Page 10 of Hidden Raphael
At the door, she checked the walls with her hand, but found no light switch. Her heart beat faster as she stared into the blackness. Nothing stirred, and her eyes adjusted so that she could just make out a light switch on the opposite wall.
She made her way across the room and flipped it on. The lights burned her eyes for a moment, but her heart beat returned to normal. The yellowness of the candles that lit the halls made the basement seem less dreary.
She rubbed her face and followed the wall to a set of swinging doors. She bit her lip then entered the room. The darkness blinded her again, but she found the light next to the door. A moment later her mouth dropped open.
Modern everything reflected back: silver steel dishwasher, refrigerator, sinks, microwave, and oven. The countertops seemed made of granite, and the cabinets were white with steel handles. Perfect. This place was designed to host major groups, and the kitchen should be manned with twenty people. She could picture men and women with white hats running around, not that she had ever really been behind the scenes at a restaurant.
Then she rolled up her sleeves. Since she hadn’t found a cookbook in the library, she hoped to find one down here. Her sister had taught her the basics years ago, though her simple dishes didn’t qualify as edible to most people. Erica had loved the task.
Kimberly opened drawer after drawer. From social media, she knew her sister now owned multiple restaurants in a few states.
At home, she'd apologize to her mom and her sister for how she ran off without a word. Then she'd tell them she loved them, and they would forgive and hug her. They were both good people. Kimberly sniffed the air and hoped to smell the cinnamon that Mom used to accidentally spill into her hair.
Then Mom faded in her mind and the dark-haired pilot once again shot Eileen in the head.
Shaking, Kimberly collapsed onto the floor. How had she lived when Eileen and Ali died? She should have died, not them. They had won some major humanitarian award last year. She'd disappeared on her family without a trace. No one would look for her. No one that mattered even knew she was alive. Tears welled in her eyes and her stomach burned.
A cough sounded. Kimberly whimpered and stared at another long, overpowering shadow on the wall. "Hello?"
Meg stepped forward from the dark corner of the room. "I wanted to make sure you hadn't burned the place down."
How had she come out of the blackness at the other end of the room? Kimberly wiped the tears out of her eyes and stood up.
Meg dropped a thin book on the counter. "The switch to turn on the gas stove is on the wall over here." She pointed toward a light switch. "Be sure you turn it off when you're done or else we'll all die in our sleep."
"I will." Kimberly swayed on her feet a bit, hugging herself for warmth and comfort, then studied the book.
Meg nodded then faded back into the darkness. Kimberly took a few steps to follow her, but the blackness of the shadow became too thick. She stopped and edged back to the light.
With no answers, Kimberly placed the Scottish recipe book on the counter and flipped through pages. Raphael deserved a good meal. He must eat meat, as he hadn't reminded her of her island vegan friends at all. Mom had let her help with ratatouille a few times, so she found the list of ingredients in the book. Then she rifled through the fridge and entered a deep freezer.
This place had plenty of everything. She picked up an onion and the rest of the ingredients and placed them on a table. Then she found a drawer of utensils and a cutting board. Ice ran through her veins, but she picked up the knife.
"Careful."
Kimberly twirled around and clutched the knife. Had someone said that or was that the wind? It hadn't sounded like Meg. It was more like a child's cry. Kimberly shook her head and tried to calm down. Raphael wasn't hiding children in the attic, was he? The thought sounded ridiculous. She'd never read another book likeFlowers in the Atticever again. She hadn't thought about that book in years anyhow. Her heart raced, and she gripped the handle of the blade tight. Nothing stirred.
She had no idea how long she stood still, but finally she placed the knife on the counter. Then she fixed the onion on the cutting board. Her hair no longer stood on the back of her neck. Nothing and no one was here. There was no such thing as ghosts.
Activity helped. She opened cabinets and fished out spices for the recipe. A few labels were words she had never heard of, like "fenugreek." What was that?
She laughed at herself—her sister and mother would know. They were earth mothers. She returned to her simple stew recipe and relaxed. Raphael would like ratatouille.
Next, she'd bake him that cake. He'd protected her from the pilot. She nodded to herself and started her work.
