Old Friends, Old Ghosts

Paris felt colder than it should. Jessica sat on the balcony of their rented apartment, a cigarette burning between her fingers, watching the city breathe beneath her. The neon haze of Rue Saint-Denis flickered in the distance, muffled music bleeding into the night.

She wasn’t smoking. Not really. The cigarette was just something to hold, something to distract her hands from the weight pressing against her chest.

This was not the first time that the trail has taken her to Avignon. She didn’t believe in fate. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being pulled toward something inevitable. That the past wasn’t just following her. It was waiting.

Behind her, Olivia sighed. “You gonna sit out there all night?”

Jessica smirked faintly. “Tempting.”

Olivia leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “Leanna’s expecting our call.”

Jessica exhaled. Flicked the cigarette over the edge. Time to face it.

* * *

The call connected almost immediately.

Leanna’s voice was sharp, alert. “Tell me you didn’t get yourself killed in Paris.”

Jessica smirked. “Not yet.”

There was a brief pause. Then, “But you’re about to do something stupid.”

Jessica ran a hand through her hair. “That’s a safe bet.”

She could hear the shift in Leanna’s breathing. The gears in her head were turning. Leanna didn’t waste time with bullshit.

“You wouldn’t be calling unless it was big,” she said. “So what’s going on?”

Jessica exhaled. “We found something. Pasolini was onto a pattern. Variations of the same name, mine, or close enough. Always circling back. Always erased.” She kept her tone flat. Not admitting how many of those names she’d already seen. Not admitting there were others too.

Leanna remained silent, comprehending what Jessica had said. Then, carefully.“And now you’re looking for answers.”

Jessica didn’t respond. Because they both knew the truth. Answers she already had. What she needed was distance. What Leanna didn’t realize was that the others weren’t chasing Jessica’s questions, they were chasing her memories. Or worse, what she might still remember.

Leanna’s voice dropped. “Where do you need me?”

Jessica leaned forward. “Avignon.”

* * *

Olivia tapped a pen against the table as Jessica hung up.

“She didn’t even hesitate. Like she already knew where this was going.”

Jessica nodded. “She never does.”

Olivia smirked faintly. “You really don’t deserve her.”

Jessica huffed a laugh. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

She leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Everything felt heavier now. The ledger. The names. Pasolini’s death. Someone had been watching the cycle. And now, Jessica wasn’t just following Pasolini’s steps. She was retracing her own.

* * *

Later that evening, the apartment was quiet. Too quiet. Olivia hat long since went to bed and Jessica once again found herself sitting on the edge of the bed, legs drawn up beneath her, the phone cradled loosely in her hand like a weight she wasn’t sure she had the strength to lift. Beyond the cracked window, the lights of the city blurred against the night, smudged halos of gold and blue, flickering like distant memories.

She hadn’t changed out of her coat since returning from her long walk through the city. Her fingers were still cold.

The words Montesi had spoken rattled in her bones like old chains—Who are you?—and though the room around her was still, her thoughts were moving at the speed of unraveling.

She stared down at the phone. Then, slowly, deliberately, she dialed. It rang twice and then she heard the comfort of his voice

“Jessica?”

His voice was calm and steady. The sound of the earth returning to itself. She exhaled, some part of her softening at the edges. “Hey.”

There was a pause. Then, a familiar lilt in his tone, warm, dry. “You sound like you need whiskey.”

She let out a breath of a laugh. “Not wrong.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was inhabited, full of the quiet comfort that comes from knowing someone sees you, even when you don’t have the words.

Then, gently, “Can’t sleep?”

Jessica leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. The phone pressed warm against her cheek.

“Something like that,” she murmured.

Sam waited. Always patient. Always letting her speak when she was ready.

Jessica closed her eyes. “What if I was never free?” she said.

There it was. The raw thing. The secret truth she hadn’t even known she’d been circling until now. She’d said it to him before, more times than she could count. Different nights, different cities, the same words falling out of her like they had been waiting all along. She always circled back to that truth: that no matter how far she ran, the choice never felt like hers.

Sam didn’t speak right away. And when he did, his voice was low. Measured.

“You’re free the moment you decide you are.”

Jessica swallowed. The words were simple. But they were too clean for the weight she carried.

“I keep telling myself that,” she said. “That I’ve made choices. That I’ve walked away from who they wanted me to be. But lately…”

She hesitated.

“Lately I wonder if I’m just a reflection. If I’m not… me. Just a pattern someone else set in motion.”

She hated how fragile it sounded out loud. Hated how close the tears felt. She hated, too, how familiar it was. Every time she told Sam she wasn’t free, it wasn’t just doubt, it was recognition. A refrain she couldn’t shake. And each time, he listened, patient as if he knew she’d come back to it again and again, like a wound that refused to close.

Sam was quiet for a moment.

Then, “You ever watch a river long enough to forget it’s made of raindrops?”

Jessica blinked. “What?”

“You’re not just what made you, Jess. You’re how you move. What you choose to carry. What you choose to leave behind. That’s what makes you… you.”

Jessica stared down at the floor, her breath trembling.

“I want to believe that,” she whispered. “I do.”

Sam’s voice was soft, but sure.

“Then believe it. Not because it’s easy. But because you’re still here.”

Jessica leaned back against the headboard, the weight of exhaustion settling into her bones. But her grip on the phone didn’t loosen.

“Do you really believe I’m free?”

There was a short pause before he answered. “I have to,” Sam said. “Because if you’re not, none of us are.”

Jessica closed her eyes. For a moment, she let herself drift, held only by the sound of his breathing on the other end of the line.

Maybe the past would never let her go. Maybe the ghosts would always whisper. But tonight, at least, she wasn’t alone in the dark. For now, that would have to be enough.