The room is completely dark inside, but it feels small. About the size of the walk-in closet upstairs. I squint into the dark space, trying to get my eyes to adjust.

I take another step and something smacks me in the face. At first, I think it must be a spiderweb, but then I realize it’s a cord. I feel around for a moment, trying to grab it. Then my finger makes contact. I tug on the cord and there’s another click as a single bulb illuminates the room.

My eyeballs bulge as I take in the contents of the room.

I was right about the size of the room. It’s about the same dimensions as a walk-in closet. Part of me had been scared I might find a dead body stashed in here, but no. The room is filled with more bookcases—wedged into every available space. But these bookcases don’t contain books.

They are lined with cassette tapes.

There must be—God, I don’t even know—thousands of them. And each one is labeled the same way—a set of initials, followed by a number, followed by a date. The dates seem to go back almost ten years, and there are dozens of different initials. The row in front of me is labeled with the initials PL. Those were the same initials of the main subject featured in Dr. Hale’s smash bestselling book, The Anatomy of Fear—could it be the same person? Are these tapes PL’s private sessions?

And there’s one tape that’s labeled differently. It’s stuck at the end of one of the rows and all it has is one word in big capital letters:

LUKE

The name jogs my memory slightly. Luke. Was that the name of the boyfriend that they thought had killed Adrienne Hale? It was years ago that the whole thing was splashed all over the front page of every newspaper and on every single news channel. The disappearance of Dr. Adrienne Hale.

I wonder if the police knew about this hidden room.

Vaguely, I hear Ethan calling my name. He’s probably got the heater going. I’m sure he’s wondering why it’s taking me so long in the bathroom. I don’t have a reputation for being quick in the bathroom, but this is slow, even for me.

“Just a minute!” I yell.

Impulsively, I grab one of the many PL tapes from one of the shelves and stuff it into my coat pocket. Then I yank on the cord hanging from the ceiling and the room is plunged back into darkness. I step out of the room and as I shove the bookcase back into place, I hear a reassuring click. When I step back now, I can’t tell the hidden room is even there.