“What happened before?”

“He was in his bedroom with Layla, packing for a trip.”

“What about after that? What’s the next memory you have that doesn’t belong to Leeds?”

“There isn’t one after that. All these memories belong to Leeds.”

“Okay,” the man says. “Almost done. Let’s back up. Go back to the night Leeds and Layla met here.”

“Okay,” Willow says. “I have that memory.”

“What did Leeds feel the first time he looked at Layla?”

She blows out a steady breath. Then she laughs. “He thought I was a terrible dancer.”

“Okay. Good. You can leave him now,” the man says.

In the video, my eyes flick open and I’m staring directly at the camera again. Then the video ends.

I lock the screen on my phone and fall back into my seat. “You asked like three questions,” I say, waving my hand toward my phone. “How did that even help?”

The man is still staring at my laptop. Willow is pacing the kitchen behind me, biting her fingernails again.

This entire thing seems pointless. I’m ready to call it quits and get Layla out of here when the man looks up at Willow and says, “Why did you say he thought you were a terrible dancer?”

She looks from him to me. “Because that’s what he felt in that moment.”

“But you didn’t say Layla was a terrible dancer,” he says. “You specifically said, ‘He thought I was a terrible dancer.’ You referred to yourself as Layla when you were in Leeds’s head.”

“Oh,” she says, her voice a faint whisper. “I don’t know. I can’t explain that.”

The man motions toward her chair. “Sit down.”

Willow sits.

“According to Layla’s medical records, they had to resuscitate her after she was shot. Once before paramedics got her into the ambulance. And again at the hospital.”

“That’s right,” I say. “Like I told you, it was touch and go for an entire week.”

“So she flatlined?”

I nod.

The man shoots me an inquisitive look. “You said Layla has been different since the attack. Memory loss, personality changes . . . can you think of anything else about her that’s different now than from before the injury?”

“Everything,” I say. “It affected her a lot.”

“Are there things about Willow that remind you of Layla?”

I look at Willow, then look back at the man. “Of course. She’s in Layla’s body when we communicate, so there are lots of similarities.”

He directs his attention toward Willow. “How did it feel taking over Leeds’s body?”

“Strange,” she says.

“Does it feel strange when you possess Layla’s body?”

She nods. “Yes, but . . . in a different way.”

“How are they different?” he asks.

“It’s hard to explain,” she says. “I didn’t feel like I belonged in Leeds’s body. It felt foreign. Hard to control. Hard to remain in his head.”

“But you don’t feel that way when you’re in Layla’s body?”

“No.”

“You feel like it’s easier to possess Layla’s body?”

Willow nods. The man leans toward her. “Does it feel . . . familiar?”

Willow’s eyes cut to mine for a brief moment; then she looks back at the man and nods. “Yes. That’s a good way to describe it.”

The man shakes his head with a look of complete disbelief on his face. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“Anything like what?” I ask. I’m confused by his line of questioning.

“Your situation is very unique.”

“How so?”

“I knew it was possible, but I’ve never actually seen it myself.”

I want to strangle the words out of him. “Can you please just tell us what’s going on?”

He nods. “Yes. Yes, of course.” It’s the most expressive he’s been tonight. He stands up and walks around to the side of the kitchen table, leaning against it, looking at both of us intently. “Death from bullet wounds is usually the result of excessive blood loss, so it probably took Sable several minutes to die after you shot her. And in that same time frame, Layla also flatlined. There were two souls in the same room that left two bodies at the same time. Which means when Layla’s body was revived by paramedics, there’s a strong possibility that the wrong soul entered that body.”

I stare at him in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?” I ask. “That’s the best you can come up with?”

“Bear with me,” he says. He nudges his head toward Willow. “When Willow is inside of Layla, she can remember things from both Sable’s and Layla’s points of view. But when she was inside you, she could only remember things from yours and Layla’s points of view. Sable’s memories didn’t move with her into your body.” He pushes away from the table and begins pacing the kitchen. “The reason it’s hard for your girlfriend to remember things isn’t because of memory loss. It’s because they aren’t her memories. She has to search for them, and even then, she can only pull up a memory when it’s prompted. The only logical explanation for this would be that the soul who has been walking around inside Layla’s body since the night of the shooting is not Layla.”

Logical? He thinks telling me that Layla isn’t really Layla is a logical explanation?

It was a feat for me to come to terms with there being an afterlife. But this is beyond the capabilities of my imagination. This is absurd. Ridiculous. Unfathomable. “If Sable is Layla, then where is Layla?” I ask.

He points at Willow. “She’s right there.”

I look at Willow, too confused—or maybe too scared—to accept what this delusional man is trying to spoon-feed us. I rest my elbows on the table and press my palms against my forehead. I try to slow down my thoughts.

“What would make this possible?” I ask. “Why would Sable’s soul choose Layla’s body rather than her own?”

The man shrugs, and I’m not sure I like that shrug. I would much prefer him to be absolute in his responses. “Maybe it’s not so much where her soul belonged in that moment, but where it wished it belonged. Sable obviously wanted what Layla had, or she wouldn’t have done what she did. Perhaps what we desire can sometimes be so strong it overpowers our fate.”

I press my palms against the sides of my head in an attempt to extract every ounce of rationality from the depths of my brain. I need every last drop if I want to be able to digest this absurdity.

This is a concept I can’t immediately grasp, but if I’ve learned anything since coming here, it’s that entertaining the unfathomable often leads to believing the unfathomable.

I press my palms onto the table and lean back in my chair. “If this is true, wouldn’t Willow have memories when she isn’t inside someone else’s head? Willow doesn’t remember anything at all.”

“Memories fade quickly in the afterlife, especially when you don’t have a body and a brain to attach them to. You just have feelings, but you can’t connect them to anything. It’s why they’re called lost souls.”