Epilogue
Light pierced the cracks of the blinds and fell across Floyd’s face. He stirred and then sat up in surprise. Nothing. He’d dreamt of nothing the entire night. Abby had not been disemboweled or decapitated by the gunman. Her naked body had not crept into his bed to surprise him. For the first time since her death, he had slept through the night uninterrupted. Freedom. At last his subconscious had cut the chains to the past.
He sat up and stretched limbs filled with energy, ready to take on the world. Floyd charged into the bathroom and paused at his reflection. There was a new sparkle in his eyes, an inner glow shining through now that he had regained his sense of purpose. His eyes were now clear and soon his skin would be toasted brown by the Pacific sun. One remnant from his days of despair remained; Floyd found a pair of scissors and pulled his long hair back into a rudimentary ponytail as he’d seen Abby do hundreds of times. The ponytail fell to the floor in a heap and for a moment Floyd stared at it. Like the hair, he’d cut ties with the past; he was ready to move ahead into the future.
He emerged from the bathroom and looked through his drawers for clothes to wear on his Independence Day. He took out the forest green polo reserved for Tuesdays and the gray slacks slated for Mondays. It was a start to erasing the routine he’d let his fear create for him. He laughed now at how stupid the whole system sounded to him—he would wear whatever the hell he felt like now.
He pulled down a battered blue suitcase from the top shelf of his closet and began to stuff it full of clothes to take with him on his journey. He had no idea of how long he would be gone, or if he would ever come back at all. As he emptied his drawers into the suitcase, he couldn’t think of anything else he wanted to take with him; none of the baubles he had accumulated during his years of hiding meant anything to him now.
Then, as he snapped the suitcase shut, his eyes fell upon the picture of his family that had provided the excuse he needed to flush the painkillers down the toilet. He hadn’t considered until now what he should tell his family about his decision. He couldn’t just sneak out of the city without even a note to explain why he was going. He wanted them to know why he had to leave; he wanted them to understand what he had learned about himself.
He went out to the living room and found one of his notebooks and a pen before returning to the bedroom to contemplate how he should word his farewell address. The same blockage that occurred when he tried to write the marriage proposal to Abby—the sheer overload of thoughts and emotions—caused him to tap the paper impotently for a long time. Just tell the truth, he told himself. He wrote one word, then another, then another until he had the first sentence. From there, the rest flowed from his mind and onto the page. He finished and checked over the final product.
I’ve spent my whole life hiding from the world because I’ve been too afraid of what people would think if they knew me. In my heart I’m still afraid, but I know that somewhere out there, I can find the courage I have always lacked, as Todd did.
I know that nothing I can ever do will make up for my failure to protect Abby, but my life is no longer about who I was; it is about who I will become when I finally emerge from the cocoon I have slumbered in for so long. Whether it is as a butterfly or still a worm remains to be seen, but I will return as soon as I know the answer. Until then, one thing will never change—I love you.
--Floyd
He folded up the notebook paper and stuffed it into an envelope; after a moment’s hesitation he sealed the envelope—it was done. He addressed it to his mother and searched the apartment until he found his last postage stamp hiding under the keyboard of his computer. He knew he should deliver the message in person, but his mother’s tears would only discourage him from what he had to do. He couldn’t delay any longer than he already had.
Floyd tucked the envelope into his pocket and took the picture of his family. Next to it was the photo of Abby and her family he’d taken from her dorm. A final tear came to his eye as he held her picture in his trembling hands. Wherever she was, she was free from her mother’s control. She was finally free to be herself. He imagined that when he met Abby again, it would be this Abby in the picture—with blemished skin, oversized glasses, and imperfect breasts.
No matter where he went or what he did, he knew he would never find anyone like her; he would never find anyone who understood him as well as she had. No one would ever replace Abby, but he didn’t want to go on alone; he’d been alone far too much of his life already. He thought of his failed date with Michelle Kapanen and wondered if he could find love again, albeit a less complete love than he’d shared with Abby. It would only be possible, he decided, if he was not afraid to open his heart to someone else and if he was not afraid to reveal the secret he had kept for so long. He would somehow have to find the strength to not be a coward in love as well as in life.
Floyd wiped the tear away and carried both photographs to the living room; he stuffed them into his backpack so that he might carry Abby and his family with him wherever he went. Then he slung the backpack over his shoulder and hauled it along with the suitcase and a grocery bag of food down to his car. The trunk shut with a sound of finality, the last nail in the coffin of his old life. He sat behind the wheel for a moment and took a deep breath. Then he started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. He dropped the letter addressed to his mother in the first mailbox he came across. There was no turning back now.
The Shadow passed through Freepoint one last time. Past the Herbert Chemical Company sending orange-tinged clouds into the morning sky; past the tall grass and failed promises of Ridgewood Manors; past the boarded-up fronts of
He did not look back.
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