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Holy Succubus

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Author's Note: Welcome to the new short musical book which is going to be approximately 8 songs, hence, meaning 8 songs in the playlist, sorted by its chapter name and vice versa. The song Weakness in Your Eyes is by Elysion as a debut song of the Spotify playlist. Anyway I hope you like and enjoy this dynamic roller coaster. 


--- *** ---

--- 31st of October, 1964 ---

Just a few minutes ago the parents of their possessed adolescent arrived in the mental hospital to seek medical cure and council with professionals as their crucial task was seeking the head nun of the mental institution's word at first.

After the Bostonian confronted the recently hired psychiatrist with whom they didn't like one another in the beginning due to their debatable point of views in their worldviews Dr. Oliver Thredson, afterwards she accepted the anxious parents of Jed Potter in her austere, unwelcoming office, in order to hear their jeremiad of the young man, whose demeanor was unspeakably eccentric lately, in their humble opinions.

"Jed's been a good boy. He's always listened. He's never talked back." The younger lady's tear-stained, powdered in incarnadine complexion facial features were contoured with sheer disquietude and distress, brewing and cooking inside her frail skeleton as toxic cauldron. "Our problem started a month ago." All of a sudden, the brunette averted her stare, breaking off the eye contact with the head nun of the mental institution, turning to her husband. In the meanwhile, the visibly at first sight middle-aged man bobbed lightly his head, lowering his glassily jaded gawk, whilst his wife was explaining to the pious, stern sister of the church what Jed used to be until the unrealistically haphazard possession befell him.

"Mrs. Potter, you needn't worry. Good boys gone bad is my area of expertise. I've had great success in curbing the chronic masturbator." At the moment, the Bostonian dry, firm Bostonian accent accentuated her council, whilst the both invited guests in her austere office were listening attentively her without peeling a single word, in order to not disrespect her in any moment, knotting her both elvish, milky as oysters hands' slim fingers as fences.

All of a sudden, the three adults were caught off guard by the recently hired psychiatrist of the old facility, who stepped inside the office, closing warily, politely the mosaic office door, whereas the blonde's elderly still gorgeous, well-defined facial features were silhouetted with vague speechlessness.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt. We weren't finished our conversation, Sister Jude. I didn't realize you had company." The young doctor approached the parents, earning the suspicious speechless gawk of the blonde after excusing himself. "I'm Dr. Thredson, psychiatrist here. I'm at your service." Meanwhile, he extended his mammoth, pale as ghost hand, offering the Potters' a formal handshake.

"You need to leave, Doctor." The middle-aged lady got from her seat, , her petite, pale as oyster hands pawing the edges of her cherry wood bureau, nagging at him with coldhearted, stern undertone, scratching her throat, earning his sarcastic gaze with a vague smile, blooming on his pale pinkish lips. Incredulity punctured her grimaced glare at him as if a married couple were cut off curtly in their mid-sentence during a heating debate.

"Uh! Sister Jude, please!" All of a sudden, Jed's mother snapped the doctor and the nun out of their dispute. "Our boy is troubled; we could use a doctor's opinion." They gawked glassily at the brunette.

"How I can help?" Once the brief dispute that Oliver and Jude had, they seated altogether except the psychiatrist as Oliver enquired the anxious mother of an only child.

"Jed just turned 17." Shortly before the brunette commenced with her explaination, she spread defeatedly her hands, seizing her lips and cheeks, shooting an unbreakable eye contact to Oliver. "Over the last month, he's grown listless, moody. Sometimes he doesn't get up from bed for days. And then, the next moment, it's like someone tied a live wire to his body." In the interval, he was sitting on the top of the cherry wood bureau, paying utterly attention to the complaints of the younger lady, assimilating the bizarre symptoms, affecting the teenager.

"Adolescence can be a time of conflict and rebellion."

"No, Doctor! Jed," Jed's mother paused for a split second, glimpsing at her husband. "Sees things! He hears voices that aren't there."

"I'm afraid he'll bring us harm." Suddenly the other man caught the both professionals' attentions in no time. Fear laced his tongue and enveloped his flimsy heart, hammering yet in his chest in a choir with his utterance. "Yesterday, we heard terrible cries coming from the barn. When I got there, I found Jed covered in blood, speaking a language no one could understand. Then I saw what he had done. He had ripped opened the belly of our best Guernsey." The jumpcut to the flashback of the day before when the terrified father witnessed the barbarous scenery of his only son cannibalizing the motionless corpse of Guernsey, still haunting the middle-aged man's blizzard of thoughts by catching his son's prompt attention with addressing him with immense concern, lingering on his tongue portrayed the barn's prospect as a morbid nightmare, tinting his almost frequently blinking in a choir frail eyelids due to the explicitly unbelievable images of his possessed son, who wasn't donned in a single attire to hug his lean figure. His leanly toned chest, chin and the corners of his mouth were christened in a rich, reeking gore after mudding them due to the cannibalism once he turned to face his father with a smug, agape wicked grin, transfixing his citrinely tinged irises with the brightest, most diabolical citrine nuance. "And her heart. It was unholy. It was... it was like some... thing had stepped inside my boy's body and taken over his soul. " Jed's father was at loss of words, sluggish stutter limping his exclaimation.

"Nothing?" All of a sudden, after the temporal silence, arching between the four adults, the former sleazy jazz nightclub singer quirked faintly an eyebrow, grimacing her casted hostile look at Oliver. Throughout the former sleazy jazz nightclub singer got from her seat, circling around her hardwood desk, in order to approach the newly hired doctor as her midnight black chunks clicked against the cemented flooring. "For a man whose profession relies on talk, talk, talk, you appear to be at a loss for words, Doctor."

"I-I would need to see him in order to provide an accurate diagnosis."

"We brought him here." Mrs. Potter explained as Jude strolled up to the office door, in order to open it for her guests to flee within seconds, holding it for them by stepping aside.

"Let's go see the boy now." In the interval, the younger man ambled up to the door until the Bostonian belligerently blocked his way, looking up at each other's parchment, palish as snow complexions without averting their gawks. "Dr. Thredson," She hissed his name formally. "You're but a guest in our institution. Don't wear out your welcome the first day." She emphasized the last sentence's verb by raising her voice's decibels gritting her still firm, ivory teeth, consequently lowering her voice.

--- *** ---

A few hours later after Father Malachi and the Monsignor have arrived in the old asylum as they're well informed about the possessed adolescent, they negotiated with Jude and Oliver. In spite of their disagreements especially between the recently hired psychiatrist and both members of the clergy, who were currently running the facility. Nevertheless, they reached up to the point that Jed must be cured at any cost and bashing the supernatural, devilish essence which was inhabiting his frail skeleton at such fragile age. Even the supernatural existed nowadays, in spite of its rare, true witnesses.

When the middle-aged lady opened the rusty, old door for the ward where the recently institutionalized young boy was for cure and exorcism, she held the door by stepping aside, allowing to The Potters and Dr. Thredson set a foot in the austere, almost empty ward altogether as Dr. Thredson accompanied her by the right side of the patient bed, whilst the anxious parents were on their son's left.

The battered window bathed in dim sun light the cell, protecting the exposed epidermis of the common cold climate that was dipped Briarcliff.

"M-Mother, where am I?" The young possessed boy's terror and timidity were vomited in his posed question, sitting on the bed with turned back, cocking back his head by looking up at his biological mother, quivering his body muscles. "I'm scared." In the meanwhile, the younger lady seated on the edge of the old, tattered bed where it had galore of patients before her own son, rubbing with her both elvish, milky as vanilla hands his upper back's muscles gently, lovingly to console him, waning the feuding terror and nonplus.

"Jed, this is a hospital. Doctors are here to help you."

"Jed?" As soon as the proximity between the doctor and the inmate closed its gap as Oliver called his name, holding his pocket flashlight, whilst reaching his colossal, veiny hand to pawn his shoulder lightly until the young man growled deeply, fiendishly, startling the horde of adults as they took steps backward. Meantime, Mr. Potter squeezed his wife's shoulders, in order to comfort her.

"Jed needs to be immediately medicated." Meantime, the young boy's shenanigans with deep, diabolical voice floated in the ward, while the psychiatrist suggested an alternative what's the impending step to treat Jed. The religious woman of the cloth's elvish, smooth as silk hand faintly, bashfully clawed the beginning of her rigidly shapeless, dark wool habit's collar as mortification tattooed her facial features. Once the possessed by the vicious devil boy turned to face the sole member of the clergy in the ward, she shook her head as syllables almost died on her tongue tip, incapable of sorting her mind and the words that Jude's going to pour in her utterance.

"No, doctor. That's not what this boy needs."

--- *** ---

A few hours after the both devotional men of the cloth have arrived in the mental hospital, they along with the administrator of Briarcliff and the psychiatrist were in already in Jed's cell to cure and exorcize the young man.

The patients were already gathered in their own cells for extra good night sleep due to the head security guard of the infamous madhouse which was delivered from his prominent boss, in order to inform all inmates and resulting the temporal shut down of the common room until the morning after.

The daylight hours have already died in the small city of Massachusetts, as a result of the mesmerizing sunset and the episodical nocturnal hours, consuming in its atramentous darkness, shadowing and painting with darker nuances the sky's prospect with the millions of shimmering tiny, auric stars, outnumbering a sole, full round moon, hovering together.

At the moment, Jed was strapped in his bed, wriggling as he wasn't capable of moving any single muscle of his wrists, ankles and neck due to the straps, binding him to fight either of the professionals.

"Please, please, no, stop, please!" Jed cried out loud emotional protests in desperation, opting to kick though the extra weight on one of his strapped ankles by the ambitious Monsignor's hand clawing to subdue his protests.

"Make it tight now." The elder holy man ordered sternly with his flat, elderly-like voice, squinting up his small irises at the juvenile man, whose pleas were endless.

"You're hurting me. Why you're hurting me?"

"Don't listen to it. The demon is a liar." Father Malachi added, whilst the possessed by the Satan young man inward, forlorn sniffles flashed upon his feeble, palish as alabaster complexion. "If it speaks to you, do not answer, just do your job." In the interim, he cautioned the recently hired doctor wisely.

"My God, this boy's pulse is almost nonexistent." Timothy and Oliver bended against Jed until a violent, demonic seizure and paroxysm erupted his bleated an abysmal howl, collapsing his head on the cotton pillow, whereas his slender, toned body levitated.

"Prayer book, Sister!" The senior priest ordered emphatically, momentarily as if it bears a semblance of a military adjure of fulfilling her remarkable tasks.

At the moment, the blonde scurried exceedingly in no time to the night stand to gather the prayer book, whereas the rosary beads were knotting the younger priest's strong, long as flute stings fingers, crouching down past the patient bed, heaving his hand, reciting in a quiet, halfhearted murmur a prayer until the middle-aged lady handed the prayer book to Father Malachi. "Your work is done here, my daughter. Go sit with the parents. There's no place for a woman." Meanwhile, Father Malachi opened the book's pages, researching for the exact prayer by flipping its brittle paper pages.

"I'm stronger than you think." The former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer's promising stubbornness blandly clashed him, unable to change his opinion nonetheless.

"The Potters will be needing some of that strength." Notwithstanding the relentless circumstances, the senior man of the cloth opted to persuade her for her safety and the exorcism weren't for females at all especially endangering her welfare, in case, if she's actually victim of fainting and the subsequence of its possession by the evil finding its new home. Literally her fragile identity with will of steel and versatility.

"Godspeed," Suddenly the British compatriot turned to face his love interest, emboldening her to flee the ward for awhile unless they call her over urgently. "Sister Jude!"

"Yes, Father!" Seconds before fleeing the cell without any farther bland discord, diabolical with profound voice, vile laughter flushed Jed's throat. His cocoa brown orbs, shadowed with sheer concern and limited time distraction were darted to his right hand.

"All right, gentlemen, it's time to do God's work." When Jude fled the ward, she situated in the dim light, long hallway, scarcely daring to avert her focused as a cupid arrow through the battered window of the old rusty door, supervising the exorcism, parting her naturally rosy-coloured, soft as mossy, peach skin lips in a pout.

Shortly afterwards when the Bostonian descended the spiral stairway, calling it "Stairway to Heaven", consequently the elder holy man recited in a mumble the prayer: 
"We exorcise you. Every satanic power, every legion, every congregation,"

"Heart rate increasing, blood pressure rising." Dr. Thredson acknowledged the adolescent's heart pulse.

"Oliver," In the meanwhile, the adolescent earned promptly the psychiatrist's attention in a firm emphasis. "Look at you. I see what've you become. I'm glad I gave you up." Shenanigans in abysmally devilish resonance clicked against his tongue, exposing the genuine identity of Oliver. He snatched his own stethoscope from his boson as they're once plugged into his ears to indicate the heart pulses of the young man, followed by a taunting, resonant guttural laughter, vibrating the motion of his flexed neck muscles.

"Don't listen to it, Doctor!"

"Lose your place, old man!" The teenager couldn't keep his tongue behind his teeth with testing Father Malachi's patience, glancing at him for a handful of seconds.

"We honor You in Jesus Christ," In the interval, the British aristocrat held the cross, praying his heart out for the young boy, bowing faintly his head.

"Stick it up your ass, Father!" Rejoin was arrowed at the man of the cloth, who overlooked and preferred to not focus modicum of his attention on his pleas and taunts, thus losing valuable time in bland bickers."Ominus immundus spiritius! Every impure spirit, yes. We already heard that bit. Now skip ahead. You're boring the hell out of me. Ominus spiritus." The amalgamating in deep, devilish voice with declaiming prayers in Latin and scoffs were the genuine horror, playing its dynamic, infernal roller coaster of the exorcism. "And the Lord said to the cripple, take up thy bed and fly!"

All of a sudden, the smitten boy hexed telekinesis on the senior priest as his decrepit figure levitated from his wheelchair, crashing in the dull wall of the cell, yelping a horrified shriek until he laid on the cemented flooring, catching off guard Oliver and Timothy by scampering to check on him, putting him back in the wheelchair as Timothy ordered Oliver to flee promptly the ward along with the slightly injured senior priest.

As soon as the aspiring Monsignor paced in the profound, dim light hallway of the madhouse by descending the spiral stairway to find his right hand, who was accompanying on the bench with a handful of inches proximity distancing herself, praying whilst grasping in her brittle, fashioned into balled fists the rosary beads, shutting her eyelids. At the moment, the older woman opened her eyelids gradually, grazing her boss's youthful, milky-white complexion as his shoes clicked against the cemented, dull flooring monotonously to meet the Potters' in face-to-face, breaking the current news.

"Our boy! How is our boy?" The anxious mother of her son posed the question distressedly to the member of the clergy, who bowed his head.

"He's fighting. Very hard." In the meantime, the holy man emphasized firmly. "Sister Jude, will you join me?" The pious woman of the cloth got from the bench docilely, mousily escorting her boss by towering the "Stairway to Heaven" up to Jed's ward. "We've taken Father Malechi to the infirmary. I may have to say last rites." Within a half a minute by pacing in the abysmal, almost timeless corridor of the nuthouse, the both members of the clergy stepped beside the rusty, grandiose door. "Watch over him. I'll be back." He promised solemnly. "And pray, Sister. Speak only to God." He rested his forehead on hers, meeting her piercing gaze by squeezing her slim shoulders with his both larger, secure hands, in order to encourage her soothingly in velvety voice.

Once Timothy left her all alone with her own whirlpool of thoughts and prejudices, Judy fixed her frail eyelids with its dead weight, encumbering them flimsily and frailly, reemerging from the comfort zone by dwelling in the crudely cold reality, tugging her in the ebony legion of demons, coldness and shadows. Ineludible fatigue darkened her caramel brown pools, wriggling his frail skeleton.

"I can't see! It burns! I can't see! Mommy, please! Somebody! Somebody help me! Please! I can't see! Please! Someone help me." Meantime, the smitten young man whined desperately with normal voice as the Bostonian reentered the cell by shutting the rusty door behind her, grabbing a clean, purely white, plain cloth to daub the dripping fluid from his eyes until the undertones altered even aggravated into deep, demonic, freaking the only company of his. "Somebody help It drives you crazy, doesn't it? To be the smartest person in the room, with no willpower because of that smelly clam between your legs."Mortification pressed her panic button by attempting to shirk until the door shut by itself in a single click. His reaction was as quick as a bullet. Pulling the iron doorknob forcefully as her heart raced in her ribs cage. Furor of inescapable anguish caged inside her by being trapped by the devil's plotted daredevil game for her."Oh, that's why you became a whore, isn't it, Sister? You're wearing red knickers right now." The middle-aged woman pulled the doorknob, trying to escape exceedingly without an ado, although her elderly young-looking yet, restlessly weary complexion blanched in the most bloodless nuance. "Come on, Sister,put me in your mouth. You've had 53 cocks in there already."The palm of her trembling hand in apprehension whacked against the sturdy, notoriously squeaky iron to grab somebody's attention whether pacing in the halls occasionally or with any intentions. Unfortunately, her goose was cooked. "You were the town pump, weren't you, Sister?" Suddenly, the instantly spat serpentine venom on his recent prey of his daredevil game widened her eyes, barely blinking by opening in a bashful O her mouth. Motionlessness benumbed her muscles and bones as if a deep frostbite stiffened her toes, fingers and each inch of her petite frame. Flashback of her grim past blew its zephyr in her ocean of thoughts, tingling the inner voices of her, chanting a jazz song's lyrics in the bar with her band and encompassed by dancing pairings even soldiers. The richness of her lull softened, earning the savagely ruthless ogles of the bloodthirsty men, contemplating the motion of her curvy, leanly structured hips as its scarlet cocktail dress with long sleeves and V neckline's hem flared across her mid-thighs along. The succumbing halo ringlet of glossy old Hollywood aureate tresses, descending down her upper back as an aureate, regale cloak of a knight. Provoking one of the soldiers to join her to dance by hooking her lean arms around his shoulders as her slim, long as piano keys knotted the nape of his delicate neck, capturing one another's soft as silk lips in a sinfully ferocious kiss, asking him to take her home for an one-night stand until he broke her heart, in fact, the baby was sleeping.

""In the name of Jesus Christ, strengthen me, the intercessor." In the interim, the former licentious nightclub singer dwelled out of her reverie realm, consequently inhabiting the reality realm, surrounding her. An inward prayer zinged her naturally rosy-coloured, plumpish lips to comfort herself, while dueling with the possessed young man's game. Her flimsy heart throbbed vehemently into her chest, verging to spring up as a paradoxal toy-out-of-the-box.

"Tell me about the little girl in blue, Judy." Jed's borderless taunts attempted to test her patience recurringly with his deep, infernal voice, accentuating his mockery. "The young girl, the innocent. And you so drunk you couldn't find your way home." Infernally stentorian, scoffing laughter tingled her petite, sensitive ears.

Heinous shame and guilty conscience along with amalgamating monstrosity impaled her as a knife, backstabbing her fiercely.

Another flashback, imprinted awfully profound in the ocean of thoughts and memories haunted her for the rest of her life especially after ending the fresh life of the young girl, dressed in blue coat and with the eyeglasses after the heartache ignited instantly her heart and dumping it into the ashening ashes by attempting to delve in her purse, looking for cognac to sip of it until she lost ultimately control over her cab by hitting her only hit-and-run victim. Flinching helplessly, she clamped with a hand, sobbing quietly to herself after dumping on a foot proximity the immobile corpse of Missy Stone laid on the asphalt as an abandoned sack of potatoes.

Her mental stability and stamina were almost torn down to pieces after the flashbacks of her recollected melancholically hunting her down.

"You never even bothered to get out of the car." Missy Stone's hologram replaced Jed, grabbing her homicide perpetrator's attention promptly as her spectral faded away in the void.

"You are a murderer, Judy. You're a murderer! Murderer! Murderer!" All of a sudden, the young man's game kept on, immediately painting her face with mortification and adrenaline, pumping into her veins, whereas berserk hue inked her facial features as her mouth was opened in O, widening her fatigued irises. Fortunately, on one hand, the luck embraced her with open arms, factly, neither her love interest, nor the recently hired psychiatrist heard the words that portrayed the sister of the church. Murderer and whore. On other hand, dubiety menaced her, incapable of releasing herself from the vicious spider webs of the smitten younger man.

"Shut up! You shut up! Shut up! Liar!" Meanwhile, she sped up to his patient bed, smacking with the back of her hand as flapping wing slaps across his face, gritting firmly her teeth, spellbinding him visually with a glare. Uncontrollable anger pumped into her bones and muscles, ruddily powdering her porcelain, round profile.

"Hit me harder, you old whore."

In the interval, the priest and the doctor reentered the ward as Oliver approached on the left side of the patient bed to deal with the struggling teenager, whereas Timothy to drag Jude by her shoulders from the ward, in order to aid her as he was more caring for her rather than for the victim of possession. Her verbal protests were limitless, curling her lips.

"That's right, Father, protect your whore."

"Don't listen to it!" The British compatriot cautioned calmly, alleviatingly his rara avis to not pay any attention to the adolescent. Meanwhile, his sensitive nostrils couldn't resist the urge to inhale discreetly the alluring gardenia fragrance, lacing her honey old Hollywood curls.

"That's right, Father, protect your whore. It's you she thinks of when she touches herself at night." Jed's incessant scoff chanted its song, slipping from his tongue.

"You're a liar." The Bostonian cried out loud bluntly as she and Timothy were almost out of the room without an ado, wriggling frequently in his tight grip as his muscly, potent arms were snaked around her slim waist, grasping the wimple which was banished from her head, coiffing its Pandora's Box in a miserable dark wimple of the chastise.

"Oh yes! Protect your whore." Fortunately, the both members of the church fled the battlefield of daredevil games and attacks.

"Cover yourself!" The younger man tried his best to console his rare bird, encouraging her to put on the wimple as her hands pushed of a fistful stray, flossy gilded strands of her face, coated in a generous layer of perspiration.

"I was weak." The blonde ducked her head, sobbing.

"I'll purge the demon myself. Go, be with the parents. Go!" The holy man of the cloth emboldened her in a warmhearted comfort as one of his mammoth, amusingly warm hands reached for her back reassuringly as she meekly did what he told her, while he joined Oliver to bash the vile, unholy essence of the smitten young man's body.

"Little piggies, come out to play." Once Timothy joined Oliver as Jed shifted abruptly his stare to him, his rosary beads were held up in a grasp.

"Oh Lord, Jesus Christ!"

After the British aristocrat's prayer, the electricity went off as the lights flickered like moths, dancing circa the turned on lights as its lamp bulb was a sanctuary of artificial light.

"Do you want to know what your whore says when she touches herself, Father?" The Monsignor was utterly dedicated to the exorcism rather than listening to the shenanigans of the hospitalized possessed adolescent. Oliver was on the other side of the bed, checking his heart pulses. "Oh, Timothy. Please, don't stop! Oh yeah! It feels so good, Timothy!" The teenager mimicked the blonde's voice, muffling the groans and moans with lethally fiendish, deep voice. The truth was the Monsignor's interest aroused drastically to acknowledge his right hand's feelings towards him whether if they're actually romantic or less than romantic. "I'm coming, Timothy!" The young man resumed his mockery.

Little did the holy man know about the genuine feelings of Judy. What he longed than anything was eventually hearing the mimicked moans and groans in enticement dripping as freshly shed blood from her lips, waffling past his ears as angelic anthems, chanting hallowed songs. Her still drop-dead gorgeous, long as towers legs snaked around his waist as their mossy, pale as ghosts skins contacting, rotating and grinding in unison. The arches of her neck, throwing back her head by screaming out loud his name from the top of her fragile lungs as their sexes united, blushing her cheeks and tightly shut eyes.

"There's no more time for prayers, Monsignor." The doctor cautioned, injecting the syringe into the patient's arm. "His heart can't handle it!"

"Help him! Help him now!"

"Help me sedate him!" The young doctor insisted as Timothy held down Jed, aiding the newly hired doctor to inject the syringe into Jed's arm.

The light smashed in the room as it panicked the both men as they ducked to protect themselves from the shattered lightbulb.

A small amount of froth formed in the young man's mouth, subsequently he began to shake violently as it resembled a seizure.

The exhausted nun watched through the small iron door's window the exorcism process when Sister Mary Eunice snapped her out of her thoughts as she warned her urgently about one of the inmates' is in the cordiac arrest.

Instead of responding to the younger nun, she opened the cell's door as she noted, being convinced that Jed won't survive as he was experiencing a heart attack.

The both nuns witnessed the final seconds of the young man's life, while the Monsignor prayed. "May the lord who frees you from sin save you and grace you."

Meanwhile the young doctor gave the teenager's motionless body CRP.

As Jude and Mary Eunice watched gloomily, Jed let out a sudden gasp, sitting down. He collapsed back on the pillow as Oliver gave him CRP again, counting every beat as Timothy's prayers.

"He's dead."

Jude looked at as Timothy looked up at her. An abrupt creaking sound of falling crucifix from the wall, sourced a click on the stone floor. Meantime, the older sister of the church who watched silently all this, fell backward on the floor as her brittle skeleton landed on the cold stone floor as the 3 adults' fright awoken in them, due to the flump.

"Sister?" Timothy murmured whilst he rushed to his right hand's helpless, immobile body.

Likewise the younger nun interfered as she helped the young doctor and the slightly older member of the clergy with Sister Jude,

--- *** ---

--- A Few Hours Later ---

A few hours after the failure of bashing the Satan from the young man's skeleton, he passed away, resulting the breaking news to the anxious parents as they drowned in the hazy, abysmal seas of their own tears after acknowledging their son's death.

Shortly after Timothy broke the news to the Potters, he paid a visit to the infirmary after Mary Eunice had visited to behold her senseless mentor, whose dark, wimple attire of the chastise didn't hug her along with the wimple, concealing her halo ringlet of sleek gilded tresses.

Little did the British compatriot know whether if his rara avis is going to come to her senses whether within a handful of hours or on the contrary, never. He seated on the edge of her bed, contemplating jadedly, tearfully her parchment, still beautiful face as twin fat tears poured his cheeks. His baby pinkish lips parted in a grotesque, desperate frown.

Father Malachi was absolutely right. It was too dangerous for her to be part of the exorcism cluster to purge the demon by themselves. And her goose was already cooked. Or rather, a lesson was taught to her. At first, Timothy thought it could be Mary Eunice the victim of passing out but instead, it was his right hand. Anyway it flabbergasted him the next victim of fainting was actually Jude. His Jude. His one of a kind Jude.

His larger, protective hand gingerly reached up for her face, tracing delicately her well-defined cheekbone and each eye-catching, feminine facial feature, admiring her ethereal grace. Once his fingers raked and combed delicately the harvest of golden curls, suddenly she stirred, startling him with the suddenness of her stir.

"J-Jude?" His British accent vaguely muffled a whisper in addressing her ecclesiastical name, replacing her birth name which she accepted after joining the church for better life and after God granting her a second chance. "I'm so relieved you're awake."

"W-What happened? Why I'm here?" She glimpsed at every corner of the infirmary, a mild headache whirling as a tornado, groaning in soreful pain after the spontaneous accident, befalling her.

"You're in the infirmary. You fainted during the exorcism."

"Fainted?" Timothy bobbed his head in strong agreement, buzzing his lips pensively, idly. "This must be impossible."

"It happened, unfortunately, rare bird!" In the meanwhile, his hand lowered to her cheek, cupping it in the palm of his soothingly warm, smooth hand, consoling her in a single touch. Paroxysm and shivers relaxed her body muscles and bones as Timothy has never touched any body part of hers except her hands and shoulders. "It's not your fault."
'All I can remember was that Jed died and therefore I fainted. I lost consciousness abruptly. It wasn't expectable at all."

"I know, Jude! Don't blame yourself for all this. We gave our best to help him but instead, it looks like the devil was more powerful and sly than us." She bundled the cotton, convenient blanket with her fashioned balled fists. "Stay strong and speak to God, seeking his helping hand and my support for you!"

"I couldn't be more grateful for yar encouragement, Timothy! But don't leave me alone, please!" One of her hands slithered from the bundled blanket by snatching forcefully his larger, secure, squeezing it firmly in her elvish, blanched. A slight, sympathetically calm smile carved upon her rosy-coloured, dry lips. "Yar my relief and encouragement to recover as quickly as possible from fainting after the exorcism."

"I won't leave you, my rare bird! I promise."