Layla

And then she’s gone.

Layla is hysterical again.

She spins in a circle, confused as to how she got outside.

I grab her hand and walk her to the passenger-side door. “Just get in the car,” I say, trying to sound calm, but that’s hard to do when she’s screaming and scared and confused and sobbing. I buckle her in and walk around to the driver’s-side door.

I place my hand on the door handle and pause for a moment. Layla is screaming for me to hurry. My head is pounding from the pressure of everything that’s happened in the last hour. I just want to scream because I feel like I’m being torn in half right now.

I think about the night I met Layla. I think about what she said . . . about realms and how she believes we move from one realm, to the next, to the next. I think about how she said in the womb we don’t remember existence before the womb. In life, we don’t remember being in the womb. And how in the next realm, we may not remember this life.

What if Willow really doesn’t remember being Sable?

What if who she is in this realm is different from who she was in her past realm?

She’s right. No matter how far away from this place I get, I’ll never stop thinking about this. I’ll never stop needing answers.

I look back at the house . . . at the place that means the most to me in this world. The heart of the country.

If Willow . . . Sable . . . didn’t need my help, why would she have come here?

There’s a reason she’s here. She knew I would show up here somehow. Maybe it was a cosmic force at play. Maybe it’s something as simple as needing Layla’s and my forgiveness.

Whatever it is, whether the reason is complicated or simple, this whole thing is bigger than Layla. This is bigger than me. This is so much bigger than the world I thought we existed in, and I’m trying to force it into a tiny little box and tuck it away like none of it is happening.

I feel the pull to help Willow in my gut, my bones, my heart. If I walk away, those feelings will stay here, in this house, with this ghost, and I’ll leave feeling just as empty as I felt when I arrived.

I can’t explain why, but walking away from this place out of fear feels so much worse than staying to help this girl find closure. If Layla and I are related to the reason she’s stuck here, we’re more than likely also her only way out.

“Leeds,” Layla pleads. “Get in the car!”

I’ll always feel a constant pull to this place, no matter where I am in life or how far I drive away from here.

And for the life of me . . . I can’t figure out why. Why do I care what happens to Sable? Is she manipulating my thoughts somehow?

“Willow,” I say into the air. “I have a question. Get back inside Layla again.”

Layla is still yelling my name, begging me to hurry.

Then she stops.

She’s suddenly calm as she unbuckles herself and opens her door. When she climbs out of the car and turns around, it’s Willow looking back at me from over the top of the car.

“Have you ever gotten inside of me?” I ask her.

She immediately answers with a shake of her head. “No. Of course not.”

The look on her face is a clear indicator that she isn’t lying. “You said you only have memories when you’re attached to a body,” I say. “Is that right?”

She nods.

“If that man comes to help you, then you’re going to need a body. You’re going to need those memories.”

It takes my words a few seconds to register, but when they do, Willow covers her mouth with her hand, trying to stifle her cry. Then she drops her hand to her chest, over her heart. “You’re going to help me?”

I let go of a regretful sigh. “Yes. And I have no idea why. So please don’t make me regret this. Please.”

Willow shakes her head adamantly. “I won’t. But . . . Layla isn’t going to stay here willingly. Not after tonight.”

I walk back toward the house and away from the car. “I know.”

This is the moment I truly question myself as a boyfriend, a caretaker, a human being. I don’t know why I feel so strongly about staying, or why I feel so strongly about keeping Layla here with me. My behavior right now goes against every moral I have, but I’ve never felt this kind of certainty in my gut.

My gut is telling me this terrible decision will pay off when it’s all said and done.

Which means this is the moment I’ll likely regret the most.