The Pacifist

Empath

Rachel

The stout, but sturdy looking building filled Rachel with relief when she saw it. It seemed like the type of building that housed only legitimate businesses. She second guessed her first impression when she entered the lobby. The air was heavy with stale moisture and the carpet should have been changed a few decades ago. Rachel eyed the elevators wearily, but a panel with the building's directory revived, if only mildly, the building's credibility. It listed a couple solo practicing lawyers, an accounting firm, a naturopath, and there in the middle in all capital letters, Joseph Maxwell.

Rachel bit her lip and ran her fingers across the white plastic letters the way she had done with his business card. Part of her wondered if the man on the bridge actually existed, or if he was a figment of her tormented mind's imagination. She had been told she was insane enough times to make her second guess her reality from time to time. Even more so when meeting an odd person such as Joseph Maxwell.

She called the elevator and took it up to the fourth floor. Joseph's suite was at the end of the short hall. There was no name or indicator of what was behind the door. This made Rachel nervous again and had her questioning her judgment but her feet moved forward on their own. With a deep breath, she tried it and it opened with a soft click and a tinkling doorbell announced her arrival. Shortly after, Joseph Maxwell appeared in the waiting room that consisted of two arm chairs and a side table flanked by tall tropical plants.

"So. You came," he stated.

Rachel wasn't sure whether he was happy or disappointed. "Yes?" she said uncertainly. "Was I not supposed to come." She went to reach for her phone to double check the time and date he had sent her.

He shook his head. "No, it's good you came. You have a lot of work to do. Remove your shoes and you can hang your coat in the closet," he said, pointing to mirrored sliding doors.

Rachel fidgeted with her fingers then did as she was told when he raised an eyebrow.

"Follow me." He led her to a room with dim lighting and comfy chairs that faced one another. Between them was a rustic coffee table that held a diffuser and candles. The air was filled with the soft scent of lavender and vanilla and Rachel instantly felt calm. She sat in the chair he pointed at and waited expectantly.

"Why did you decide to come?" he asked once he sat.

"Um, because, because you said you could help me find peace."

"Why do you think you don't have peace?"

"I don't know. I just don't."