Layla

I don’t know what to call her now. Willow or Sable.

Sable seems like an insult. It’s hard for the name to even pass through my head without it consuming me in a wave of negative emotions.

Even now, knowing what I know, the Sable I knew and the Willow I know still seem like two separate people. Maybe Willow is right, and in this realm, she’s just Willow. She’s not who she was in her past life.

I’m going to continue calling her Willow because I can’t bring myself to refer to her as Sable.

When we walked back into the house earlier, I came straight to the laptop and opened up the messages in the forum. I typed: We need your help.

I didn’t type anything else in the message. The man already somehow knows where we’re staying, so if he’s able to come, he’ll come. And if he needs more information, he’ll ask. I don’t want to type too many details.

“She’s going to be hysterical when she wakes up,” Willow says. “You might want to get her medication out of the car in case she needs it.”

“Good idea.” I return to the car and grab both suitcases. When I shut the trunk, I look up at the house. I can see Willow through the huge bay windows in the kitchen. She’s pacing back and forth, biting her thumbnail nervously. I watch her for a moment, wondering what’s going to happen when Layla does wake up.

How am I going to explain this to her?

Do I tell her the truth?

I’m not sure I can convince her that everything that happened tonight was just a dream, and I’m not looking forward to telling her that I intend to stay in this house even longer. I’ll just figure it out as I go along. That’s all I can do at this point. I can’t just call up people I know and ask for advice on how to properly hold your girlfriend against her will so your ghost friend can use her body.

This is definitely a play-it-by-ear situation.

When I’m back inside the house with the suitcases, I turn on the security system. Then Willow follows me upstairs. We unpack the suitcases and try to replace everything just the way it was before I packed them. If I’m going to try to convince Layla that she dreamt everything that happened earlier, it’ll need to appear like we never packed up to leave in the first place.

Willow is sitting on the bed when I return from putting Layla’s toiletries on the bathroom counter. She’s hugging her knees, her back against the headboard.

“What are you going to say to her when she wakes up?” Willow asks.

“I don’t know yet.”

She nods, folding her lips together tightly. I walk over to the bed and take a seat. She lays her head on her knees and stares at me. She looks so small right now, curled up into herself. So vulnerable.

Maybe it’s why I chose to stay and help her, because she’s never felt like a threat to me. Not in this house anyway. Even still, after knowing what I know, I can’t bring myself to hate her. I can’t even bring myself to regret any of this. I’ve enjoyed my time with her here, no matter who she used to be. I still feel drawn to her presence now.

I still want Willow here over Layla, and I realize that’s fucked up, but I can’t help how I feel, no matter how much I wish I didn’t feel it.

“Should I stay awake while you sleep?” I ask her.

“I don’t think you need to. It’ll be better if you try to get some sleep too.”

“What if she wakes up while I’m asleep?”

“I won’t sleep, even if Layla does. If she wakes up, I’ll let you know.

I’ll slip into her again if I need to, but only if I have to.”

We both lie down and pull the blanket over us.

I want to wrap my arms around her because she looks scared. But there’s too much between us now for that. No matter how much I still feel an irrational pull toward her, I can’t kiss her like I did last night, knowing what I know now.

Willow doesn’t even seem like she expects me to. She closes her eyes.

“Good night, Leeds,” she whispers.

I wake up to a violent shake, like my entire body is being jostled around inside a dryer. I feel hands on my shoulders. Someone is pulling on my shirt. My eyes are so heavy I feel like I might have to use my fingers to pry them open.

“Leeds!” When she says my name, my eyes finally flick open. I immediately sit up on the bed. Layla has turned the lamp on and is standing next to me. She’s pulling on my hand now. “Something is wrong,” she whispers . . . her voice panicked.

She attempts to pull me out of bed, but I don’t move. She finally releases my hand and goes to the dresser. She pulls out a pair of blue jeans and steps into them. “Something is wrong with me, Leeds. We need to leave. I don’t want to be here.”

I try to keep my voice steady when I say, “You had a bad dream, Layla. Come back to bed.”

She looks at me like I’ve insulted her. She takes two quick steps forward and says, “I’m not dreaming!” She hisses the word dreaming in a feverish way, but then she looks away as if she’s embarrassed by her own outburst. “I’m not dreaming,” she mutters.

I get out of the bed and meet her near the dresser. “It’s okay, Layla.

I’m here.” I try to hug her, but she pushes against me, jamming a finger into my chest.

“You know it’s not okay! You were there earlier! You were trying to leave too!” She grips her forehead with one of her hands and spins in a circle, looking frantically around the room until her gaze is fixed on mine again. “What is happening? Am I going crazy?”

Guilt knots in my stomach because of the direction her thoughts are going, but I say nothing to disprove those thoughts. Maybe it’s better if she assumes she’s going crazy. The truth would be too hard for her to accept.

But is it right to let her think she’s losing her sanity?

Layla stares at me for several very long, worrisome seconds, as if she knows I’m holding back. Distrust slips between us. It’s just a flash—a second of darkness in her eyes—as if she’s questioning whether or not I’m on her side. Before I can even answer that silent question, she darts for the bedroom door and runs toward the stairs.

She’s trying to leave.

She can’t leave.

I chase her. I pass her. I get to the front door before she does, and I press my back to it, stretching my arms out across it. “I can’t let you leave like this. You’re upset.”

She shakes her head, small fast jerks, and her eyes brim with tears and fear. Then she rushes into the kitchen. I follow behind her and watch as she takes a knife out of the butcher block and spins around, waving it wildly at me. “Let. Me. Leave.” Her voice is low and threatening, but it’s also trembling.

“Put the knife down,” I plead.

“I’ll put it down when I’m in the car.”

I shake my head. “I can’t let you leave, Layla.”

“You can’t make me stay!” she screams. “Why are you trying to make me stay?” She covers her mouth with her hand to stifle a sob, but she keeps the knife up, pointed in my direction. “Something is happening to us, Leeds. You’re going crazy. Or maybe it’s me, I don’t know, but it’s this house and we need to get out. Please. ”

I grip the back of my neck as I try to think of what to say. How to calm her down. I don’t know what excuse I can use to get her to stay, but I don’t want her to leave in such a hysterical state. And then it hits me. “The car won’t start.”

Her eyes narrow.

“I tried to start it earlier. It’s dead. We can’t leave until the battery I ordered gets here.”

She points the knife at me like it’s her index finger. “You’re lying!”

“I’m not lying.”

“Then let me try to start it.” She begins to walk toward the exit to the kitchen, but I block it.

That’s when it really hits her. Until this moment, she was just confused and a little bit scared, but she gets it now. She realizes I’m not entirely on her side.

I want to be on her side, but there’s something preventing me from choosing. It’s like my conscience is torn in half, or possibly even missing altogether.

She lunges forward, but the knife in her hand comes loose from her grip and flies across the kitchen. It hits the window and then falls to the floor with a clatter. She’s staring at the knife, wide eyed. She looks at me, and then looks back down at the knife. I’m several feet from her, so she knows I didn’t knock it out of her hand.

She screams.

As suddenly as her screaming begins, it stops.

Willow has taken over.

“You’re going to have to lock her in the bedroom,” she says.

I walk out of the kitchen because I need more room to think. I pace the foyer, my hands clasped together behind my head. “She’ll try to climb out the window.”

“Lock her in a different bedroom.”

“They all have windows,” I say.

“Is there a basement?”

“I can’t do that to her. No one wants to be locked in a basement.”

“No one wants to be locked up any where, Leeds.”

I spin around and face Willow. “Can’t you just stay inside of her until the man gets here?”

She shakes her head. “Her body is too exhausted at this point. I can’t keep her awake, no matter how hard I try.”

I’d rather Layla not be in and out of consciousness like this. It’s driving her mad, but I’m not sure I can let her go at this point. She’d go straight to the police.

I’m in it now.

There’s no going back.

“I’m going to have to tie her to the bed.”

Willow nods. “Okay, but then what happens? When this is over? She’s not going to just let you walk away from this. She thinks you’re holding her against her will.”

“I mean, I am. But I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.”

“You can’t take the fall for this. Tell her you tried to leave, but I wouldn’t let you. Make her think you’re a victim in this too. She needs to feel like someone is on her side.”

“You want me to tell her about you?”

Willow nods. “Maybe not everything. You can give her just enough information to let her know this isn’t your fault and that there’s something bigger at play. Maybe that will calm her down toward you. I don’t really care how she feels toward me, or this house. I just don’t want her to blame you.”

It might work. I can convince her it’s out of our control, that there’s some other force keeping us here. It won’t calm her down by any means, because the idea of that will be hard to wrap her mind around, but in the end, she might not blame me. That’s all I can hope for as a result. Not to end up spending the rest of this life in prison.

“We need to find rope.”