Page 1 of Dead Valentine

LOTUS IN DECAY

Emrey

“You're not a true Winslow if you don't learn at such a prestigious university',” was the way my father demanded I attend his alma mater, St. Valentines University. I'd give anything to not be a Winslow.

He was blindsided when I made a stipulation of my own. Livid would be an understatement when I explained I would attend SVU, but only if I could major in Mortuary Science like my estranged uncle whom I’ve never met, Corbin Moriarty.

As a kid, I found my father’s old yearbook. In it, there was a picture of him next to another boy. My father had a bright smile that I only saw when he crept in my room or in my nightmares of those nights. Next to him, the boy was stoic, and stood away from my father. Pictured: Colson Winslow and Corbin Moriarty, half brothers. Below the description, the words NO WAY THEY’RE RELATED were scrawled in a different handwriting.

I had so many questions. I had never heard of this uncle. Why was he a secret? My father would only get red in the face andstomp away when I asked questions. My mother would tell me as much as she knew, which wasn’t much, even though they all attended SVU together. When I was old enough, I realized how resourceful the internet was. I followed my uncle’s life, including all of his accolades and where he ended up.

Call it morbid curiosity, but I fell down a rabbit hole of learning all about forensic psychology and mortuary science. I was fascinated by the human body… and death. More so by what happens to the body after one dies. It was my dream to follow in my uncle’s footsteps. I threatened my father that if he denied me this one thing, I'd have no problem sharing his dirty secret. He had a bad habit of not keeping his hands and mouth to himself, which only got worse after my mother died.

She was the first dead body I saw that wasn’t online or in a textbook. The first dead body I wasn’t captivated by, or left riddled with questions on how she ticked. She deserved a peaceful slumber since her life had been anything but. Emersyn Winslow was too good for this world. A pure soul in a world tarred with darkness. A flower that blooms within decay. A blue lotus.

MEMENTO MORI

FEBRUARY 13, 2025

Who knewmy obsession with death would be fed when I started going to SVU? Death surrounds us on these grounds, I swear it’s built on it. Just like any other university, gossip is an entity all its own. I don’t have friends, but people can’t help but loudly whisper about the dark history of this school. I’ve always wondered about the paranormal, but this school has fueled that curiosity more than anything else. Amongst the whispers of students in the dead of night, I swear I hear the whispers of ghosts. All those that have perished here. I wonder if SVU is a purgatory of sorts. An untouchable realm away from the real world.

With the amount of deaths and disappearances that take place here, you would think this place would be littered with detectives investigating. There never is. There’s a secret society here that my father would spit at. I think he was embarrassed that he was never chosen to be a part of it. The Divine Valentine.

I think only the most elite are invited to that inner circle. It’s one of the things people whisper about, along with the history of how it all started. Rumor has it, the founders of this place all killedtheir wives. Fourteen women on the fourteenth day of February.Happy Valentine's Day, honey… stab. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was curious.

During any free moment I have, I listen to my favorite podcasts about death and the paranormal. I’ll sometimes keep one ear bud in and leave an ear free while I skulk around the campus hoping to find more information. Needless to say, it’s difficult to do when I’m targeted by the mean girls here. I wonder if they’re mad they weren’t invited to be a part of the secret society, and since they can’t go after those that were, they target me. Their insults have definitely improved over the years, along with their strength.

I don’t fight back, for fear I’ll find myself back under the same roof as my father. Since I can’t use my fists, I use my words. With every kick and punch or tossed bag, I mention common insecurities of young girls. I know it’s not nice, but my niceties are only allotted for those who deserve it.

I pull the cadaver from the drawer and wheel him over to the center of the room.

“Hello, John Doe.”

I pull out the tools I will need and neatly place them all on a tray, wheeling them over next to the man. As I reach for the first one I’ll need, the slam of the door startles me, making me jump back.My heart pounds as I quickly look over my shoulder, eyes wide, expecting to get in trouble with my professor.

I pull my gloves off and drop them on the body before walking towards the door. “What the hell?” I open the door and step out, peeking up and down the hall. “H-hello,” I clear my throat. “Who the fuck is there?” When no one responds, I huff and mumble, “Fucking assholes.”

Something catches my eye on the floor. I kneel down to pick it up and smile once I realize what it is. I pick up the sketch and admire the artwork. Most people would find his art disturbing but I find it beautiful. There’s a man sitting against a tree with a gaping hole where his heart should be. His eyes are unseeing, and blood drips from the wound, splashing over a book he’s holding.

I tilt my head, trying to figure out if there’s a clue in this sketch. Sometimes his sketches will give me a hint of what present he’ll be leaving in my dorm for me. Three options: a tree, a book or a dead man. I silently laugh at the options and open the door, walking back into the room. Waving the sketch in my hand towards the cadaver, I hold back a squeal of excitement.

“Look what my misfit brought me! Isn’t it beautiful? Don’t tell anyone, but I’m pretty sure I know who he is. I’ll honestly be disappointed if I’m wrong. The guy I’m thinking of is perfect. There’s a darkness that surrounds him. I think it matches mine. He’s an artist. I’ve always wanted to talk to him, but I’m honestly too scared. I don’t think he talks anyway. I don’t know if it’s a choice or he really and truly can’t speak.” I pause and sigh as I picture him. “He has brown, somewhat curly hair. It’s almost like it can’t decide if it wants to be curly or wavy, especially since it’s a little on the shaggy side. And his eyes. They’re this beautiful shade of blue. They make me think of mourning and decay. Youdon’t know this, but I’m kind of obsessed with death. I mean, I am talking to you, after all,” I can’t help but giggle.

I pull my phone out and play one of my favorite podcasts. I turn the volume up and place it on the tray before gloving up again.

“Alright, little bones and ghoulies, let’s get scary this February on Sluts For Cuts. If you’re new here, buckle the fuck up.”

“We’re your hosts, K the Killer, careful she’ll rip your heart out.”

“Ha, and not in a cute way. And here, we have SK the Serial Killer, any holes, a goal.”

“Speaking of holes, this episode we will be discussing the vigilante duo up in La Grande, Oregon; the Gemini Slayers. Have you heard of these guys, K?”

“You know I have. As a Gemini, it would be criminal of me not to look up killers stabbing people with the Gemini constellation.”

La Grande, Oregon? Isn’t that close to Damascus where my Uncle Corbin lived? I better look that up later. I shake my head and focus on the cadaver before me.

“Let’s see what lies within you, shall we?”

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