Dreams have always been rare for Wilson, even before he came to the island. It was not something he yearns for. He is fine with no dreams about killing zombies in the playground or giant insects flying through the camp cabin as if they could fit through the door in the first. He does not mind having no dreams about holding hands with Emmaline or running his hands through her silky hair. He most certainly appreciates not having nightmares of shadows clawing at his feet wherever he walks or of doppelgangers poking and picking at his insecurities, especially because nightmares or what he seems to have the most. He can count his island nightmares on his hands, and the number almost scares him because one day he won’t be able to.

But tonight, his dream won’t be making him scream when he wakes up.

He finds himself in a tunnel—dim, but with stripes of bright white lining the sides. It’s a spacious tunnel, wide enough to easily fit in multiple vehicle lanes. Wilson spins around, but there are no clues for him to discover, no puzzle pieces to fit together.

“Remember this place?”

Wilson jumps when he instantly realizes his voice, but he hasn’t moved his mouth. He hasn’t even formulated a coherent thought to his situation. He spins on the balls of his feet toward the source to stare straight into his clone. His jaw drops at first, but when he cranes his neck forward and squints his eyes a bit, he realizes there are glaring differences between him and the other. Their clothes are completely different from each other. The other smiles warmly at him to reveal identical dimples, but the smile feels more subdued than his. The other’s eyes are a dark red, with something that seems to shift underneath.

The question slips out before he thinks it through. “Are you okay?”

His other self looks taken aback for a moment. He scrutinizes Wilson for a while, but smiles mysteriously afterward. “I’m fine. Everything’s okay.”

Wilson stiffens. He says that all the time. He says it when he was okay and when he wasn’t okay; he always said it. Brows furrowed, he tries to examine the doppelganger further for any chinks in the mask, but there was no telling if it was a lie or truth. Was he himself that convincing? He tries asking a different question. “Who are you?”

The other Wilson grins as he pulled out a PDA and seems to be sifting through different applications. “I was wondering when you would ask me that. I’m a fragment made from your memories, a fragment that lived in a different world, but I wasn’t living. Not really.” Something enters his eyes, but Wilson can’t tell what. Pain? Grief? Wilson considers asking if he’s alright, but realizes that would only earn him the same answer as before. I’m fine, really.

“Your world. Was it here?” He gestures toward the tunnel with a fresh layer of confusion spreading over his face.

His other self laughs as he pulls up a holographic screen. “A part of it. I was ‘king’ and this was my kingdom, you could say, but really it was just a dinky old ship, but it was my ship.” The fragment’s gaze softens as he pulls up more snapshots of the vehicle’s interior. He begins to reveal clips, his own memories.

Wilson sucks in a breath silently when he virtually tours the ship. He tries to commit to memory the glowing interior, the technology, the myriad of aliens ambling through the corridors. There are so many clips to choose and see, but for some reason he settles on one where he sees his other self in a large room with others. Wilson cocks his head slightly when he distinctly recognizes his fellow hunters, but changed into something more alien. Ami possesses gills, Kat’s and Mad’s sclera have turned black, Bix has one too many feathers on his person. A funny idea pops into his head suddenly as he watches people hop onto hover bikes and race down the halls in pursuit of a familiar android. He can hear his other self murmuring explanations in the background. “My ship was called Feirg. I was made the commander. We fell out of the sky one day, and we waited in peace with the surrounding kingdoms—such variety they had—until we were called to fight at last…”

It’s when he settles on the figure of a vaguely familiar shifter that he begins to consider the idea seriously. Hadn’t she been on the island once as a student? Wilson shakes his head. “So why’d you come to me? Do you want me to do something?”

Soft laughter. “You know me so well. The people who were on my ship, the ones who followed me…could you look after them, if you can? I don’t know if I did such a good job.” He tries to laugh naturally, and for most it would’ve done the trick, but how easy is it to fool yourself, alternate universe or not?

Wilson keeps staring at the screen, its glow lighting up his blank face. “I won’t make any guaranties, but I’ll try.”

The fragment nods. More chuckling. “You know, your friends are amazing. They’re so much stronger than I. To have the resolve to harm the one you love in order to save that very person is admirable.”

Wilson isn’t sure what to say because he knows ‘harm’ is just a gentler word for ‘kill.’ But he knows there is reason in the fragment’s words because even he couldn’t bear to kill his comrades for the sake of survival and preventing further grief. He can only nod his head and whisper his agreement.

The other Wilson observes him before smiling knowingly and pulls up different documents and articles detailing alien species and technology. Wilson soaks it up instantly. “I wish I could’ve seen it. Your ship. Whatever else was in your world.”

The other Wilson turns thoughtful. “Do you want to?”

“How?”

He grins slyly, and it catches Wilson off guard. How is it that they are both so similar and different? The other’s expression is one he’s never seen on his own face, as far as he can recall anyways. It’s more mischievous, filled less with kindness and more with teasing glee. “I’m a part of you, right? You see where I’m going, here?”

Wilson chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, I think I do. You’re a genius.”

“I think you mean we’re a genius.”

“Technically that’s not even grammatically correct.”

“Hmm. Details.”

Both of them have already burst out into bouts of laughter, each one clutching their stomachs with both arms as they lean over before stumbling toward a wall and pressing against it. Wilson is still laughing, one eye closed, when he stretches a hand toward the other decked out in silver. “Well then?”

The other Wilson manages to control his laughter enough to straighten up and grasp the offered hand. “Thanks for taking me in. Maybe I’ll be able to see them one more time.” His gaze turns glassy just before gripping Wilson’s hand.

When the ship disappears into a sea of white light, Wilson realizes at last that the ship was just an illusion. Images rapidly whiz by him like strips of film. He can recognize sections from the clips shown earlier. A hand reaches toward the images, but his hand only passes through, allowing the memories to fill his head one-by-one. He can feel the ship rocking violently as it skids across the ground, turning up chunks of rock and dirt. There’s the sensation of his body melting into chlorine gas. There’s even the familiar sting of Emmaline and her tragic fate. It’s similar to his own predicament, but dripping with more regret and pain. And then…

Grief.

As Wilson wakes up, gasping more with surprise than fear, he realizes this dream is just all too real to be just a dream.