Die Again Tomorrow

by Kira Peikoff

  “Ahoy, mate,” he joked, hugging her tightly. His musky odor combined with the pungent smell of the hospital’s antibacterial soap.

  She planted a kiss on his lips. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  It felt almost foreign to smile, as if her facial muscles had forgotten how. She linked her arm through his and led him back up the ramp into the ship.

  “Me too,” he said. “They took off my patch this morning and I could see—it was blurry as hell, but I’ll take it.”

  “Will it get any better?”

  “In time, yeah, once all the inflammation goes down. Apparently I lucked out with one of the city’s top retinal surgeons.”

  “It’s about time someone around here caught a break.”

  He frowned at her dejected tone. “Did I miss something?” They were heading through the deserted dining area, past clusters of tables that were usually set for lunch by noon, but today remained bare. “And where is everyone anyway?”

  She sighed. “They’re visiting Galileo . . . on deck one.”

  “As in, the hospital?”

  Maybe it was the sincerity of his worry or the depth of her own, but that was when she broke down. Right there, in the middle of the dining hall, she fell against his chest and sobbed. He embraced her without a word, cupping the back of her head and stroking her hair. After a minute, the whole story poured out amid her hiccups and sniffles.

  His good eye widened in horror throughout, especially during the violent parts with Greg, and when she finished, she felt as drained as if someone had deflated her down to two dimensions. She exhaled a shaky breath.

  “Well,” he said gently, “there’s nothing we can do but wait.” He pushed a stray curl behind her ear. “We might as well get some rest. You haven’t slept in two days, have you?”

  She shook her head. The heaviness of her eyelids startled her; she hadn’t noticed until now. But since he’d mentioned it, she realized that a fog of exhaustion was clouding her brain and permeating her bones. She hadn’t felt so fatigued since . . . well, since her own death.

  “Come,” he said, taking her by the hand. “I’m putting us to bed.”

  The ship was rocking underneath her when she woke up later that evening. The clock on Richard’s nightstand read 10:09 P.M. She’d passed out beside him for a solid ten hours, longer than she’d slept at a stretch since her college days. She ran a quick calculation in her head: They were more than eighteen hours into the waiting period for Galileo. That meant less than thirty to go.

  Richard was still snoring softly; Captain lay curled up on his pillow, their noses an inch apart. She tried not to wake either of them as she crept out of bed to look out the porthole. The sky was surprisingly pitch-black, which it never was in Manhattan. She saw no outlines of buildings, no pointy spires lighting up the distant skyline. The ship must have disembarked from the city.

  Her stomach was growling. She tiptoed out of Richard’s cabin and made her way up to the dining area to rummage around for leftovers. That was, if the service crew had even bothered to make anything. The rigidity of their schedule seemed to have collapsed along with their leader. Sure enough, she found nothing in the refrigerator but some raw chicken, an unmade salad, and a two-day-old platter of meatloaf.

  As she set about heating up the meatloaf in the microwave, she heard footsteps approaching the kitchen. She poked her head out to see Theo trudging toward her, wearing the same sweatpants and black V-neck he’d been in since the previous night. His tight shoulders and morose expression mirrored her own.

  “Hey, you,” she said. “Hungry?”

  He nodded. “Starved.”

  “I’ll warm you up a plate.” She gestured to a stool in front of the counter island. “Take a seat.”

  “Thanks.” He offered her a limp smile, his cheerful dimple noticeably absent.

  “So where are we?” She gestured toward the kitchen’s circular window; outside, a multitude of stars glittered across the sky like spilled sequins. “Clearly not New York.”

  “We’re about fifteen nautical miles off the coast, in international waters. We couldn’t risk staying.”

  “Because of Chris?” The microwave dinged. She removed the plate she’d prepared for herself and served it to Theo instead.

  “Yeah. He’s a liability now.”

  “I’m just glad he’s gone. I couldn’t take seeing his little smirk ever again.”

  “Amen.” Theo thrust his fork into the meatloaf as she warmed another slice.

  She let him eat in silence for a minute. When the microwave beeped again, she couldn’t help noticing the clock on the display.

  “Twenty-nine more hours.”

  “I don’t know how I’m gonna wait that long.” He sank his fingers into his disheveled hair. “I feel like I might explode.”

  “Any change?”

  “His heartbeat’s back now. Real faint, though.”

  “That’s great!” She slid onto a stool across from him with a grin. “Isn’t that a really good sign?”

  Theo shrugged. “Yeah, but still no brain waves. But he’s only at 87 degrees at the moment, so it’s still too early.”

  “They warm him a quarter of a degree Celsius an hour, right?”

  “Exactly. Good memory.”

  It was discouraging to think that even though his heart was beating again, he was still dead—legally—as long as his brain was gone. If someone went crazy and pulled the plug, it wouldn’t be murder.

  “What if he stays brain-dead?” she blurted.

  Theo winced, and she immediately regretted asking.

  “We don’t have to think about that,” she said. “Never mind.”

  “I’d authorize them to . . .” He lowered his gaze. “I’m his next of kin. I know he wouldn’t want to be kept on machines.”

  “Well, let’s wait and see. I think he has a real shot.” Of course she had no idea if he did or didn’t; the complex chemical interactions of the X101 with dying neurons was far beyond her comprehension, but what else could she say?

  When Theo looked up at her, his lips were curved in a grateful smile. “I meant to tell you,” he said, “good job before. You really came through there.”

  “Thanks.” Her heart lifted like a helium balloon, lighter than air. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

  With eight hours to go, the anxiety on the ship was festering like an actual living organism. It seemed to exist of its own accord: thickening the air, wrinkling people’s foreheads, shutting down their stomachs, closing all the labs.

  To distract herself, Isabel used the satellite phone to call and check up on Joan. When she answered, her voice sounded tired but also buoyant, as if some great invisible hurdle had been cleared.

  “Isabel!” she exclaimed. “Thank you for calling. How’s our agent friend, is he okay? I’ve called all the local hospitals but no one knows a thing about him.”

  “We took him . . . out of state. He’s still critical, so it’s touch and go right now.”

  “Oh. I’m so sorry, I still can’t believe what my—what Greg did.”

  The recollection of the unspeakable moment made them both go quiet.

  After a few seconds Isabel hazarded a follow-up: “Is he in custody at least?”

  “Of course, he’s already been arraigned and entered a guilty plea. I’m sure he’ll end up in prison for the rest of his life.”

  Isabel felt a weak satisfaction at justice served, but more than that, she was overwhelmed with sadness for Joan.

  “Do you need help or anything? I mean, where do you go from here?”

  “Oh, honey, don’t worry about me, I’ll be okay.”

  “For real? You’re not just saying it?”

  “I’ve still got my son and my grandkids and my mind, and I’ve come to realize that’s pretty much all I need. Anything else is gravy.”

  Her sincerity filled Isabel with both admiration and relief. It was astonishing how strong some people could be in the worst possi
ble times. In the truest sense, she thought, Joan deserved the title survivor. They both did.

  “That’s good to hear,” she said. “We should keep in touch.”

  “I would like that very much.” Isabel could hear the smile in her voice. “You know, I owe you a thank-you.”

  “You do?”

  “I was blind for so long. Thank you for helping me see the truth.”

  At 4:15 A.M., just a few minutes before the forty-eight-hour mark, the entire population of the ship gathered around Galileo’s bedside in the ICU. Isabel and Theo sat closest to him, on either side of his head; Richard hovered behind her with a hand on her shoulder. The several dozen researchers, doctors, service staff, and nurses completed the tight cluster.

  Galileo lay with his eyes closed underneath a white sheet. The monitors connected to his chest and forehead were beeping in quiet, regular intervals. There was no longer a tube down his throat, now that he could breathe on his own, and the recent MRI of his brain had come back clean, but Isabel knew better than to celebrate just yet. One horrific scenario was still possible: even if his brain had recovered function, his time without oxygen might have left his nervous system paralyzed—so he could be left locked in, unable to speak or move, but fully conscious. She could imagine no worse fate.

  Nobody spoke. The only motion was the gentle swaying of the ship beneath their feet. Each minute seemed interminable. Every five to ten seconds, Isabel glanced up at the plain white clock on the wall above Galileo’s head. She was too nervous to squirm, as though any movement might disrupt the fragile chance of his recovery. Across from her, though, Theo kept cracking his bony knuckles and sighing.

  She found her mind briefly wandering to thoughts of her mom and Andy. She couldn’t wait to see them again. But even when she returned home, she intuited that her life would never be the same. For one thing, she had Richard now. She reached up to cover his hand with her own. Her old job in reality television would be waiting for her, but she knew with a sudden certainty that she couldn’t return to do a second season of Wild Woman. It would feel too much like a charade to “survive alone in the wild” with a whole production crew just out of sight. It also seemed pointless now to spend all her energy entertaining couch potatoes. That mission wasn’t enough anymore.

  Her next thought materialized like a distant glimmer: She would put her survival skills and newfound confidence to use fighting evil in the world, like her father had. Her true calling felt so right that she was shocked not to have recognized it sooner: she would apply to join the FBI. She would make Galileo proud.

  An excited murmur swept through the crowd; her attention snapped to his face.

  His eyelids were fluttering open.

  No one dared breathe. Isabel felt her own lungs expand to capacity, her heart thumping in her throat. Richard gave her shoulder a tight squeeze.

  After a few dazed seconds, Galileo’s intelligent eyes appeared to take in the crowd. His gaze shifted from one familiar face to the next. Everyone seemed to understand not to speak right away, to give him time to adjust. He touched his face, then lowered his hand to feel across his stitched-up stomach. At first a shade of confusion wrinkled his brow, but only for a moment. Then his eyebrows lifted and one corner of his mouth spread into a crooked grin.

  “It’s quite boring to be dead,” he said. “I don’t recommend it one bit.”

  CHAPTER 58

  Isabel

  An instant cheer rose up from the crowd. A few of the nurses were dabbing their eyes, and many of the researchers clapped. Isabel applauded along with them, laughing through her own tears. She and Theo exchanged a look of ecstatic relief as Galileo weakly pushed himself up to a sitting position.

  “I take it you missed me,” he said, half smiling. “It’s good to be back.”

  The left side of his face wasn’t moving at all and his words slurred a bit. He didn’t seem to notice, but Isabel and everyone else certainly did. She caught the concerned frown on Dr. Cornell’s face as he whispered something to another doctor standing beside him.

  Sharp as ever, Galileo caught their looks, too. “Oh, this?” He gestured to the frozen side of his face. “I can live with it. No big deal.”

  “But no one else has been paralyzed after the X101!” Theo cried. “This isn’t supposed to happen!”

  Isabel buried her face in her hands. “None of this was supposed to happen,” she said, surprising herself with an outpouring of the secret guilt that had been torturing her for two days. “It’s all my fault. If you had never met me, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt trying to help me. And now the last dose of the drug is gone.” She peered through her fingers, wincing at him and at the crowd. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  Several of the more antisocial researchers glared at her, but many murmured that it wasn’t her fault or shook their heads to absolve her of blame.

  Galileo cleared his throat. The effort it took to speak through his fatigue was apparent. “Trust me, will you?”

  Everyone stared at him. Isabel hesitated; maybe he hadn’t understood her? She never should have blurted out the bad news about the X101—it was too soon to upset him in his delicate state. She was silently berating herself when his matter-of-fact voice surprised her.

  “I didn’t receive a full dose,” he slurred. “I’m sure that’s why I ended up this way.”

  “You didn’t?” Theo said. “But I gave you every last drop in the vial!”

  He turned to Theo with his trademark smile of mischief. “You did fine, don’t worry. There wasn’t a full dose to begin with. I stole a quarter of a milliliter right after Chris finished making it and sent it ashore.”

  A chain of gasps circled around the room amid dumfounded exclamations. Isabel could only shake her head in wonder at the fact that she had ever underestimated this man.

  “Where?” Theo asked in disbelief.

  “Somewhere safe,” he promised. “Somewhere secret, so no one can ever blackmail anyone to get it.” His attention shifted to Isabel and Richard.

  “Now, my dears,” he said, “tell the captain to head south. Let’s get you home.”

  CHAPTER 59

  Isabel

  Key West

  Isabel raced up to the porch of her mother’s bungalow, inhaling the glorious scent of the yard’s coconut palm tree. Since there was no longer a need for the Network’s protection, her mom and Andy had been transferred from their safe house back home. Now they were eagerly awaiting her arrival and the details of her journey; she’d promised to tell them the whole story face-to-face. There was just too much to pack into a single phone call; the two weeks of her absence seemed like a short lifetime. She felt like a different person, and in some ways, she was.

  As she bounded toward the door, the light breeze on her skin felt like a revelation: never again would she take Florida’s mild winters for granted—or, for that matter, any day of her life.

  On the threshold of reuniting with her family, she paused. It felt good to savor the moment of anticipation, and to utter a silent thanks to everyone who had made her continued existence possible. Dr. Quinn. Galileo. Richard. A great tide of awe and fondness washed over her, permeating her core deeply enough never to be forgotten.

  Captain licked her calf, reminding her of his presence. He was a final gift from Galileo, who’d come to accept the tightness of their bond. And anyway, as Isabel had pointed out, Captain could enjoy life as a dog much better on land than at sea. He was a pet now, not a test subject. She couldn’t wait to introduce him to the beach.

  But first—she knocked on the door. Captain barked as it swung open, and her mom and Andy immediately bombarded her with hugs and kisses. They ushered her inside on a crest of affection, Captain excitedly circling their feet.

  “You’re home!” her mom squealed. “Finally! We couldn’t sleep all night!”

  “Oh my God.” Andy dropped to his knees in front of Captain. “You got a dog? This is the best day ever!”

  She laughed, drinking in the
sight of her scrawny little brother and her beautiful raven-haired mom. A pang struck her when she noticed they both looked paler and more exhausted than she remembered, but they were beaming so happily it was impossible not to do the same.

  “Just for you, bud,” she said to Andy. “His name’s Captain.”

  Andy scratched his ears as her mom hovered near her, rubbing her arm. “So, how are you? Are you hungry? You look thin.”

  “I’m fine. How are you guys? Did I miss anything?”

  “I got to skip school for two weeks!” Andy exclaimed. “We stayed in our own huge house and it was awesome.”

  Her mom cocked her head as if to tell Isabel, Awesome isn’t exactly the word I would choose. Isabel understood: their separation had been not just excruciating, but terrifying. She took her mother’s hand. I’m home, she said via a quick squeeze. And this time, I’m here to stay.

  “I’m glad you guys were well taken care of,” she said. “Galileo promised me you would be.”

  “It was very nice of his . . . group. Speaking of them . . .” Her mom ran into the kitchen and brought back a miniature cooler that Isabel didn’t recognize. It was a sturdy white box made out of what looked like indestructible plastic.

  “A courier came by the other day to deliver the jewelry box you got me. It was really pretty and unexpected—but the guy also brought this. He told me to keep it in the fridge until further notice.”

  She held out the cooler for Isabel to open.

  Inside was a tempered glass vial that contained a few drops of a clear liquid.

  Isabel gasped. Her mom stared at her, mystified.

  “You know what it is?”

  “I think,” she said, smiling, “I have one hell of a guess.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS