“204 faced the parking lot.

You wanted the courtyard view, so we asked to move.” And then he heard himself, and I watched the blood leave his face, and I watched him try to walk it back.

“Santiago,” he said, “Santiago told me about it.

He told me the story once.” But it was too late, and we both knew it was too late, because room 207 and the courtyard view and the moving of the room were things that no living soul knew but Santiago and me.

We had never told anyone.