Page 61 of Hidden Raphael
She fell to her knees and dug. The metal box was part of the overhead on the plane. Her fingers dusted the earth off the cabinet. As she tugged it free and laid it beside her, she realized someone had tied a plastic tarp around it. More rain splattered on her pink hat. She’d found a new camp. The plastic kept the rain from destroying whatever it covered. She unwrapped it fast. The skin on her face thawed as she wound the tarp and put it around her shoulders to stay dry.
As her vision cleared, she realized she was close to a makeshift tent made from more tarp that hung low in the tress. She dragged the cabinet toward the shelter and shivered. Was this Harry's camp or Roger’s? Kimberly wrinkled her nose and turned around. Leftover trash that animals had picked over cluttered the area. Blankets tossed about, again likely from wild animals. This campsite was made from the rescue parts of the plane. Life jackets, and a raft for the roof.
The smart bet was this was Roger's camp, and not Harry's. Roger had been a pilot. Harry had been the manservant. He wouldn't have the knowledge about plane parts.
What if Raphael had killed Harry, instead of Roger? Roger was on the loose? Kimberly trembled as the question rushed through her. A knot formed in her stomach. How would Raphael know the difference? She’d recognize the pilot, but hadn’t seen Roger’s dead body. Raphael had kept it from her.
A branch broke in the distance, and she peered into the darkness. Raphael had said it was safe, but he didn’t know that he might have killed the wrong man.
She should head back to the castle. Some storms lasted all through the night. She stood up and brushed her clothes to get rid of the dirt as rain pelted against her. Suddenly behind her, Raphael's voice boomed. "Did you follow me?"
"I did not follow you." How had he gotten here? She turned around to face him. "I was searching for Harry. He must be dead."
His steely eyes never blinked, though he stared at the box and her dirty hands. "Let's get you back before the storm gets bad."
She stepped back. No. The courtyard there had only been two pieces of paper and two mounds of tossed dirt. Then something came over her and she said like it was fact. "Where did you bury Roger? He's not with Ali and Eileen."
His muscled body was hard and unmoving in his black trench coat. The storm above their heads grew worse, but neither of them moved. He lifted his chin. "I'll bring you there after the storm. He didn't deserve to be remembered."
She'd guessed right. He hadn't brought Roger inside the courtyard, but left him somewhere to rot. What if he killed Harry? The question didn't stop spinning in her head. Despite the hard, cold raindrops that stung through her clothes, she crossed her arms. "Why can't we go there now?"
"This storm isn’t going anywhere. Cold and wet are not a good combination." He fixed his gloves. His broad shoulders, dressed all in black, overshadowed everything else she saw as he said, "On the mainland it's likely heavy snow already. The man's dead. It can wait until tomorrow."
Perhaps she was being unreasonable, but something struck her gut again as a lie. Harry, or his body, had disappeared. She hadn't seen Roger's grave. Until now, she hadn’t asked questions about Roger, content for Raphael to handle "the details," as he’d referred to them that night.
The wind was like tentacles of ice against her body. The rain hit the ground and splintered like glass shards. "Okay, tomorrow is fine. Why did you think I followed you?"
He shook his head. "Let's get back to the house." He took her hand in his and led her in a different direction. At least his muscles blocked a few heavy raindrops. She stayed at his shoulder as he said, "This way is the fastest."
Her fingers electrified from his hand on hers, but her mind shouted that something was wrong. Raphael had a secret that she needed to discover
Rain poured down on them like continuous buckets of cold, stinging water dumped on their heads. Raphael sped up their return and she ran to stay with him. Tomorrow, she'd come back, with or without Raphael.
Still the onslaught of rain grew worse, and she snuggled against Raphael's shoulder to keep her exposed face protected from hard icicles. His strong arm was wrapped around her waist to keep her close. Her body reacted, like last night, and caused a fire that burned for him.
His castle loomed higher in the sky and they were almost there. Once again, Raphael had saved her. She would have frozen in that storm. He deserved her gratitude instead of doubts. Besides, the secrets he held could not be so bad that she'd agree his life wasn’t worth living.
He picked up the pace near the outer wall of the castle. Inside the slit of stone between the courtyard and the castle she saw what seemed to be the pale white horse and a pale warrior with green eyes riding it. She rocked on her feet and jerked to a stop.
Raphael tugged on her arm. "Hurry, Kimberly."
She kept her mouth shut and decided to investigate for herself later. If the outside was off limits, the inside of the castle was free to explore. The old stones might carry memories of former owners. "Of course."
Raphael pressed a few rocks and opened the secret entrance of the stone wall. Her clothes stuck to her. Without a word he put his hand on her lower back and urged her to run inside, though there was a only a small space.
She did, but then she pressed against an oak wood door. To stay dry she pushed into the wood as he closed the stones and locked them in place. Then he rushed toward her and unlocked the second wooden door. Rain gusted in her face as he used a lever to unlock metal bars. With the storm, it was impossible to see much. Once opened, he offered her his hand and guided her in. She followed him over a bridge on the moat, and straight into a dark tunnel.
The air was musty and smelled more like a cave, but it was dry. Her jeans were impossibly wet and her pink hat was probably ruined. She tugged it off, and then sneezed.
Raphael pocketed her hat and took her hand. "Bless you."
"Thank you." Her nose itched. They walked down the corridor and he opened another door. This time she had the patience to watch how he unlocked it with a lever. He then held the door for her and they entered the castle.
This hallway had dust everywhere. The old silver mirror was tarnished black. Raphael picked up a candelabrum and lit it. Once the hall was illuminated with candlelight, the flames seemed to dance on the hand-painted ceiling. With work, this section could be transformed into something gorgeous. She smiled. "This is like a dream."
He dropped the box from the plane onto the floor and wiped his hands on his wet jeans. He stared at her and said, "You're in a better mood."
She didn’t want to tell him she worried he'd killed the wrong man. She should, though. She opened her mouth to ask, but then stopped. He looked away to place the candelabrum somewhere. She swallowed. She never had good judgment in men, and this was bad. She had to trust. He turned to her. “We’re in the north wing. No one ever comes here.”
