Confounded: Part I - 4. Chapter 4

When we finally pulled up to the house, the gates slowly closing behind us, I wasn't really prepared for where he lived. I live in the Valley, myself; I hadn't even known where he lived. Sherman Oaks, huh?

The house, a large bungalow, seemed...I dunno; nice? Not as big as I had expected, seeing the other houses in this neighborhood as we drove in.

Mitchell parked the car in front of the four-car garage; there weren't any others parked, probably already inside. Once having exited the car, there was little sound; only birds. No cars, no bustle of activity in sound-range. It was very quiet here.

We entered the house through the service entrance, which led to a large beauty of a kitchen, where he put his briefcase on the large table.

"Do you like wine?" he asked, sending me a questioning look.
I nodded and he disappeared, giving me the chance to have a look around.

The living room was enormous, and I found myself liking the way it had been decorated - tasteful and elegant yet cozy and warm, undoubtedly done by his wife. It was a bit masculine, though, with lots of heavy oak. But the kitchen; that was the masterpiece. I immediately felt at home there. Provided with every luxury appliance available, it was dominated by a giant heavy oak table with eight chairs and there was a breakfast bar, separating the kitchen from the living area, with six stools. I got the impression that they spent most of their time here; the tabletop looked heavily used. I know I would spend most of my time here, anyway.

Mitchell returned with a dusty bottle, in the meantime having rid himself of his jacket. He loosened his tie, rolled up his sleeves and sat down, filling two glasses.

"Where's the computer?" I asked, stiffly.

He spared a quick inquisitive glance while pouring, and then nodded toward the door he'd just come through.

"Third door on your left."

I left him behind in the kitchen, finding myself in a left-curving hallway, counting the doors; I needn't have bothered. The door to, obviously, the study stood wide open.

Walking around a large cluttered desk, I planted myself in an executive desk chair with the missing jacket hanging over the back. I liked these chairs; my dad had just the same one in his office, where I used to work before changing jobs. They sit great.

There was a laptop sitting on the desk, and as there weren't any other computers in sight, I assumed this was the troubled system; it sat in a docking bay. I looked up when Mitchell appeared in the door, carrying two glasses of red wine.

"I hope you like pizza; I ordered two."

I nodded, once again silently and turn the laptop on; the thing immediately spit out an error and beeped a few times. I frowned.

"This laptop is brand new; I remember configuring it. What'd you do with it?"
He shrugged.

"I don't have a clue; Kit, my son, has been fiddling with it, wanting to play a game of some sort. I couldn't do anything with it afterward."

Great; that little show-off of a son probably thought he knew something about computers, and tweaked the thing in some illegal way, from the looks of it.

"You have the recovery CD here?"
I received a blank expression in return, and sighed.

"The box? You still have the box it came in?"
He pointed to where my feet were and I saw it; thank god, at least something was going right.

In the meantime, the laptop had wrestled itself through the startup, and I got to work. It was hopeless. For half an hour I tried every trick I knew, to try and save what he wanted to keep. Then I finally told him it was useless; I had to use the recovery CD, luckily found in the box, and that he'd lose everything that had been on the computer.
He sighed, a little peeved.

"If that's the case, then so be it; Kit's never touching this laptop, ever again."
At least one plus coming out of this, then.

By the time the pizzas arrived, the install was halfway through, and I let it continue as he brought the pizza's to the kitchen, where we sat down at the table. My glass received a top-up. He'd ordered one pizza with, and one without, anchovies.

"I didn't know what you'd like..."
It turned out we liked the same kind; the one with anchovies.

While eating, I looked around, curious.

"No one at home?" I asked, stiffly.
He shook his head.

"No, I'm alone."

That almost sounded sad. The wife was probably gone for the evening with the kid.

I looked around some more, unable to resist another slice of pizza; it tasted great. The wine wasn't too shabby either, as he emptied the bottle. If it was his try to make me talkative, he had another thing coming. He had tried in other ways as well, but I responded with short, curt sentences, not having forgotten his threat.

"Where did you get that strange name?" he asked.

"Family tradition. My brother and sister have weird names too."
I didn't offer any more. At long last he asked.

"What are they?"

"Roman and Gemini."

"Are your parents hippies, or something?" he asked then, which elicited an unwanted snicker from me.

"They're...different, yeah."

Silence.