“Which song did I sing for you? You have three seconds to answer me.”
“‘Remember Me’?” She says the name of the song like it’s a question.
“No. I sang ‘I Stopped.’ Layla remembers.”
“Stop talking about me like I’m not Layla. This is insane.” She’s crawled more toward the head of the bed, like she’s trying to get away from me.
I don’t blame her for being scared of me. If someone had tried to explain this to me a month ago, I wouldn’t have been able to believe it. I attempt to come off as levelheaded as I can because I know she thinks the opposite of me right now. “I can’t expect you to accept this any easier than I did, but it’s true. It’s just going to take time, and maybe proof, before you fully comprehend what’s happening. For that, I’m sorry, but I can’t let you leave now. Not until I figure out how to fix this for Layla.”
“But I am Layla,” she whispers, still trying to convince herself that this isn’t happening.
I look behind me. “Layla, take over.”
I wait a few seconds until I see the change.
Layla opens her eyes. She relaxes her legs, but her expression doesn’t relax. She looks like she’s about to cry, and I don’t know if it’s because there isn’t a doubt left in her as to whether she’s Layla, or if she feels bad for the situation Sable is in now.
I lean forward and untie her hands. When her wrists are free, she lunges forward and wraps her arms tightly around me. She starts to cry.
It becomes real in this moment. Knowing that Sable struggles to access memories I made with Layla—memories that are front and center in Layla’s mind—has eliminated any shred of doubt that still hung between us.
Layla grips the back of my head and presses her cheek against mine. Her voice is full of fear. “Please help me find a way back.”
I close my eyes. “I won’t stop fighting for you until we figure this out. I promise.”CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I’m washing Layla’s hair in the shower. It’s an eerie duplication of the morning after we met, standing together in this shower. Only this time we’re quiet. I’m not asking her questions because I feel like my need for answers has brought us nothing but gloom. It makes me wonder if she regrets me having shown up here. Had I not shown up, she wouldn’t be aware of just how much she doesn’t belong in her realm. She wouldn’t know how unfair it is.
She wouldn’t know she might not be able to get back.
We didn’t sleep at all last night. We spent hours searching for solutions online and skimming paranormal books in the Grand Room. We’ve found nothing so far, even though we searched until two hours after the sun rose.
Today is a new day. After we get some much-needed sleep, we’ll start it all over again. I refuse to allow Layla to feel hopeless about this situation.
When I’m finished rinsing her hair, I press a kiss against the top of her head. She relaxes into me with a sigh, her back to my chest, and we just let the hot water beat down on us as we stand together in silence. It’s not romantic. It’s not sexy.
We’re just sad.
“Her body is exhausted,” Layla says.
“It’s not her body. It’s yours.”
She turns around and looks up at me. Her eyes are hollow and tired. She needs to sleep, but now that she knows she belongs more in this body than she does in the spiritual realm, she doesn’t like the idea of going back to nothing. She told me earlier that it scares her now.
That gutted me.
I don’t want her to let Sable take over again, but it’s inevitable. It’s the only way her body can recuperate.
“Take two sleeping pills,” I say. “Maybe she won’t wake up for a while.”
Layla nods.
We get out of the shower, and I grab two pills for her. Layla takes them with a sip of water and then climbs into the bed. I close the blackout curtains to shut out the sun. I crawl in bed with her, but this time I don’t hesitate to pull her against me. It finally feels normal again—having her in this bed with me.
As normal as our situation can feel.
I keep expecting to wake up from this nightmare. I don’t like thinking back on the last several months, and all the signs that were right in front of me. It makes me feel ignorant—like my closed-mindedness hindered us in some way. I never believed in ghosts or spirits, but if I did, would I have noticed Layla wasn’t actually Layla?
Are there other people in this world who—like Sable—assume they’re suffering from some form of amnesia that makes memories hard to sift through, when in reality, they just don’t belong in the body they’re inhabiting? They’re merely a spirit trapped in the wrong body.