Dara, Page, and the Secrets of the Multiverse

▷ 3.2

Dara set the mug down, staring out of the window. The door opened, and the familiar tkk-tkk-tkk sounds of the bike's chain rang across the hall. He turned to find Page guiding his ride towards its place in the foyer as if it was an elderly dog. The man's eyes lit up when he looked up to find Dara striding towards him.

"What's the update with the mechanic?" Dara asked, stepping out of the way as Page continued to the kitchen. The smell of the desert and sweat trailed behind the man. Without his explicit permission, Dara followed Page. "I'd hate to smooth your tea packets or use up all your soap."

A chuckle rumbled deep in Page's throat. He bent down and yanked a closet door open. A golden chain tumbled out of the tank top showing off the man's muscular biceps and broad chest. In a plaid shirt thrown over, it was easy to miss how fine Page looked when they first met at the side of the road.

"Plenty o' that where I'm from," Page answered, talking about the soap or the tea packets. Or both. Dara wasn't really sure. Instead, he was reduced to leaning against the low counter and observing Page as he moved around with familiarity around his kitchen. "Mate's said it should take a day more to get the spare wheel for the same model."

Dara hummed. "Can't be helped, then," he said, his voice ebbing into a weak whisper. The silence between them became comfortable as Page opened the cupboard door again and retrieved several glass jars. It always struck Dara odd when he noticed none of them had any labels. It was as if Page memorized everything or he had been making himself the same things to know where everything was even with his eyes closed.

The meals were exquisite too. Dara was handy in the kitchen, but he had never tasted the most delicious scrambled eggs in his life until now. He had to ask Page for a recipe one of these days.

The house was eerily clean too. Page didn't come across as a neat freak with his worn-down bike, threadbare white shirts, and days-old jeans, but every shelf was speck-free, and when Dara checked the piano in the corner of the living room, it was in tune.

But the rest of New Herestead could use some improvements. If repairing a car took this long in the city, the clients would be beside themselves with rage. The countryside could use the leniency, but he had been here two days, and nothing was happening. His family informed him that they have moved on with the itinerary, and he resolved to just catch up with them wherever he was able. Time was passing, and he didn't file painstaking leaves from the office just to miss the reason for them.

So, while Page hummed under his breath some obscure song while sauteing the vegetables, Dara set his mug on the counter and cleared his throat. "I'm planning to rent a car out of here and return it when I'm on my way home," he said to Page's turned back. "I can't really sit that family engagement out, and I'm already two days late."

"Bad idea," Page answered without turning or missing a beat. He cracked an egg against the side of the pan, splitting it with one hand. The clear whites and the round yolk plonked straight into the churning oil, coating the crisp vegetables with a hearty simmer. "I've been around lately, and things aren't looking good. The townsfolk kept claiming the shadows had started acting up. Eats people when they're not looking. Things like that. This town has always been haunted. Dunno why now, of all times."

He must have heard the news from his daily morning rides to gather supplies and basic needs.

"Why not just move out?" Dara ventured, tilting his head to the side. The morning sun shone all over the burnt ocher horizon outside the kitchen window. His words might come off as insensitive, but who would want to stay in a haunted town such as this? "There's a bigger world out there than just...bikes and cacti."

"Real estate's been peachy in these parts," Page said, not a hint of offense coating his tone. It was just a plain explanation. "I don't want to let go of some properties, you know? Can't get them elsewhere."

Yep, valid. "Well, I'll wait for the wheel," Dara said, peeling off the counter and swiping his mug off the counter next to the stove. He finished his tea and dumped the mug into the growing pile of dishes in the sink. He'd do it later with Page cooking every time. Perhaps, he'd finally see the blue algae Page talked about. "You're okay with me dipping my hands into your food and everything?"

"Yeah, 'course," Page said with a roll of his shoulders. "The least I can do to help a dashing stranger."

Dara walked out of the kitchen. More like, fled it. He'd pretend he hadn't heard that. Because like the smell of burning oil and desert sand wafting in the air, it was going to haunt his dreams tonight.