Torenza: The Lost Frequency (Part 4 — Final Chapter)

Jonathan Reed had been missing for almost six months. Officially, the case was closed—another unexplained disappearance at Heathrow Airport. Unofficially, people whispered that he was taken by “the man from Gate 13.”

But Sarah Malik never believed in ghosts. She believed in signals—frequencies, data, patterns. And something about Jonathan’s disappearance pulsed at the edge of all three.

After he vanished, every electronic system in Terminal 3 experienced irregular surges. Frequencies spiked at 19.3 Hz, a low hum barely audible to human ears. When Sarah played back security recordings, the static between frames formed rhythmic waves—too structured to be random. Almost like a heartbeat.

And every few minutes, a voice bled through the noise: “Welcome home.”

She shouldn’t have gone back to Gate 13.

But obsession was a powerful thing.

The terminal was quiet that night, empty except for the muted buzz of fluorescent lights. Rain lashed against the massive glass windows, and beyond them, planes blinked in and out of the fog. She had Jonathan’s last report open on her tablet—its final line still burned in her mind:

“If Torenza exists, it’s not a place. It’s a frequency.”

She placed a small receiver on the counter, wired to capture electromagnetic fluctuations. The readings were faint at first. But at exactly 12:47 a.m., the static changed—steady pulses, rhythmic, intelligent. She turned the dial slowly.

A faint whisper slipped through: “Sarah…”

Her blood froze.

It was Jonathan’s voice.

The receiver shook violently. The sound deepened, layering itself with dozens of overlapping tones—voices, screams, echoes in languages she couldn’t name. The air shimmered like heat. When she looked up, she wasn’t alone.

Jonathan stood at the far end of the hall.

He looked alive. But different—his skin pale as frost, eyes glowing faintly blue, as if reflecting another sky.

“Jonathan?” she breathed.

He smiled faintly. “You shouldn’t have come back.”

Sarah stepped closer. “Where have you been? What is Torenza?”

Jonathan tilted his head, his movements almost mechanical. “It’s not where,” he said softly. “It’s when.”

Behind him, the air rippled like disturbed water. Shapes moved within the distortion—cities hanging upside down, silhouettes of planes frozen midair, lightning flashing inside clouds that weren’t really there. A second world, overlapping this one.

Sarah reached for her recorder. “You have to come with me, Jonathan. Whatever this is, we can fix it.”

His expression darkened. “You can’t fix something that was never broken. Torenza was always here. You just never tuned in.”

He raised his hand, and the walls around them began to hum. Every sign, every screen, every piece of metal vibrated. The word TORENZA appeared across the digital departure boards, replacing every flight code.

Sarah backed away. “You’re not him,” she whispered. “You’re something else.”

Jonathan’s face flickered, his image splitting into two, three, ten versions—each slightly distorted. “They opened the door,” the echoes said in unison. “Now it never closes.”

A blinding surge of light swept the hall. Sarah shielded her eyes—and when it faded, she was standing in a completely different terminal.

The signs were written in no known language. The air was silent—no engines, no footsteps, no wind. Outside the glass wall, endless clouds spiraled around a city suspended in the storm. Towering spires glowed with pale light. It was beautiful. And utterly wrong.

She whispered, “Torenza…”

Jonathan appeared beside her again, his tone almost calm. “You see it now. This is what lies between the frequencies. Every time a plane vanishes, every time someone disappears mid-flight… they don’t die. They shift here.”

“Why me?” Sarah asked.

Jonathan’s gaze softened, for the first time truly human. “Because you listened. You followed the signal. That’s how it begins.”

The floor beneath them trembled. Alarms—if they were alarms—echoed from the distance. Shadows moved beyond the glass: tall, thin figures made of static, walking as if drawn by invisible strings. Jonathan turned toward them.

“They don’t like interference,” he murmured. “You should go.”

“I can’t,” she said. “If I leave, no one will know.”

“You already left,” he said.

And before she could answer, the world fractured.

When Sarah opened her eyes, she was lying on the floor of Terminal 3. Morning light filtered through the glass roof. Her receiver was broken, its wires melted. The monitors flickered normally again, showing flight schedules. Gate 13 stood open.

She checked her watch. 12:47 a.m.—the same moment she’d arrived hours before.

Security rushed toward her. Supervisor Helen Carr’s sharp voice echoed: “Malik! What the hell happened here?”

Sarah couldn’t speak. Her throat was raw. But when Helen helped her stand, she noticed something on the counter.

A black passport.

She reached for it with trembling hands. The cover shimmered faintly.

Inside were her details—

Name: Sarah Malik

Nationality: Torenzian

The words on the final page pulsed faintly as if alive:

“The frequency is open.”

Helen frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sarah looked toward the window. For a fraction of a second, she saw it again—the city in the storm, suspended in clouds. And among its towers, a single plane frozen midair, lights blinking forever.

She closed the passport quietly. “It means,” she whispered, “we’re not alone anymore.”

Helen stared, confused.

But on the terminal loudspeakers, the boarding announcement crackled—soft, distorted, unfamiliar:

“Flight 227 to Torenza now boarding. All passengers, proceed to Gate 13.”