Sneak Peek: Full-Contact Psychotherapist, chapter 3

The woman had just put a folded towel down on the floor under the coat rack, no doubt in a bid to collect the copious amount of rainwater dripping from the overcoat of the stranger, when the latter emerged from the bathroom.

“I do apologize for that,” they said as they extended a hand. “Let’s try that whole first impression thing again, shall we?”

“Uh, of course,” the woman said, taking a hesitating step forward. They both shook hands.

“It’s very nice to meet you, miss…” The stranger paused, looking the client up and down, focusing on the small details of her outfit. Unassuming dress. Indoor slippers. Warm blouse. Green ribbon. There it was. “Ms Green.”

“Uh, no?” the woman said. “My name is—”

“Ah!” the stranger said with a raised hand and a smile, “please, allow me to call you Ms Green today. I’m sure my partner briefed you over the phone?”

The woman furrowed her brow for just a moment. “Oh!” she said, taking out the business card the stranger had handed her earlier. “Oh, yes, I remember now. The young lady said you had, how did she put it… ‘a weird thing about names’.”

The stranger’s shoulders slumped. “Thank you, Cam.”

“Is that why there’s no name on here?” she asked, looking closer at the card. “Just some information and… ‘Full-Contact’…”

The stranger put on a brave face and a slightly strained grin as they stood back upright to look their client in the eyes. “That’s right. It’s part of the process; best to come in with as little information as possible. For us both, in fact. Speaking of process! Kettle?”

As if on cue, a whistle came from the kitchen off to the side, overlooking the street. Both of them turned to look. “I have one, yes? I put it on while you were in the restroom. Cold evening and all.” Ms Green walked over to silence the strident sound, preparing two cups. “Would you like coffee? I have a pour-over.”

“Tea, actually,” the stranger said, holding up the small square packet. “My treat. And just one cup will be enough.”

“I see,” Ms Green said with some hesitation as she picked up one of the cups. She turned around, taking another look at the person in front of her. The fancy but well-worn three-piece suit. The dripping coat. The memories of the blood-stained facemask, visible at the forefront of her mind. “Are you sure you’re okay? Outside, you looked like you’d gotten into a—”

“Oh, that? It’s nothing, please don’t worry about it. Occupational hazard. A particularly chatty person on the bus over had some demons to exorcize.”

Ms Green stood abruptly still, cradling the cup of hot water in her hands. “Demons?”

The stranger waved off the nasty thoughts before they could materialize. “Oh, no, not those sorts of demons, those are fine by me!” The grin returned, now made stronger with a particularly rueful glint in the stranger’s eyes. “No, I deal exclusively with the personal kind.”

The stranger ripped open the tea packet and, with a flourish, sprinkled its contents into the cup.

Ms Green looked down at the leaves, perhaps in a bid to identify their origin.  She gave a tentative sniff, then nodded, relieved. She looked back up. “Look, I’m not sure I follow how all this works, uh…” she said, trailing off.

The stranger snapped their fingers. “Name! Yes, you probably need a name to call me. Let’s see, how about…” Their eyes quickly scanned the room in search of suitable inspiration—finding none—before zeroing in on the cup in their client’s hands. “Grey. Let’s go with that!”

“I… I see,” Ms Green replied. She was visibly taken aback by the sequence of unpredictable turns the conversation had been taking, but was doing her best to just talk through it. She gave her guest yet another once-over. “Grey. Is that, ah, Mister? …Miss?”

“Mix,” Grey replied with a smile.

Ms Green blinked, then nodded. “Of course.”

“The tea,” Grey added.

Ms Green stared back. “…I’m sorry?”

Grey pointed to the cup in the woman’s hand, making a stirring motion. “Mix it, please. With your finger. It’s important that you touch it.”

Already-wide eyes grew wider still. “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh it’s perfectly alright! You must’ve washed your hands, right?”

“At… at some point,” the woman said, looking back toward the kitchen sink.

“See? It’s fine!” Grey said with a grand gesture as they singled out the perfect chair to hang their suit jacket on. Satisfied, they took a step back and adjusted first their vest, then their shirt cuffs. “Right! We’ll need a bit of room.”