Chapter Two || Wolf At The Door
Thursday came quickly, as he'd hoped, and he left home without a word to anyone. Finding that the late morning traffic was lighter than expected, he managed to navigate across town without any dramas and hit an almost straight run of green lights. In the ten years he'd lived in Los Santos he'd learned the streets like the back of his hand. An old habit from his days spent planning heists and out running cops.
The address he'd been given wasn't much further from his house than his previous therapists place. Twenty minutes away from his front door on clear roads, maybe forty in heavy traffic. The Great Ocean Highway was an enjoyable drive for him any time of day, regardless of other road users. Views of the water speeding past and the ocean air invading the car were both like a cheap form of medication for him.
He pulled off the highway smoothly, and steered the car down a road lined with beach houses and condos, that ran parallel with the shore. He'd been given a number and began counting off residences. The instructions in the email said the house in question was four doors down from the twenty-four-seven at the end of the street, where parking was apparently available. That would have been helpful, had he not been coming from the opposite direction.
He was quickly getting impatient, his inner voice busily trying to tell him how stupid the whole idea was, as he crawled the car along the street. Focusing hard on finding the right place, until he finally pulled up alongside a rather industrial looking house, with tubs of bright flowers framing the drive and a bright yellow awning hanging above the front door, but no windows street side.
There wasn't much to see out front, but oddly the garage door was open, showing signs of life, and also preventing him from parking up on the driveway. Stopped at the curb up ahead, half up on a strip of hilly land opposite, was a small box truck. He pulled up behind it and idled the engine for a moment. The trucks back doors were open showing it was empty inside. He looked across the street to his left, and noted that the large, open garage door revealed a mass of cardboard boxes.
It didn't take much to deduce that the truck was obviously dropping something off to the good doctor's house. The scene suggested he'd arrived too early, and he checked the clock on the dash. Sure enough, he was five minutes ahead of his slot, but not being one to normally make, or keep, appointments, he figured early was better than late. Even if the good doctor was still with a patient, he was keen to get things moving before he could talk himself out of it again.
He killed the engine and ducked out of the car, before he could start talking himself out of what he was doing. Stalking quickly across the quiet street he approached the heavy wooden front door and scanned for a bell, or a knocker but before he could spot one, the door burst open and two burly looking guys in boiler suits barrelled out.
His jumped back, his natural defences automatically kicking in, sending his hand going for his back, where a gun would usually have been waiting, but his sharp eyes quickly noted the logo on the boiler suits and he stood down from code red. They were part of the moving company, he guessed that Dr. Narvadino hadn't been in town very long after all.
One of the men caught the door, stopping it from closing and held it open for Michael to take. "I got an appointment..." He said, feeling some odd need to explain himself.
"I think it's cool to go up man, mind the boxes though!" The Latin looking guy suggested and Michael moved fast to grab the door and stepped through into a small foyer.
It was narrow and cool inside, lit with natural light from a tall window made of glass bricks on the right hand side. He looked around for a moment, guessing the door to his right lead through into the garage, so instead he took the stairs up to the first floor. Heading towards the warm glow of sunshine coming from the upper window and the open door that lead into his new therapists condo.
Arriving on the small landing, he gave a cheerful but firm knock on the glass panelled door and took a step back. Since making the appointment, in quiet moments, his mind had sometimes wandered to thoughts of his new therapist.
Imaging what he'd look like, what ivory tower he'd be looking down at him from. He imagined Friedlander two-point-oh. Some smug shithead who was keen on handing out judgements and distain. His inner voice was about to start telling him all the reasons to ditch again. Trying to convince him why he should ditch and go back to the car, but the door suddenly clicked open and every logical thought shut down.
"...Er...hi..." He mumbled out, his jaw feeling slack with surprise. His eyes greedily taking in the tall, slender woman who stood in the doorway. Dressed in a low cut, long sleeved, white blouse and a tight fitting black pencil skirt. She looked more than a little flustered. Her curly dark hair was tied up in a messy bun and judging by how she tried to kick a box that was blocking the door out of the way, he assumed time had gotten away from her.
"I'm here to see Dr. Nardovino." He offered, his brain not fully connecting the dots. "Michael De Santa." He introduced, pointing at himself.
"Yes! Of course. Come in." She offered, stepping back into the house, allowing him to enter.
Observant as ever, he quickly looked around the place. Unlike where Friedlander worked, the house appeared to be open plan. On the far side of the room, sectioned off by a half-wall, was a large, bright kitchen and smart dining area, which left the rest of the space for a living room. There was an open wooden stair case to the near side of the room, that he assumed lead up to the bed and bathrooms. More glass brick windows flanked the sides of the house, shining soft, warm light in. Casting down on the brown cardboard boxes that seemed to be scattered everywhere. Some open with their contents spilling out, others still sealed with mystery.
As he turned his head to the left, to his joy, he saw the entire western wall was made of sheet glass, showing an unhindered ocean view, that practically blew him away. As soon as he saw it, his feet began to wander over to the windows to look out on the water, but he stopped himself.
Where was Dr. Nardovino?
He pulled his eyes away from the view and turned back to the woman who was looking at him with big, curious, blue eyes. Despite her slightly flustered appearance, she still looked smart. Powerful. He would have felt somewhat under dressed in her company, if it wasn't for the fact he was wearing a slick grey suit.
He'd unknowingly assumed she must be his new therapists wife, or girlfriend. She was still barefoot, and was obviously running late for some kind of professional gig in the city. A lawyer maybe? Something corporate, he guessed, but suddenly she was extending her hand to him and for a moment, his brow furrowed.
She wasn't surprised by the frown on his face, it was expected. "I'm Dr. Nardovino."
Michael's mouth moved but no sound came out for a moment. "...You're..."
"A woman." She stated, dropping her hand.
"Yeah..." He said breathily, somewhat ashamed of his presumptions.
She understood instantly and made a move for a glass coffee table nestled amongst a soft looking L-shaped couch and chairs, where her filofax was waiting. "If that's a problem for you, I can suggest another therapist..." She offered, picking up the leather bound diary, and turning back to him as she flicked through her contacts.
Michael looked at her deeply. She was beautiful, far too beautiful to be sitting in a beach house, neighboured by foreclosures, dressed like a million bucks and ready to listen to an idiot like him whining about his trivial problems.
"No!" he called out to stop her getting ahead of herself. "It's...I mean...I..." He couldn't find the words. She looked to him for her cue, unsure what he wanted to do. "I don't mind...it's just...I was expectin'..." he sighed, dropping his shoulders and throwing up his hands in defeat. "I don't know what I was expectin'." He released, turning his head back to the ocean again for a moment before looking back to her. Drawing to look at her mouth, as she lightly bit on her bottom lip, full and painted powerful red.
"I completely understand if you're uncomfortable. I should have told you I was female when you made the appointment." Michael's instinct said an apology should have followed her statement, but she held it back. She wasn't going to apologise for being a woman, and he liked that.
"It's okay." He agreed. "It's gonna take some gettin' used to n'all, but...I'm down to try it out..." he offered. "If you'll have me?"
She smiled warmly, but he could see she felt awkward, just as he did. "Of course." She agreed, looking at him for a moment longer than she should have.
Truth was, she was as surprised to see him as he was her. While reading his file, she'd pictured an absolute monster of a man. She hadn't imagined him to be so smartly dressed and strong looking. Hewas taller than she'd imagined too and she certainly hadn't thought for a second he'd be so damn handsome either.
Rugged looking, with the heavy stubble around his jaw, broad shoulders cut out perfectly by a well tailored suit. Michael De Santa in the flesh, was nothing like the demon she'd envisioned in her head.
She quickly snapped out of her contemplation and gestured to the couch. "Please take a seat. I'm sorry about the mess. The movers were supposed to be here two weeks ago, but there was some screw up with the shipping company and they just showed up out of the blue this morning." She rambled, hating having lost control over her environment.
Michael did as she suggested, as she quickly moved over to near the half-wall that divided the room and slipped her bare feet into a pair of black heels.
He watched with keen eyes. She was at home, safe and comfortable, she had no reason to be putting her feet in shoes, but he assumed it was perhaps her marker for professionalism. Someway of separating her home life with her career. A uniform of sorts. "Can I get you a drink, or anything?" She offered, looking back to him.
"No, I'm good, doc." He said, leaning back into the soft beige couch, nearest to the fireplace, but still with the best view of the ocean. "This is a nice place you got here."
"Thanks." She smiled politely, smoothing out her shirt and skirt, before grabbing up his file from the kitchen counter and hurrying over to join him. "It's not ideal for practicing. I'm looking to get an office downtown..." Michael cut her off.
"No, doc, this is fuckin' perfect. I mean, look at that view." He gestured. "Who wouldn't want to pour their heart out lookin' at that ocean."
She chuckled softly, as she took her place opposite him, sitting down in a soft, light grey chair with light wood arms. She sat delicately, knees together, angled with knees pointing towards him, feeling a little exposed in the short skirt she'd chosen that morning.
She told herself to relax, not to worry about the dangerous villain that was sitting in her living room, but the deep seeded trust issues she had of her own were beginning to awaken. All the things she'd read about him came flooding back in, reminding her of the deluge of destruction and terror the attractive man before her had caused.
The other clients she'd seen since arriving in town and taking over from Dr. Friedlander were all benign. Mainly self obsessed actors and actresses, complaining about being out of work, or not getting paid enough for their incredible talents. Cheating husbands or mistresses justifying their actions and looking for validation in who to blame for them. Couples who hated each other but used therapy as proof they were trying to make it work. Parents and teenagers who constantly butted heads on the slightest issue.
Michael De Santa however, was a different kind of beast all together. If the notes were true, she had just let a wolf in.