Layla

“No,” Willow says. “Only Layla.”

“I think you should try it. I’d like to see how your memories compare while inside his head.”

Willow looks at me with concern. She even looks somewhat uncomfortable with the idea of this. “I won’t do it if you don’t want me to.”

“I’m fine with it.” I am fine with it. I’m fine with anything he thinks might help us out of this situation. And to be honest, I’ve been curious what it’s like. What Layla feels when it happens to her.

Willow stands up. “I won’t be inside Layla if I move into Leeds. We’ll need to tie her up again.”

There’s a nervous energy between us as we ascend the stairs to the bedroom, because we’re about to do something we’ve never done before. Something we’ve never even thought to do.

Willow sits on the bed and looks up at me as I reach for the rope still tied around the bedpost. “Are you sure about this?”

“I have nothing to hide, Willow. It’s fine. It might even help.” I wrap the rope around her wrists and begin to tie them.

“How could it help?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. But he’s like you. He isn’t like me. He knows more than both of us put together, so we just have to trust him. It’s all we have left.”

She inhales, and when she exhales, she leaves Layla’s body.

Layla just slumps against the headboard. “Not again,” she says, her voice full of defeat. “Why is this happening?” The expression on her face is an agonizing one. I force myself to look away.

“I don’t know,” I say quietly. “But I’m sorry it’s happening.” I walk to the door, and Layla is calling after me, but I can’t stay to listen to her pleas. I lock the door behind me and head back downstairs.

“Where should I sit?” I ask the man.

He motions to the chair I’ve been sitting in this whole time. “Right there will be fine.” He reaches out his hand. “Give me your phone. I’ll record our interaction while she’s inside of you and play it back for you when it’s over.”

I slide my phone to him, and he props it up using his briefcase. He points the camera at me and presses record. I suck in a nervous rush of air. I’m staring at the phone when I say, “I’m ready, Willow.”

I only feel it for a second.

A whoosh, like a rush of wind moving through my head. It’s as quick as the fluttering of an eyelid, but I know time has passed, because when I open my eyes, I’m still looking at my phone, but the minutes on the recording have changed. It went from just a few seconds to over three minutes. It’s like being under anesthesia for a surgery. You’re awake, and then you’re awake again, with no memory of the in-between.

“Did it already happen?” I ask, looking at the man.

He’s staring at me with narrowed eyes, as if he’s working through a difficult equation. He reaches over and hits stop on the cell phone recording.

I bring my hands up to a point against my chin, overwhelmed by the simplicity of what just happened, but also overwhelmed by the magnitude of it. It was a strange sensation, but also not entirely unfamiliar. Someone might pass it off as a dizzy spell.

I think back to all the times Willow has done this to Layla. How terrifying it must have been for Layla to be in the middle of a bite of food, and then one blink later and her plate is suddenly empty.

One second she was upstairs; the next second she was outside.

I run my palms down my face, flooded with guilt for what this has done to Layla’s mental stability. I knew this was affecting her, but now that I’ve put myself in her shoes, I feel even worse.

Not to mention, I still have her tied up like she means nothing to me. I can’t believe I’ve been letting Willow do this to Layla.

“What did Willow say?” I ask him. “I want to watch the video.”

He picks up my phone, but before he hands it to me, he says, “Do you have access to Layla’s medical records?”

I have access because I’ve been to every appointment she’s had since I’ve been with her, but I don’t know why he’d need them. “Why?”

“I’d like to see them.”

“Why?” I say again.

“Because I’d like to see them,” he repeats.

This man has given me absolutely nothing tonight. Just question after question and not a single answer. I sigh, frustrated, and then pull my laptop in front of me. It takes me a couple of minutes to log in to Layla’s medical records, and then I slide the laptop over to him. “You think you’re ever going to give us an explanation, or is this one-sided interview going to go on all night?”