Layla

The man stops the recorder.

I tilt my head back, feeling uneasy about where this conversation is headed. I want to be honest with him, but the truth that’s about to come up doesn’t paint me in a good light.

Nothing else I say tonight will paint me in a good light.

“Do you have a restroom I can use?” he asks.

I point down the hallway. “Third door on your right.”

He gets up and leaves the room. I would go check on Layla, but it’s finally quiet upstairs. Hopefully it stays that way for a while. I open my laptop to see if Willow is in the room with us.

“Are you here?” I ask her.

I scoot the laptop over to an empty seat next to me, and she immediately types a response.

Yes.

“What do you think?”

I haven’t been down here for all of the conversation because I wanted Layla to fall asleep, so I don’t know what all you’ve told him, or what he’s suggested.

“I’ve told him almost everything, but all he’s done is listen so far.”

Almost everything? What have you left out?

I roll my head and then lower it to my arms. “I haven’t told him everything that happened the night Layla and I were shot.”

Leeds . . .

“I know. I’ll get to that. I just . . .”

The man walks back in the room, so I clamp my mouth shut and don’t finish my sentence. He eyes me carefully as he takes his seat at the table.

“Were you just speaking to Willow?”

I nod.

“How?”

“Through my laptop. I talk to her out loud, and she responds using the computer.”

The man stares at me in thought. “Fascinating,” he says.

I turn the laptop toward him. “Do you want to watch her do it?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t need to see it. I believe you.” He leans forward and hits record. “So what happened the next morning?”