The Witness Speaks

Jessica didn’t hesitate. The moment she heard the voice in the courtyard, she made her decision. She grabbed Olivia’s arm and moved. No words. No second-guessing. Just pure survival instinct.

She could hear the sound of fast, controlled footsteps following them. They were close, and closing in. Jessica pivoted hard, leading Olivia toward the opposite end of the alley.

They couldn’t run blindly. They needed an exit, a real one. Jessica’s mind calculated fast. They were near Piazza Testaccio, close to the Pasolini monument. If they could get there, they could blend into the few late-night stragglers.

Olivia barely kept pace. “Do you even know where we’re going?”

Jessica exhaled. “Away from them.”

They turned a corner, and there it was. The small square, the broken stones, the graffiti-covered pillar dedicated to Pasolini. Jessica yanked Olivia into the shadows behind it. She pressed her back against the cool marble, heart hammering.

The footsteps slowed, then stopped. Jessica clenched her jaw. They weren’t running anymore. They were waiting. Watching.

Olivia exhaled sharply. “They’re letting us go.”

Jessica wiped a hand across her jaw. “No. They’re letting us think we got away.”

They stayed in silence, the weight of the night settling over them.

Then Olivia sighed. “You at least grabbed the film, right?”

Jessica smirked, tapping the bag slung across her chest.

“Of course I did.”

* * *

The trattoria was small, one of those places only locals knew. Dim lighting, scratched wooden tables, the scent of garlic and espresso thick in the air.

Jessica chose a corner table, her back to the wall. Olivia slid into the seat across from her. Neither spoke until the waiter had taken their order—two espressos, nothing else.

Jessica watched a couple laugh over wine in the far corner. It made the bag at her side feel heavier. Like she was carrying a different kind of history, one that laughed last.

Olivia sighed, rubbing a hand down her face. “I’d like to formally request that we stop getting chased through Rome.”

Jessica smirked. “Noted.”

Then, she reached into her bag and pulled out the film reels. Olivia’s exhaustion vanished.

Her eyes flicked to them. “You actually got all of them?”

Jessica nodded.

Olivia exhaled. “Now we just have to figure out what’s on them.”

Jessica drummed her fingers against the table.

“We can’t risk watching them in some public archive,” she murmured.

Olivia’s gaze sharpened. “I might know someone.”

Jessica raised an eyebrow.

Olivia pulled out her phone.

“There’s a guy I worked with a few years back,” she explained. “He restores old film. Has a private setup. If I call in a favor, we might get access.”

Jessica considered that.

Then she nodded. “Call him.”

Olivia didn’t waste time. She stepped outside, phone pressed to her ear. Jessica stayed at the table, staring at the films. She ran a finger over the label.

“Il Testimone.”

Pasolini had filmed something—or someone. And whatever it was, it had gotten him killed.

Jessica exhaled and looked around the trattoria. The warm lights. The quiet hum of conversation. It all felt too normal. Like they weren’t sitting on the edge of something that had been buried for decades.

Then Olivia came back, slipping into her seat.

“We’re in,” she said. “We watch tonight.”

Jessica smirked faintly.

“Then let’s go.”

* * *

The film lab was tucked inside a converted warehouse, the kind of place that looked abandoned on the outside but still hummed with electricity. The man Olivia had called Dario was waiting inside. Jessica studied him as he gestured toward his equipment.

He was older and sharp looking. The kind of person who knew how to keep a secret. He motioned toward the reels. “These from a private collection?”

Jessica and Olivia exchanged a glance.

“Something like that,” Olivia murmured.

Dario didn’t ask more. He worked fast, scanning the films into a digital format.

Jessica watched the screen flicker to life.

The footage jumped. There was a moment of static before Pasolini’s face came into view. Jessica held her breath.

“If you are watching this, then I am already a story.”

Her stomach tightened. Olivia didn’t blink. But Jessica saw the small shift in her jaw and the tension behind her eyes. Even she was shaken, and Olivia didn’t shake easily.

They had both seen this part of the film before. But now, it kept going. Pasolini leaned closer to the camera.

“They will tell you it was a boy. They will tell you it was a crime of passion. But the truth is older than me. Older than you.”

Jessica’s pulse pounded.

“They think that if they kill me, the story ends. But the story has never belonged to them.”

The film cut. A new scene. A man, standing in the shadows. Jessica tensed. Olivia leaned forward.

Dario murmured, “Who is that?”

Jessica knew that it was Orlando Sacchetti, the erased witness. The man they had been looking for.

Sacchetti stepped closer to the camera.

“I was there that night,” he said.

Jessica felt a chill crawl up her spine. Sacchetti swallowed.

“Pasolini wasn’t the only one they killed.”

The film glitched, resolving into static. Jessica clenched her jaw. Pasolini had left a message. But the answers weren’t on the film. They were with Sacchetti.

Jessica turned to Olivia, “We find him.”

Olivia nodded. “Before they find us again.”

Jessica smirked faintly,“That part’s already too late.”