Layla

“You aren’t inconspicuous. It’s an obvious change when you’re inside of her.”

“I’m a bad actor, what can I say?”

“What do you look like when you aren’t inside Layla?”

She laughs. It’s Layla’s laugh, though, which causes my heart to constrict a little. It’s weird—someone else laughing Layla’s laugh. It’s been so long since I’ve heard it.

“I don’t look like anything. I don’t exist in a physical form. I can’t see anything when I look in the mirror. It’s not like the ghosts in the movies with the flowy white gowns. I’m just . . . nothing. I’m thoughts. Feelings. But they’re not really attached to anything tangible. It’s weird, I guess, but it’s all I know.”

I’m trying to think of more questions to ask, but it’s hard when I’m full of this much adrenaline. I feel like we’ve cracked some code by communicating this way. Or maybe we’ve broken some unspoken rule.

I want to get excited about the idea of it all, but twenty-five years of disbelief is hard to just let go of.

“Layla . . . if this is some kind of prank . . .”

She shakes her head. “It isn’t. I’m not Layla. I’m Willow.”

The idea that Layla would go to these lengths to lie to me for no reason is somehow more unbelievable than Layla being possessed by a ghost. All I can do is believe this girl—or at least pretend to believe her—while I try to get more answers. “How old are you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know that I have an age, if that makes sense. Like I said earlier, time isn’t really a thing for me.”

“So you don’t feel like there’s an end to your life?”

“I just don’t think about it. Not like humans do. When there’s literally nothing I can do or look forward to . . . not even meals or naps. Or the bigger things, like aging and death . . . what importance is time?”

She eats several more potato chips in silence. Then she grabs a soda from the fridge and sits back down in the chair while she drinks it. Every time she takes a sip or a bite of food, it’s like she appreciates it with the feelings of a million taste buds. It makes me feel like I’ve taken everything I’ve ever tasted for granted.

“Does it feel different being in her body?”

She nods immediately. “Yes. It’s really confusing. There are memories that don’t belong to me. Feelings that aren’t mine. But that’s the thing—when I’m not inside of her—I feel very little, and I have no memories at all. So I kind of like being inside of her, even though it feels wrong, like I’m not supposed to do this.”

“You have her memories?”

She nods. “Yes, but I’m trying not to be intrusive.”

“Can you remember things that happened between me and Layla?”

She looks down at her can of soda. I see her cheeks flush a little with embarrassment, and it makes me wonder what memories caused that feeling in her.

“You met her here.”

I nod to let her know that memory is right.

She smiles. “She loves you.”

“You can feel that?”

“Yes. She loves you a lot. But she’s also worried.”

“About what?”

“That you don’t love her as much as she loves you.”

I can feel my face fall a little at that confession. I don’t want Layla to feel that way. I don’t want her to feel loved less than she is, or full of anxiety, or scared.

“Will she remember this conversation? You taking over her?”

She shakes her head. “No. She didn’t remember the times I ate her food. She just thinks she’s having memory issues.” Her eyes narrow. “Something bad happened to her. It affected her. A lot.”

“Yeah. It did.”

A door opens upstairs and steals my attention. We both look at the entryway to the kitchen. Shit. I forgot Aspen and Chad were still here. “Can you leave her body? That’s probably her sister.”

Willow shakes her head. There’s a new look of unease about her. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Layla will freak out if I leave her body right now. She’ll be in the kitchen when she wakes up and will have no memory of getting down here.”

Aspen appears in the doorway. “Thought I heard you two.” She walks over to Layla—to Willow—and grabs the bag of chips from her. Aspen takes a seat next to Willow. “Chad pissed the bed. I changed the sheets, but I’m pretty sure the mattress will need to be cleaned now.” She looks at Willow. “Your fault for showing him where the liquor was.”

Willow looks at me wide eyed, like she’s scared to say anything to Aspen.

I push my chair back. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow. No big deal.” I look at Willow. “You ready for bed, Layla?”

She nods and starts to stand up, but Aspen grabs her hand and pouts. “No, stay. I never get to see you anymore, and I can’t sleep.”