Layla - Colleen Hoover Page 0,33

for something to happen. So much so I disguise my late nights as work, but all I’ve been doing is sitting in the Grand Room, browsing websites about supernatural shit. I stayed up so late last night I ended up falling asleep on the couch.

I just woke up. It’s still dark out now. I’d guess it’s probably around five in the morning. I’m still on the couch, but I haven’t moved since I opened my eyes.

I’m trying to think about what position I was in when I fell asleep, what I was holding, the fact that I wasn’t covered up. Because I don’t remember the blanket I’m clutching. I remember it being on the back of the couch, but I don’t remember using it to cover up with.

When I fell asleep on this couch last night—this blanket was folded and draped over the back of it.

I know Layla more than likely came downstairs and covered me with it, but I still mentally retrace my steps before opening the app.

Layla doesn’t know about the security cameras. I’m not trying to hide anything from her, but I did set them up while she was asleep. I just figured if she saw one and mentioned it, I’d tell her they were here when we showed up so she wouldn’t grow concerned.

But watching the videos recorded by the app is an invasion of her privacy. I just don’t want to tell her I have access to the footage because I don’t want her to worry unnecessarily. I also don’t want her to feel like I’m spying on her.

But in a way, I am. I set the cameras up as a way to catch her in the act. Because who else am I going to catch? A ghost that I don’t believe in? An intruder that can somehow bypass dead bolts?

I move for the first time since opening my eyes a few minutes ago. I sit up slowly on the couch and reach for my phone. I open the app and notice my fingers are trembling as I skip the video back to the moment I fell asleep. Why would my hands be shaking if I think it’s just Layla?

I fell asleep around two in the morning, so I set the video to play around that time. I remain seated on the couch, half-covered with the blanket, and I watch the footage closely, fast-forwarding every few minutes.

At three twenty in the morning, a shadow appears in the doorway to the Grand Room.

Layla isn’t anywhere in the frame, but I can tell it’s her shadow.

A few seconds later, she walks slowly into the Grand Room. She stares down at me as I’m sleeping. Then she covers me with the blanket.

It was Layla.

I’m an idiot. I’m getting inside my own head. Now I’m forcing myself to assume things are happening without some explanation behind them.

I move my finger to stop the video, but my finger hovers over the screen because something Layla does on the video catches my attention.

After she covered me up, her eyes moved straight to the security camera in the Grand Room.

I watch the video with a lump in my throat. Layla peers at the camera for a good fifteen seconds before moving toward it. She walks across the room with a curious expression on her face and then stops right in front of the camera. She doesn’t pick it up. She doesn’t even touch it. She just stares into it as if she wants me to see her.

A moment later, she turns and walks out of the room, leaving me asleep on the couch.

The whole interaction between Layla and the camera is so bizarre; I rewind it and watch it again. But this time, I keep watching the video long after Layla has left the room. There are a couple of times I roll over on the couch, but other than those two movements, nothing else happens in the room.

Until it does.

At approximately 4:29 in the morning, the camera view changes abruptly, and then the video goes black.

I pause the video and look at the security camera perched on one of the bookshelves. It’s pointed toward the wall now.

I immediately stand up and walk over to the camera. I adjust it so that it’s pointing at the Grand Room again.

There’s no way this camera could have turned on its own.

I watch the video no less than fifteen times in an attempt to figure out how the camera could just turn itself, but it