Seventeen-year-old Wilson loves it because he would receive singing valentine after singing valentine. He still remembers warmth spreading across his face as he seats himself in the chair, a card and rose in his thin hands. He would dutifully read each message, each name, as people waltz around him while singing cheesy tunes in unison. He has to cover his shy smile with a hand every time. Later that day he would take his girlfriend out to dinner, and they would do something special relevant to just them and them alone—escaping to the amusement park, cutting class early to collect shells at the beach; it was different each year.
Twenty-one-year-old Wilson loves Valentine’s Day the most because he is absolutely smitten with Emmaline Grant. He takes advantage of the holiday to pull all of the stops for her, to shower her with affection without being too boisterous because he knows the last thing she wants is to be in the spotlight. It’s the time when he thinks he indulges her, but really it’s her indulging him, letting him pull her from place to place and being just a bit over the top for her tastes.
In retrospect, he finds that twenty-two-year-old Wilson has already changed, adapted to suit the needs of the island as he saw fit. There are no extravagant trips or presents for Emmaline when the special day arrives. There is only a modest book and chocolate wrapped in boxes, only a day where the two curl up in bed to read books or watch movies. Valentine’s Day is quiet, but twenty-two-year-old Wilson is okay with that. He doesn’t mind because his bones hurt and frankly, there isn’t enough time in the day to plan what he used to. Not anymore.
This year, he predicts a week in advance (month even), Valentine’s Day will be rough; he is right. Twenty-three-year-old Wilson has almost nothing planned this year. Even with portals up, he fails to take advantage of the weekend to escape the island if only for a moment. He finds that there is nowhere else he would rather spend February 14th than in the Life labs. Far as he can tell, Wilson is the only one on pod duty today, which hardly catches him by surprise. His footsteps are silent and measured when he enters the labs with roses in his hands, but these flowers aren’t real. They won’t wilt—“I will love you until the last rose dies.” The quote makes him laugh dryly—because they are made out of colorful origami paper. He can hear his mother and aunt repeating the instructions to him over and over again as he folds one rose after the other. “Mother, isn’t this enough??”
The roses are colorful. Some are solid, but others are patterned. He places them carefully by Em’s pod before he heads for the desk filled with monitors. Wilson eases into the seat as he pulls out a five-by-five Rubik’s cube from his pockets and fiddles with it idly while he stares at the glowing screens. He wonders if Elliot will come by later to pay his own visits. The hunter suspects he will, so he decides he will place the roses somewhere else before he finishes his duty, but for now he wants them by her side, even if she will never wake up. She is, in effect, dead. It leaves him empty, but it’s a feeling he knows well now.
He’s become numb to the idea by now, but Elliot’s words make him flinch. The conversation gnaws at him from the inside. He would have gone with her, but what’s the use of holding his girlfriend’s hand every step of the way? What use is there not trusting Em to take care of herself when he isn’t around? She is strong in her own right. He knows she is because he needs her just as much as she needs him, if not more.
Look where that got you, hm?
Wilson drops the simple toy and pieces pop off, flying through the air in a splatter of colors. He stays mute as he bends down on his knees to pick up the tiny cubes. He collects them into one hand before he lets them clatter onto the desk with loud clinks. Somehow the hunter becomes entranced with the dislodged pieces as they tumble out of his hand. Rather, he stares at his empty palm while imagining her hand in his. Despite the time that has passed, he can still remember it clearly—her slender fingers intertwining with his and her hand fitting perfectly with his. Her hands feel cool at first, but in the end they are always comfortingly warm. His fingers curl into a fist and they are icy to the touch. It feels anything but comforting.
He wonders if he will be stuck like this, always dredging up the past and drowning in forgotten ghosts. Will he be forever frozen in time? But it could be so easy for Wilson to begin anew. The number of people who know about him and Em can be counted on his hand—Ami, Lex, Elliot, Dakota. It is a well-kept secret that he intends to keep as a secret. So if he wants, he could start over. Who would know better?
He could find someone else to love—another woman, or man if he really loves him enough—but it is the small things that keep him from moving forward. Some days he thinks of her pale purple eyes and other times he recalls the star clip he bought for one of her birthdays. It’s the little memories and glimpses of her that keep Wilson locked in place, but he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t think he could love anyone else as much as he loves Emmaline Grant. But perhaps his affection will wane. It hasn’t even been a year, and he has many more to go until he succumbs to the inevitable hunter fate of dying tragically, painfully.
Wilson begins to pick up the pieces of his Rubik’s cube and puts them back together.
Then again, maybe it’ll never disappear, and he’ll die pining for something he loves, but can no longer have.
The cube pieces are stored into his pockets when he walks over to her pod and picks up the paper flowers. He returns to the desk, arranges the flower into a careful heart. Wilson spends a full minute meticulously adjusting flowers just enough to form a perfect heart. His eyes flicker toward the monitors one last time before he looks toward his watch. It’s late.
Both hands are in his pockets when he walks backwards and out of the labs. Deep red lingers on her pod for a while longer as he sings softly, “Sing me to sleep/Sing me to sleep/There is another world/There is a better world/Well, there must be/there must be.” He disappears.
When Wilson lays his head on his pillow and stares at the ceiling, he thinks of another world, a better world. He thinks of what he could have had if he had never come here at all. The made-up memories swirl around in his thoughts before he slips into a slumber filled with pleasant fantasies. Quiet days in the city library. Stealing kisses beneath the summer sun. Children’s laughter in his ears. Frost nipping their noses as they tumble into the snow. They will leave a bittersweet taste in his mouth the next morning. That life is dead, just like her.
