Bring Me Back

by B.A. Paris

That was the statement I gave to the police, sitting in the police station somewhere off the A1 in France. It was the truth. But not quite the whole truth.

It shouldn’t matter that Ellen is Layla’s sister, not when twelve years have passed since Layla disappeared. But, of course, it does.

You instigated the end of the life I had. Everything became “Before Layla” and “After Layla.”

It’s more proof that Ellen never goes against what I tell her, never disobeys me, and although it makes for a peaceful life, I find it perplexing.

And if there’s one thing I don’t want, it’s Ellen thinking that Layla might still be alive. I’d hate for her to have false hope.

It’s why I found myself asking her to marry me; basically, I got caught out in a lie.

“No.” I repeated. But the truth was, I had been going to propose to Layla, on her twentieth birthday, the month after we got back from Megève. I’d had it all planned; I’d even bought the ring. But then she spoiled everything.

What about the cottage in St. Mary’s? Surely you’re not going to keep it, now that you’re going to marry the sister?

That’s the thing about losing someone; you tend to remember every careless remark, even those made in jest.

I’m still a lesser being than I was before I disappeared. But at least I exist.