Layla

I’m leaning forward with my elbows resting on the table. The talking is becoming less of a nuisance. Maybe because we got past the hardest part.

“Why did you buy a security system?” the man asks. “Why didn’t you just leave?”

I pick at a chipped fingernail. “I have no idea. Maybe because it was the first thing to happen to me in a while that I actually felt.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I was numb inside. Had been for a while. But the things that were happening in the house were as fascinating as they were inexplicable. I didn’t leave, because in some twisted sense . . . I think I was enjoying it.”

“So you stayed out of boredom?”

I think about that for a moment. “Not boredom, really. I had Layla.

But I certainly wasn’t scared of whatever was happening. It’s hard to find something threatening that you don’t believe in. I thought the security system was going to explain away everything that had happened.”

“How about now? Do you feel threatened now?”

I think back on all that’s happened since we’ve been here. There have been times I’ve wanted to leave . . . to run from it all. Things have happened that were downright terrifying. But even through it all, I’m resolute in my answer when I say, “No. I don’t feel threatened. I feel sympathetic.”

“That’s usually not the reaction people have in these situations.”

“I know. It’s why I reached out to you, though. It isn’t because I feel threatened. It’s because I want answers.”

“Did the security system help you find any?”

“Not at first. But . . . eventually. Yes.”