Page 80 of Meet Me in Another Life

She hurries on past a food truck, the frying smell tugging at the emptiness inside her. She didn’t think the hunger could get worse. She forces herself on, into the narrowing streets of the old town. Colors blaze on the white wall of one of the old beer houses. Another mural: a lighthouse, parakeets flying out through the lantern room’s shattered glass.

They keep appearing. On the next street corner; above an archway that spans the alley, leaning over her as she walks beneath. Mural after mural in Santi’s unmistakable style. The old town turning inside out, the clock tower drilling into the sky. A fox and a wolf, hunting together under the stars. Passing each one, Thora tallies in her head the weeks it must have taken, subtracting precious hours from what’s left of their lives. By the time she comes out into the shadow of the tower, her unease is crystallizing into despair.

Santi is waiting for her outside Der Zentaur, drawing in his memory book. Thora stops, taken aback by the intensity of her reaction. For the first time since she remembered him, she wasn’t sure if she would ever see him again.

He looks up. When he sees her, his face crumples in what looks like sorrow before it turns to heartfelt delight. He stumbles to his feet as she runs toward him. “I never stopped hoping,” he mutters as he catches her in his arms.

His voice is thick. Thora realizes he’s crying. She pulls back from him. “How long have you been here?”

He closes his eyes. “Seven years.”

“Fuck.” She drops into a seat on the other side of the table, feeling savagely vindicated. Of course they’re almost out of time before they even start. “One year left to find a way out.”

Santi doesn’t look worried. Through his tears, he’s grinning like God just handed him the keys to heaven. “How are you feeling?”

With effort, Thora looks past her memories and sees him as he is: short-haired, clean-shaven, as if he’s trying to look as little like his real self as possible. She notes in passing that this version of her doesn’t find him attractive at all. “So hungry I can barely function,” she says. “You?”

He grimaces. “Light-headed. Slow. Like I’m thinking through a fog.” He runs his hands through his hair. “Not ideal for trying to win a riddle contest with a mad god.”

“You mean Peregrine?” He nods. Thora leans back with a smirk. “Of course you would actually put your insane plan into action.”

Santi sighs. “I’ve tried everything. Showing him the clock. Showing him the stars. Telling him in a hundred different ways that we’re here. But none of it works.”

“He already knows we’re here,” Thora points out.

“But he can’t connect that knowledge to the part of him that’s convinced we’re still in transit phase.” Santi shrugs. “He just—believes. It’s hard to argue with that.”

“Tell me about it,” says Thora dryly. Her hands itch. She wants to smoke, but she resolved last time to quit forever. She hates the idea of spiraling down into the worst version of herself. “Have you got anything useful out of him?”

“He has total control over the ship and its operations,” Santi says. “So even if we can’t get him to wake us up, we could get him to do something.”

“Like what?” Thora says sourly, stealing a sip of his lager. “Fix himself?”

Santi shakes his head. “He can’t even diagnose himself. He knows something’s wrong, but he can’t find out exactly what, let alone fix it.”

“Just like the rest of us, then.” Thora’s head drops onto her arms. “God, Santi. I really, really wanted us to get out. And not just so we could see what we came here to see. I wanted to get home again afterward. I wanted us to get back to Earth and be big fucking heroes and go on stupid TV shows and inspire kids to be astronauts. All that wonderful, wonderful bullshit. And I wanted to see the people I love. The real versions, not their echoes.”

He looks at her curiously. “Why are you talking in the past tense?”

“I just—” She shakes her head. “We have to be realistic about our chances. We’re running out of time. In real life, we have days.”

“But in here, we have a year.” Unbelievably, Santi is smiling. “Now you’re with me, we’ll find a way. I know we will.”

“I see,” she says with a bitter laugh. “I can’t believe, after everything we’ve seen, you’re still talking about a miracle.”

He gives her his most serene expression, the one she hates. “We see them every day.”

“Oh, yes. I’m sure a magically refilling cup of coffee is going to end up being the key to everything.” She stands. “Come on then. Let’s go and check on how your beard’s growing.”

“So how does this work?” she asks as they weave through the crowded lobby of the Odysseum. “Do you have to break in again every time, or does the room stay open?”

Santi shrugs. “I haven’t tried since we broke in together lasttime.” To her incredulous look, he answers, “I was waiting for you.”

“At what point were you going to accept that I wasn’t coming?”

He looks at her as if that’s an irrelevant question. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

“That’s not an answer!” They’re at the “Under Construction” barrier. Curious museumgoers stop to watch as they brace to pull it away from the wall. “I can’t believe—”

---