Lunatic Lunch Hour

Her morning in the greenhouse was a quiet one. James refused to speak to her about much of anything. His few comments were somewhat bitter, irritable, and always pointed to ways in which she was pruning incorrectly or performing a "completely unnecessary task," like making sure each leaf got a bit of moisture.







"You don't have to soak down each leaf!" he had bellowed.







But she liked the way the leaves and petals glistened when she made sure each one got a dab of fresh water. She felt a bit sheepish when the morning ended, realizing the mental patient had served as her boss, her greenhouse 'master,' all morning long. It made her want to stamp a foot and retort "How dare you!?" but she remained quiet.







By noon, she was famished and unsure of where to go next so she returned to the main office.







"What do we do about lunch?" she inquired at the front desk.

"How the hell should I know?" barked the receptionist as she gathered her materials, "I'm out to lunch too."

So she returned to Dr. Heathrow's office, knocking timidly on the door.

"Come in!"

She entered the foggy office a second time, finding Dr. Heathrow at her desk, feet up, and reading a book, a half-eaten salad next to her.

"May I go someplace to eat?" she asked.

"The cafeteria is down Hall C, just pass the in-patient screening rooms. Help yourself to what's available. Your next assignment, Andrew, begins at 1 pm."

Dr. Heathrow was absorbed in her book, so she retreated silently and headed to lunch.

She felt utterly ridiculous, chastised by a mental patient and then brushed off by the staff. She was half ready to call it a day when she saw a door marked "Cafetorium" and she went in.

It was everything she'd imagined and then some - putrid wall paint, styrofoam serving plates, plastic sporks, and staffers in hairnets slopping up lukewarm, undistinguishable edibles. She got in line, made a small salad (because she knew where veggies come from), picked up a bottle of water, and sat down at a small table near the window.

She peered around the room, which was nearly empty save a few staffers near the door, a few policemen and security officers walking through the room, and two tables, a patient at each one.

One patient was thumbing mashed potatoes into his mouth, apparently not allowed to use utensils. The other was nodding to herself, muttering under her breath, her lunch uneaten.

She turned back to her salad and munched cautiously. It wasn't bad, but it sure wasn't good either. As she ate, she felt her phone vibrate. She looked at the incoming message, which was from Noodle.

"Dinner. Don't forget. You like red or white wine? Talk soon."

She smiled. Maybe the next four hours would speed by and she could end her day in the company of someone more sane, more fun to be around. She messaged back:
"Red. Cabernet or Merlot. 8 pm okay?"

It was then that her mind drifted again. Was this a starting over or merely a continuation? She wasn't sure.

Minutes later, a terrifying scream broke her from her reverie.