His shoes squeaked on the floor as he crossed the lobby and made his way to the reception desk at the center of the room. The youthful-looking woman behind the desk didn’t lift her eyes from the computer screen in front of her as Seven announced to her that he was there to visit Gilbert Andrews. Upon hearing the request, she immediately picked up the receiver of her desk phone and began to dial. “There’s someone here to see Gilbert Andrews…okay,” she said to the unheard speaker at the other end of the line. “Just have a seat and someone will be with you shortly,” she said, finally looking up to see her visitor.
Seven took a seat at the beautiful but uncomfortable wooden bench along the wall near the front entrance. Moments later the screech of an antique wooden door opening echoed throughout the grand room. A well-dressed man walked through the door and approached the reception desk. The secretary lifted her head from the computer and spoke briefly to the man as they both turned their eyes in Seven’s direction. The man then crossed the room and approached Seven. “My name is Doctor Walter Griffin. I am the hospital administrator. How can I help you?”
Seven stopped his toes from tapping against the sole of his left shoe long enough to stand. He held the bundle of old letters in his left hand as he extended his right hand to Walter. “My name is Gilbert Andrews Jr. but please call me Seven. I would like to see my father, please.”
“Mr. Andrews, I don’t think you’ve ever been here before.”
“Seven, please call me Seven.”
The formal title of a number seemed to confuse the mental hospital administrator more than one would expect.
“Okay, Seven, so you are Gilbert’s son; let’s go back to my office and talk if you don’t mind,” he said.