Dara, Page, and the Secrets of the Multiverse

▷ 2.2

Page bolted from the porch, hands swinging outward to grip the knob of the double doors. Who the hell thought it was a good idea to have double doors? Footsteps brushed against the hut's floor, rushing towards him. The woman had her arms stretched out as she made for the door as well. "Page! Wait—"

The doors slammed shut with a violent yank from him. Shaking fingers twisted the locks. A final click couldn't have rang inside his head this loud. Heart pounding, he stalked towards the bow windows where the woman followed him, tapping on the glass and demanding to be let in.

It couldn't be. Simply not possible. A frantic breath ripped out of Page's lips as he braced the glass panes cooled by the early morning dew, peeking at his painting left to dry in the open. The lilies were still there, swaying with the nonexistent wind, cropped straight from the wildflowers peppering the rising hill in the horizon. The woman in the painting was gone, and knocking her knuckles against the window was...

His eyes widened, heart falling to his gut. No. This was it. Page has officially lost his mind.

"Page! Open the goddamn door!" The woman screamed. Page glanced at the line where the sky met the hills. Was having no nearby neighbors a curse or a benefit? While nobody could see him cowering inside his house, no one would be near enough to call to remove a relentless stalker threatening to break his door down.

A gasp flitted past his lips. The backdoor. Oh, no.

The woman seemed to have thought of the idea the same moment as he did since she sank into her knees, left the window alone, and scrambled off the porch. She leaped past the balustrade, swinging over it as if she had done it all her life. Her boots hit the moist ground, sending her stumbling against the side of the house.

Page wasted no time. He dashed past the living room, knocking standing easels aside to clear the quickest way to the kitchen. Whoever that woman was, she was crazy. Too insane for Page to handle and what a way to ruin his otherwise fine morning. The dining table whizzed past the edge of his vision. He considered pushing it against the door, but the woman's head already bobbed past the small, square window framed by wooden planks. No time.

His shoulder slammed against the backdoor, thumb jamming into the knob's button. Locked.

The door shook as the woman's hands battered the splintering wood. "Come on, Page! Don't be like this," she exclaimed. "I don't have all day. Just...just let me in."

"How do you know my name?" Page blurted out. Was he talking to the person who would probably kill him or loot his house? Did she want a painting so badly? He would make her one if only she asked nicely. No point in trying to sneak inside his house. "Who are you?"

The clambering stopped. "Is that how far along you are?" she breathed against the door. It was too soft, that Page only got a whiff of the last few words. What was she talking about? "All the more reason for me to hurry."