Layla Kilcher stepped through the drafty
doors of her apartment. It was exactly 7 p.m. when she
started leafing through the large stack of “Thanks, but no
thanks” letters. Another day of heading nowhere. She sighed,
finally feeling the weight of the day on her shoulders. She
idly tapped the ‘play’ button of her answering machine as
she did each day she stepped across her threshold. As the
voices filtered into the still air, she allowed her mind to
finally relax from the day as she wandered into the kitchen
to satiate her craving for something to drink.
“Layla, I need you to come in early tomorrow.”
“Layla, this is your mother. We’re going
out of town this weekend. Call me before you leave.”
Layla yanked open the door and reached in
to grab a carton of milk. She grabbed a glass from the
cupboard and immediately poured as she half listened to the
beep ending her mother’s message.
“Miss Kilcher, please contact PTL
regarding your late bill-.”
Slipping out of her shoes, she silently
prayed that she could slip out of her skin as well. Days had
gone by since she sat in front of a computer and written a
single word. Maybe it would all change tonight for the
better.
Her eyes fell on the locked liquor cabinet
in the corner and immediately her body froze. You’re not
falling back into that old habit,” she told herself. Even
though it had been five months since the accident, she
couldn’t bring herself take another sip since then.
In her mind’s eye, she could see feel the
swerve of the car as she moved the wheel right then left in
a drunken haze. Her heart raced in her chest as it did then
as she felt the loud crack once the side of the car hit
something before falling into a tailspin.
What was that?! Her friend at the time
screamed from the back of the car.
Layla didn’t have an answer although the
question still haunted her to this day. Shaking her head
from side to side, she pushed the images out of her head and
took deep breaths to calm her quivering nerves. The feeling
literally crawled under her skin and she forced herself to
think of something else before she screamed. That was the
last thing she needed tonight. She couldn’t lose her mind
after holding it all together throughout the entire day.
Finally she flipped on the computer and took a seat as she
replaced the memories with images of her characters and
stories.
*****
9 pm...10 pm...11 pm...Layla ran her
caramel hand through her shoulder length brown hair. The
cool air blew the curtains away from the window yet still
the room remained warm. She leaned back in her chair and
watched the blinking black cursor against the white screen.
It seemed to mock her, blinking as if it knew her brain was
locked up. Every so often she would write a word. The.
About. Suddenly. Yet, the words never lead to anything more.
Why couldn’t she focus tonight? And why was it so warm in
here?
With a sigh, Layla pushed back her chair
and stood to close the window. She reached over and grabbed
her keys on the way to the door. Maybe a nice long walk in
the cool evening air would clear her head enough to get back
to work.
The coffee shop down the street was
deserted except for a small group of homeless men conversing
among themselves. A large wind blew and she closed her coat
in response. Her mind often wandered at the sight of the
homeless people. Their eyes would watch her, sometimes
nervous to ask for change which she would always be happy to
give. Who were they at one time? How did they end up in
their current position? She was grateful for what she had
now, even though she wasn’t quite happy at her job. It did
pay the bills and she had comfort in that, at least for now.
Who knows what tomorrow can bring. Still there was that tiny
wish inside of her where she dreamed to disconnect from the
world around her.
Inside the coffee shop, two people sat in
booths on opposite sides of the room. Layla headed straight
for the counter and rang the small silver bell. No one
appeared from the back room. Her eyes wandered to the
display case of donuts, cookies and croissants. Her mouth
immediately watered at the ham and cheese croissant. The
crusty pastry and gooey filling ran across her tastebuds and
she suddenly felt like home again. Funny how food would do
that to a person. But on nights like this she would happily
oblige the feeling when it was what she needed most.
Looking closer, she noticed the reflection
of the homeless man from outside eyeing her as he sat in the
booth near the door. His grimy face peered at her while he
held a newspaper open on the table. She noticed he wore a
new, clean pressed suit absent of any dirt or smudge unlike
his face and hands. His sparkling eyes met hers in the glass
case and he smiled almost devilishly, revealing a full set
of perfectly white teeth. It was almost as if he knew
something. The feeling unsettled her and she almost turned
to question him.
“What can I get you?”
Layla’s heart stopped for a second and
then she realized it was the proprietor who was speaking to
her from across the counter. She turned and gave him a
polite smile, noticing the burly man behind the counter
resembled a line cook from a small town diner in the middle
of nowhere.
She took a breath and laughed a little,
realizing her imagination was getting the better of her once
again. “Goodness, you scared me.”
He tipped his imaginary hat and nodded.
“Sorry about that, Miss.” He gestured to the case. “Was
there something you wanted?”
“Ham and cheese croissant and a tall
cappuccino.” She placed the exact amount of money on the
counter while he placed the croissant in a nearby oven.
“Bad night?”
“What?” She looked up at the cook whose
back was still turned to her. It took her a moment to
realize it wasn’t him who was addressing her.
“I’ve seen you here before.”
Layla looked over her shoulder at the man
in the booth. He was staring down with that cursed knowing
look in his eye and a smirk on his soiled face. She shook
her head. “I’ve never seen you here,” she said, trying to
keep the annoyance out of her voice.
His eyes never left the open newspaper as
he spoke. “Not many people notice. But I bet if they
switched with me they would.”
She chuckled. “I don’t doubt it.”
The microwave bell chimed. The cook
returned from the back room and retrieved her food from the
microwave and cappuccino dispenser.
“I know what you mean, though,” she said
partly over her shoulder. “Sometimes I wish I could switch
places. You know, step out of myself-” She turned to face
the man, but he was already gone. All that was left was the
open newspaper on the cream colored table top.
“Lady?”
Layla slid the change across the counter.
The burly man’s eyes squinted at her.
“Are you ok, Lady?” He asked with a lift
of his thick eyebrows.
She grabbed the bag and cup and put on her
best smile. “Of course. Thanks.”
Layla left toward the exit as the open
newspaper suddenly caught her eye. On the obituary section
down on the bottom of the page was a picture of the grimy
well-dressed bum with his name in bold letters: Ray
Matheson. He was handsome, with short golden hair and a
clean cut tan complexion. He appeared in his mid-thirties,
the picture of health. Was this the same man just here?
Layla wondered. It certainly resembled him.
The question still plagued her several
minutes later as she took bites of her croissant and sipped
her coffee on the lonely open streets. The cool breeze blew
softly across the city. Layla breathed in one of the few
calm moments of that day. A tall streetlight flickered
overhead as the massive tree branches on the sidewalks blew
from side to side against the soft wind. Her imagination
once again ran away from her as she envisioned all the other
lives she could live. A pampered movie star. A beloved part
of royalty. Maybe even a high ambassador traveling the world
as she helped feed starving children.
Minutes passed until she finally gave in
and headed back toward her apartment. Ray Matheson crept
back into her mind. Was he a ghost? Did the cook even see
the man? He sure didn’t acknowledge him the whole time she
was there.
Layla entertained the possibilities all
the way home. She entered the main apartment complex
building and dragged herself up the stairs straight to her
apartment door. Maybe she’ll get some work done now after
all. She wondered what if the man was a ghost and
contemplated the life of Ray Matheson in connection with the
homeless man who resembled him. Maybe it would bring on a
whole new story. She absentmindedly, stuck her key in the
doorknob. The lock clicked, freezing the key in place.
She turned it again.
Nothing.
She checked the key, checked the knob.
What’s going on here? Backing away from
the door, Layla arched her head up toward the apartment
number: 23.
“That’s right,” she said aloud.
She tried the key one last time but the
key still didn’t bolt.
Feeling her heart suddenly began to race,
Layla rushed downstairs and exited the building. Right
complex, right street. Her mind rushed with a myriad of
questions and possibilities. She looked down at the set of
keys resting calmly within her open palm. Out of the corner
of her eye, a light flipped on the second floor of the
complex. Slowly, Layla turned and looked straight up to her
apartment window. A dark figure moved across the bright room
as a silhouette behind the silky drapes. Slowly approaching
the window, she squinted her eyes to focus on the figure.
The stranger pushed aside the drapes to open the window.
For a split second, she caught sight of
the figure as it leaned out to catch a breath of air. Their
eyes peered around the city as if surveying it until finally
looking down.
Layla’s heart nearly stopped.
She found herself staring straight into
her own reflection.
Layla Kilcher...she... was already inside
the room.
Without another moment’s thought, Layla
raced upstairs to the second floor and pounded her fist on
the door.
“Hey, hey! Open up!”
The door creaked open from across the hall
and Mr. Wehba stepped out. His thick eyebrows furrowed, his
small almond eyes squinted to figure out what was going on
His white hair was disheveled as if he had been tossing and
turning all night. Furiously, he tied his robe tightly
around his thick waist as he made his way to her.
“Oh, Mr. Wehba!” Layla breathed a sigh of
relief. He would help her get to the bottom of this. If it
was anyone she trusted in this building, it was him. “I’m so
glad to see you.”
“I think you better get out of here-”
“You have to help--”
“-before I call the cops.”
Layla was stunned. Did she hear right?
“What did you say?”
“Please leave,” he said through tense
lips. “This is a calm and peaceful complex. We don’t want
the likes of you around here. “
“Mr. Wehba, I live here. I’ve lived here
for five years. We see each other every day. You read all of
my stories.”
He squinted his eyes at her again.
She searched for any sign of recognition.
Any sign that he knew exactly who she was and remembered the
kindness they shared once she moved in. All of the home
cooked meals he offered her when she was too tired to cook
them for herself. But his eyes looked upon her like a
complete stranger annoyed at her existence.
“Mr. Wehba, I left for a walk and for some
reason I can’t get into my apartment building. I tried my
key numerous times but it just won’t budge the lock.”
“Is this some kind of joke?” he asked,
stepping forward, raising his hands as if to defend himself.
Layla shook her head as she took a step
back. “No, this isn’t a joke. I’m your next door neighbor,
Layla!”
The door opened behind her.
“Did someone call my name?”
Layla looked over her shoulder and
straight into her own eyes. Her smooth caramel skin was the
same as this stranger’s as well as the long brown hair
falling in waves around her shoulders. Her doppelganger wore
the same form fitting blue sweater and matching skirt
without the thick coat Layla wore at the time.
“Layla, this guy claims to be you,” Mr.
Wehba snickered behind her.
“Guy?” Layla said under her breath.
The doppelganger eyed Layla. “Should I
call the cops?”
“No,” Layla said quickly. What was going
on here? Had she fallen into another dimension? She shook
her head and slowly backed away from both of them. “No need.
I’ll leave.”
*****
The cars that usually inhabited the
streets during the night were scarce that evening. The
starry sky was absent of any airplanes that droned in the
darkness and stars sparkling against the velvet background
of night. Layla shook her head slowly, wishing and hoping to
wake from the nightmare. Her stomach tightened as she
replayed the events in her head. Every feeling reassuring
her of tomorrow was slipping away. She had to do something.
*****
The phone rang three times before it
clicked.
“Hello?”
Layla gripped the side of the phone booth
as soon as the woman’s voice seeped into her ears.
“Mom! Mom, listen to me. Something strange
has happened. I know you said you were out of town, but I
needed to call and leave a message. I was hoping you were
still-”
“I’m sorry who were you calling?”
She felt her heart drop. “Mom?”
“Who is this?” An older lady asked. The
woman made no effort to hide her annoyance.
“I’m sorry,” she said, slowly. “I was
trying to reach 555-2426 to talk to Laurie and Tom Kilcher.”
“This is Laurie Kilcher. Who is this?”
Layla gripped the phone. The beads of
sweat in her palms made the phone slick beneath her grasp.
“Mom? It’s Layla,” her voice barely a whisper.
Silence fell on the other end.
Layla choked the tears back. “Mom?”
“Look, whoever this is please don’t call
here anymore. I think you have the wrong number, Sir.”
The phone clicked, followed by a dial
tone.
“Sir...” Her voice was so low, she barely
recognized it as her own.
Layla’s hand fell open. The phone dropped
like a bungee cord, first recoiling up, and then falling
down slowly into little bounces until it swayed back and
forth.
This isn’t happening to me.
She continued walking along the wet
streets with her mind racing back to everything that
happened to her in the past few hours.
The coffee shop.
Meeting the man named Ray who may be dead.
Walking to the park, then heading home.
She froze in midstep.
The coffee shop. Could he still be there?
Layla quickened her pace back to the
coffee shop and up the small stairs. A large ‘CLOSED’ sign
sat in the darkened, abandoned building. Only one place was
left to check and she felt a shiver at the very thought of
it.
*****
No wind blew across the city. No sound
broke through the silence.
Layla walked through the soft, wet grass
and was tempted to scream. Yell. Anything to break the
deafening silence enclosing around her.
“Excruciating, isn’t it?”
Layla’s heart stopped. She turned on her
heels and followed the voice. Through the darkness stepped
the homeless man: Ray Matheson. His face was soiled with
dirt yet his clothes were still clean and spotless as if he
just picked them up from the dry cleaners or bought them off
the rack of an expensive men’s clothing store.
“How did you know I was here?” she asked,
unable to keep her voice from shaking.
A smile crossed his mucky face. “It was
obvious you would figure out where it all began. You wanted
this, Layla. I only gave you what you wanted.”
She walked to him, keeping her eyes
focused on him at all times. His face was partially covered
in the shadows of the night despite the streetlight hovering
right above them.
“Is there something wrong?” he asked,
smiling wider.
“Your name is Ray Matheson. I saw your
picture...”
“In the Obituary section of the newspaper.
Yes.”
She shook her head. “Was I hallucinating?”
Ray shrugged nonchalantly. “Not then and
not now.” He walked closer to her, the shadow still hovering
over him like second skin. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you,”
he said, his voice calm as a cool wind. “This may all be a
shock to you. Have you ever wandered by a homeless person
and wondered how they got into their situation? Perhaps, who
they are behind the facade. What their names are or if they
may have any family?”
Layla remained frozen, unsure of what
answer he wanted to hear. Was he in my head?
“Not many people do,” he said answering
for her. “Everyone has dreams and wishes that they may or
may not have accomplished in their lives. Some of us are
brought back to this Earth to help others fulfill those
wishes. Do you understand?”
She remained silent with the question
still in her mind.
“There are others like me under ground
where the trains run. That’s where we stay.”
Layla cocked her head to the side. “Why
are you telling me this?”
“Because that’s where you will go. You
made the wish Layla. To exchange your life.”
“No,” she said walking to him. “No, you
made this happen to me. I want my life back. I don’t want
that wish to come true.”
Even as she spoke the words out loud, deep
inside she knew it was too late. The man turned to scan the
park and its surroundings like an artist admiring his
canvas.
“Everyone wishes to step out of themselves
sometime. In your heart, I can tell you wanted it. The
stress, the work, the life. I experienced that through your
eyes back there. That is something I will never feel again
because it was taken away from me one night exactly five
months ago as a car swerved and struck me on the sidewalk.
It was a night just like this one.”
She thought for a moment at all the things
she had to deal with in her life. The people who placed
demands on her day in and day out. The need to push herself
farther each day. All at the cost of her family, and most of
all, herself. She peered up at her surroundings. A clock
rang in the distance. A soft wind blew. A plane flew
overhead in the starry night sky and cars crossed the dark
roads. All was the same again in the big city.
“Ray.” She turned back to face him but no
one was around the small park. The breeze blew wind chimes
outside a nearby house. The sprinklers watered lawns across
the street. Deep inside, she knew it was too late to go
back. |
