The Letter Beneath the Waves

Days passed in slow, golden drifts. Coconut Grove softened them with its warm breezes, salt-slick mornings, and the rustle of palms brushing the sky. They walked barefoot in sand, letting the surf pull at their ankles and watching Jessica Marie build castles with moats too wide and flags made from sticks and leaves. For a time, the war receded.

Even Leanna let herself be still.

At night, they ate fresh fish grilled over coals, drank too much, and argued about trivial things like jazz versus blues or good sci-fi versus great sci-fi. Kevin lit citronella candles. Hannah laughed more than anyone had seen in months. Olivia fell asleep in a hammock two nights in a row.

And then came the night of the margaritas. Three pitchers in, under the canopy of string lights and a sky woven with stars, the conversation drifted where it was always meant to go.

“You ever going to talk about it?” Kevin asked.

Hannah shot him a look. “Kevin…”

“It’s okay,” Jessica said, her voice low, a little raw. “It’s time.”

She sipped her drink, gaze fixed on the condensation running down the side of her glass. “I remember pieces. More every day. But it’s like watching someone else’s life play out in flashes. The lab. The chair. Mr. Black calling him damaged goods. Calling me a clean slate.”

She looked up. “Did he ever say anything? Toward the end? Did he know what was happening to him?”

Kevin exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. “He changed. Subtle at first. Forgetting things. Staring off for too long. Asking questions like he’d never heard the answers before. I thought he was just stressed. We were all dealing with something back then.”

He stood, disappeared into the house, and returned a minute later with a worn manila envelope. He handed it to Jessica.

“He gave me this one night. Said, ‘If I ever ask you for it, don’t give it to me. That means it’s already too late.’”

Jessica took it with careful hands. “Why are you only now giving it to me?”

Kevin smiled dryly. “You never asked for it.”

She opened the envelope. Inside was a single letter, folded tightly, and a small, faded drawing on parchment paper.

Jessica unfolded the letter. The handwriting was unmistakable.

* * *

If you are reading this, you are me, and I am dead. Or close enough. Maybe I’ve already faded. Maybe I was gone before the chair. I don’t know how much of me made it through. That’s the part that scares me most. What if they took the best parts? What if you’re just what’s left?

I was born in a lab. Not literally, my mother gave birth to me in a hospital in North Carolina, but my life began in a lab. Tests. Metrics. Genetic therapy before I could walk. Memory trials before I could speak.

They said I was gifted. A success. A vessel. But I wasn’t stable. I think part of me always knew.

College was the first taste of freedom. But the memories, they were never mine alone. I’d wake up remembering things I hadn’t done. Seeing faces I couldn’t place. Dreaming in languages I didn’t know.

There were gaps. Things missing. Days I couldn’t explain.

And then the dreams of ‘other lives’ started. Older. Stranger. The same people, over and over again. Watching me. Testing me.

I began to suspect I was being watched. That everything in my life had been arranged. That I was never meant to escape the program.

Mr. Black confirmed it.

He came to me in the dark and told me I was failing. That they had already started building my replacement. That they had found a better vessel.

You.

If you’re reading this, it means they finished the process.

I don’t know if you’re more me than I was. Or if you’re something entirely new. But either way, you deserve to know what came before.

They were called Dominion. Before that, Lazarus. And behind both: the old symbols. The cross. The red seal. The one I’ve drawn here.

[Sketch: A crude version of the Templar cross, with a second ring of smaller glyphs around it.]

This was carved into the wall of a lab I was never meant to enter. And later, tattooed on the inside of a man’s wrist who said nothing but followed me for days.

There’s a safe deposit box in Jerusalem. I don’t know what’s in it. I only know that everything I found pointed there. I was planning to go, but they got to me first.

Maybe you’ll make it. Maybe you’ll find the truth.

And if you do, maybe you’ll find peace.

Or burn it all down.

Either way… I hope you get to live. Really live.

—Jason

* * *

Jessica’s hands trembled as she folded the letter. No one said anything. Leanna reached over and refilled her glass without asking. Kevin leaned back, staring into the dark.

“So,” Olivia said quietly. “Jerusalem.”

Jessica nodded. It had always been waiting. Now it was time to go.