LJ smiled as he handed Michael the rose. That origami rose he had made Sara all that time ago. It tore his heart. His nephews kindness, his sympathetic smile, young eyes. Michael could not remember his words, he was looking at the rose. His mind was consumed in his memories and his grief. It was so real. Sara was dead, he was holding this rose, it was the symbol of their love. His love still burned as fiercely as if the world was on fire. His world was on fire. Sara was dead. This rose, this small paper rose he held was all that was left of the love that had shone between them. It was all that was left of her. She was dead. Sara was dead. His heart shattered. It was searing with the pain, she was dead. He could not forget her. He could not continue. He could not exist without her, this small rose he held, this piece of paper had just become the most important thing to him. The meaning it held, he was sure he could smell her on the paper but it was just a ghost. She was gone. Gone forever and he would never get her back. This rose had taken him out of reality. It had taken away the sanity he had struggled so hard to keep since the minute he learned about her death. She was dead. Gone. Her beauty would fade with decay. He would never see her again. Never hear her gentle voice or feel her kind touch. He would never see the love and genuine goodness in her eyes. Never again and he could not handle it. It couldnt be real.
The floor was wooden but it was warm. He closed the front door, looking up at the large window above it. The stain glass glittering beautifully, twinkling in its colour. He turned to the hall, the rug laid out over the boards, he smiled. Removed his shoes and stepped onto the soft material. The warmness and the delicate feel of the fur of the rug beneath his bare feet, he smiled as he always did. He was home. He turned and looked back up at the window. The blue and green of the glass, the pictures, angels, demons fighting. It was beautiful. He heard movement in the kitchen so he stepped further into the house. There she was looking beautiful. The green and blue of their stain glass reflecting on her and her radiant form. Her auburn hair flowed down her back. She was at the sink, the gentle laps of water in the bowl as she washed the dishes. He just stood and smiled as he looked at the woman he loved. He just watched her from behind with the satisfaction that she was his and he was there.
“Mr Scofield, are you watching me?” she asked.
“Yes I am,” he replied.
“How about you give me a hand?” she asked and he stepped forward, taking up a dish and wiping it. He looked at her and smiled. She returned it warmly. There was an echoing but he could not hear what it was. He looked around the room for the sound but there was nothing but their kitchen, the stain glass windows reflecting their green and blue images of angels and demons. The tiled floor, the counters, kitchen tops and cabinets. There was nothing else around. It was just the two of them. It was just what he wanted. He could still hear the echoing.
“Michael are you alright?” She asked. He turned back to her and smiled, he took his hand up to her face and wiped the washing bubbles on her nose. She laughed and did the same thing back. There was that echoing again. He stopped and looked around, on the island counter was a single rose. An origami rose. It sat in the centre. The only thing in sight.The bright lights of the halls, the building, washed in white. Brightness. Nothingness. Empty. The door opened and there was the young man on the floor, surrounded by paper. The only sound in the room was the frantic sound of him folding the paper. Folding roses. The doctor crouched beside him, concerned for his patient. He looked at the floor surrounding him. There were paper roses everywhere. He looked up at the other doctor who stood at the door.
“How long has he been doing this?” He asked.
“Since the minute he got here,” the other doctor had obviously given up hope for the boy.
“Has he said anything?”
“All he says is ‘paper’ when he runs out,”
“Can you hear me?” the new doctor asked the young man, who was furiously working the paper into roses. There was no response he did not even acknowledge his presence. “Michael Scofield, are you listening to me?” he asked trying to sound comforting, still nothing.
The echoes persisted, he looked around their kitchen. Where was it coming from? What was it? He looked back at his wife who watched him concerned. He decided to ignore the sound and he smiled at her to assure her. He picked up the single origami rose and handed it to her. She smiled and took it. Their wet hands leaving water marks on it. He went to her and stroked her cheek. She smiled at the pleasure of his touch. He traced his finger over her lips. The echoes disappeared as he let them. He let the sound go, forgot it and proceeded to get on with his evening. His evening with his beautiful wife, Sara.