Chapter 5: The Lamp

The lamp went off at one in the morning.

I hadn't touched it.

I was lying on my side in Rafe's bed with my bandaged ankle propped on a pillow, reading the pharmacy schedule on my phone.

There was only one lamp in that bedroom, a slim floor lamp he had finally brought in from the study because I'd complained I couldn't see.

It popped.

A white spark jumped off the cord and landed on the duvet.

"Rafe!"

He was out of the bed before the word finished.

He grabbed me under the arms and dragged me across the sheets and onto the floor on the far side, with his whole body over mine.

Something hissed behind us.

He rolled off me, tore the duvet off the bed and threw it over the lamp.

He stamped on the corner of it with his bare heel.

Then he pulled the plug out of the wall with his other hand.

Smoke curled up from under the cover, and the room smelled of burnt rubber.

We stared at each other.

His chest was heaving, and so was mine.

"Are you burned?" he said.

"No."

"Show me your hands."

I held them out.

He turned them over and checked each finger, then my arms, then he pushed my hair back and looked along my neck.

"Rafe. I'm fine."

"You're shaking."

"So are you."

He looked at his own hand.

It was shaking.

"It isn't supposed to do this," he said, very low.

"Do what?"

"Nothing."

The bedroom door opened.

The housekeeper stood in the doorway in a robe with her camera already raised.

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