Rose Garden Sanatorium

Chapter 4 - Taylor

Taylor

"Taylor?" someone called, the voice raised slightly from across a table, in an attempt to grab someone's attention.

Taylor jumped and looked up in shock at the man sat the other side of the table. "What?" she snapped accidentally.

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking concerned as his hand hovered over his lunch, a plastic fork still in his grasp.

The man in front of her was her best friend and work colleague, Paul. He was the only person in Taylor's life who took her for who she was. He didn't judge her for the clothes she wore, how she spoke, how she acted, or even the strange interests she had. And she was known to have some very strange interests. She wasn't into things such as which celebrity was dating who or what was in fashion. She was mostly fascinated in academic interests, such as ancient history and world religions.

Paul was the only person that Taylor felt she could almost trust. Almost. She had a hard time actually trusting anyone anymore. But Paul was one of those rare people that she felt she could at least trust with her mobile number and home address.

"I'm fine," Taylor lied, not even bothering to pretend to smile.

"I've been talking to you for the past few minutes and you've been in your own world." He frowned curiously at her.

"Oh, sorry, just been busy today." She had been busy, so that was kind of true. But of course, that wasn't the reason why she hadn't been paying attention to him. She frowned back at him as he rubbed his annoying strawberry blonde beard.

Paul's hair was a bright strawberry blonde and he always had facial hair—probably because his round face looked young without it—which Taylor wasn't too keen on. Not that she'd admit that to Paul. She also hated the fact he was currently sat slouched forwards in his chair like usual, his back arched slightly as he stared disconcertingly at Taylor.

They were both on their lunch break, sat in a café; their usual spot. Taylor had just finished a rather tasteless chicken salad roll and was drowning it out with a heavily sugared coffee, she felt that the only thing exciting in her life right now was having sugar rushes. Paul was still picking at his uninspiring tuna pasta salad, which he admitted only moments ago to Taylor he wished he never bought.

Paul had explained he was trying to get fit and healthy, it was a new thing he was trying after realising how seriously unfit he was. Only a few weeks ago he caught kids writing graffiti on the wall of his flat complex, he tried and unflatteringly failed to run after them. Although Taylor had a feeling he was only saying that for her benefit, to make him look interesting. He needn't bothered, it wouldn't have mattered if he was the fittest man on Earth, she still wouldn't be interested. At least not like that.

The café they were sat in was a simple branded café with lots of plain square tables, with either dull brown chairs or comfortable grey and red striped armchairs. The till area was near the front, with only a few small tables but with larger and more comfortable tables at the back, as well as a large bench style seating area along the side wall. Simple canvas photos lined the walls, either of something Italian or a close up shot of an unnaturally perfectly poured coffee. Paul and Taylor were currently sat right at the back of the café, Taylor sat on the cushion lined bench and Paul opposite in the dark wooden chair.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked again, putting the fork down in defeat and pushed the salad away from him. "You get like this when something bothers you."

Taylor snorted. "It's a bit weird that you know me that well, Paul."

"If you don't want to tell me that's okay," he said, and gave one of his weird smiles.

Paul had actually jolted her out of her musing about the dream she had last night. But she wasn't thinking about the actual details of what happened in the dream—although for some reason the screaming and yelling held particular interest to her, because not only did they sound so real, but they came to her in a strange way—but what was really going through her mind was that strange feeling that she had when she woke up. A feeling that resonated from inside her. A feeling she couldn't even describe to herself, no matter how hard she tried.

She shook her head at Paul. "Promise you won't think I'm crazy?"

"You mean you're not crazy?" he joked.

She threw the salt packet at him that she had been nursing in her nervous hands the past few minutes. He smiled at her, but Taylor didn't return the smile. "I'm serious, since I woke up... something hasn't been right."

"What do you mean?" Paul asked as he rubbed down his plain white shirt which was creased as if he hadn't been bothered to iron it that morning. Taylor wondered for a moment if she ought to share her tips on how to make it look like you ironed. Which mainly consisted of hanging up a shirt by the radiator or window in the hope it doesn't at least smell because she'd forgotten to do a wash and ran out of clothes for work. She had noticed creases sometimes would just fall out on their own. Other times she would just cover up the creases with the use of a jacket or jumper.

Taylor took a gulp of the sugary coffee mess that she realised wasn't actually doing much wonders for her hangover. In fact, all it was doing was giving her a horrible cheap coffee taste in her mouth to accompany the pain at her temples.

"Well, for a start, I had this weird dream—"

"You're always having weird dreams," Paul said, cutting her off.

"Yeah, but this one was especially weird, I dreamt about the devil," Taylor said as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"The devil?"

"Yeah, he was laughing at me. Red, big horns, wings, tail, that sort of thing," she started, leaning forward a little as if to try and talk a little quieter to Paul. "But I could hear things, like laughing, crying, screaming, I haven't been able to get the voices out of my head all day. They keep coming and going."

"Sounds like just a dream to me?" Paul shrugged, taking a sip from his own coffee.

"I don't know... aren't dreams supposed to mean something?" Taylor frowned at her friend, feeling a little annoyed at his lack of empathy at the situation.

"If you believe in all that sort of stuff, sure."

"It just feels different." She sighed and sat back again.

"I'm sure when you get a decent night sleep tonight, you'll feel better tomorrow." Paul smiled.

"Yeah, maybe you're right." Taylor nodded unconvincingly while taking another sip of her coffee and wishing she could sneak a bit of alcohol into the drink. Although Paul was too observant, he'd notice. He'd already noticed she smelt of alcohol. Instead she sighed and just hoped he was right.

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