Mysterious Taylor! (A John Deacon fic)

News of her world

Taylor got driven back to the hospital around four in the afternoon, the day after they all celebrated Robert's birthday. Everything went well when she was home, as she was surrounded by all the people she loved the most, and who loved her just as much. She slept a lot during the night, with Malo curled up between her legs, as if the cat knew it could not climb on her stomach, like it used to do. John took good care of her, just lik she would take good care of Robert.

However, everything was hardly a bed of roses. From time to time, Taylor would suddenly forget things. At one point, she did not even remember the cat's name after she called it many times in a row. At a certain moment, she was convinced she lived in Brittany when she was young, but could not remember her father's name, nor her mother's and sister's. When looking at the scars on her hands, which actually had been caused by Terry and Elenore, she did not have a clue about how they appeared. She thought it was Malo.

John alerted the doctors when he drove Taylor back to the hospital, making sure she was not listening. The doctors promised they would keep an eye on her and examine her. Now, John could only hope they kept the vow.

A few days after, John went back to the hospital for a casual visit, without Robert, who Freddie had taken out for a stroll. He parked the car on the large parking lot, got out of it and locked all the doors. Then, he headed for the front doors, saying hello to the receptionist who looked up from the pile of papers on the desk. He kept crossing the hall, and decided he would not take the elevator this day. He climbed the stairs rather fast, eager to see Taylor. When he reached the fifth floor and started to walk across the long light blue corridor, Doctor McKellen, the one who took care of Taylor, appeared.

“Mr. Deacon!” he called.

“Oh, good afternoon, sir!” John smiled, shaking the doctor's hand. “Is Taylor awake?”

“She is, I've just checked. I would like to ask you a few questions, is it possible?”

“Sure, go on.”

“You told us she had troubles remembering things and that she sometimes replaced memories with false ones. Is that correct?”

“Indeed.”

“Did you notice any kind of change in her behaviour? Like mood changes or anything?”

“Mmh, no, not particularly. She sleeps a lot, so I can't really tell. She can be a bit bad-tempered, but I know it's because of the disease and that she's fed up with all that. I can't blame her. But I noticed she started to take risks. When we were home to celebrate our son's birthday, she removed her cannulas to dance with a friend.”

“Didn't you stop her?”

“She wouldn't listen. But she survived, as you can see. She didn't dance for a long time, and she wasn't dancing the twist.”

“I see. Next time, please prevent her from removing them. Even if it went well, it doesn't mean it can't go wrong. Another question: does she complain about headaches?”

“She told me she had headaches almost all the time. She tries to get used to it, but it seems to be quite serious.”

“I see. And does she stop breathing sometimes?”

“Yes. Not when we were at home, but it happened here, at the hospital. At first I thought it was because of the oxygen tank or something. But it doesn't seem to be the case.”

“I see” the doctor repeated. “Yesterday, we made her go through scanners. We checked her lungs first, but also her full body. And... what you've just told me confirms our diagnosis.”

“What is it?”

“Your wife has a brain tumor. Therefore, she has a generalised cancer.”

John's heart stopped. His eyes widened, and he gulped with difficulty. Taylor... a brain tumor... No.