She’s wearing a washed-out purple, oversize shirt that hangs off her right shoulder, paired with black leggings and flip-flops. Yes, flip-flops. What kind of lunatic wears flip-flops like they’re some kind of actual footwear?Yeah, we’re not the same.
Propping one hand on her hip, she waves at me with the other. “I love your whole vibe.”
I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean, so instead of entertaining her weird use of the English language, I ask the only thing that comes to mind. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, it’s me, Sage!” She points both of her thumbs at her face.
Sage?
“What an odd name,” I think out loud.
“Well, it’s better than the rest of my name.” She giggles. “Juniper Sage Featherstone, but I go by Sage.”
I don’t care what her name is—though it is quite a ridiculous name, I take note. It still doesn’t tell me why she’s here. I open my mouth to ask just that when she steps toward me ... into my personal space.
Immediately, I take a step back, not wanting her to get too close. Who knows what kind of diseases she carries. Especially someone who goes outside dressed like that.
“Did you know that the safest social distance, without disrupting someone’s personal space, is between eighteen inches and four feet? Personally I prefer the four feet. But intuitively, for me, when it comes to instances of this nature, no less than eighteen inches is mandatory,” I inform her, leaning back and away.
She swats her hand at me while letting out a hearty laugh. “You’re so funny! Well, aren’t you going to invite me in?” She takes another step toward me, causing me to lean back and away once more.
I shake my head. “No.” But instead of complying, she pushes right past me and into the house,my house. The audacity of this woman is nothing short of infuriating. Frustrated, I stomp my foot on the floor. My chest is tight, and my pulse is racing. She’s invading my privacy in the most basic way.
“Wow! Your cabin is just as beautiful on the inside too. Everything is so modern and clean,” she exclaims, completely ignoring my refusal to let her into my house. “You must spend a lot of time cleaning. Do you have a cleaning service that comes out here?” she asks, but doesn’t give metime to respond. “I bet you have a hard time getting someone to come this far. But I guess that’s the price you pay to live out here in such a beautiful place. Man, your view must be killer! I can’t wait to see the upstairs.”
I feel my eyes go wide with terror as she keeps walking farther into my space. Her flip-flops make the most annoying slapping sound as she scurries across the pristine wooden floor.
Slap, slap, slap... My eye twitches at the sound, and I think about googling “how to install silent floors fast.”
I want to clasp my hands over my ears so I don’t have to hear that awful sound or her voice. I want my quiet house back, and I want it now.
“Hey! Stop!” I call after her, but she’s already in the kitchen.
My anger threatens to boil over as I follow her through my house.
“Oh my god! I was right. The viewisamazeballs!” she exclaims, dashing to the window.
“That’s not a word,” I inform her, nervously crossing my arms over my chest. I’m overwhelmed by her presence, and when I glance at the table where my knives are still laid out, I briefly think about using one to slit her throat. That would surely shut her up ... but also leave a huge mess in my kitchen.
No, I don’t kill randomly or messily. I kill smartly. It takes me weeks to prepare for a kill. Meticulous planning is a must.
“Well, as you know, I’ve stayed in a lot of cabins, but this one will definitely be one of my favorites. I mean, look how spacious this is! And your kitchen is a dream! Did you pick all of this out yourself or have someone design it?” She pauses and looks at me with a big smile on her face.
Finally I have a moment to get a word in. “Who the hell are you, and why are you in my house?”
“I told you, I’m Sage. We spoke on the app,” she explains.
“I’ve never talked to anyone on some app.” I lift my hand to pinch the bridge of my nose as the pressure builds behind my eyes. Great, a headache is coming. This infuriating woman is giving me a migraine.
“Wait, are you not Ryan?”
“No, I’m Travis,” I say, my voice strained with anger. “Ryan lives half a mile from here, on the other side of the mountain.”
They don’t know me, but I know all my neighbors within a five-mile radius. I had my private investigator dig up everything on them, and that’s how I know Ryan Mitchell rents out his cabin when he goes to visit his second home in Florida.
I state the obvious: “You are at the wrong place.”
Her mouth pops open as her eyes go wide. I think she is about to apologize, but instead she throws her head back and laughs. Her hands come to her chest as her whole body shakes with laughter. “OMG!” she says between laughs. “I can’t believe this happened.”
