Part 2
I woke up to what I thought was the rain, a gentle patter of water. I rolled over and stretched, my back and neck popping into place as a little squeal slipped from my lips. I squinted into the sunlit window and let my head flop back down into my pillow. My eyes flew back open after a second and I sat straight up. Sunlight? I thought to myself, looking at the clear morning sky.
The sound of falling water still vibrated through my room. I looked around and saw my bedroom door wide open, not how I left it before I went to bed*.* Like the sound of water radiating through my room, memories of last night came flooding back. My racing heart, my bed shaking, the noises. I didn’t lock my door, I remembered, grabbing the key from the dresser next to my bed. That same churning feeling rose into my stomach, the one I was growing all too familiar with in this mansion. I crawled to the end of my bed and leaned toward the closed door of my bathroom.
“Elisa?!” I called, waiting to hear if she would answer me through the rainfall of shower water. “Elisa are you in there?” I called again, still not getting an answer. “Joe? Is that you?” I tried another name, sliding off my bed and walking to the door. I gently knocked calling again, “Joe? You in there?”
The water continually pelted against the shower floor. I pressed my ear against the door, waiting to hear someone moving around. “Rachel?” I asked, gently turning the doorknob. “I don’t care if you use my bathroom, just answer me.”
I pushed forward, steam now seeping from the cracked door and into my bedroom. The mist rolled over my skin, making my arms slick with humid dew. I tiptoed into the room, the dense air pushing on my chest. I tried squinting through the fog, watching for movement behind the glass shower door. Waves of fog rolled from the top of the shower, warping the already fogged glass in a cloud of haze. I crossed the room faster than I thought I would and quietly reached for the glass door, nails gently scraping against the metal handle.
“Alright,” I announced, “this is your last chance, just…literally say anything.” At this point, I had no idea what I was doing and had no idea why I was so scared. “Band-Aid,” I told myself, “just like a Band-Aid.”
I gripped the metal handle and tore open the glass shower door, letting it slam against the wall as it slid across its tracks. I wave of steam wafted over my face as a scream bounced off the shower walls. My wails joined in as I scrambled away. The cloud dissolved and I peeked back into the shower, seeing Elisa fully clothed and sitting on the shower’s ledge.
“Are you crazy or something?” she yelled, pulling her earbuds from her ears.
“What are you doing?” I puffed, grabbing at my chest. A sharp pain radiated through my ribs, my heart beating a little too hard.
“I was trying to treat myself to a little spa moment before you came tearing through the place,” she explained, setting her razor down and grabbing at her calf.
Faint pink lines of water ran down her leg and blended with the pools on the shower floor. I went over to the toilet and grabbed wads of toilet paper, shutting the water off before handing over the tissue.
“Why didn’t you answer me?”
“I couldn’t hear you,” she huffed, hanging her earbuds around her neck.
“Didn’t your mother teach you about electronics and water?” I joked, sitting on the edge of the tub.
“Didn’t your mother teach you to knock?” she threw back.
“I DID!”
I heard a rumble of footsteps tumble down the hall and through my room. I turned just in time to see a sleepy Joe stumble into the bathroom. “Are you okay? I heard a scream,” he grumbled, sleep clinging to his voice.
“We’re fine,” I signed, rubbing my eyes with the palms of my hands, “just confused.”
“Not my fault,” Elisa chimed from the shower, “I saw your door open and thought you were awake.”
I lifted my head and turned toward her, feeling my face scrunch up on its own, “My door was open?”
“Yeah, that’s why I walked in,” Elisa nodded. “I was going to ask you if I could use your bathroom, but you were still passed out.”
“So, you went in anyway?” Joe yawned, leaning against the door frame.
My own thoughts spiraled as the two bickered back and forth. “Wait,” I shook my head, “my door was open?”
Elisa shifted her eyes from me to Joe, “Yeah, your door was open.” She spoke slowly as if I was stupid.
“I didn’t leave it open,” as the words left my lips, goosebumps erupted over my arms.
Was someone in my room? Did someone come in my room last night? Were they still there?
“The wind probably just blew it open or something,” Elisa said, stepping out of the shower, still holding the wad of toilet paper against her razor cut
“No,” my voice quivered, “no I-I think someone was in my room last night.”
“Stop, you’re fine,” Joe chuckled, patting me on the arm.
“No, I’m serious. Something woke me up last night and then it felt like someone was sitting on the edge of my bed.”
Joe turned back around and looked into my room, pointing at my blankets, “Your bed is barely messed up. It looks like you hardly even slept in it.” He walked back over toward me and grabbed my arm, “If someone had been in here, they would have left something behind. You’re okay.” I nodded my head, trying to force myself to believe him. “I think everyone else is up now, I hear people talking. Probably getting ready for breakfast.”
I told them I’d catch up and waited until they were both in their own rooms before running and closing my door. I pressed my back up against the wooden frame and looked around my room. They’d leave something behind, I thought, running over to the vanity. I didn’t know what I was looking for, I was just sort of…looking. It was just a wooden desk with a mirror and a couple of drawers in it. Nothing was inside the drawers either. I went to the window, the bars obviously stopping anyone who would try to get in, checked back in the bathroom, and even searched through the closet where my clothes were hanging. There was nothing.
I went over to my nightstand to grab my door key and stepped in a puddle of water. I tapped my toes, a gentle splashing sound wafting to my ears. Hesitantly, I dropped to the ground, the knees of my jeans growing dark as the fabric absorbed the water. I tilted my head, hearing my own labored breath slip from my lips as my eyes landed on the pool of water underneath my bed. Clear lumps lay within the middle of the puddle. I don’t know why, but I had to touch them. I reached out my hand, fingertips gently skimming the top of the water before poking one of the hard lumps. I gently tapped another one, feeling the same cold, hard lump as before.
“What?” the word escaped my lips as I picked up one of the hard pieces between my fingers and brought it out from under my bed. “Ice.” The little chunk gently melted from my body heat, shrinking bit by bit until it was nothing but water drops in my palm. “What the hell,” I sighed, sitting at the edge of my bed.
My shoulders jumped into my ears as someone knocked on my door. “You ready?” Elisa’s muffled voice called.
“Y-yeah, hang on,” I stuttered, wiping my wet hands on my jeans before getting up to change completely.
My mind didn’t really have time to try and come up with an explanation for why ice had been melting under my bed, but you better believe that I locked the door behind me when I left my room. I caught up with the other nine chefs as they headed down the steps, coming face to face with a wide-eyed Chef Belford. He clapped his hands and greeted us all with a warm “Good morning!”
“I hope you all were able to get a good night’s sleep! Today starts our first day of competitions,” he smiled, leading us to the double doors of the garden. “I’ve prepared for you a nutritious meal to start the day off on the right foot, I hope you all enjoy.”
Like an artist showing off his newest masterpiece, Chef Belford swung open the French doors and presented to us a full table of the richest syrups, finest fruits, and fluffiest pastries. Tall glasses of orange juice had been poured and were seated next to steaming mugs of black coffee. Tumblers of cream and mini pots of sugar were placed between each seat. Vases of fresh flowers sat in the middle, golden sunflowers and white lilies poked out between green shrubbery and moss.
Everything sat on a long, gray table; five white wire chairs were placed on each side with one chair at the head of the table, making for an uneven 11. The garden surrounded us as we ate, climbing vines filled with fruits and vegetables of all colors hung and draped over one another. In the back, trees shaded the entire greenhouse with their waxy leaves and ripe oranges and lemons. Wooden lattice decorations lined the walls, throwing crisscross shadows over the stone paved walkways.
I made sure to grab a seat by Joe and Elisa, not really caring which platters I sat by just as long as I was by those two. The three of us all whispered to each other, feeling like we couldn’t use our normal speaking voices. I felt eyes burning into my skin and instantly snapped my head toward Rachel, expecting to see her giving me some annoyed stare, but when I looked at her, she was happily pouring syrup on her pancakes, paying me no attention at all. I looked further down the table, trying to find the source of the stinging stare when I locked eyes with Chef Belford.
As if a switch flipped in his brain, his hard gaze turned into a soft smile as he scooted in his chair and clasped his hands together, “I see you’ve all been acquainted.”
I stole a quick glance at Joe next to me, seeing a little smirk spread across his face. Elisa rolled her eyes and took a sip of her orange juice, looking at me from over the top of her glass. I plopped two sugar cubes into my coffee, silently stirring the inky liquid as it steamed in the morning light.
“So, Chef Belford,” Rachel spoke up, wiping the corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin, “what exactly are these challenges going to be?”
“Mh,” Chef Belford grunted, swallowing his mouthful of food before answering, “you’ll see when they come, but I did want to get a feeling of your knowledge of food first.” He laced his fingers together and rested his elbow on the table, looking around at each of us. “I’m just going to ask some questions and if you know the answer feel free to speak up.” He bent over the side of his chair and grabbed something next to him.
“So,” he sat back up, holding a jar of apricot jam, “what can we do with this?”
A confused silence grew around the room. I remember looking around at the other nine chefs and seeing their shrugging shoulders struggle to come up with an answer.
Rachel was the first to speak up, her unsure voice laced with a bit of natural sarcasm, “Make toast?”
A couple of chuckles chimed off from the group before they could stop themselves. My gaze quickly shifted to Chef Belford as I heard a noise of air escape his nose. I would have called it an amused breath if it weren’t for the almost threatening smile lingering over his lips. It was a look of warning.
“Make toast?” he jested, before breaking into an overly-acted grin. “Come on, you’re all supposed to be the best young chefs in the country and all you can give me is ‘make toast’? Seems a bit pathetic doesn’t it?”
Rachel's eyes met her shoes, dejected by not only Chef Belford’s words, but his condescension. I felt a twinge of remorse course though my stomach when I looked at her. Yeah, she had been a bit of a pain, but no one really deserves to be made a fool of in front of others.
Breaking the awkwardly accumulating silence, I spoke up. “You can use it as a glaze. Do some sort of apricot glazed pork,” I suggested, folding my hands in my lap. “Or you could make some meatballs and glaze them as well, either doing a mock Swedish meatball type of thing, or even a sweet breakfast sausage.”
Chef Belford tossed the jar in the air, the glass landing perfectly in my grasp. “Very good,” he praised, leaning back over his chair arm to grab something else, “where did you learn that?”
“A fucking diner,” Rachel spat under her breath. All previous remorse I had for her went out the window.
“Back home,” I answered, ignoring Rachel. “I work at a bed and breakfast diner and we use jellies and jams for all sorts of stuff. It’s just fruit mixed with sugar, once you melt it down you can mold it into whatever you want.”
“Exactly, my dear,” Chef Belford smiled, sitting up with another jar of something in his hands.
We spent the next couple of minutes doing this back and forth, Chef Belford pulling something from the little tote at his side and us answering. Elisa talked about her favorite dish from her grandma; total southern comfort food with collard greens and everything. Joe talked about some sort of sushi dish he loves making, going into detail about the special knives he used to fillet fish. It was finally Rachel’s turn to try and redeem herself when a series of dull thuds sounded from the room above us. I felt my shoulders jump when a crash clattered from the ceiling, making the hanging lights gently shake.
All of our eyes were pointed up, ears reaching for another sound. It wasn’t long until another crash rang out but this time it came from the kitchen. Chef Belford dropped the glass that was in his hands, the mason jar teetering on the edge of the table before it tipped over and tumbled to the ground. Chef stumbled from his seat, the wire chair legs screeching against the stone floor, and burst out of the garden doors, the rest of us sprinting behind him.
“Was that from our rooms?” I heard Elisa asked, her voice bouncing with her sprinting steps.
“I don’t know,” I shrugged, taking the stairs two at a time.
We watched Chef Belford look briefly down the hall toward the boys’ rooms, but we could tell that wasn’t where he was heading. He sprinted down the girls’ hall and I felt my heart drop. Please not my room, please not my room, my brain begged as I reached the top step.
As I turned the corner down the hall, I saw Chef Belford standing at the end, looking into my open bedroom door. My steps faltered and I fell still, eyes locked on my bedroom. I didn’t know what was in there, but my brain was prepared for a disaster. I expected to see my clothes everywhere, feathers ripped from the pillows, broken glass and shattered wood, but nothing seemed out of place.
I took a couple of steps forward and peeked further into my room, seeing my bed still carefully made, my clothes all still hanging within the closet, and everything still neatly organized on the dresser top. The only thing that was different was the vanity mirror. Something had bashed against it, shattered edges splintering through the reflective surface.
“Chef, what-”
My words were cut off as Chef Belford spun around and jumped on me, grabbing at my shirt collar and pushing me against the wall. His face was so close to mine that I could feel his breath hiss against my cheeks.
“DID YOU LOCK YOUR DOOR?” he hissed, grabbing fistfuls of my shirt and twisting it between his hands.
“Y-yeah! Yes!” I stuttered, trying to shrink away.
“ARE YOU SURE?” he growled, slamming my back against the wall just hard enough to rattle the painting next to me.
“Yes!” my hands fumbled to grab the iron key from within the depths of my jeans pocket. “Here! My key, I took my key with me after I locked the door. I promise!”
Chef Belford stayed on me for a moment, eyes twitching between both of my pupils as if searching for a lie. I stayed frozen in place, my feet feeling like lead. Fear raced through my blood, but not from being yelled at or from having a grown man slam me against a wall with his hands bundled in my shirt collar. It was Chef’s eyes, they looked wrong. They were wide and swirling with more than just anger. There was a hatred slowly welling behind his pupils, a hatred that seemed to damn me to Hell with just a look.
He released my shirt and stumbled back a bit, fixing his own that had been pulled untucked from his belted pants. “Alright,” he cleared his throat, looking down the hall at the waiting students, “everyone to their rooms. NOW!” He finished with a bark and a wave of his hand as he trudged down the hall, his voice trailing behind him. “And don’t come out ‘til I say!”
We all stood in the hall for a moment, everyone looking at me. I kept my back against the wall, my lower lip starting to quiver just a bit. I felt like I had done something wrong, like I had ruined the first day. Joe and Elisa quickly pushed passed everyone and came up to me. Joe instantly wrapped an arm around my shoulders as Elisa yelled.
“The hell you all lookin’ at?” she asked, popping her hip to the side. “Go to your rooms!”
The shuffling of feet filled the air as everyone started moving at the same time. One singular voice cut through the air, making everyone’s feet fall quiet. “We wouldn’t have to go to our rooms if the hillbilly learned how to lock her door.”
I didn’t need to see who said it in order to know it was Rachel. I saw Elisa fly forward before I cast my own eyes down to my feet. Elisa flung curse after curse at Rachel, swinging her fists and kicking her legs at the girl while Joe held her back.
“Alright, okay, okay,” Joe grunted, tugging Elisa way from the retreating girl.
“Well, she’s a bitch!” Elisa cursed, tugging her arm out of Joe’s grasp. “She’s just mad that both Chef and you like Daisy more!”
I saw Joe shift his eyes toward me for a split second, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. Elisa ran to a little stack of books resting on a random hallway table, knocking one of the reading chairs back as her arm ripped a heavy book from its place. She reared her arm back and aimed down the hall, letting her arm fly forward. The book spun and flapped as it traveled through the air. Rachel let out a squeal as she ducked into her room and slammed the door, the book just missing her head and instead exploding against the wooden frame. It dropped to the ground with a thud, its bent pages creating a crinkled tee-pee on the floor.
Elisa huffed, her breath coming out in angry, raged puffs, “She has no right to call anyone anything.”
“You done?” Joe asked, grabbing at her elbow.
Elisa brushed him off, flinging her hand in the air as she walked back. She patted my shoulder and walked into her room, shutting her door a little harder than necessary.
Joe turned toward me and rubbed the back of his neck again, “We should get to our rooms. Wouldn’t want to anger Chef any more than he already is.”
“Yeah,” I nodded, pushing myself off the wall finally.
“And…” Joe trailed off, turning back toward me as he walked down the hall. “Don’t… don’t listen to…whatever. Okay? You’re not…”
A chuckle bubbled from my mouth as he struggled to form a sentence, “Don’t worry, it was in one ear and out the other.” I lied, giving him a little wave goodbye.
“Right, yeah,” he puttered off, walking toward his room.
Rachel’s words came rushing back to me. I knew that if Elisa wouldn’t have been there, Rachel would have just walked away with a smirk on her face. I wouldn’t have stuck up for myself, I wouldn’t have defended my “hillbilly” home. I had kept my back to the wall and eyes on my feet, a feeling I had never felt before coursing through my body. Shame.
I had always been proud of where I grew up; proud of my family and my neighbors. I never had a reason to feel anything else until just then. Everyone else in the program had grown up in cities and were from relatively well-to-do families. They all went to culinary schools, studied the art outside of their jobs and everyday lives.
I didn’t necessarily choose culinary arts so much as it was tossed my way. I started working at the diner at a young age, slowly absorbing the knowledge as I grew up. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed it, but I didn’t exactly choose it. I had loved my little town, the locals, the old buildings, the history, but I couldn’t help but wonder what my life would have been like if I was born in a different family. What if I had been born in a city to a rich family? What if I had chosen the culinary arts instead of them choosing me? Those thoughts alone sent a sick wave of guilt rushing through my heart. I didn’t want a new family and I would never in a million years wish to be born in a new one, but just the fact I had entertained the thought made me sick.
I waited until I heard the faint click of Joe’s door shutting before I went to my room. The few shattered pieces of glass from the vanity gently sparkled as the afternoon sun filtered in. I stood by my door for a second, just looking around. Everything else was fine and in its place, except for the water. There was still a puddle lying under my bed, but this time there were footprints. Wet toe marks dotted around my hardwood floor, like someone had been tip-toeing around. It didn’t make sense that someone would break into my room just to shatter a mirror. I trailed the footprints with my eyes, seeing them go from the puddle by my bed, to my closet and over to the vanity. They disappeared into the plush rug but reappeared soon after, this time more smeared and rushed than the other prints. They scattered back over the wooden floor, over to my dresser and out the door.
I shuffled to the dresser where the footsteps seemed to visit last, being extra careful to not step in the wet marks. I looked through the drawers and found nothing weird at all, just my makeup bag and Chapstick that I threw in there the night before. My eyes involuntarily squinted at the shiny streak that ran across the wooden top. I reached out and ran my fingertip over the streak of water, the hand print fully coming into view.
“Same person,” I muttered, trying to draw some sort of conclusion to what was going on.
I bent down and looked around the floor of the dresser and in between where it bumped up against my bed. It wasn’t until I looked behind the wooden box that I saw something I had completely forgotten about; my phone. I reached down and picked up my little forgotten friend, unlocking the screen to see that my notes had been pulled up. One new note blared across my screen with two words typed out:
Help me
My eyes grew fuzzy and the drastic need for sleep wafted over my brain. I felt my knees wobble as a faint, cold sweat broke out along the back of my neck. I tried swallowing down whatever bit of saliva I could, by my throat felt fat and swollen, my head gently bobbing as I sank to the ground. My eyelids fluttered as invisible magnets pulled me closer to the ground, everything around me going black.
Submitted December 03, 2018 at 03:07AM by MidnightWritings https://ift.tt/2BMjDFL
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