"You make this all go away. You make this all go away. I'm down to one thing.
I just want something. I just want something I can never have.
I just want something I can never have.
I just want something I can never HAVE."
~ "Something I Can Never Have" _ Nine Inch Nails
It was a cold but sunny winter day in Liverpool, the sun seemed to shine just right everywhere - except in the home of Officer Henry Wilde. In Henry Wilde's home, darkness engulfed every inch of every room. In the bedroom of Wilde's home, he lied on the floor asleep, however it wasn't a peaceful sleep, it was a sleep he had been familiar with for months since the sinking of Titanic - it was a sleep filled with horror.
He could see the water quickly gushing up the sinking Titanic deck, gushing with rapid speed like an angry, rabid monster rushing to swallow up it's prey. He could see the many passengers and officers of Titanic, panicking, screaming and yelling while cutting cords of boats, trying to escape the coming monster - the water. Wilde could see himself trying to stay afloat of the icy, cold water that was trying to drown him into death. Wilde could feel his body feeling like it was being repeatedly electrocuted under the water, his body felt like it was being shocked a million times over - that was how cold the water felt - through his officer's jacket, through his shirts he wore under the jacket. He could feel his blood go cold under the water. He could hear the piercing screams of those all around him in the water, the sound of his whistle blowing seemed to deafen in his ears. He looked up at the stars in that cold, icy water and pleaded mentally for some kind of God to come and save him, save THEM but no kind of God came and Wilde watched each and every person in that water freeze and die right before his every eyes! Oh, what horror! As Wilde felt his legs and thighs and lower back freezing to ice, he knew this was it, he was going to die. He felt his breaths get shorter, he felt his heart skipping beats, he could feel immense pain racing through the veins in his fingers. His sound was leaving him, he could only hear faintly, his vision was becoming blurred, he was dying and he didn't want to die, he wanted to live.
"HOLD ON! Hold on Henry! The boats are coming back, just hold on!"
No mental pep talk he gave to himself at that moment was going to help him, save him. He was dying. As Henry Wilde severely shivered while holding on to a wooden chair in the water, he felt like a head without a body in that ice water - everything on him was numb, except for his head/face features - his eyes, nose and mouth and partially his ears. He could still slightly move his mouth, blink and smell - smell the ice water, he could still partially hear but not totally. As his blinking began slowing up, Wilde became very scared, scared to die. Tears filled his eyes as he closed them and did what he thought was happening - died.
Wilde awakened with a loud gasp on the floor of his bedroom, he was heavily perspired and gasping for air., severely hyperventilating Tears were clouded in his eyes. He quickly looked all around the dark room he was in and saw his brown paper on his nightstand table. He quickly grabbed it, opened it and began breathing inside the bag repeatedly.
As Wilde walked into his dark kitchen, he walked over to the counter, opened his cabinet and grabbed his bottle of pills and popped two in his mouth. He turned on the faucet and swallowed the pills with sink water. In the months following the sinking, Officer Henry Wilde never emotionally and mentally recovered from the tragedy. He was rescued from the icy waters just thirty minutes after blacking out and when he arrived at the hospital, doctors had no clue how he was alive but he was. At the time, Will called it "a miracle from God". Wilde didn't, Wilde called it a nightmare he just happened to awaken from. He had a faith in God before Titanic's sinking, now - now he wasn't so sure what to believe about God. The sinking had damaged Wilde's life in numerous ways, he developed severe asthma, a heart problem and he began suffering from severe anxiety and panic attacks. He had a hard time finding work because of his health issues. All of that because of that damn ship and that damn tragedy. Wilde stared at the bottle of pills with a deep frown and with light tears. Damn it, why did he have to get on that ship? He told his sister he still didn't like that ship, so why in bloody hell did he board it? Wilde leaned up against the counter and sighed slightly with a brief close of his eyes. He couldn't do this, not another day. He couldn't live with the illnesses he had, with the trauma he had running through his mind every time he closed his eyes to sleep, every time he stepped outside his door and saw a little girl running down the road. He thought of the many little girls on the RMS Titanic and who's lungs filled with water and drowned - DROWNED. Every time he saw a sun setting or a sun rising, he thought of the many souls who would never see another sunset or sunrise because of the Titanic tragedy. The images of people dying - quickly, slowly, painfully all around him, in front of his eyes in that very water was very traumatic for Henry Wilde. Then it was his own issues, his own experience - of almost dying, the feeling of almost dying, the feeling of helplessness. The feeling of knowing that he would never be the same man he was before the sinking ever again. Of course, Wilde tried to erase the bad trauma of the tragedy from his mind by seeking therapy, by trying to contact Will and Lightoller - to no avail, they never responded back to him. He tried getting another job, but that didn't pan out because of his frequent issues with his lungs and his heart. No, Wilde didn't even LOOK like the same man he was on that ship. He looked more worn, more beaten down, more distressed with bags under his red, tired eyes.
No, he could not do this another day he thought as he broke into tears in that kitchen. He quickly wiped his tears away and grabbed a notepad and pencil out of a kitchen drawer and began writing. Afterward, he tossed the pencil down and walked out of the kitchen back to his bedroom.
Ada Wilde walked up to the door of her brother, Henry's house around five that evening. She had been coming constantly to check up on her brother in the months following the sinking out of concern, sincere concern for him and his well-being and today was no different. As she took her key and unlocked the door and walked inside. She found the house dark, quiet - eerily quiet. She looked all around with a frown as she went to turn on a lamp on a table nearby.
"Henry?" Ada called out. "Henry?"
Her calls went unanswered. She looked towards the kitchen and saw a note on the table. She read it:
I can't do this anymore Ada. I'm sorry. All of this pain, all of this trauma, nightmares, illnesses, I just want it to stop. I just want something I can never have because of that sinking - peace, emotional and mental peace...I can't find it in life, maybe I can find it in death. I'm sorry
Ada looked up quickly at the living room with frightened eyes, no, no he couldn't do this. She couldn't let him do this. She quickly dropped the note and ran out the kitchen.
"Henry?!" Ada called. "Henry?!"
Ada ran to Wilde's closed bedroom door, grabbed the knob, opened the door and ran inside. There she saw Wilde hanging from the ceiling fan by a rope, a knocked over chair lying on the floor under him. He had hanged himself. She screamed loudly in horror.
"Henry!" Ada yelled as she quickly ran to him.
She quickly turned the chair upright and climbed up on it. She grabbed Wilde's body - which was still warm, that was a good sign - and lifted it up as she grabbed the rope and unwrapped it from around the fan. As he collapsed fully into her arms, she quickly got off the chair and dropped to her knees with him in her arms. She broke into tears.
"Henry?! Henry, wake up please come on!" Ada cried as she shook him.
She quickly felt for his pulse, she briefly closed her tearful eyes but continued shaking him.
"Henry?! Henry please wake up! Wake up!" Ada yelled through tears while shaking him repeatedly.
Ada Wilde couldn't lose her brother, not at that moment, not like this...