Layla

What if she refuses to leave her now? What am I supposed to do?

“You said things were chaotic inside Layla’s head. Are they chaotic because you have memories that aren’t Layla’s?”

Willow’s chin is quivering. She nods.

“How many of Sable’s memories do you have?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t know what memories are Sable’s, and I don’t know what belongs to Layla. I have both when I’m inside of her. It’s why I told you it was chaotic inside her head, because there are two versions of everything.”

“Like what?”

Willow walks closer to me, and I take a step back. Her eyebrows draw apart in agony when I step away from her. She stifles a sob and then sits down at the table. She’s covering her mouth with both hands now, as if she’s trying to keep the sobs at bay while also trying to keep the truth at bay.

I reach behind me on the counter and grab a napkin. I hand it to her . . . wanting her to trust me as long as I’m still here. Long enough to let her explain herself, and then hopefully I can talk her into letting me leave with Layla. I repeat the question she’s yet to answer, but I repeat it more gently.

“What memories do you have two versions of, Willow?”

She lifts her eyes to mine, wiping away tears with the napkin. “None of them when I’m not in Layla’s body. But when I am inside of her . . . there are a lot.”

I blow out an unsteady breath and turn away from her. She’s been lying to me this whole time. “Do you remember the shooting?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Do you remember doing it?”

There’s a pause, and then . . .

“The memories all seem like mine when I’m inside Layla. So I don’t know. It’s there. But is it mine? I don’t know.”

I turn around and look at her. “Why else would you have access to Sable’s memories?”

She looks away from me, covering her face with her hand, full of shame. “I don’t know.” She stands up, quickly, and rushes over to me. “If I was Sable, I’m not anymore, Leeds. I could never be capable of something like that.”

I feel sick to my stomach. “Get out of Layla,” I plead, knowing it’s a hollow plea. There’s no way she’s going to let us leave now. Sable got to us once before, and now she’s gotten to us again. And I fell for it, hook, line, and sinker.

Except this isn’t some small mistake. It isn’t even some huge betrayal.

This is far beyond anything I could even imagine. This is otherworldly.

Way beyond my comprehension.

Tears are spilling out of Willow’s eyes. She just shakes her head, and with eyes full of sorrow, she says, “I’m so sorry.”

And then she screams.

It’s a bloodcurdling scream that makes my spine stiffen.

I can instantly tell Willow is no longer using Layla’s body.

Layla looks around the kitchen and then grips the bar. She lowers herself, as if her knees are too weak to hold her up. “What is happening?” Her voice is a shaky whisper. When she looks at me, her eyes are wide. “Leeds, what is happening to me?”

I grab Layla’s hand and pull her up. “We need to leave. Now.”

She’s hysterical. She pushes away from me and says, “I need my medicine. I’m freaking out.”

“I packed it.”

She stops in the doorway and looks at me. “Why? I need it. Where is it?”

I walk to the foyer and grab our suitcases. “I’ll get it for you in the car. We need to leave right now. Let’s go.”

She’s unmoving. “Why are we leaving? Why am I downstairs?” She spins in a circle, looking up the stairs, and then into the kitchen. “I can’t remember anything. I think something is wrong. Something is wrong with me.”

“Nothing is wrong with you, Layla. It’s this house. We need to get out of it.”

She looks at me, and maybe it’s the seriousness in my expression, but she finally nods in agreement. “Okay,” she says, her voice full of nervousness. I open the door and push Layla out first. Then I pull the suitcases over the threshold.

“Hurry,” I say, needing her to be faster before Willow takes over again.

We get halfway to the car when Layla stops. “Let’s go, Layla.”

She doesn’t move.

I look at her but no longer see Layla standing next to me.

It’s Willow again.

I just let go of the suitcases. I throw my hands up in defeat. The suitcases fall over, and I kick one. I kick it again. I kick it and I kick it and I kick it because she’s not going to let us leave.

“Leeds, stop,” Willow pleads.

I don’t know how to get Layla out of her grasp now.

And even if she does slip out of Layla, is Willow going to follow us? How do I know she won’t be in the car with us when we leave? I can’t call the police. What the hell would I say? The ghost of the girl I killed is stalking me? Again?