#salemfloyd

Floyd walked down the hall of his home, starting down the stairs, and halting only a step or two down. His reason for halting his late night walk about the house was seeing someone standing at the bottom of those very steps, waiting, it seemed, for him. He didn’t reach for his gun, he didn’t tell the intruder to stop where they were. Even in the dark lighting he knew who it was. He could never mistake her for anyone else.

Yevette stood there, looking positively radiant. Her black hair was curled and spilling over her shoulders—like ink against the paper white of her skin. She wore a long dress that shined brightly into Floyd’s eyes, a contrast to the darkness of the room they stood in. But all of this wasn’t why she was so radiant. It was for a different reason. It was because she was her. An angel to the ragged man at the top of the stairs.

Floyd blinked and blinked again, but this seemed to be the only movement her could muster. He couldn’t reach his hand out and try to beckon her closer, he couldn’t move his legs down the steps, he couldn’t even move his lips or tongue in order to form the words he really wanted to say. Lucky for him, Yevette decided to move up the stairs, quickly towards him, stopping a step short of being on the same one as him. He blinked at her and she blinked back, then gave one of those impossibly beautiful smiles of hers. The one that never failed to make his heart seemingly speed up and melt all at the same time.

“Floyd,” she said and even though it was a whisper, the sound of her voice filled his ears. It didn’t seems quite the same, though. It was smoother and more melodic than the last time he’d heard her speak. He started to count the days, but then she reached out for him, going to caresses his cheek with her soft, delicate fingers. Floyd closed his eyes and imagined, imagined hard what those fingers—what that palm—would feel like in the moments just before she touched him. He had to imagine because that’s all he was going to get. Because she would never—could never—touch him ever again. Floyd was right as a moment later there was nothing but air where Yevette had once stood.