Chapter Text
Leland glanced over at the letter on his center console, he received it about a week after his encounter at the bar with Clyde Perry. The letter was vague, labeled to be about “PROJECT LATHE” and attached to an address. It seemed to be an interview, presumably for a job; one that promised to be a perfect fit for his skill set.
Leland’s instincts told him that this was a bad idea, that maybe this was some elaborate way for Clyde to get back at him for having assaulted him at the bar; hospitalized him, from his understanding. Then again, if that turned out to be the case, Leland was more than willing to send Clyde to his grave this time.
Leland tucked the letter into his pocket, and stepped out of his truck; tossing his cigarette onto the pavement in the process. He walked into the large, ominous facility; men in lab coats eyed him curiously.
He walked up to a brunette woman sat behind a desk, she stopped sorting papers to meet his gaze. “Can I help you?” Leland pulled the letter out of his pocket, showing it to her. “Hey, honey, I’m here to see-“
“Dr. Easterman is down the hall, second door on your left,” she spoke quickly, cutting him off to resume her task. He crumpled the letter, leaving it on her desk. “Fuckin’ bitch,” he grumbled to himself as he made his way down the hall.
He followed her directions, the plaque by the door read “Dr. Hendrick Joliet Easterman” and although the name meant nothing to Leland, he stepped inside; he wasn’t sure what to expect.
The room was slightly colder than the rest of the building, it threw him off a little. There was nobody in there; he glanced at the clock on the right, he was a bit early. A desk sat near the back wall, countless files littered its surface, an empty coffee mug resided on the corner; a chair sat in front of the desk, likely for meetings.
On the right wall resided a bookshelf, various nicknacks were placed meticulously alongside the books. On the left wall was a couch, it inspired imagery of a stereotypical therapy setting. A small table stood beside the couch, a lamp and an ash tray laid upon it.
All of the colors in the room were very dull, but it was almost tranquil- almost. It had a sort of pseudo comfort to it, like the room wanted you to feel safe inside of it; but it was difficult for Leland to entirely let his guard down
Leland could hear the hum of an air conditioning unit, it pushed cold air into the room from a vent; that explained the chill. The clock ticked quietly on the wall. Outside the door, he heard the clicking of shoes against tile floors. Occasionally, he heard the sounds of background chatter; although he couldn’t make out any of the words.
Leland cocked his head to the door as he heard the knob twisting from the outside. The door swung open almost silently, a man carrying a notepad walked inside, closing the door behind him.
The man was taller than Leland, he stood perfectly straight. His hair was slicked back, a few strands managed to escape and fall across his forehead. His neatly groomed hair was black, but despite the fact that he was probably only a few years older than Leland, he was already going grey.
He wore an expensive black suit jacket and matching trousers; black dress shoes completed the look. Beneath the jacket was a faintly pink button down shirt, it was likely once white, probably caught in the wash with his red tie; Leland choked down some juvenile comment about the pink shirt. He was thin, but not by any means frail. Reading glasses with black frames sat slightly too low on the bridge of his nose. He was, for what it’s worth, an attractive man.
He moved the notepad beneath his arm and extended his other hand to Leland, he shook it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sergeant Leland Coyle, I’m Dr. Hendrick Easterman.”