahead of her plans for the night, she smokes a bowl as she meditates on her memories, walking through them step by step. Her fingertips run over her palms, and for a moment, she looks past her property to the few trees in the distance. She can see through them to the back road of her property, but at night, the abyss seems endless, beckoning her into unconsciousness.

She remembers the phantom feeling of separation of body and mind, like she left her body behind somehow. She wasn’t necessarily herself after that moment, just a piece of self-awareness as she traveled through varying depths of darkness. It was loud, a distorted sense of vision and sound, the lights amplifying the chaos reverberating around her.

Then it all went silent. No vibration, no light, no sense of direction in the void submerging her. Deafening silence that captured her breath was broken by the familiar frequency, but at a lower, more distant vibration. Something about it grounded her, reminding her that she was rooted in existence and not drifting aimlessly into the void. 

Another breath and blurs of blue light streamed past her endlessly. In the light, she could make out hints of gold encompassing shades of blue and green in a perfect sphere. Something undeniably familiar about the sphere caught her attention.

All at once, the light and vibration crashed into her, through her, taking her breath away. She gasped for air, her consciousness hitting her as she woke up in her hospital room.

She can’t piece together what she saw, or why. It’s hard to recall every detail of what she remembers, but the sphere of light reminds her of a window, a gateway of some sort. Similar to what she had seen in the infrared footage from Bucky’s team.

Night falls as she prepares a second peyote ritual, determined to see these visions again. As she sits outside in the same spot as before, the cedar logs, sage, and tobacco burning into the night, she looks through Awena’s journal again. Towards the end, she looks over a few sketches. 

The outline of the human form is repeated six times across three pages, each with varying watercolor additions. Each one has its own label and notes scrawled to the sides of the drawings.

The plain outline has “physical” noted under the sketch. The next has an aura of light blue encircling the outline, noted with “light”; another with blue and green jagged lines surrounding the body, like the appearance of a wavelength, with “astral” noted; another with a glowing outline of red, orange, and yellow with “etheric”; another with a larger aura around the outline, starting with green, fading to a softer blue and purple, “soul”; the last outline is filled with the same light blue, the center almost glowing with hints of silver paint, with a lilac aura surrounding the outline, noted with “celestial”. 

The notes are succinct, giving short bullet points of what seems to be the purpose or property of each outline. She reads the notes beside the “etheric” drawing:

• Spiritual plane, healing
• Projection of astral
• Self
• First level, connection to higher bodies

And the “astral”:

• Astral plane
• Others
• Fourth level, memories and past experiences 

Most of them seem familiar from her own research into astral projection a few months back. Metaphysics—it seems like Awena was on the same path of thinking.

The blend of colors on the pages start to glow on their own, the colors becoming beacons of light in the dark night. She sets the journal down on the ground, the lights facing up towards the sky. The outline of the astral body on the page starts to move, the lines following the same wavelength of the frequency that appears like clockwork. The blues and greens move together, the higher points of the wavelength brushing against her bare arms as they move on the page in unison.

She sees the distant glow of the fire pit as she suddenly looks behind her before facing the dark, high tree line. She knows the lights are inside, over the threshold of the physical world in the unknown. Her hand touches her chest—skin pressed against the fabric of her shirt. She walks into the dark.

“Shichʼéʼé yázhí,” her mother’s soft voice brings her from her sleep. 

“Amá?” Cass stirs, sitting up. She doesn’t recognize her surroundings. She’s cold to the touch as she rubs her arms, but uncomfortably warm in her chest.

“Come, little one.” Awena wraps her in a blanket and picks her up. Buried in the warmth of the fabric, Cass watches quietly as she’s taken from the center of a dirt Triangle, passing by a middle-aged man, his face stern and brows furrowed, but with kind eyes. He follows Awena towards a distant house across the field.

“How are you doing, kiddo?” His voice is familiar; her concern fades. 

“Okay.” She snuggles further into the blanket. “I feel like I’m burning inside.”

He hands her a water bottle with a straw. “This’ll make you feel better.”

She takes a drink, the painful fire within fading quickly. Her awareness of her environment suddenly becomes clear, the light morning breeze tickling her face. She sighs with ease.

“Has she ever remembered what happens afterwards?” he asks her mother, his arms crossed.

“Sometimes. She speaks of light and color, of the Dark past the trees, but just in her dreams. Do you remember anything this time, Cassie?”

She thinks for a second. “There were more shapes of light this time.”

“Were there?” Her mother’s tone is comforting and safe as she tries to think back on the dreams she had. Or why she was back here instead of in her bed, where she fell asleep. “I can’t remember anything else.”

“That’s okay,” she reassures. “Relax now, we’ll go home.”

A breeze picks up, brushing her long hair against her shoulders and arms. Her eyes closed, she takes a deep breath in—dry, dusty, a hint of sweetness from the trees. The world is muted, only hearing her slow breathing. She cherishes the moment of serenity, half believing that she was still in a dream.

She opens her eyes. It’s early morning, and she’s not surprised that she sees the fields of Skinwalker Ranch before her, standing in the center of the Triangle. She is surprised, however, that she’s alone. And it’s quiet. 

A few moments after she starts walking towards the command center, she sees Sam run out of the house and down the porch. He sprints to her, Clint following close behind. 

“Did you see me this time?” she asks both of them.

“Motion cameras picked you up,” Sam says through a heavy breath. 

“Maybe you should put a tracker on me next time.” They both huff a laugh. 

“I’d say you’re the weirdest thing that’s happened to us, but it’s a dime a dozen here.”

The rest of the team has woken up by the time Sam makes coffee for Cass. Just like the morning before, they go through the footage from the night. They catch a couple of lights in the sky in some shots, so Steve and Peter settle in to comb through more data. Still nothing about either of Cass’s sudden appearances on the ranch.

Meanwhile, Cass meanders away from the group to other areas of the center. She looks at the different artwork, pictures, and little curios that fill the shelves on the perimeter of the sitting room. She stops on a picture of an older man and woman standing beside Tony, who was holding two framed degrees in his cap and gown. Flashes of memory cross her mind as she looks at the man, instead seeing him with deep brown hair and mustache. She can hear his voice in a memory—“Hey, kiddo.”

“Tony’s parents,” Bucky says gently beside her, bringing her back to the moment.

“Howard and Maria,” she remembers. 

“You knew them?”

“I think so,” she answers honestly. “I have a vague memory of talking to Howard when I was young.”

“Everything I learn about you is so fascinating,” he confesses, making her laugh brightly. 

“What your team is doing here is much more fascinating.” They make their way outside. “There’s something about this place. My mother’s people, generations of townsfolk, Howard—everyone around here knows. I grew up hearing legends about the namesake creatures, about reporters over decades writing about the mysteries here. But what you’re doing here is important. You’re trying to answer the questions that have haunted everyone who has been in contact with this place. And not only that, but you’re actually capturing credible evidence. You’re the fascinating one.”

“You flatter me,” he chuckles lightly. 

“What brought you out here?”

They watch Peter, Steve, and Lia work on a couple of cameras in the distance. “The DOD program I worked on referenced Howard’s studies here, but the results from his investigation are still classified, for the most part. Tony reached out to me directly two years ago and asked me to do my own investigation and try to find scientific evidence of what little information his father shared with him about the ranch. In the time that we’ve been here, I’ve seen so much that I can’t rationally explain, and now you—you’ve become a variable in all of these experiments.” The wonder in his expression eases something within her. “For the first time, I think I believe that I’m destined to be here.”

She takes a deep breath and looks across the fields. “You and me both.” 

. . .

Bucky waits in the living room as she grabs a bag and starts packing, including Awena’s journal, the tin of drugs (she smirks to herself), and a small amount of each material she’s used for the night ceremonies. She catches him looking at the pictures and trinkets on shelves as he waits, the shuffling of her bag pulling his attention to her.

“Your mother?” He looks at the picture of Awena and Cass on their Disneyland trip when she was nine. Awena is wearing Mickey Mouse ears, making her smile fondly at the memory. 

She nods and removes it from its frame. “She’d be both thrilled and terrified at what we’re doing.”

She knows he wants to ask more, seeing the questions that burn in his eyes when he looks at her. Whether it be the fear that acknowledging her memories will bring everything to the surface before she’s ready, or if it’s just pure denial, she chooses to keep to herself. She leaves the house, placing the bag in the back of the truck as Bucky follows close behind.

Sam takes her up on her suggestion and places a tracker on her when they return, the team preparing for that night’s experiment. The plan is to have her just observe, see if any of the outcomes of their testing affect her in any way (or vice versa). She feels self-conscious to have a focus on her, hoping that nothing will ultimately happen, but she doesn’t believe that enough. She knows.

So she skips the edibles and watches from the sidelines. Peter is typing on his laptop beside her while she watches Bucky talk to the drone team. Her eyes trace over his form, down the slope of the hair at his neck, down his collar and left shoulder. She sees a bit of ink from his half-sleeve that peeks out from under his shirt. It’s a good look for him, in his dark jeans and charcoal Timberlands. She blushes a bit when he catches her watching him, smirking to himself almost affectionately. 

Maybe sharing her experiences with him wouldn’t be a bad thing. 

A few hours into the late evening, the team starts their work. She’s careful to stay out of the way, only passively watching whoever decides to pilot the monitors. The drones lift off (most of them anyway), her eyes following the wall of lights that fly into the sky, shifting into a cube once in the air. It’s incredible to watch as a bystander, allowing her to forget momentarily what the purpose of the show was. 

“Starting up the frequency,” Steve says. She feels its vibration filling her mind, a different sensation than the frequency normally brings. It adds to the fear rising in her. She starts to regret not telling Bucky about the effect it has on her. But what could she say? How would she even begin to explain it in the middle of an experiment? She has to say something, warn someone about its effects. If she could just—

“Look!” Sam exclaims. Everyone’s attention is drawn to three lights in the sky. They have a tint of blue from this distance, moving quickly in and out of vision, coming closer and hovering over the group. In an instant, the center of the drone cube shuts down, the drones carefully dropping to the ground, leaving the outermost ones still active. 

“They’re around the area,” Steve says to Bucky as they look from the unidentified lights to the drones. The lights disappear into the center of the square, the rest of the drones shutting down immediately after. Cass feels Steve shut the frequency off, allowing her to breathe easier. She still feels the low hum of it in the air, but relieved that it didn’t trigger any of her normal experiences. Why was this different?

The two teams reset as Bucky walks over to her, a broad smile on his face. “That was the first time I’ve seen them disappear into the space above the Triangle.” The excitement in his voice and eyes puts her worries at ease as he focuses on her. “How are you doing?”

“There’s something I need to tell you. I should’ve told you before, but…” she pauses. “The frequency you turned on—it has some kind of effect on me. Unexplainable things happen when I feel it. I mean, this time was different somehow; I felt it in a different way, but I need you to know in case more weird things start to happen.” 

“Weirder than these?” He motions to the recording of the lights.

“Yes.”

His brows furrow. “Are you okay? Is there somewhere I can take you away from all of this?”

She shakes her head. “Unless you put me on a plane to Denver, I’ll feel it.”

He thinks for a moment. “We have a Faraday cage that we’ve had to use a few times for others. It’s not comfortable by any means, but it should keep you safe.”

She nods as she follows him to one of the UTVs, Steve giving him a curious look that he waves off. In the silo, a chair, table, and a windup lantern fill the space. Bucky grabs water and a few fruit and nut bars for her. “I’m staying with you.”

“What? No, I’ll be fine. Go back—they need you.”

“I’m more concerned about your safety.”

“I trust you. I’m going to be just fine in here, wrapped in copper.”

He debates internally for a moment. “I’m going to send Steve back here. If you need anything, anything at all, you tell him and he’ll radio me, okay?” He places his radio in her hands. “I’ll keep checking in. We shouldn’t be too much longer.” 

“Okay. Good luck.”

He gives her one last look before closing the large door. She listens to his footsteps walking away, then the rev of the UTV as he leaves. A heavy sigh escapes her, the sound reverberating off the metal as she looks towards the top. A sense of unease still remains with her, making her rise and pace the circle of the silo, her heart starting to race again. 

In the distance, she feels the vibration start again, this time through her whole being. It pulses in a steady rhythm, as if it were a drum beating on her chest. Please, please, please.

She squeezes her eyes shut as it intensifies, placing her trembling hands across her sternum, her skin cold to the touch but doing nothing to quell the heat burning inside her. Fractured memories of being here before come to her, fearing what would happen next.

Bucky bites his lip absentmindedly, his arms crossed as he watches the next wave of the experiment start. Half his mind is still on Cass, regretting leaving her out there on her own. The recording of the drum circle plays from the big speakers, the drones lifting back into the sky. He looks back at Steve driving towards the house on the UTV.

It all happens so fast.

All drones plummet to the ground, Sam yelling out from behind the monitors, the lights in the sky growing blindingly bright before being swallowed by the nothing in the area above. A single vibrating pulse shakes the whole ground, making everyone stumble. A heartbeat later, he sees Cass laying on the ground in the center of the Triangle.

He sprints to her, sliding on the dirt beside her. “Cass! Can you hear me?” He gently shifts her head to face him. She remains unconscious and cold to the touch, almost unbearably so. Helen drops to the ground beside them.

“How the hell is she here?” she says as she checks over Cass, wincing at how cold her skin is. 

“I thought you took her to the silo?” Steve says after he rushes back. 

“I did.” He watches Helen check her pulse with the stethoscope, his knees still in the dirt. “I swear, Steve, she was there when I left.”

“Then how…?” 

Bucky shares the same look as Steve—confusion, worry, complete amazement. The rest of the team watches from the sidelines as he climbs into the back of the ambulance when it arrives. 

He waits outside the ER, going between pacing around the waiting room and sitting, replaying every second of the night in his mind. There was zero possibility that she could’ve somehow made it past him and Steve, and the rest of the team for that matter. It’s impossible, something that must have an explanation, some way she was able to make it past everyone unseen. Everything that happened seconds before then was just as unexplainable. 

But he’s inclined to trust her, knowing she had experienced this before. They had video evidence of the previous times this had happened, so he believes her when she tells him she can’t remember. He has a million questions he wants to ask her, piece together how and why, for how long, why her. It’s all he thinks about as he drives them back to the ranch a day later, against his better judgment but at her insistence. 

In his peripherals, he watches Cass, her long, chestnut brown hair dancing with the wind and sunlight of the open window. It’s been less than a week since she first appeared on the ranch, and yet it feels like he’s known her far longer. She’s intrinsically linked to the unknowns he’s been chasing his whole life, and he hopes (perhaps foolishly) that she’s part of his path forward. 

Once she’s safely back at the ranch, he, Steve, and Sam take the next shift of watching the cameras and analyzing the data. 

“How?” Steve emphasizes, sitting back in his chair, “How can something like this happen? I mean, it’s not like we’re in the sticks. The tech should have caught something, anything that can start to explain all of this.”

“Oh!” Sam exclaims, quickly wheeling over to the monitors, searching through some files. “She actually suggested we put a tracker on her; that should be…” he trails off for a moment. “Here.”

On the screen is a list of the geolocations from the tracker as Sam pulls the data into a visual map. Each of them has a timestamp, which allows them to see Cass’s movements from the night. The majority of them are around the same area for a few hours (when she was helping them set up for the next experiment), then a trail from their group to outside the main house. The data and location suddenly jumps from the main house to directly in the center of the Triangle within a fraction of a second.

“This is… unhelpful.” Sam crosses his arms. “She was in a copper silo, so there’s the possibility that it just stopped working or transmitting. Or it broke somehow, or the batteries glitched out—which isn’t an uncommon thing here—or any other explanation you can come up with. I mean, it’s interesting, but it’s not conclusive.”

“Did she say anything else about it?” 

“No,” Bucky sighs a bit as he looks over the map. “Same blackout of memory. She said she could still feel the frequency in the silo.”

“But we didn’t see anything, even when we started playing the drum circle recording instead.”

“Do you think she’s somehow sensitive to the 1.6?” 

“From what she told me before this happened, I think so. She said unexplainable things happen when she’s around the frequency. I think I believe her.”

“Okay, so maybe she has a sensitivity to certain EM frequencies. Could be the first case of evidence that supports the existence of EHS.”

“She knows more than she’s sharing, but I don’t think she trusts us yet.” Bucky distractedly strokes his short beard. “I want to give her time. We should put things on pause until we can get more insight into her history here. If what we do triggers whatever she experiences, then we either need to get her away from here or hear her out. When she’s ready.”

“You’re becoming quite attached her.” Both of them smirk.

“Shut up,” he rolls his eyes but fails to hide his smile. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it, I just feel like she’s an important part of all of this.”

“Safety comes first, but we’re on a mission here. If she has any answers, we want to hear them.” 

Bucky knows they’re on the cusp of something big, something that could change humanity’s very existence. It’s what he’s dreamed of since he was a kid and first saw the moon through his father’s telescope, the hope that he’d witness the mysteries of the universe in his lifetime. Maybe he’s being blindly hopeful, only setting himself up for frustration and failure, but he’s optimistic. It helps him through hours of data analysis and meetings over the next few days, gives him the drive to work on his scientific journals to publish; it laces his interactions with Cass. 

She sits in one of the lounge chairs across from Bucky, reading on her own while he works on his journal. She’s finally had a few uneventful nights in a row since they took a break from the experiments. He keeps asking if she wants to return to her home, get away from all of this for a bit, but she dismisses his warnings and tells him she’s staying. He gets the feeling she’s searching for answers to her own questions, too.

Tony visits the ranch later to check on the team. The group gives him the updates, a synthesis of the data so far, and their next plans. 

“We also had another incident with Ms. Willow,” Bucky makes eye contact with her briefly. He shows the data and map of her location tracker, summarizing the few other events that have happened with her. 

“Not to talk about you with you in the room,” Tony directs to her, then turns back to Bucky, “but is it important to have her here? With all of this happening?”

“I want to be here,” she says. “Leaving will only delay the inevitable. I’ll always end up back here no matter where I go.”

“We believe that what’s been happening directly involves her.” 

“Hm.” Tony sighs in contemplation, Rhodes leaning over to whisper something to him.

“If it helps, I think I was a part of something Howard Stark was doing here when I was a kid.”

All grow silent and turn to her. Her eyes are on Tony, who searches hers for something—hints of deception, hope for answers—she couldn’t tell. “You knew my father?”

“Memories of being on the ranch with him and my mother have started to come back to me. I don’t know what or how I was involved, but I keep getting fragments here and there.”

“Do you know what he was trying to do here?” 

“I have an idea.” She gestures to the slew of data on the screens in front of them. “But other than that, no.”

“He bought the ranch from its previous owners back in the ‘90s. When I was a kid, he used to tell me that this place was exceptionally unique, something that I’d understand someday. But I almost never stayed here. I’d ask him about it, and he’d give me the same explanation in a different way—that I’d find out on my own in my own time. I just didn’t know it would be after he died.

“When he passed, everything went to me, including some of the documentation from his time here. There are pieces of his investigation that are locked behind encryptions that I haven’t been able to access. It must’ve been important enough to him not to trust anyone with whatever information he hid. Now that he’s gone, I question whether or not I’ll ever find out.”

Tony pulls out a laptop, connecting it to the big screen for everyone to see. He pulls up the mass of files, typing in a few passwords as he clicks through folder after folder until he gets to one labeled simply ‘private’.

“It can only be decrypted with a fingerprint. I’ve tried mine, every person who was on his team, even his own—no one can open it.”

Cass listens as she looks over the data that is displayed on the screen, to the locked folder that has a prompt for the decryption key, to the fingerprint scanner connected to the computer. “Can I try?”

“By all means,” Tony gestures to it. She places her forefinger on the scanner, an image of the scan showing on the screen. They watch the password field clear and files start to load. He looks at her, completely astonished.

“Who are you?”

“My mother Awena grew up in Fort Duchesne and owned a property a few miles northwest of here. She used to tell me how I was a ‘fated child’—that I showed up out of nowhere and was meant to be found by her. She was older and didn’t’ have children of her own, and no one could figure out where I came from or who my birth mother was, so it was kismet. She became my guardian and raised me here. 

“I found a journal she had written that recorded some of what she went through. She said that Howard approached her when I was six, after I woke up on the ranch the first time. He told her a bit about what research study he was doing, the correlation of some data and my appearances, which I’m sure is in those files. 

“He explained it to me in a way that made sense as a kid: the ranch was a special place, and there was something there that would help people learn more about the planet and the universe, but they needed my help to figure out how to do that. He was always reassuring about it, just kind of letting things happen naturally. I don’t remember much myself, but Awena wrote that while Howard was secretive, he was supportive. His involvement, I guess, depended on me more than anything, whenever I just ended up on the ranch over the years. 

“Then the medical issues started. Awena didn’t know why I started sleeping outside in the same place at times, or why I’d wake up freezing cold but feel like I’m burning up internally. Or the nightmares I’d tell her about white fire from the stars and suffocating in darkness. I don’t blame her for seeking medical help with all that she was dealing with. 

“Waking up outside was diagnosed as sleepwalking, the nightmares were sleep terrors, the lack of sensation of pain were nociception abnormalities. Before I came here, a few doctors I met with were considering electromagnetic hypersensitivity for the physical effects similar inaudible frequencies had on me. I could’ve been diagnosed with whatever they wanted, but it didn’t answer any of my questions. So I left and moved back here instead. And as predicted, everything started up again. It’s crazy; I can’t explain any of it.”

Night had fallen by then, with Cass feeling spent after sharing her whole life story with the group. Every question they had, she answered: explaining more about Awena, reading through a few of the journal entries, Helen asking for more information on her medical history. She explained what she’s done so far since coming back, the rituals and the pieces of memory that started to surface.

“Well,” Tony says as he stretches, everyone following suit. It’s nearing midnight, and Cass reflects the same exhaustion the rest of the team shows. “Seems like we have our work cut out for us the next couple of weeks. I also think it’s time to bring in additional specialists. We’ll keep in touch.” 

He leaves with Rhodes, both of them making calls outside. Specialists?

“We can go through all those files together,” Bucky suggests to Cass. “See if anything jogs your memory.”

Over the next (thankfully) uneventful week, Cass and Bucky, and a few others here and there, start reading through Howard’s private study notes. Some pieces of information seem familiar, others were definitely about her, but she couldn’t recall much of anything.

In a couple files, there were pictures that she vaguely remembers drawing. A few varying shapes in saturated colors, different landscapes in dark paint. Others show similar colored forms as the drawings Awena has in her journals. Some are just abstract pictures—vertical streams of a multitude of colors, contrasts of bright shades of white and silver against dark backgrounds. Some remind her of the dreams she’s had over the years, conceptional and indistinct, all calling back to things she feels that she’s seen. 

‘FRB 180196 recorded, 16.35 +/-0.18 repeatability. Noted correlation to C’s appearances. Reduction of speed to 1% renders an irregular hum, approximately 8Hz and lower. Only C has been able to audibly hear the frequency.’

‘Unexplainable phenomena during controlled studies, results repeatable in three separate sessions. C started to exhibit medical concerns, so sessions are on hiatus for the time being.’

“This is… unprecedented,” Bucky says as he sits back in the chair. 

“Impossible.” Sam follows, rubbing his temples.

“Okay—” Steve starts, “we’ll spend the rest of the summer going through all of this, but we need to continue the work this season, too. See if we can try to get a glimpse of what Howard was experiencing.”

“We have enough background information at this point to try something,” Sam chimes in. 

Bucky looks to Cass, but she already knows. “I want to.”

“You don’t have to.”

His concern tugs at her heart, those suppressed feelings coming to the surface. “I know.”

He holds her eyes for a few moments more. “Okay. Let’s put a plan together.” She leaves them as they start to build a game plan of experiments for the following week. 

The feeling of the Utah sun bearing down on her skin reminds her of days spent roaming the basin as a child, drawing pictures in the dirt. She crouches down, dragging her finger through the hard ground, half ovals decreasing in size inside each one. Something she’d seen in a dream.

A sense of calm settles her, finally feeling that, for the first time, she’s right where she’s meant to be. All the hardships Awena endured with her, the years spent in solitude repressed by medication, losing a part of herself along the way—it was all leading her here. This sprawling ranch in the desert, a place of unique nostalgia; her home, despite all else. 

She wonders what was at the heart of the experiments she was a part of with Howard and Awena, what about her exactly evokes these strange phenomena. She’s spent countless hours following each research hole into the paranormal, theoretical sciences, metaphysics. She had grown bitter in her search for answers, trying to find some semblance of an answer. Grown distant from where she should’ve stayed. 

Awena’s dying wish had been the only thing that would bring her back here. A part of her grieved the fact that the two of them never returned home together, even though the house and property remained in Awena’s care. Cass refused to go back, refused to face her past. She wallowed in denial, sitting in her Brooklyn apartment and two decades removed.

Her mother’s death was a wake-up call, allowing her to take a realistic look at her life. She took her mother’s cremated ashes with plant fibers and took it back home, placed her to rest in her garden bed. The landscape that she had repressed looked the exact same—as did the stone path up to the house, the plants sitting in the windowsills, the couple of lounging chairs on the porch. She could only bear to spend one night in the house, the frequency triggering repressed memories surface like a flood. 

So she continued to have the property maintained as before but remained on the East Coast. Some nights, she would meditate in the middle of the night and could feel hints of the frequency in her body. Fear tended to overrule her curiosity, especially as clinical sessions became concerning. 

The five long years of working in doctor’s appointments and traveling for specialists took their toll. It felt like everything else in her life had to be put on hold if she wanted to chase the truth. She didn’t have a choice by the end; she had to return home.

But now, she feels relieved to be here. The clinical side of her search for answers had left her numb and bitter. Returning here, even with the fear of the unknown, was more of a comfort than anything she had experienced since Awena. How could she believe home would be anywhere else?

All the while, Bucky naturally finds himself being around Cass more and more. He’s drawn to the otherworldliness about her; a timeless energy, earthed—in the world but not of it. He sees it in the way she watches the skies, seeing things that are unseen, hearing a call beckoning from the unknown. She has a determination to understand everything she can, Bucky enjoying the chance to walk her through the more complicated data. He watches her glow when she tells him of star people, of her grandmother and summers spent traveling to Rocky Mountain National Forest, of seeing the sands of the Pacific. He sees the fear she suppresses, as well as the hope she has. It makes him want to help her all the more.

She senses all of this about him. Ever the empath, he shows his heart in his sleeve, his reserved nature clashing with his desire to learn everything he could from her. It’s endearing, finding it validating that someone could hear her entire truth and not be sent running. But it develops into something more, a lessening of a burden she had been given. She finds solace in him. 

“Tell me more about young Bucky.” She leans back in the lounge chair, the sun beginning to set. 

He chuckles lightly. “How young? There’s kindergarten-astronaut Bucky, space-camp Bucky, volunteering-at-the-Planetarium teenage Bucky…”

She laughs, his heart skipping a beat. “Little kindergarten Bucky.”

A fond smile grows on his lips. “My dad, for as long as I remember, loved space. He’d read his newspaper in the mornings—if he saw an article on NASA, or updates on space expeditions, or anything like that, he’d read it with me. I grew up learning about every picture and piece of data that came from the Voyagers and the Apollo missions. He even took me to meet Michael Collins when I was five. 

“We’d spend summer nights stargazing and tracking the constellations. He and my mom got me a telescope when I was a bit older, and on those summer nights, we’d watch the moon, see the red of Mars distantly, maybe a hint of Saturn’s rings. There were a couple of times where we’d take it to a remote part of the state away from the light pollution and just watch the sky.  

“The telescope was the most meaningful thing that he and my sister and I shared. After he passed, stargazing became something that we all did together in memory of him. It influenced my whole life path.”

“That’s so sweet, Bucky,” she says as she gently touches his shoulder. “I’m sorry about your father.”

“Thanks.” He gives a small smile. “I’ve always been sad that he didn’t get the chance to see what I’ve accomplished in life because of him, but I know he’d be proud. And beg me for all the classified details of my studies.” They chuckle together, settling into silence under the setting sun.

While the team goes over the plans for the night (again), Cass takes one of the edibles and prepares peyote tea. She has no idea what to expect—it was one thing to go on trips, drug-induced or otherwise, on her own, unobserved, but another to have so many people watching her, asking her questions, tracking her every movement. It’s exhilarating to have others believe her for once, to see what she sees, but it doesn’t temper the nerves in her.

“Cedar stick, sage, tobacco, drum recording… is there anything else we’re missing?” Steve sets the supplies on the table. 

“Here.” She hands him the box of edibles and a jar of brewed tea. “Traditional rituals last for ten hours with three rounds of peyote and meditation. I’ve only done one dose before, so if I’m still here and semi-lucid, I want to try for more.”

“But you already have these effects with the minimal amount you take.”

“I think it’s important to stick to the ritual as much as we can. I trust Awena.” 

Steve nods in understanding. She had prepared them for this ritual; she feels comforted knowing she’ll be in safe hands.

A low hum catches her attention. Not the frequency, but something out of the ordinary. She watches the team set up the equipment while listening intently to the background noise. It pulsates again, and she senses it this time. It seemed less vibrational, not like the frequency that she could feel radiating through the ground. It was almost as if the atmosphere itself carried the signal.

“Start the recordings,” Cass says as she suddenly recognizes her state of being. The rhythmic drumming fills the vast area, the familiar frequency starting up a moment later. The hum pulsates again, bringing her to face the Triangle with the Homestead far up the road. 

A whisper of something makes her turn around, the noises around her fading into the background, only the rhythm of the frequency pulsing through her. She stays still for a moment, listening to the trees, the kinetic energy in the air. The hairs on her arms stand straight just as she hears another whisper—

She’s pulled to the dilapidated Homestead, breaking out into a run. Time shifts and she’s suddenly there, standing on the road, just behind the threshold. A rhythmic pulsating seems to emit from the second story, hues of blue and green beginning to stand out against the ruins. A thread of light pulls from her chest, its ethereal movement beckoning her across the dirt barrier.

A light breeze brushes against her as she enters the building. Hints of tobacco and sage fill the gentle rush of air, along with something she can’t quite place… an evocation of some lost memory. The building seems to just keep going, endlessly following the dreamlike light and exploring ruined room after ruined room. 

The top floor opens up to the vast landscape, walls fallen to reveal the sprawling greenery of the ranch. The light seems to stop at the center of the room, the epicenter of the pulsating vibration she’s felt. Heat sprawls across her, the frequency growing stronger.

She steps into the light. 

“How’re you doing, Cassie?” he asks, sitting down on the ground beside her. 

“Okay,” she replies, still focused on finishing the picture she’s drawing with chalk. 

“What’re you drawing?”

“My dream last night.” She finishes two circles in different shades of blues and greens.

“Did the shapes do anything?”

She ponders for a moment. “The colors were glowing and shiny. The circles were like the ones we see in the sky sometimes. They whisper the same way.”

“Were you here on the ranch in your dream?”

She shakes her head. “No. It was more rocky. But it wasn’t scary.”

“Do you remember anything else?”

She shifts to another empty space on the concrete and starts drawing a new picture. She colors a purple rectangle, tracing the outline with a light pink, blending the two colors together. “I think I could see something… There were a lot of little blue shapes that looked like a big square, maybe.” 

She colors the center of the bigger circle a bright white. With her fist, she drags the white chalk across the two outlines, the white fading into gray and hints of pastel blue. 

“Could you draw what you saw?”

With the blue chalk, she draws small circles that form a cube shape. “I don’t think they were from now, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“The future can see us.”

Deafening vibrational droning emits from the sky like a klaxon warning. Cass crumbles at the sudden burst of sound thundering through her chest, feeling dead grass and dirt under her palms. 

“Bucky!” she yells through the sound, sobbing as she tries to ground herself. 

She feels solid mass push against her as she melts into it, her limbs weak. Steady arms wrap around her and lift her off the hard ground, her face buried in something soft. 

The vibrational sound dissipates into a distant echo, the silence of the area ringing in her ears. Heavy breathing brushes the top of her head, sighing in relief and she melts into him more. 

“Are you okay?” He whispers against her temple, his grip on her tense. 

She nods, unable to speak. The same sigh of relief leaves him as he shifts her in his grasp.

“You let her go through with it?” A frantic Helen directs at Bucky as she takes over assessing Cass on the ground. 

“It was my own choice to make,” Cass says finally, sitting up. 

“I have to get you to a hospital. You’re at risk of hyperthermia, and if I don’t get you medical treatment—”

“I’m not leaving the ranch. If I could make it through as a kid, I can do it now.”

Helen sighs, slightly defeated. “Okay. But if you go into cardiogenic shock, I’m flying you out of here.”

“Deal.” 

Helen leaves to meet Tony and Rhodes at one of the equipment stations while Bucky supports Cass as they make their way to the rest of the team. By now, a large group of individuals in an array of military dress uniforms, OCP, some with Space Force or Air Force insignia are all running between five other equipment setups with five or six personnel each. A couple officers sporting Master Sergeant patches are talking with Rhodes and Sam a hundred yards away.

“When did the cavalry show up?” 

“Not long after you started.” Bucky helps her down in a chair beside one of the main monitors. 

“It’s kind of intense.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “Even during my time with DOD, I haven’t seen something like this.”

“I’m scared to ask what you all saw.”

“It was… a lot. How are you feeling?”

“I feel like my body temp is still too high, but okay otherwise. A little loopy.”

He chuckles. “Your eyes are still quite dilated. I’m surprised you’re so lucid.”

“I just hope this conversation is real and I’m not just imagining it.”

He laughs lightly. “If not, it means you’re dreaming about me, and I kind of like that.”

She laughs and bumps his arm playfully. She drinks more peyote tea and eats one of the button cookies while she watches Bucky click around the monitor, looking over data. “What did you see? For real.”

He pauses, a sigh on his lips, before he sits in a chair facing her. It takes him a few moments to say something. “Everything was smooth in the beginning. We started the recordings, watched you for a moment before you sprinted to the Homestead. I watched you from the ground, climbing up to the second floor before you stopped. On the FLIR, I saw your form standing for a few moments before a bright white sphere faded into existence at the center of the floor. After a second more, you and the sphere disappeared completely. I ran into the house, but you were nowhere to be found. 

“We checked every camera, every movement across the ranch. I wanted to look in the well at the back of the Homestead to see if you fell in somehow, but the Geiger counter was skyrocketing, and I got sick while looking for you in the house. Steve had to pull me out.

“An hour passed, and you were still missing. We started getting some bizarre readings above the Triangle, similar to what we were able to trigger with rockets earlier but stronger. For the first time, we could see the blob in the sky—we’re calling it the Abstract. It just warped laser lights and smoke. It was emitting a low frequency that I could hear but no one else could, just the data being recorded. I had the feeling to run to the center of the Triangle just as the frequency became stronger, and in a sudden burst of green and blue light, you appeared in the center.

“I was scared to death, Cass. I couldn’t find any trace of you, and it terrified me. I kept thinking that this was it—that I had seen you for the last time. Then you suddenly appeared, crying my name, and I felt like I was going to collapse.”

He moves a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and she rests her cheek in his palm. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“No need to be sorry.” His thumb brushes the apple of her cheek. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Hmm.” She sighs and rests more heavily in his hand. 

“What happened to you?”

She feels the tea start to warm her thoughts and memory. “I saw myself as a kid. It wasn’t a memory or flashback—more like a window, almost. I was talking to Howard about a dream I had, and the way I described it felt so real. Like, if I could’ve moved or shift my focus from anywhere but the window, I might’ve seen what kid-me had. It was like a manifestation in a lucid dream. I was drawing something…” 

She looks over the table before Bucky grabs a pen and one of the notebooks. She roughly sketches out the drawings little Cass had done. “The circles were blueish, the rectangle was pink and lilac. One of them reminds me of something I saw in Awena’s journal. But it was something little Cass said that has stuck with me: ‘The future can see us’.”

His brows furrow. “You said it felt like a window?”

“Like I was seeing the past and the past could see me.” The humming starts again, both of their attentions being pulled to the Triangle. “Wait, you said you heard it, too?”

“Yeah,” he turns back to her. “Ever since you disappeared.”

“Hm. I don’t know what to make of that.”

“Just continue doing what feels natural.”

She leaves the monitor station and walks a bit further out in the field, Bucky following her. “Is it a physical thing? The Abstract?” 

“I don’t think so. I honestly think it’s something like a wormhole.”

“What if the Abstract is one?”

“It would change everything. Theory would have physical evidence, and the possibilities would be endless. But it wouldn’t explain what your part is in all of this.”

“Maybe that’s where I’ve been going. Through the wormhole, like a portal.”

“Maybe. It’s possible, theoretically. I can’t say, I wouldn’t be able to without experiencing what you do.”

“Come with me.” 

She leads him from the research groups across the fields towards the Homestead. For the first time, she feels the frequency radiate through him. It no longer has the sharp edge of panic that she had associated with it; it’s almost inviting. It grows stronger as she takes his hand, each step taking them farther from everyone, further into an iridescent ether.

He’s climbing up the Homestead steps now. The floor is empty, just looking out onto the mesa. But the frequency is vibrating through him, becoming overwhelmingly stronger as Cass comes to a stop near the center. She’s looking at him, gaze roaming over his features; his cerulean eyes, the pink hue in his cheeks, the softness of his lips. His hand in hers feels safe, like a tether. 

“Can you see it?”

A shimmering light at the center of the room captures hints of moonlight. “Yes,” he breathes, entranced by the anomaly. 

“What does it look like to you?”

“Like a dream I had when I was four. Like a glint off the Voyager 1 traveling across space.”

He reaches forward. With a whisper, the light disappears, the frequency fading with it. He takes a deep breath, like he’s leaving a trance. 

“Is this what you experience?”

“Something like it.”

… “Is this real?”

Suddenly, she wakes up with a violent breath. Frigid water fills her lungs, feeling of fire within her fading as she remains under the surface, breathing. From above, light rays cast through the waves, beckoning her from the depths. 

She finds herself in a large lake surrounded by a dark landscape. Saturated in water and confusion, she crawls onto a rocky shore, glimmering shades of pastel pink and lilac creating shadows across the rigid ground. Her attention is not on the rock formations that surround the body of water, but the ethereal call of a rectangular arch. 

The shape is massive in size, eclipsing her own form tenfold. Through it, she sees glimpses of what looks to be a vast observation deck. The pink light from the gateway illuminates the sleek floors, the colors fading into obsidian. The floor seemingly leads towards something bright—some pale blue hidden behind silver domed shutters. A telescope?

She clambers forward to touch the light, to fall through the gateway, but the cold depths of the water engulf her. A bright flash of pure blue bursts through her consciousness, a cacophony of light and sound. Gravity hits her with full force, feeling it grasp at her, calling her back to the earth. 

Cass lands in the center of the Triangle on the ranch, coughing and completely drenched. Yelling breaks out around her, familiar rough hands softly grasping her arms and pulling her from the center. 

“Please be real,” she buries into his shirt. He wraps them both in a warm blanket, holding her tight as they remain on the ground.

“I’m here,” he says, brushing the wet hair from her face. She finally meets his eyes, a wave of tears and a quiet sob escaping her. He cradles her head as she wraps her arm around his shoulders and neck, pulling him closer. “I’m here, I promise.”

There are countless things she wants to say to him—elucidate some of her experiences, tell him that she can’t distinguish reality from drug-induced spiritual trips, tell him his energy is a calling back to the earth. But the water had burned her throat and lungs, and she’s soaked through her clothes and his, and all she can focus on is how he’ll find her every time. 

He takes her from the ground to one of the stations, Steve and Sam meeting them halfway. Conversations happen around her, but she doesn’t hear any of them; she focuses on his hair at the nape of his neck under her fingertips, following the 4-7-8 method to calm her breathing. It was something Awena taught her when the nightmares became too real.

Bucky gently sets her down in a chair. “Can you hear me?”

She nods, sniffling into dry towels. “I— I don’t…”

“I know, it’s okay.” He pulls his chair to hers and takes her hands in his when she reaches for him. Four – seven – eight.

“I don’t know what’s real anymore… I hope you are.” She holds his hands a little tighter. Four – seven – eight. 

After a few moments, she grabs a pen and notepad from the table behind them and starts scrawling any details she can remember from both instances. She tries to link some of the images back to the flashbacks of memories she’s had, piecing together the bigger picture that’s been her whole life.

She thinks of Awena. Amá. How she could guide her through this, show her the way forward. Suddenly, she misses Awena even more now. Tears burn the edges of her eyes, swallowing hard as she mourns another piece of her mother that she’s held onto. 

“Cass?” Bucky’s voice brings her attention back. 

“Sorry,” she says finally. “Just a lot to process.”

“It’s okay. It’ll take time.”

“I hope you’re able to get something out of these.” She sets the pad of notes on the desk.

Bucky reads over her notes. “What do you think is on the other side?”

She recalls the previous experience, looking through the rectangular gateway. “It looked like a train station with telescope covers, honestly. Like it opened up to some massive observation deck. But I have no clue what it could be.”

“What do you want it to be?”

She pauses. “I’m not sure. Awena did a lot of research into some metaphysical beliefs that theorized about experiences like this, of souls leaving different planes of existence in search for their true home. Maybe it’s something like that.”

“Do you feel like home is elsewhere?”

“No. But I want to find out anyway.”

“Hey, you two,” Sam says as he and Steve sit by them. “Feeling okay, Cass?”

“Sure. Only a little terrified.”

Sam chuckles. “To be expected. You’ll ‘boldly go where no man has gone before’.”

“Kirk would be proud.”

They laugh together. The scene feels surreal, dreamlike in a way that she senses a final resolve on the horizon. As Steve and Sam return to another of the stations, she takes Bucky’s hand again.

“I don’t know if there will be more.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think this is it.” Sorrow starts to rise in her. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to come back from this.”

“Then stay. Please.”

“You know it’s not that easy.”

“I know. But I can’t imagine the alternative.” Bucky’s eyes are full of concern, his entire being radiating with apprehension. 

“Bucky,” her voice wavers with her resolve. “Don’t you want to know? See what’s waiting for us out there?”

“Maybe we don’t find out. Maybe you stay safe here and we spend the next hundred years figuring out how to do this instead. We’ll be doing it anyway.”

“The ‘what ifs’ are too important. Everything I’ve been through, every moment of doubt and internalized frustration has led me here. I want to stay, I do, Bucky, but I can’t.” She’s struck by how much she feels for him, how unlucky it is to realize such strong feelings before the end. 

“Okay,” he says quietly. “I believe in you. I’ll follow you through this.”

Tears prick her eyes again. She’s willing to sacrifice everything to see this through to the end. 

Bucky, however, looks like he’s about to sacrifice everything of his for her. She sees the fear and desperation in his expression, the longing that is already starting to take hold. Affection blooms within her, something soft as she runs her fingertips over his palm.

“Adventurous and creative,” she traces the head line in his palm. “Love line shows you’re cautious in relationships because you feel everything so deeply. Multiple lifelines means paradoxical nature,” she brushes over them softly, feeling his pulse. “Strong fate line. Ambition. Success. Hope.”

His eyes search hers for a hint of hesitation, a question of if this is what she wanted to do, anything that would tell him to wait, to think of another way to do this. But he sees her determination, a calm resolution.

“Hopefully, that means I can get you home.”

For perhaps the last time, they embrace each other tightly. She imprints herself on him, memorizing the way his arms wrap around her, the feeling of his skin under her hands. He buries his face in her hair to remember the scent of her, the gravity of her in his arms. He wants to infuse her with all the love he has for her, give her a sense of grounding, something to call her back to him from across the stars.

Cass walks to the center of the Triangle and sits on the ground, facing the direction towards home. Meditatively, she finishes the final amount of ritual peyote. She grips her fists tightly to cease their shaking, the fear of the situation making it difficult to calm herself. She’s hard in her resolve, but she’s still human—still terrified to face death and the unknown. She holds onto the promise of returning home.

Her extremities start becoming fuzzy and warm, but her heart aches. These people that she’s spent the summer with, going through these unearthly circumstances together, have become more than family. She can’t imagine what will be waiting for her on the other side, but a piece of her will remain here. With them.

Bucky sits beside her once more, perhaps for the last time.

“Can you tell me a soft memory?”

His heart breaks a little more as he takes her hand. “When I was eight, our parents took us to our museum of natural science, partially because my younger sister Rebecca had gotten into cetology suddenly, but also because they had just opened their planetarium.

“The show we watched was like a visual passport through the universe, and I just remember being so starstruck. Tracking the planets and constellations through a telescope at home was one thing, but this was something else. It just stuck with me. I ended up volunteering there when I got older.

“I’ll replay the show in my mind sometimes. It’s a comforting memory I shared with my dad that I always come back to when everything just feels too much.”

She smiles softly, leaning a bit more into him. “I wish I could’ve known you for a lifetime.”

The low vibrational hum rises again, emitting from the Abstract above them. Her eyes flash to Bucky, his expression of recognition answering the question she held onto.

“You feel it, too?”

“Yes.” She’s comforted knowing the truth.

“We have activity here!” Peter yells across the area. “Spectrum analyzer is off the charts directly in the Triangle!”

A similar beam of soft light pulls at her as she stands from the ground. Its presence is familiar, a beckoning connected to the past, the cool water and incandescent pastels and pale blues.

“Bucky,” her voice wavers. “Whatever happens next, no matter what, you have to amplify the frequency. I know it’ll be important.”

“I promise. No matter what.”

She crashes into him again, wrapping her arms tightly around him, almost hoping he could be an anchor to keep her here. He presses a kiss to her temple before taking a step back, leaving her under the Abstract alone.

The scent of gunpowder catches her attention suddenly. A dusty, metallic smell that lingered on her skin and hair when she’d be woken up by Awena on the ranch. It’s faint, almost like a calling from a distant life and lost lands.

The beam of light illuminates the area, saturating the early morning sky with blinding shades of pink. Bucky takes steps back, shielding his eyes from the light as the frequency grows stronger, reverberating through him.

A pulse of energy from the Abstract penetrates the ground, shaking the earth beneath them. Disoriented, Bucky sees Sam and Steve fall beside him. Darkness blurs their periphery, dust rising with their eyes.

Noncorporeal iterations of Cass’s form echo above her suspended body in varying degrees of light and transparency. Time slows and isolates around them, a vacuum of silence engulfing the area. He exhales in the silence, and the forms collapse into her with force in an explosion of color and light, sound crashing in at the same moment. Through the intensity, Bucky watches a singular flash of blue and violet light swallowed by the Abstract.

Everything grows quiet. Slowly, everyone rises from the ground, a breeze through the trees becoming the only sound around them, other than their own heavy breathing.

Bucky immediately runs, stumbling his way to the Triangle, desperate to see a sign of Cass, the scent of gunpowder stinging his nose.

“Amplify the frequency!” His promise to her outweighs his concern. He keeps his eyes on the Abstract for any sign of her. Moments after the frequency starts, kinetic energy spreads across the sky like white lightning. White fire. Two bright orbs appear from the Abstract, one an electric blue and the other a vibrant lilac. Bucky can see shimmers of something in them, not just the lights themselves like every other time before. A rocky landscape in the blue, and the telescope covers Cass saw. Both are hazy, flickering in and out of existence until they, too, disappear, leaving only silence in their wake.

Steve grips Bucky’s shoulder, bringing him from the ground. The frequency subsides, growing still before disappearing. In a daze, he’s pulled away from the area and to one of their equipment stations.

An hour passes, then two. The sun rises and he’s still alone, still waiting for her.

“You need sleep,” Sam says wearily as he sits in the chair beside him.

“What if she comes back when I’m not here?”

“Then we’ll immediately get you. But you have to take care of yourself. For her.”

“I know,” he confesses quietly. Reluctantly, he follows Sam to the UTV, numb as he’s taken from the area to the main house. He goes through the motions until he slips into an exhaustive sleep.

Nightmares of losing Cass haunt his dreams, bringing him to consciousness in a panic. Only a few hours have passed, and with no sign of her, Bucky finds renewed determination to analyze as much of the data as he can.

“We’ve analyzed what we could from the water-like substance Cass brought back with her,” Steve explains in the command center. “Based on the perfluorochemical compounds, it seems like it’s some kind of liquid breathing fluid, not water. It’s probably what helped her survive whatever she went through on the other side.”

“We’ve also been receiving radio transmissions from somewhere in deep space. They match the ones Howard had noted in his studies. I’ve contacted Bruce to gather what data he can from the Allen Telescope Array and DSN at Goldstone.” Sam reassures Bucky that they’ll find answers, and despite the hole in his chest, he holds onto hope. 

A week passes, and there’s no sign of Cass or other activity from the Abstract. He spends as much time as he can going through the recordings, analyzing data and metadata. He watches out the windows and motion cameras, sleeps restlessly, wishing to see her on distant horizons. 

Bruce returns with recordings of a transmission dating back to the exact moment the light burst through the Abstract, right when Cass disappeared. 

The transmission is encoded in binary data. He converts the signal to hexadecimal—

34 38 20 36 39 20 32 30 20 34 32 20 37 35 20 36 33 20 36 42 20 37 39

Then translates the code using ASCII—

48 69 20 42 75 63 6B 79

Finally, on the screen, the translated text appears:

HI BUCKY

· ─────── ·༓· ─────── · ·

THE BREACH