On the ride back to town, Cassandra was preoccupied and distracted-behaviour that did not go unnoticed by her coworkers in the van.
“You’re a quiet one today,” declared Anita, one of the undergrads the dig relied on for donkeywork.
“Am I?” wondered Cass. “Sorry.”
“Anything the matter?”
“I guess I’m just a little tired.”
“Tell me about it. Mac had us wrestling bags of rubble all afternoon.”
“Hmm.” Cassandra gazed out the van window at the passing scenery, all red and gold and purple in the early evening light. “It really is a beautiful landscape,” she said absently.
Anita gazed at her for a moment. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah, fine. Why shouldn’t I be?”
“I thought Greenough might have got to you with this news about shutting down the dig.”
“I suppose so…” She returned to her contemplation of the skyline with its monumental sandstone rock stacks.
A little while later the van convoy pulled into the motel parking lot.
“Hey, Cass-you going over to Red Rocks with us?” called Anita as the crew disembarked and headed off across the parking lot. Red Rocks served cheap tacos and fizzy beer and was the official digger watering hole.
“Yeah, later, I guess,” replied Cassandra, walking away. “You guys go on without me.”
She picked up her key from the front desk and meandered to her room. The King’s Arms motel was a tired old fleapit, but it was inexpensive by Sedona standards. Moreover, it was about the only place in town halfway eager to cater to the diggers. The lobby smelled of damp dog ineffectively masked by Pine-Sol; the result was acrid. This sucks, she thought, not for the first time. To be a poor academic in a resort for wealthy tourists was, contrary to any expectations, no picnic. You couldn’t turn around without being reminded that you didn’t belong and, moreover, were just taking up space that could be better used by paying customers.
Once in her room, she threw herself down on the sagging bed and stared up at the ceiling, her thoughts whirling in unison with the creaky ceiling fan. She took her time showering and changing, and by the time she arrived at Red Rocks the party was in full swing. The worker bees were celebrating the fact that they had just received at least two, and maybe three, whole days off from the dig. Out of deference to the Native American sensitivities and a wish to avoid confrontation with Senator Rodriguez and thereby deny him a soapbox, Joe Greenough had announced that they would suspend operations over the weekend. After a beer and a handful of nachos, Cassandra called it a night, made her excuses, and sneaked away. She walked back to the motel by herself, outwardly calm, inwardly a raging turmoil of half-formed thoughts and wild speculations.
She closed the door to her room, picked up the phone, dialled, and pressed the receiver to her ear while the dial tone rang again and again. When no one answered, she hung up and turned on the TV. She sat in bed watching mindless sitcoms for an hour or so, then picked up the phone again.
This time it was answered on the fourth ring. “Hello, this is Tony-speak to me.”
“Dad?”
“Cassie? Is that you? What’s wrong?”
“It’s me. Does anything have to be wrong for a girl to call her father?”
“No, no-not at all, honey,” he replied quickly. “It’s just thatdo you know what time it is?”
“Uh-um.” Cass paused. “Is it late? Sorry, I forget about the time difference.”
“No problem, sweetie. I’m glad you called. What’s up?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry. Go back to sleep. Everything’s fine. I’ll call back another time.”
“Cassandra,” her father said in a tone of voice he used when he was serious. “What is it? I’m here to help.”
She drew a deep breath. “Dad, ever have one of those days when the whole world turned upside down?”
“Of course, dear heart. That happened to me last Thursday.”
Cass could hear him move across the room and settle into his big leather chair.
“So tell me about it. What’s turned your world upside down?”
“Not just my world, Dad,” Cass told him. “Everybody’s world. In fact, the entire universe has come unhinged, or disconnected, or-I don’t know what. It’s just so weird. It’s inexplicable.”
“Well”-his laugh was a soothing sound, gentle and familiar“ you’re going to have to try, or we’re not going to get very far.”
“That’s just it. I don’t know how to explain.”
“Okay.”
She could hear him putting on his scientist hat.
“Don’t analyse anything, just start at the beginning. And don’t skip anything. What are we dealing with?” At her pause, he added, “Don’t think-just speak. Animal, vegetable, or mineral?”
“You know the vortexes?” she asked. “The famous Sedona Vortexes?”
“I’m familiar with the term-from what you’ve told me I assumed it was nothing but a racket hyped up by the locals to bring in the tourist trade-exploitative hooey.”
“I suppose… ” Cassandra sighed.
It was true; the Sedona Vortexes had been tarred with the tired old brush of New Age claptrap. Whatever the scientific legitimacy-if there was even a molecule of fact in the concept-the enterprise was now the hobbyhorse of aging hippies, earth goddess devotees, wannabe mystics, and assorted kooks, quacks, and fraudsters. Whether they existed or not, vortexes were grand for the Sedona economy: everything from Vortex Jeep Rides and Vortex Helicopter Tours to Vortex Psychic Readings and Vortex Energised Jewellery was to be had for a nifty price.
“Are we talking about the same thing?” her father asked.
“Yes, but something happened today-something really weird. I guess you’d call it a natural phenomenon-but of an order I have never seen before.”
“Excellent!” Before she could respond, he rushed on. “Now, where were you? What were you doing when you observed this phenomenon?”
She explained about her routine, the dig site, what she was doing, and went on to describe following Friday into the canyon. When it came to what happened next, she faltered.
“Yes, yes, go on,” her father urged. “Don’t think, just blurt it out.”
“You know how all your buddies are always talking about those extra dimensions of the universe?”
“Mathematical dimensions, yes.”
“Well, what if they weren’t merely mathematical?” She took a breath and then plunged in. “Dad, I think I travelled to a different dimension.”
This admission was met by silence on the other end of the line.
“Dad? Still there?”
“You mean… ” he began, then paused and started again. “Exactly what do you mean?”
“Only that one second I was in the canyon being pelted by sand and wind and rain, and the next I was… Dad, I was standing on an alluvial pan of volcanic cinders-no canyon, no cacti, no nothing- only lines stretching to the horizon in every direction.”
“Define lines,” her father said after a moment.
“Lines-you know. Like someone had taken a snow shovel and dug a shallow trough through the cinders across the plain, but not arbitrary or haphazard. These lines were absolutely straight, and they went on for miles.”
Again there was silence. Finally he said, “Was it hot today? I mean, hotter than usual? Are you drinking enough water out there?”
“Dad,” Cassandra said, exasperation edging into her tone, “I am a seasoned pro-I don’t get sunstroke. Okay? You think I was hallucinating?” Her voice rose higher. “It was not an hallucination or food poisoning or malaria. I’m not having my period. It was real. It happened.”
“I wasn’t judging you, Cass,” he protested. “I’m on your side. But we have to examine every possibility. Rule things out.”
“You’re right,” she sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s just that the more I think about it, the more rattled I get. At the time it was weird enough, but now… ”
“You said Friday was with you. You followed him and met him in this other dimension, and then what?”