Layla

by Colleen Hoover

  “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?

  How the fuck did I get myself into this mess?

  “Listen to me,” Willow says calmly. Her coolness is such a stark contrast to Layla’s hysterics. “If I was Sable in a past life, I am not anymore. I’m Willow. And I could never do what Sable did to you and Layla. If you want to leave, I’m going to let you leave. But . . .”

  I shake my head. “I don’t even want to hear what you have to say. I want to leave.”

  She holds up a hand. “Please. Just let me say this.” She takes two steps forward, slowly. “If I was Sable, then there’s a reason I’m here. You’ve watched all the movies with me. You know all the theories. Why is Sable stuck here, Leeds? Maybe she needs your forgiveness. Or maybe you need hers? I don’t know, but if you leave, we’ll never figure that out. And you’ll go the rest of your life knowing that ghosts exist, and you might be the reason one of them is stuck here. This is going to follow us forever. Both of us.”

  I shift my weight to my other leg. “I’ve been trying to help you figure this out since we started talking! You’re the one who didn’t want to know anything, Willow! Now you want my help? After I find out you’ve been lying to me for weeks?”

  “I wasn’t lying. I didn’t know,” she says. “I thought it was all just chaos inside Layla’s head, because I don’t have memories at all when I’m not in her head. I still don’t know for sure. Your theory makes sense, but it doesn’t feel right. There’s something off about it.” She steps closer again. I don’t step back this time because part of me only sees Willow when I look at her, and that part of me still feels bad for her.

  But not bad enough to stay.

  I point at her. “You’re the reason this happened, whether you remember it or not. You’re the reason Layla almost died. I will not be the reason you ultimately kill her. Get out of her and stay out of her.”

  She’s still calm, but now there are silent tears spilling down her cheeks. “I don’t know why I’m here. But I’m here, and wherever this is, I don’t feel like an evil person. I feel good and I feel honest. I am not whoever Sable was in her life. I feel like me. Like Willow. I’m the girl you’ve been watching movies with and eating leftovers with and spending time with. I’m the girl you kissed on that bed last night. Me. Not Sable. Not Layla. Willow.”

  I clench my teeth. “Willow doesn’t exist. It’s a name you made up.”

  She closes the gap between us and takes my face in her hands, her eyes full of desperation. “I do exist. I’m right here. I’m standing right in front of you.”

  I can’t look at her while she’s crying like this. I spin around and rest my hands on my hips. I drop my head, unsure of what to do next. An entire minute goes by, and she just stands behind me, crying quietly.

  I don’t know what to do. I stare at the driveway, knowing that’s the direction I should be going. But why is my internal compass pulling me in the opposite direction? Why am I even struggling with this decision? Why do I still feel drawn to stay here when she’s the reason we’re in this mess to begin with?

  “Leeds?” she finally says. “Just . . . go.”

  I spin around, and Willow is looking at me, completely defeated. She waves toward the car. “Go. This isn’t right. We shouldn’t be doing this to Layla anyway. Go, get married, buy her a different house, have babies, be famous and shit. Be happy.” She wipes the areas beneath her eyes with her fingers. “I want you to be happy. I promise I won’t stop you when you leave with her this time, if that’s what you want.”

  I study her for a moment, unsure what to believe.

  And why the hell do I still feel bad for her?


  I walk over and pick up one of the suitcases. Then the other. I walk them to the car and shut them in the trunk. She’s standing at the driver’s-side door.

  I pause a few feet from her, watching her cautiously.

  “Do me a favor?” she says. “Will you email that man and ask him to come here anyway? I need to figure this out now. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

  Those words, and the agonizing way she said them, settle in my chest.

  I don’t want to be here anymore.

  I clear my throat. “I’ll email him tonight.”

  She smiles gently, and her lips are trembling when she whispers, “Thank you.” Another tear falls out of her eye, and she looks up and to the right, her face pained. “I hope you have a good life.”

  And then she’s gone.

  Layla is hysterical again.

  She spins in a circle, confused as to how she got outside.

  I grab her hand and walk her to the passenger-side door. “Just get in the car,” I say, trying to sound calm, but that’s hard to do when she’s screaming and scared and confused and sobbing. I buckle her in and walk around to the driver’s-side door.

  I place my hand on the door handle and pause for a moment. Layla is screaming for me to hurry. My head is pounding from the pressure of everything that’s happened in the last hour. I just want to scream because I feel like I’m being torn in half right now.

  I think about the night I met Layla. I think about what she said . . . about realms and how she believes we move from one realm, to the next, to the next. I think about how she said in the womb we don’t remember existence before the womb. In life, we don’t remember being in the womb. And how in the next realm, we may not remember this life.

  What if Willow really doesn’t remember being Sable?

  What if who she is in this realm is different from who she was in her past realm?

  She’s right. No matter how far away from this place I get, I’ll never stop thinking about this. I’ll never stop needing answers.

  I look back at the house . . . at the place that means the most to me in this world. The heart of the country.

  If Willow . . . Sable . . . didn’t need my help, why would she have come here?

  There’s a reason she’s here. She knew I would show up here somehow. Maybe it was a cosmic force at play. Maybe it’s something as simple as needing Layla’s and my forgiveness.

  Whatever it is, whether the reason is complicated or simple, this whole thing is bigger than Layla. This is bigger than me. This is so much bigger than the world I thought we existed in, and I’m trying to force it into a tiny little box and tuck it away like none of it is happening.

  I feel the pull to help Willow in my gut, my bones, my heart. If I walk away, those feelings will stay here, in this house, with this ghost, and I’ll leave feeling just as empty as I felt when I arrived.

  I can’t explain why, but walking away from this place out of fear feels so much worse than staying to help this girl find closure. If Layla and I are related to the reason she’s stuck here, we’re more than likely also her only way out.

  “Leeds,” Layla pleads. “Get in the car!”

  I’ll always feel a constant pull to this place, no matter where I am in life or how far I drive away from here.

  And for the life of me . . . I can’t figure out why. Why do I care what happens to Sable? Is she manipulating my thoughts somehow?

  “Willow,” I say into the air. “I have a question. Get back inside Layla again.”

  Layla is still yelling my name, begging me to hurry.

  Then she stops.

  She’s suddenly calm as she unbuckles herself and opens her door. When she climbs out of the car and turns around, it’s Willow looking back at me from over the top of the car.

  “Have you ever gotten inside of me?” I ask her.

  She immediately answers with a shake of her head. “No. Of course not.”

  The look on her face is a clear indicator that she isn’t lying. “You said you only have memories when you’re attached to a body,” I say. “Is that right?”

  She nods.

  “If that man comes to help you, then you’re going to need a body. You’re going to need those memories.”

  It takes my words a few seconds to register, but when they do, Willow covers her mouth with her hand, trying to stifle her cry. Then she drops her hand to her chest, over her heart. “You’re going to help me?”

  I let go of a regretful sigh. “Yes. And I have no idea why. So please don’t make me regret this. Please.”

  Willow shakes her head adamantly. “I won’t. But . . . Layla isn’t going to stay here willingly. Not after tonight.”

  I walk back toward the house and away from the car. “I know.”

  This is the moment I truly question myself as a boyfriend, a caretaker, a human being. I don’t know why I feel so strongly about staying, or why I feel so strongly about keeping Layla here with me. My behavior right now goes against every moral I have, but I’ve never felt this kind of certainty in my gut.

  My gut is telling me this terrible decision will pay off when it’s all said and done.

  Which means this is the moment I’ll likely regret the most.

  THE INTERVIEW

  “I’d like to speak to Willow now,” the man says. He doesn’t stop the tape recorder. He just stares at me expectantly, waiting for me to go upstairs and untie Layla.

  When I make it up to the bedroom, I can tell Willow is already inside of her.

  “He makes me nervous,” she says.

  “He seems harmless.”

  “He’s just so ambiguous. It’s been a one-sided conversation all night. He hasn’t offered up anything.”

  I don’t respond to that because I’ve known him just as long as Willow has, so I can’t vouch for his character. But what’s the worst that can happen? He doesn’t have answers? We’re already at that point, so it’s not like he can make it any worse.

  Willow is quiet as we descend the stairs. When we walk into the kitchen, he’s leaning back in his chair, watching Willow intently. He’s only been in her physical presence for a few seconds tonight, when she stopped Layla from opening the front door. He’s looking at her like he’s examining her from the inside out. Willow takes a seat across from him.

  “Do you want something to drink?” I ask her.

  She shakes her head, her eyes fixed on the man.

  He rests his hand on the table, rapping against it with his fingertips. “What’s your first memory of this place?”

  Willow shrugs a little. “I don’t have a specific first memory.”

  “You just feel like you’ve always been here?” he asks.

  She nods. “Yes. I mean, I know I haven’t. But I don’t remember not being here, if that makes sense.”

  “Of course it makes sense,” he says gently. “It’s just like birth. Humans know they were born, but they don’t remember it. This is no different.”

  Willow seems to relax a little with his comment.

  The man leans forward, eyeing her closely. “Leeds tells me you have memories of your past life.”

  “I have memories that belong to both Layla and Sable, but only when I’m inside of her body.”

  “What memories do you have when you aren’t inside Layla?”

  “Just the memories I’ve made here.”

  The man nods in understanding, still studying her intently.

  “But I have feelings,” Willow adds. “Even when I’m not in a body.”

  “What kind of feelings?”

  Willow’s eyes cut to mine for a moment; then she looks down at her hands. “When Leeds first got here—I don’t know, it’s hard to explain. But it was like I was relieved to see him. It was the first time I remember feeling anything good.”

  “Do you think you were relieved to see him specifically, or just people in general? Could the feeling have been because you were lonely?”

  Willow shakes her head. “No. I was re
lieved because I felt like . . . I’d missed him. I felt nothing for Layla. Only Leeds.”

  “And you felt this before you were in Layla’s body for the first time?”

  Willow nods.

  I had no idea she felt anything at all when we first arrived. But it means very little. Sable thought she had feelings for me when she was alive, so it makes a little sense that those feelings would carry over into whatever place she’s in right now.

  Willow rubs the bandages on her wrists. I notice the man’s eyes drop to Willow’s hands. He stares at them. “How long have you been keeping Layla captive?” he asks.

  “Captive is a strong term,” I interject.

  The man turns his attention to me. “What other term would you suggest?”

  I try to think of an alternative, but I can’t. He’s right. We’re holding Layla here against her will, and there’s no soft way to describe that. “We tied her up shortly after I messaged you and asked for your help.”

  “Do you untie her when Willow takes over?” he asks me.

  “Yes, but I don’t think we can use her much longer. She’s only slept a few hours over the last few days.”

  “What does Layla think is happening?” He looks at Willow. “Does she know about you yet?”

  “Leeds tried to explain to her why she couldn’t leave, but it still didn’t calm her down. So . . . we thought the best way to get her to understand would be to show her.”

  The man turns to me this time. “And how did you do that?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  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.