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Nervous, childlike excitement courses through Brad as he coasts down Palisades Interstate Parkway, heading North. It’s been years since he’s been behind the steering wheel of a car, but any feeling of apprehension he may have escapes him as the city traffic and looming buildings fade into splendid greenery and open roads. As trees rush by and the rhythm of highway traffic begins to resonate within him, his mind turns toward the events of the week prior.

He’d heard a little bit about the Hedge before from Dave when they did the mushroom-eating experiment, but nothing could’ve prepared him to actually go there. He still got a headache anytime he tried to remember the weird infinite forest they’d seen, and the sight of Katee and Tim tearing each other apart was a memory that’d never leave him. Then there was that vision of Arcadia burning. Whose perspective had that been from, and what had he been feeling? Was it self-satisfaction at being right, or was it despondency at not being able to stop it from happening? Whichever it was, Brad had almost felt possessed in that moment.

The stress of this most recent experience, combined with his earnest disappointment that the mission did not, in fact, entail him going to camp, had motivated Brad to take a weekend trip up to Harriman State Park for a bit of R&R. Given his own lack of a car, he’d smooth talked a friend from SEIU 32BJ into lending him theirs and had spent the afternoon prior pulling camping gear from storage and jamming it into the borrowed hooptie. He had briefly considered inviting Dave out on the trip, but given everything popping off at Contingent HQ, Brad decided it would be best to let him focus on his work. Besides, he could really use the alone time after all that had happened in the past few months.

Pulling into his spot at the Beaver Pond Campground, Brad jumps out and opens the trunk, causing a mountain of hiking gear and cooking equipment to cascade out onto the ground. As he pulls the tent out of its bag and begins building the frame, a sudden sadness overcomes him. Foggy memories of him and his father start to fill his head. They’d used to visit the park every summer and go fishing out on Lake Welch, play volleyball on the beach, reminisce by the fireside at night, all the good summer pastimes. For a moment, the nostalgia of it overwhelms him before he takes a deep breath and pushes it down. Whoever his dad had been before, he wasn’t worth wasting thoughts on now.

Brad can’t really recall why, but his dad had grown shitty and bitter over the years. It started with a few drinks here and there, an off-putting comment towards Brad now and then, but that quickly grew into full-blown abuse. Now the two didn’t even talk, and as far as Brad was concerned, that was for the best. Pushing those thoughts aside, though, he can swear that there was a third person that would come camping with them too. Brief ghosts of recollection echo in his head: someone singing by the campfire, a hand putting sunscreen on his back, a voice badgering him to put on bug repellent. However, as he tries to focus on the memories, Brad finds himself developing a headache and spacing out.

Unable to recall anything more, Brad focuses back on the tent, setting it up before organizing the rest of his gear and supplies. Finishing up, he decides to go for a hike, trading his flip-flops for boots and throwing on a backpack. As the surrounding nature envelops him, Brad lets out a small laugh. “Almost reminds me of being in that fantasy place with Dr. Cartwright and the others. What was it they called me? A skink? What a weird name for a lizard” he says aloud to himself as he continues down the trail. As he walks, he thinks, “Speaking of Dr. Cartwright, I should talk to her more often. She was the first one to show concern for me, plus she’s a shrink, so maybe she can help me process some of what’s been happenin’ lately.”

Brad continues his hike along the Suffern-Bear Mountain trail for a handful of miles. As he notices the sun beginning to set in the early autumn sky, he decides to make his way to the Cats Elbow overlook to watch the sunset. Producing a collapsable stool and a thermos, he settles in as the sun sets on the horizon, casting golden hues of light across the now cerulean sky as it ultimately gives way to an ocean of stars above. “I’d forgotten how stifling the city can be”, he mutters as he pours himself a cup of warm tea.

“Light pollution is a bitch, ain’t it?”, a voice behind him rings out. As Brad turns, there’s now another man also upon the Cats Elbow. It’s unclear what’s more worn and tattered, the camping chair or the man sitting on it, a wiry dude, long with a face that could easily be twenty-five or sixty. The only other notable feature is a rumpled flannel over a U.S Fishing and Wildlife Service t-shirt. “Name’s Indy”, the man says in an accent that’s Southern? Brad can’t really say.

Jumping at the sudden appearance of the enigma of a man before him, Brad instinctually reaches for the bear spray in his backpack before clocking the USFWS shirt. “Fuck, you really shouldn’t sneak up on a guy like that”, Brad says, relaxing a little before continuing, “You been here the whole time? I coulda’ sworn I was the only one out here.” After a moment, he hesitantly adds, “My name’s…Bradley. Would uh, you like some tea, I guess? I’ve got plenty to share.”

A knowing grin spreads across Indy’s long face, “It’s a free country, ain’t it?”, he asks before saying, “but nah, just came up the trail. And I would. I appreciate the hospitality.” The odd man rises before closing the distance, offering up a copper cup to be filled.

Leaning in to abide, Brad tenses as a stab of pain wracks through his torso, his stomach violently twisting itself into knots. The realization dawns on him that the man…no, not a man…the thing before him is something much, much older and desperately more powerful than anything he’s met during his short time in Contingent. Fighting through the sensation, he finishes pouring the drink before pulling back and meekly saying, “You’re uh, not from around here, are you? Is there something I can help you with?”

Indy tilts his head as if considering something. “For varying definitions of here, I do suppose I’m not from here”, he notes before moving back to his camping chair. “But, I don’t need help, haven’t needed help in a long time. Was just curious about the youngin’ who was looking through my eyes”, he says before calmly sipping from his cup.

Screwing up his face into a semi-pensive look, a few moments pass as Brad begins to connect the dots. “Oh…oh shit”, he says, his eyes widening, “You’re the one that tried to warn Arcadia it was gonna burn, aren’t you? Look, I…I promise I wasn’t meaning to intrude or anything, it just kinda happens from time to time…the visions, I mean.” Letting the words hang in the air for what feels like an eternity, he adds, “I don’t mean to offend, but…are you also the thing with the red eyes I’ve been seein’ so much lately?”

Indy’s grin becomes impossibly wide. “Oh come now, Bradley, I think you know who I am. The titles y’all gave me after my banishment are my favorite”, he says, sitting on the rickety chair like a throne. In the glint of his eyes is an impossible, terrifyingly perfect red.

His blood freezing in direct proportion to Indy’s grin, Brad clenches his jaw as his suspicions are confirmed. “So, if that’s the case”, a twinge of unease bleeding into his voice, “then why did you help me back in the hedge? You were the dog weren’t you, the one that led me through the fog?”

“No, no, that was all the pup. An impressive will on that one. No, you were following my trail back to Arcadia. It’s my flame, so to speak…the light that beckons me home”, he replies, looking over to the expansive sky before continuing, “I smell a need on you. Old habits, you see. I warn you that while I am old…I don’t have that same sway I once did. Not for nothin’, mind you. I’m not too out of practice”

Relaxing a little, Brad lets the words resonate with him before replying, “Yeah, I could definitely use a hand. I’m way in over my head. Have been for months now, if I’m bein’ honest; just been too stubborn to admit it.” Looking up at the sky, the light of the stars dance overhead, faintly reminding Brad of the first time he’d seen Indy’s true form. “From what little I understand, you can see the future, or at least bits of it. If I made a deal…offered to give up somethin’ of equal value…d’ya think you can help my friends out? I thought I was made of sterner stuff, but I don’t think I have what it takes to be on the ground helpin’ em’ myself” he says, giving Indy a melancholic smile.

Indy pauses a moment, returning Brad’s smile before nodding and saying, “To give them the future, I’ll need a future. You sure it’s worth it?”

Brad stands up, putting his back to Indy as he moves closer to the edge of the overlook. His eyes resting on the expanse of the dark forest before him, he replies, “I remember my 8th-grade teacher read a poem once, something about raging against the dyin’ of the light. Well, from what little I understand, the light’s dyin’ real quick, and I have to do whatever I can to stop it. So yeah, I’m sure it’s worth it, no matter what happens”, turning to look back at Indy as the words leave his mouth.

As Brad does so, he suddenly finds himself a voyeur in his own past, a distant observer watching a stupid teenage version of himself sneaking into the waterpark with his friends. Time skips forward and he sees something from the deep end of a pool grasping towards his friend, Jackson…except instead of watching in terror like last time, this younger…and suddenly braver…Brad charges in with a pool noodle, hurriedly smacking the thing as it swims toward the other boy. This gives Jackson just enough time to scramble back onto the concrete, both he and Brad booking it away from the pool, screaming.

Following the event, Brad and Jackson spend a few weeks trying to forget about the traumatic episode, but can’t shake it off. They start to tell anyone who’ll listen about it, but no one else believes the two, leaving them only with each other for comfort. Jackson always had his nose in a book, and after many interlibrary loan requests found out that what they had escaped from was a kelpie. With this knowledge in hand, the pair became increasingly skeptical. If kelpies are real, what else could be out there? Brad and Jackson continued on to spend the next 15 years answering this question, becoming monster hunters and helping those who couldn’t help themselves until they found themselves at the end of the world. It’s unlikely they’ll make it, but Jackson smiles at this braver and bolder Bradley. At least, at the end of everything, they’ll have each other.

And just like that, the vision is gone, consumed by an all-encompassing darkness, a true and perfect void. From this, a light comes forth, beautiful, perfect, terrifying, horrific, and…red. Bradley becomes unable to comprehend the full breadth of the eyes surrounding him now, staring him down as they coalesce and weave into a pair of giant wings. Connected to these is a being that looks nothing like the worn southern man that had sat before him moments prior, but who on a fundamental level Brad understands is Indy. There’s no longer a face capable of producing recognizably human expressions, yet Brad can feel a sense of sympathy permeating forth.

As if waking up from a dream, Brad finds himself back at his campsite, safe and sound in the confines of his tent. Unzipping the door, he steps outside and sits by a dwindling campfire he has no memory of building. Staring into the flames, a profound sense of loss overcomes him as he subconsciously mourns the loss of the future that could have been. Yet, at the same time, a small blossom of content forms in his chest from the knowledge that there’s a better chance than before that he’ll live to see this one.

When Derek arrived at CubeSmart, a small, lumpy brown paper envelope sat in his Inbox. Opening it, a set of keys and an ID badge tumbled out. James Wright’s photo and name stared back up at him.

Thank you for everything. I’m proud of what I accomplished here with Contingent, but I need to handle something personal, and I don’t know how long that will take. Effective immediately, I resign from the Contingent. Never stop fighting for those who can’t.

- James Wright

Tucked into the alcove at the entrance to the Starr Barr sat a very particular potted plant. The colors, the shapes, it all seemed more than plants were meant to be. It was barely contained in the handmade ceramic pot that someone had inlaid with bits of glass. A note was tucked under its base. Written in a blocky script with a carpenter’s pencil read a message to Persephone.

Something has happened that I need to address. It will take me away from here for a while, maybe forever. But it’s important and I need to see this through.

Please look after them as well as you have the Ficus. I think they’ll be happy here.

- James

Sidling his way through Contingent HQ, Brad makes his way down to the fifth floor with an air of nervous excitation about him. Things have been on the up and up for him, and following the general success of the previous operation, he’d finally been given the chance to formally join a division of the Contingent. After some not-so-careful consideration, he decided to join Human Resources, specifically as a facilitator. This was partly because it gave him an excuse to see more of Director Mayo, who had strangely captivated him since his first visit to HQ, but also because it gave him a better chance at finding the source of the red eyes that had been haunting him.

More important than any of this, however, is why he’s currently heading to R&D. A few days earlier, he and James had returned from their mission to Madame Alexander’s Doll Museum, Factory, and Hospital with a number of crates containing pristine dolls. Unsure of what to do with them, yet knowing that they were likely related to the omni-limbed monstrosity of a mannequin they had defeated, the two delivered the boxes to R&D for further investigation. Wanting to know more about the dolls themselves, and potentially with some ulterior motives in mind, Brad had decided to pay a visit to Dave as he’d been assigned to the project.

Stepping out of the elevator, Brad wanders past a series of examination rooms, each containing engineers and scientists conducting increasingly mystifying experiments. He eventually finds himself standing outside of a surgical suite, and peering through the window, he sees Dave adorned in a full surgical getup standing over a table with a doll on it. Giving a polite knock before poking his head through the door, Brad gives a hearty smile as he says, “Mind if I interrupt ya for a moment? I got a couple of questions about the uh…assets…that James and I retrieved, and about a few other things.”

Looking away from the tiny plastic figure, Dave turns to Brad, his face partially obscured by a pair of surgical loupes and a face shield. “Oh, Bradley! Yes, hello, um…give me just a minute to wrap this up, and I’ll be right with you. Feel free to have a seat while you wait, though try to avoid touching anything. Cross-contamination is an ever-present adversary!” Dave replies chipperly before refocusing his attention on the doll.

Brad watches with mild bemusement as Dave begins to surgically dismember it, fresh emesis basins resting nearby, ready to receive the bits and pieces. As Dave removes the first arm though, Brad’s bemusement quickly turns to mild horror. Glimpsing the doll’s shoulder socket, he sees an unnatural combination of gears, flesh, and nesting material writhing within before the arm swiftly snaps from Daves’s grasp. Tendons eerily stretch out from the body of the doll, embracing the arm as it begins to reconnect with a series of sickening sounds.

Sighing, Dave sets down his scalpel in exasperation. “That’s the third time it’s done that. Seems like I just can’t find a way to keep that thing separated.” Standing and doffing his surgical equipment, he says, “I could use a break and some coffee, though, so why don’t we take this conversation back to my office?”, before heading for the door.

The two make their way there, Brad taking a seat as Dave begins spooning grounds into a filter. “Dr. Sandoval has had me at this since the two of you dropped them off”, Dave says he fills the coffee maker with water and starts it. Taking a seat across from Brad, he continues, “Surprisingly, though, despite the occasional setback like what you just saw, I’ve managed to make some headway, so I’m happy to share what I can”, a smile replacing his previous exasperation.

Leaning forward in his chair, Brad returns the smile before saying “I guess the easiest question, well, at least to ask I suppose, is what the point of the dolls even is? They were the only pristine thing in that nightmare of a factory. When I fell into a crate of ‘em, they all snapped to look at me, almost like they were alive”, as goosebumps form on his skin as the memory flashes in his mind.

Dave twiddles his thumbs, listening intently before replying. “Well, based upon the notes Chuck gave me, as well as the dolls themselves, it seems they’re essentially supposed to be watchers, but on a smaller scale. They’re like cherubs if that’s an easier interpretation.” Resting a hand under his chin, he continues, “The thing is though, these are sort of a blank slate. They have no purpose beyond what they were built to be, a doll. Now, I’m not sure if I’d be passing these out to my niece or nephew, but they’re pretty harmless…well, unless you take them apart, as you’ve seen.”

“Okay, I think I kinda get it. So the weird little things are made just to watch people? I think that only makes me feel even more creeped out by ‘em. And here I thought cherubs were supposed to be cute little baby angels", Brad responds, a hint of discomfort on his face.

A loud beep sounds through the room as the coffee maker completes its task. Dave stands and produces two mugs from a nearby cabinet, one with a black silhouette of bigfoot and the other with a picture of a proton framed by the words “stay positive!”. He swiftly fills both before setting the bigfoot one in front of Brad along with a bottle of powdered creamer and a bowl of sugar cubes.

Brad pours a healthy portion of creamer into his mug alongside three cubes of sugar, stirring it while saying, “So the next question I’ve got is about another fella that was there with us, a uh, Brad Zaggins. While we were leavin’, he seemed like he was almost…transfixed by the dolls. Like, he was stackin’ ‘em back up and his eyes were doin’ this weird clockwork thing. Any idea what that could be?” Brad says, fidgeting with his mug as he awaits a response.

Placing two sugar cubes in his own mug, Dave stirs it, lost in thought as he mumbles, “So that’s how you like your coffee, good to know.” Realizing he’s said this aloud, he quickly fumbles out a response, remarking “Hmm, oh! I’ve heard of this. Obviously, I haven’t seen Mr. Zaggins, so don’t quote me on this, but he’s most likely Stigmatic. Essentially, when a person…interacts…with a piece of ‘infrastructure’ and lives to tell the tale, they can become more sensitive to it in the future.”

Raising an eyebrow at the coffee remark, Brad replies “Oh okay, so he’s not possessed or anything like that, just easily influenced, gotcha. I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t in any immediate danger, so thanks.” Taking on a more serious air, he continues, “Speakin’ of danger, though, I have one last thing, more on a personal note. I think I mentioned it when you were asking me questions after I ate that mushroom, but I’ve been seein’ these red eyes a lot recently. I don’t really know how best to describe ‘em, but they’re the reddest things I’ve ever seen, and I can’t look away from ‘em when they show up.”

Having recovered from his momentary embarrassment, Dave takes a long sip from his mug and presses forward, replying, “Red eyes? Hmm, there are quite a lot of phenomena with red eyes. Really red is a new data point, though. I can do some digging, but this may call for field research. If you can think of anything that happens in conjunction with the red eyes, or where you were when the first occurred, it might help me narrow it down.”

Thinking over the words, Brad responds, “Yeah, both times I’ve seen ‘em, whatever they’re attached to has been flyin’. Like the first time, the time in real life, I was catching a cab back from JFK with Nathan, and the thing they were a part of looked about the size of a drone or a helicopter. It was huge. During my vision, it was pretty similar, but that time it was keeping pace with a whole ass plane. I dunno if that’s ‘cause it was like a dream or somethin’, but it was really unnerving.”

At the mention of this, Dave’s eyes narrow slightly. He starts saying, “Huh…you know what it sort of reminds me of? Those stories of Mothman. You know, big flying thing with red eyes? But that’s in West Virginia I thought, why would that be in New York?”, before his words trail off into muttering. Catching himself, he turns back towards Brad and says “Sorry, that just sent my gears turning. That’s all I’ve got off the top of my head, though, but I’ll update you if anything else comes to mind.”

Their conversation seemingly concluded, Brad stands and starts heading for the door, saying, “I appreciate all the help, Dave. It means a lot.”

Standing and collecting the mugs in turn, Dave replies, “Yeah, of course, it’s what R&D is for after all. Well, one of the things it’s for, at least. But feel free to send along any other questions that come up, I’m always happy to help.”

Pausing at the threshold Brad turns around and gives Dave a sideways look before saying, “Actually, I do have one more question for ya. I figure I owe you a drink from the last time we did this, and I’m not sure what time you get off, but uh…why don’t we get dinner together? I know a good Greek place nearby; my treat for the string of questions”, with a half-grin.

Setting the mugs down and leaning back against his desk, Dave coolly looks Brad up and down. “I suppose Dr. Sandoval wouldn’t be too upset if I call out for the rest of the day. I have been working a lot of overtime after all.” Donning a facetiously contemplative expression, he continues, “And I suppose it would be rude to say no since you’re so graciously offering to pay. Hmm, I’ll tell you what. Give me 15 minutes and I’ll meet you in the call center. I’ll try not to keep you waiting”, returning Brad’s grin.

Doing his best to contain his excitement, Brad stutters out, “Great, yeah, awesome, 15 minutes then”, before eagerly making his way towards the elevator.

As it rises to the top floor, he reflects on how different his life has been over the past several months in between thoughts of his encroaching date. From Angie finding him on the night of the zombie attack to Nathan risking his life to save he and Dr. Cartwright to the showdown with the mannequin at the doll factory, everything has been more exciting. Not necessarily enjoyable, but definitely exciting. More important to Brad, though, is that it feels like he’s really contributing to something greater than himself. Having seen what the Contingent is capable of, the understanding that he can contribute to it, even if in a small way, stirs a sense of pride within him.

As the ding of the elevator arriving at its destination interrupts his thoughts, that pride evolves into a modicum of contentment as he enters the call center, the first he’s felt in longer than he can recall. Taking a seat in the waiting room of the call center, Brad starts to count the minutes as he awaits his tryst with Dave, giving himself a moment to appreciate the resurgence of this feeling.