Okay. So I warned that these following chapters would be longer. This one was ten pages on Word document. Haha. Sorry. I don't normally type/write in huge chunks like this, but I honestly think it will read better without division. If it is too lengthy for one chapter, tell me and I will try to shorten subsequent ones. :)
Hope you enjoy. :)
Chapter 1: Getting Acquainted
Opening the door fully reveals a somewhat tall, slim man with clear complexion and tanned skin. He also has a closely trimmed, dark beard, obviously well maintained. His black, almost obsidian eyes peer down at me through glasses from a moderate height difference, probably placing him at around 6'0" to my 5'6".
His frame is solid without the bulkiness of over-trained muscles but do not think I mean him weak. There is a way in which he stands that seems to dissuade the careful observer from this faulty notion. He appears strong and muscled, but in the way that a swimmer might be as opposed to a wrestler.
As if to further prove the matter of strength, he is carrying what seems to be a rather large file box.
Upon looking back up to meet his gaze, I find that he looks to have been scrutinizing me also, trying to see, perhaps, what else he might discover of me from my appearance.
After a brief moment of silence, he smiles, shifts the box to one arm, and offers his right hand, which I grasp firmly if not slightly reluctantly. Some part of my brain also wonders how he is holding that file box with one arm…
"Good morning, miss," he greets, an almost baritone voice reaching my ears. "May I presume you to be Miss Abigail Ellsworth?"
"You may, and the presumption would be correct," I smile politely, tucking a stray strand of reddish brown hair behind my ear and then straightening up completely.
"My name is Luke Anderson. I'm the man you spoke to on the phone."
"It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Anderson. Would you like to come into my office and sit down?"
"Yes. Thank you."
I step aside and allow him entrance to the room. He walks in, and I seem to think that he examines the room for a moment. As I shut the door, he then looks to me, and my suspicion is confirmed.
"I see you have been hard at work already. Other than the furniture and the boxes, the room was empty this morning when I came to check that everything was ready for you today."
"If today is also the first day I'll be seeing my patients, then I want everything to look as it should."
He gives me a nod, seemingly pleased with my answer and then takes a seat in the armchair to the left of the sofa, the box now on his lap. I then move to occupy the remaining chair by the coffee table, ready to listen to whatever he will tell me.
"Well," he begins, resting his arms on the box. "I am certain you are somewhat curious about the pains that were taken to insure that you were qualified and cleared for this job, yes?"
"A little," I reply, severely downplaying the extent of my curiosity. I am extraordinarily curious by nature, and therefore I had spent many a night since all of this began pondering this very subject.
An amused chuckle follows my response accompanied by a slight raise of his right eyebrow.
"Only a little?" he asks, clearly not buying it. "Well, most people in your position wouldn't be sleeping too well, but that is beside the point. I have, in this box, all the files that you will need in order to acquaint yourself with all of your new patients. Are you curious now?"
It is my turn now to raise an eyebrow. "Perhaps slightly more so."
"In all honesty, I cannot tell if you are or not, but I suppose that is irrelevant," he replies before setting the box on the table and opening the lid. "All of the files contained within are strictly confidential and have been translated from their various origin languages into English in an effort to make it possible for you to read without hindrance."
"That actually leads to something about which I've been wondering," I begin, shifting slightly forward in my chair. "I am almost fluent in Spanish; I know some Japanese, very little French, and even less German and Dutch, to say nothing at all of the multiple thousands of other languages represented in this building. How am I to communicate with my patients?"
With an amused—knowing?—smile, Mr. Anderson nods. "They'll know how to talk to you, Ms. Ellsworth. They are not your average individuals. The English may not be perfect, but it'll be fairly close. You should have no trouble communicating with them, unless, of course, one of them develops a case of stubbornness, which is not entirely unlikely I must warn you. Besides this possibility, though, you will not have any trouble with language barriers."
I find this idea a little odd and difficult to grasp. How would all of them know English? I could understand more developed countries, such as Germany, that may require their students to learn several different languages, but even representatives from less developed countries? The notion does seem slightly far-fetched, but…
"You are positive there will be no issue?"
"Very."
"But, how is that even possible?"
"As I said, Ms. Ellsworth, they are not your average individuals," he reiterates before suddenly glancing at his wristwatch and standing. "It seems your first appointment will be in one hour. The first round of appointments will probably last for a few months because the first round was scheduled for everyone; it should help you to get acquainted with any who may schedule their own appointment at a later date or be scheduled. Now, if you have no more questions, I will leave you to studying over these files. Do you have any other questions?"
Yes. Why did you start being evasive when I pressed the language issue?
"Not at the moment," I smile, standing also.
He nods. "Very well. Then I shall take my leave. I will return to check on you either this evening after all of your appointments scheduled for today or tomorrow before any of them start, if I am able."
"Understood."
Thus spoken, he walks to the door and I follow, stepping slightly ahead of him to open the door. He gives me another nod and steps out of my office, but before taking another step, he pauses. Turning only slightly to glance over his shoulder, he looks at me with an impish gleam in his eyes and a somewhat mischievous smirk. "Good luck, Ms. Ellsworth. You will need it."
With that, he continues his lengthy stride and is soon around the corner and out of my sight. It is then that I step back into my office and shut the door, isolating me with my thoughts and my files, which would win the majority of the hour of time is still up for debate.
Nonetheless, I return to the armchair I had previously occupied and pull the rather heavy, full file box over to me.
On the very top of everything is a calendar, according to its cover, and I wonder if this is my schedule of appointments Mr. Anderson had mentioned. Removing it from the box, I open it to today's date and, just as I had suspected, there is a list and time schedule for the appointments. Because it is a preliminary appointment and it truly is a first chance to 'get acquainted' as my prior visitor had put it, it would last only about forty to forty-five minutes. My first appointment would be at 8:00. I would have three appointments in the morning, and then an hour long lunch break, followed by six more appointments. That would mean I would be leaving for home at around 20:00.
This worked out in my mind, I then look at the schedule for today once more and pull from the box only the files of those I will be seeing today. This done, I move to my desk, files and calendar in hand. Upon sitting, I shuffle the files into order of visit and begin to read.
In reading and studying the files, committing them to memory, I become so engrossed that the first chime of the grandfather clock startles me. By the third chime, my heart rate is regulated once more and I return the files to the crate. It is only a few moments past the last chime, silence filling the room, that I hear a solid, confident knock on the door.
I glance briefly at the file box and judge that there is no way I can lift it, so I merely shut the lid and go to the door. Once more straightening my shirt and making certain that my hair is in order, I open the door.
On the other side is a man of about 5'10" with a slim build. He has blond hair, which—though obviously well taken care of—sticks out in nearly all directions. He sports a tan blazer and dark brown vest accompanied by a tie with tan slacks and brown penny loafers.
"I am terribly sorry. I was trying to arrive on time but that bloody American git was bothering me about nonsensical 'heroes' and global warming. I do so apologize," the man says in a rush, British accent quite prevalent.
"May I safely call you Mr. Kirkland?" I question, smiling.
Almost immediately, he seems to relax a little as he nods.
"My name is indeed Arthur Kirkland. You must be Ms. Ellsworth," he says as we shake hands.
"That I am. If you'll just step into my office, please," I reply as I step to one side.
"Of course. Thank you. Finally someone in this blasted place with manners. People these days seem to have no respect or manners. I am very glad to have finally stumbled across someone who still practices the nigh lost art."
He, after thus voicing his thoughts, walks into the room and glances around. I quietly shut the door behind him and turn my full attention to him as his eyes wander around the room, systematically taking note of everything.
"Mr. Kirkland," I say and he immediately turns to look at me. "Where would you like to sit, at the desk or at the sitting area? It does not matter to me."
"Well," he begins, glancing between the two options. "I suppose the desk and chairs would be best."
"Very well. Go ahead and take a seat, please."
As he does so, I make a mental note that he seems to prefer functionality over comfort, probably has a strong work ethic. He also seems very formal and very… well…. 'British'. This is not in the slightest a bad thing, only different.
I walk to my desk and, once seated, look at Mr. Kirkland once more, to which he seems compelled to make an attempt at conversation.
"This space has seen quite an improvement, I see," he nods his approbation as he glances around once more.
"Has it?"
"Yes, quite. It was still a storage room two weeks ago when we were first told of a psychiatric therapist being hired. I must say, your taste in décor is impressive, especially for one as young as yourself. May I presume that all of this is from your prior office space?" he asks, emerald eyes turning their gaze from the room to me, and suddenly—though I cannot be much younger than him based upon his appearance—I feel as though I am as a small child once more being looked upon by an adult. His stare is not uncomfortable, only very… odd. Truly there is no other way to describe it… Just… odd.
"Yes," I answer at last, realizing he is awaiting my answer. "All of this is from my last office before I came here."
"Just as I suspected," he smiles, seemingly pleased with his deduction. "May I also guess that you are a rather avid reader? I saw several titles in your collection here on the wall behind me that I have not seen in quite some time. You must have searched quite diligently for them."
"You would be correct again, Mr. Kirkland," I answer readily, my smile becoming less pretending. "I do very much enjoy reading."
"Should I also suppose by this collection that you are a reader of the old world sort in that you prefer actual books to these newfangled electronics?"
"That I do. I prefer to feel the pages and the ink, and you? Do you enjoy reading?"
His eyes seem to brighten a little as he nods. "Quite. In my home, I have an entire room that is a library."
"Really?"
"Oh, yes. It's been quite some time since I last counted. I haven't the slightest idea how many I have in my collection to date."
"Have they been passed down in your family?"
At this question, he suddenly stiffens a little, and he tries to force a sense of calm. "Something like that."
Even though his reaction intrigues me—is family a sore topic?—I refrain from asking any further on the matter. I do not wish to, on the first visit, 'frighten' him away or make him so very defensive as to be impossible on which to get a read. Therefore, rather than push the matter, I simply nod and smile.
"I wager your library must truly be something worth seeing, Mr. Kirkland."
Whether in an attempt to move forward or whether truthfully making the suggestion I am uncertain, but he appears to relax once more and even tries a smile. "Well, if ever you journey to London, I would be more than willing to show you the library since you are so fond of literature."
I must admit, though, that the offer does take me a little by surprise, especially because he has just met me and knows very little, I should think, about who I am. I seem to think somewhere beyond a somewhat austere persona lies a warmer personality. It is not necessarily trying to get out, but perhaps, 'there for the discovery' would be the more apt term.
"Well, thank you very much, Mr. Kirkland. I assure you the offer is quite appealing, though, I do not know when I will ever make it to London. It is a very kind offer all the same," I answer, putting on one of my brightest smiles.
In return, he seems to relax just a little further and he responds, "If you are ever to find yourself in London by some chance, do not hesitate to call. I am quite certain they left you all of our home phone numbers, yes?"
"They did," I nod.
"Well then, it should not be a problem. If I find, in coming days, that you have been to London and not called upon me as guide and guard, I shall be most offended, Ms. Ellsworth," he says with so straight a face that I almost believe whole-heartedly that he would be mortally wounded, had it not been for a rather mischievous glimmer in his eyes.
"I will be certain to call you then," I laugh sincerely, before glancing at the clock. Twenty-five more minutes remain. I should probably at least start to ask him questions, though, this conversation has been most informative on its own. "So, Mr. Kirkland, is there anything particular you would like to mention to me about yourself?"
"Well," he begins, seeming to have fallen deep into thought. "Nothing that I can think of really."
"Alright. That's perfectly alright. Let's talk about when you arrived then, shall we? You seemed agitated about something. What was it?"
"It was because I was running slightly behind," says the man who got here barely after the last chime that told it was eight o'clock, the time for when his meeting was scheduled. Definitely schedule oriented. "I was on time until that Yank decided he absolutely must, at that exact moment inform me of his brilliant plan to stop global warming. It was completely batty. I mean, nearly stark raving mad! Where does he come up with such insanity?"
I am so very lost about what the 'insanity' is, so I find I must ask.
"What insanity?"
"He was talking about creating a genetically altered hero to protect the Earth from global warming by batting away the UV rays with his super strength. Can you believe it? It is the second time this month, and do you know what today's date is?"
"The first of September."
"Exactly. He is always so blasted childish, despite how grown-up and strong he wants everyone to think he is," Mr. Kirkland scowls.
"Who is this 'he'? You called him a 'Yank'. Do you mean he is the American representative of your group?"
"Yes, he is," he answers before his eyes widen almost comically. "I am terribly sorry. I hope I haven't offended you with the term 'Yank'. I have it on reliable authority that you are American."
At this, I laugh briefly. "Mr. Kirkland, I am from Massachusetts. Technically I am a Yankee, so I assure you, I am not in the least offended."
"Massachusetts, you say?" he questions, a distant tone to his voice and a faraway look in his eyes. "Where in Massachusetts?"
"Boston," I reply, unsure what has so affected him.
My answer, however innocent it seems to me, produces an even more pronounced reaction as his expression becomes almost pained.
"Oh," is all he responds, eyes dropping to the top of my desk.
"Why do you ask, Mr. Kirkland?"
"Oh, I just… I had a rather difficult falling out with someone there."
"I'm sorry to hear that," I respond, genuinely feeling sorry for him. Clearly the falling out had hurt him deeply. Knowing that the vulnerability he is currently displaying is quite obviously rare, I find myself wary of saying anything else for fear of shutting him down, but I know that I must at least try. "Would you like to talk about it?"
Just as I feared, whatever memory or thought had held him so temporarily transfixed and made him forget his obviously carefully maintained façade is abandoned and banished from his mind. His countenance becomes once more composed—a mask—and his jaw, neck, and shoulders stiffen.
"No. I would not," is his response, his voice colder than I had yet heard it.
I nod briefly before glancing at the clock. Only ten more minutes remain and seeing that he is now to answer carefully and guardedly, to ask anything more would be a waste of my time and his. For this reason, I give him as warm a smile as I can possibly give.
"Mr. Kirkland, I find that I have no more questions for you today, so unless you do wish to tell me something more or discuss anything else with me, I think you may leave early. I don't want to keep you here for no reason."
He in turn gives me a stiff nod and stands. I rise to my feet also and walk with him to the door. Reaching it, I open it for him, then offer my hand which he shakes.
"Ms. Ellsworth, it has been very nice to meet you."
"Likewise, Mr. Kirkland."
A final nod and the Englishman exits the room, his steady step sounding lightly on the tile floor of the hall. I listen until the footsteps have vanished, and then I close the door. Quietly, I move to the sofa and sit down, allowing myself time to mull over my thoughts and observations. A notepad and pen in my hand, I begin writing my thoughts on the meeting.
Mr. Kirkland is indeed a true English gentleman from what I have first observed. Stiff, trying to be guarded, but somewhere below, he seems like he is genuinely a good person. Based upon his behavior toward me, he seems to wish to reach out to people, but also seems wary of doing so.
Clearly, he has had a rough time with people. Perhaps he has dealt with betrayal or a deep sense of disappointment and now finds it difficult to invest emotionally or mentally in people. That would explain it rather well, but I must have more information to establish it for fact. For now, however, I must only write my observations while they are still fresh in my mind.
And so you have it. The first 'representative' she has met. :)
Love to get everyone's feedback. I don't write for reviews, but they do help me a lot with knowing what my readers like. ^_^
~Kanae~