The Archives of the Living and the Dead

The car sliced through the dark Carolina highway, headlights stretching out ahead like fingers searching through fog. Leanna kept both hands on the wheel, her eyes fixed forward, jaw tight with quiet tension. The only sounds were the low rumble of tires on asphalt and the intermittent slap of rain against the windshield.

Jessica sat in the passenger seat, her head resting against the window, eyes vacant. The world outside passed in blurry fragments. They drove past trees, road signs, and the occasional glowing diner lost in the middle of nowhere. But none of it registered.

She finally spoke, her voice so soft it nearly vanished under the hum of the road. “I remember everything.”

Leanna glanced at her, but said nothing. She knew better than to interrupt.

Jessica exhaled slowly. “There was… a moment. In that chair. That machine. I wasn’t me yet. Not really. Just a shell. Empty. No thoughts. No feelings. No memories.”

She swallowed. “It was like being born wrong. All nerve endings and no soul.”

The rain picked up, drumming on the roof. Leanna said nothing, her grip tightening just slightly.

“Then it started,” Jessica continued. “Jason’s memories. Not all at once, more like a flood building behind a dam. And when it broke…”

She trailed off.

“It hurt,” she whispered. “Not just physically. It felt like someone else was taking over, but they had nowhere else to go. And I wasn’t anyone yet, so I just… let them.”

Leanna’s voice was low, careful. “Mr. Black?”

Jessica nodded. “He was there. Watching. He told them Jason was damaged goods. Said they needed to start fresh. That I was the solution to a problem they created.”

She turned her head, met Leanna’s eyes. “I wasn’t Jason. I was built from what was left of him.”

Leanna reached across the console and took her hand without a word. Her fingers were warm, firm. Jessica didn’t pull away.

For a few miles, they didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

* * *

The Charleston archive sat nestled in a sprawling business park behind a gated perimeter, its facade a bland stretch of concrete and mirrored glass. A single metal sign read: Atlantic Data Solutions. It was a shell name for a place that trafficked in the past.

Leanna parked in the far lot, half-shielded by a row of shipping containers. They made their way to the service entrance, avoiding cameras, keeping to the shadows. Jessica’s hands shook slightly as she picked the lock, but her movements were sure.

Inside, the building was colder than it had any right to be. There were rows upon rows of filing cabinets, cardboard storage boxes, and magnetic drives stacked like tombstones.

They moved quickly. Olivia had sent them the possible index numbers. Twenty minutes in, Jessica found it. A heavy manila folder stamped: CARTER, J. – SUBJECT 13B

She opened it with trembling fingers. Brain scans. Test reports. Medical notes with timestamps that aligned with the night Jason disappeared.

“Subject exhibits signs of neural instability. Initial transfer shows memory bleed. Physical rejection possible. Recommend termination and secondary vessel development.”

“Jesus,” Leanna whispered.

Jessica flipped to the last page. There was a photo of Jason, shirtless under examination lights. Blank stare. Electrodes taped to his temples.

Then the lights in the room changed, just slightly. A soft click echoed through the silence.

Jessica froze. “Motion sensor.”

Leanna looked up. “Shit.”

They heard the footsteps thirty seconds later. No sirens. No alarms. Just the sound of someone coming. Fast. They bolted, sprinting back the way they came. Doors slammed open behind them. Voices shouting. Private security.

They turned a corner, and a guard was there, raising a weapon. Jessica didn’t hesitate. She drew and fired once, clean and fast. The man dropped. Not dead. It was a shoulder hit avoiding the center of mass.

Leanna pulled her through the door, into the rain. The file was still clutched in Jessica’s hand. Red and blue lights lit the far end of the lot. They didn’t stop running.

The past wasn’t buried. It had been filed away, waiting to be found.