The Pattern

Jessica stood still, the air in Sant’Antonio thick with dust and candle smoke. Iacopo di San Luca watched her from the pew, his expression calm, composed. He had waited centuries for this moment, but she wasn’t sure she was ready for it.

Her pulse was slow and heavy, her muscles coiled tight. She had spent years chasing the truth, but never once had she considered that the truth had been waiting for her.

She exhaled. “Then tell me.” Her voice didn’t waver. “What the hell am I?”

Iacopo studied her carefully, then smiled faintly. “Not the first. Not the last.”

Jessica’s jaw clenched, “Try harder.”

Iacopo tilted his head, considering her. Then, softly, “You are a vessel.”

Jessica didn’t blink. “For what?”

Iacopo’s gaze didn’t waver, “Memory.”

Silence. The word settled in the air like dust. Jessica swallowed. “Whose memory?”

Iacopo exhaled. “Not whose. How many.”

A cold weight pressed against her ribs. Olivia muttered something under her breath.

Leanna folded her arms, her jaw tight. “Start from the beginning.”

Iacopo gave a small nod. “Then listen carefully.”

* * *

Iacopo’s voice was steady. “Lazarus was never new.”

Jessica inhaled sharply, her stomach twisting.

“The project that created you, what Vanguard was doing, was not the first attempt.”

Jessica felt her pulse slow.

Iacopo’s gaze locked onto hers, “It was only the latest.”

Jessica exhaled, forcing herself to stay grounded. “How far back does it go?”

Iacopo tilted his head slightly. “Long before science. Long before the first machines.”

He gestured around them, at the crumbling stone, the faded frescoes on the walls.

“The Templars weren’t just warriors. They were seekers of knowledge.”

His voice dropped lower, “And what they sought was not just relics.”

Jessica’s pulse ticked up.

“They were trying to preserve something.”

She frowned. “Preserve what?”

Iacopo met her gaze, “A way to keep human memory from dying.”

Jessica swallowed.

Leanna narrowed her eyes. “You’re saying the Templars were experimenting with memory transfer?”

Iacopo shook his head. “They didn’t call it that. To them, it was something else. A transference of the self.” He leaned forward slightly, “A man dies, but his knowledge does not have to. His essence, his experiences, can live on.”

Jessica exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair, “That’s impossible.”

Iacopo smiled faintly. “Is it?”

Jessica didn’t answer because she wasn’t sure anymore. She had spent her life haunted by memories that didn’t belong to her. She had spent years wondering if she was Jessica Sanchez, or just a rewritten version of someone else. What if it wasn’t just her? What if this had been happening for centuries?

Olivia exhaled. “So what? They were storing memories? Transferring them? Where? How?”

Iacopo nodded slightly. “You are asking the wrong question.”

Jessica met his gaze. “Then what’s the right one?”

Iacopo’s voice was soft. “What if the memories do not need to be stored?”

Jessica stilled.Iacopo continued, his gaze dark, “What if they always existed?”

The room felt smaller. The air heavier. Jessica’s heartbeat was steady, but she could feel the pressure in her chest. She forced her voice to stay calm. “Explain.”

Iacopo exhaled slowly. “You are not a copy, Jessica. You are not an accident.”

His voice was quiet but firm, “You are a repetition.”

She didn’t flinch, but inside, something slipped out of alignment. Not fear. Not grief. Something older. Like hearing your name spoken in a voice from a dream you didn’t know you had. A repetition. A pattern. Her mind flashed to the centuries-old documents, her name appearing again and again. The list of people who had existed under the same name. The note slipped under her door.

“This is not the first time we have met.”

Jessica swallowed, “What are you saying?”

Iacopo held her gaze, “I am saying that you have been here before.”

The words sent a slow, sharp chill down her spine.

Leanna muttered, “Jesus.”

Olivia shook her head. “No. No, this is crazy.”

Iacopo didn’t flinch. “It is not reincarnation. It is not possession. It is not a trick of the mind.” His voice dropped lower. “It is a pattern. A cycle. And you, Jessica Sanchez, are the latest in that cycle.”

Jessica’s breath came slow and measured. She had spent her entire life wondering if she was real. Now, she wasn’t sure if she ever had been.

Olivia was the first to break the silence. Her voice was sharp. “And the Vatican knew?”

Iacopo exhaled. “Not all of them. Not at first.” He gestured to the ruined church. “But those who did, those who saw the pattern, tried to bury it.”

Leanna’s jaw tightened. “Why?”

Iacopo’s expression darkened. “Because if a soul is not unique, if consciousness itself is not singular, then the foundation of faith begins to break.”

Jessica clenched her teeth. “So they erased the records.”

Iacopo nodded. “They erased the names. The trials. The experiments. They buried what they could. But memory has a way of clawing back up through the dirt. Especially when it’s written into people.”

He looked at her carefully. “And when science caught up centuries later, the process began again.”

Jessica exhaled. “Lazarus.”

Iacopo nodded. “Yes.”

She swallowed. “Then what was Vanguard’s role in all this?”

Iacopo’s gaze darkened. “They wanted to control what the Templars could not.”

Jessica’s stomach twisted. “And Mr. Black?”

Iacopo was silent for a long moment. Then he said, “He was trying to control you.”

Jessica inhaled sharply. She had thought she had burned that chapter of her life. But now, it was staring back at her, waiting to be understood.

Jessica exhaled, her voice low. “And you? What’s your role in all this?”

Iacopo studied her carefully. Then, softly, “I am the one who remembers.”

Jessica felt something cold settle in her chest. Iacopo stood slowly, his movements measured. He watched her carefully, his dark eyes unreadable.

“And you, Jessica Sanchez?” His voice dropped lower, “You are the one who was never supposed to leave.”

Jessica’s pulse thudded against her ribs. She swallowed, “Then why am I still here?”

Iacopo smiled faintly. “Because someone let you go.”

Her breath caught. Her hand brushed her coat pocket. It was empty now, but she remembered the blood, the silence. She had killed the only person who chose her over the pattern.