Chapter 4: One House, One Camera

The housekeeper took forty-one photographs of the guest room before she stopped.

I counted, because I was leaning in the hallway and she held the camera up each time so I could see.

"Mrs. Holloway," she said at last. "Which room is yours?"

"This one," I said, and stepped in front of the bed.

"The bed hasn't been slept in."

"I'm a morning person."

Rafe appeared behind her with my suitcase in one hand.

"She's in my room," he said. "Her things go in the main closet."

The housekeeper wrote that down in a small notebook.

"Of course, sir."

She walked off down the hall, and I heard her phone click as soon as she reached the kitchen.

Rafe set my suitcase in the middle of his bedroom floor.

I looked around.

It was a huge room with a bed, a dresser and a pair of chairs.

There was no mirror on the wall and no glass in the picture frames.

There was no light hanging from the ceiling, only small flat lamps sunk into it, and nothing at all above the bed.

"Rafe."

"Yes."

"Why does your bedroom have nothing in it that can fall or break?"

"It's tidy."

"It's bare. Where are your books?"

"In the study."

I walked once around the bed.

"Where's the lamp you turned off last night?"

"We don't have that one here."

"You have a rule about glass."

"I have a rule about sleeping."

I turned to look at him.

He stood by the door with his arms folded.

"Insomnia," he said.

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