“Did Layla remember the next day?”
I nod. “Yes. It was the first thing she asked about when she woke up. I played it off like she was half-asleep when the power went out, so I made her go to the kitchen with me, and she didn’t fully wake up until the lightning struck.”
“And she bought that?”
“Yeah. It was an easy sell. Anyone would believe they were in a daze or sleepwalking before their mind would automatically start questioning whether or not they were possessed by a ghost.”
The man agrees with a nod. “Did Willow continue to use her body after that? Even after the slipup?”
I nod, but barely. It’s not something I’m proud of, because no excuse is good enough for what we’ve done. Not even an excuse as worthy as ours.
“Did Layla ever grow to suspect anything?”
“She was concerned about why she was so tired all the time. Willow was using her body at night, so she wasn’t getting as much sleep as she thought she was getting. She’d wake up confused as to why she slept in so late when she was going to bed so early. She started thinking it was related to her head injury.”
“And you didn’t tell her otherwise?”
I inhale and then slowly exhale before answering that question. “No. I went along with it. Made her an appointment to see the neurologist.”
“What did the neurologist tell her?”
“The appointment isn’t until next week.”
“Are you going to take her?”
I shake my head. “No. I can’t now. She’s never going to forgive me for what I’ve done to her these last few days.” I lean forward, pressing my palms to my forehead. “I’ve let this get out of hand and I’m not sure how to turn it around.”
“Why didn’t you just tell Willow to stop when you realized it began to affect Layla?”
“I didn’t want her to stop.”
“Because you were trying to help Willow?”
I wish I could say yes to that, but I shake my head. “We just fell into a routine, I think. It went on for days. Layla would fall asleep at night and Willow would take over. We’d watch movies. I’d cook for her. She’d read a book on the couch while I worked on music. There wasn’t a good reason for us to do it . . . we still weren’t using the time together to search for answers.
We just enjoyed each other’s company.”
The man nods. “How does Willow feel about the part she plays in this?”
“She feels terrible. We both do.”
“Yet you continue to do it?”
I’m growing frustrated with his questioning.
“Is it fair to assume this continued because you started to develop feelings for Willow?”
I can’t even say yes out loud. Instead, I just nod.
