The Dead Don’t Speak, But Their Words Still Echo

The next morning, Avignon felt different.

Jessica had been in enough cities to recognize when she was being watched. It was never obvious. It was never a shadow lurking on a rooftop or a man in a trench coat reading the same newspaper for hours. It was small things. The extra second a passerby’s gaze lingered. The way a conversation paused when she stepped into a café. The feeling that she was already in a story someone else had written.

The man from the night before had given her a warning, but Jessica had never been good at listening.

* * *

They found the library by late morning. It wasn’t the grand, gilded halls of the Vatican’s archives. It was something older, something forgotten. A small Jesuit research center, tucked away in a quiet part of the city. The kind of place that existed on old maps, but not on tourist brochures.

Jessica, Olivia, and Leanna stepped inside, the scent of old paper and dust settling around them. A receptionist glanced up from behind an ancient wooden desk.

Jessica approached first. “We’re looking for records from the 18th century Jesuit archives.”

The woman frowned. “Those are restricted.”

Leanna stepped forward, flashing a perfectly forged Vatican research permit.

The woman studied it, lips pursed, then sighed. “Down the hall. Third door on the left.”

Jessica exchanged a look with Olivia. That was easy, too easy.

* * *

The records room was quiet. Dust clung to the air, particles dancing in the shafts of sunlight filtering through narrow stained-glass windows.

Jessica ran her fingers along the spines of old leather-bound ledgers. This wasn’t like before. This time, she knew exactly what she was looking for.

Leanna and Olivia took opposite corners, scanning indexes, flipping through documents. Jessica found the right shelf, old Jesuit correspondences, bound together by decade. Her fingers traced the spines. Finally she found the 1779–1789 volume. She pulled it free from the shelf, set it on the table, and started turning pages.

Jessica’s breath slowed as she skimmed the old text. Inside were mostly letters written between Jesuit scholars, detailing unrest in the colonies, the rising tensions in Europe.

All of it was interesting, but not what she was looking for. She was almost ready to quit when in one letter she found it. She found her name.

Jessica exhaled, heart steady but slow. The letter was dated 1784, the same year from the Vatican ledger. It was addressed from one Jesuit to another.

Jessica’s eyes skimmed the words, the old French script flowing together in elegant strokes. It seemed at first like a regular, friendly letter between two scholars, by about three quarters through the letter she read

“We have found her again. Just as before, she does not remember.”

Jessica’s jaw tightened and fingers pressed into the table. They always wrote that. Always assumed she remembered nothing. Maybe that was why she was still alive. But this wasn’t the first time she’d seen her name. What froze her wasn’t herself, it was the possibility of others. The cycle wasn’t hers alone.

Her name didn’t stop her breath. She expected it by now. What chilled her was the signature beneath it: Pier Paolo Pasolini. He hadn’t just investigated the cycle, he’d been part of it. And they had silenced him not because he asked questions, but because he was beginning to remember.

Still feeling shocked, Jessica turned to look at Leanna and Olivia. Booth had stopped searching, and stood there watching her.

* * *

Olivia was the first to break the silence. “That’s not possible.”

Jessica didn’t move.

Leanna leaned in. “It has to be a different Pasolini. Maybe an ancestor.”

Jessica’s mind wasn’t listening. She was still staring at the name. Pier Paolo Pasolini, the man who had died in 1975. The man whose death had brought her here.

Had he known this name wasn’t just a coincidence? Had he been following his own past?

Jessica closed her eyes. This wasn’t just about her anymore. The cycle wasn’t just repeating through her. Pasolini had been part of it too. And someone had killed him before he could understand why.

* * *

The realization was still settling when Jessica heard it. The faintest creak and a small shift in the air.

She didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the book, tucked it under her coat, and snapped her head up.

“Move. Now.”

Leanna and Olivia didn’t ask questions. They had learned better. They slid the books back onto the shelves and followed Jessica out.

Jessica kept her pace steady. Calm but deliberate. She didn’t look back. She didn’t need to. Because she already knew. They weren’t chasing the book. They were chasing the only thing she couldn’t give them, what she might still remember.

Someone was watching. And this time, they weren’t just here to warn her.

* * *

They stepped out into the narrow street. Jessica felt the tension in the air immediately. She could almost feel the shift in the movement of the air. Then she heard the footsteps, too many footsteps. Jessica didn’t hesitate. She grabbed Olivia by the arm and commanded firmly, “This way.”

They turned, slipping into a side alley. Jessica led them through winding streets, past tourists and café tables, down staircases that smelled of damp stone. Behind them they heard shouts. Fast-moving figures approaching. Jessica gritted her teeth. There was no way they were getting away clean. Not this time.

She grabbed Olivia’s arm, pulling her down another narrow passage. “Where does this lead?”

Olivia glanced ahead. Then replied, “Pont Saint-Bénézet.”

Jessica exhaled sharply. The bridge. They could use the river to escape. They reached the ancient stone bridge, the Rhône stretching wide beneath them. Jessica knew they had seconds, not minutes.

She turned to Olivia. “Get Leanna out of here.”

Olivia froze. “What?”

Jessica pulled the book from under her coat. “Take this. Get it somewhere safe. I’ll keep them distracted.”

Olivia’s jaw tightened. “That’s a terrible plan.”

Jessica smirked faintly. “Not the worst I’ve had.”

She knew the ledger wasn’t the threat. She was. And splitting from them was the only way to buy time.

Leanna’s voice was sharp. “We’re not leaving you.”

Jessica glanced over her shoulder. The figures were closing in. She didn’t have time to argue. She pushed the book into Olivia’s hands.

“Find out what it means,” she murmured and then she turned and ran.