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Possible Second Chance

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The dreams were so sweet and insatiable. They were an unrealistic medicament or the mirage that dwelled in your train of thoughts while kipping peacefully. Depending of the nuances, they were either dreams or nightmares. Depending of the mood, it could be said it's so judgmental to formulate the dream. Sometimes sheer bliss shimmered, tinting vibrantly your vision with your tightly clutch shut eyelids. Or with flashing, graphic images that were unspeakably bizarre of being mentioned, however, they slipped on the tongue as a chunk.

What was exactly Judy Martin dreaming of?

A sunny, vibrant day in Rome. The sun was immensely smiling to its surrounding today, dispersing its saturating sun rays and bathing in natural sunlight as a warm blanket their exposed fleshes. The sky was cloudless and it didn't have any intentions of being swarmed by the translucent clouds, blocking its view.

The bloody red, satin aisle of divine Rome was dripping like a venomous snake tongue the grand façade's massive stairs. Galore of people whether from the diocese or just civils were awaiting for the arrival and honor the revered Pope, Mother Superior and their children.

Hold on a second! How and why the children? The diocese was strongly against the devotional members of the church having or giving a birth to children even having sexual interactions, leading them to sinning and breaking the vows brashly. Earning God's piercing, judgmental glares above as a superior face above them and judging each manner of their. Anyway once the British compatriot with two home lands raised in the diocese from the ambitious Monsignor up to the revered Cardinal and then eventually the exalted Pope, he altered the rules as they were slightly different just for him and his own rare bird. In spite of the trials they've been through for abundance of years even when they wore inferior cleric titles, they still didn't give up with an ease and pursued with every ounce their goals even accomplishing them fully.

Sometimes a few years ago, when the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer was just Sister Jude and the head nun of the infamous mental hospital of the small city of Massachusetts and meeting the man of the her dreams who's actually the Monsignor, himself, they had their own tough times. For example, the disagreements they had and seldom sharing antithesis in their decisions they're plotting of making even when sharing one another's plans to raise in the church.

Ocean of mere nuns and general population were crowding the audience. Their croaks of addressing formally the exalted members of the church scratched their throats, verging to skip their heart beats as if they're on cloud nine and having the chance to be noticed whether by the Mother Superior, the Pope or their little sweet rays of sunshine.

All of a sudden, monotonous click, echoing the ravishing red as the former licentious jazz nightclub singer's remarkable scarlet satin slip with light footsteps, emanating from Jude, Timothy and pair of identical twins, eerily resembling their parents. They weren't just two pairs of girls or boys. They were identical boy and girl twins. They’re like the mini versions of Adam and Eve, who’ve actually raised in the highest tiers of the clergy and taking after their parents their spellbinding facial features, hybridizing Jude and Timothy’s biological creations, made of their own sheer flesh and blood. The mini Adam’s version or rather, the young boy twin was actually already five-year-old. Just as old as his twin sister, nevertheless, inheriting the sister of the church’s aureate curly hair texture that capped his head and framing his round, chubby profile, followed by her button, delicate nose and her piercing, brutally honest hazelish-brown embers with the most scorching and vibrant hazelish pigment. Last but not least, the young boy was deriving his father’s thick, dark and amusingly expressive eyebrows along with his well-carved cheekbones and his boyish, bashful smile. They were the sole exceptions that rendered him one of a kind mother’s son, sharing a few prominent in common his father’s features that diverged from the Bostonian. His name was Nicholas Jeremy.

Whereas Nicholas’s sister was deriving vibrantly from her own mother with her outstanding chestnut pigment and straight hair texture, texturing her long dark mop of glossy cocoa tresses, framing her round, chubby profile. Her lips were cherub full, baby pinkish with the sweetest, tender pecks on the temples and cheeks. Further, the little girl was inheriting her biological creator’s coffee brown coals, mottled with vague hazelish pigment that chromatically altered sometimes due to the light and her mood. Sometimes when the light casted the most fiery, warmest coffee brown with lighter patterns, glinting like Espresso. Or rather, the darkest chocolate brown, almost indiscernible as her eye pupils. Her smile was as promisingly innocent as the younger recension of the former sleazy nightclub singer. Once the mini Judy with major of crossbreed British compatriot’s one of a kind tinctures grows up and rides the roller coaster of her short life from the childhood up to the adolescent and lastly the adulthood, galore of heartbroken men would encompass her, crucially because of her drop-dead gorgeous face and the smiles she offers them whether succubimngly tempting or on the contrary the sweetest, most innocent, smeared across her pale-pinkish lips. The young girl was named Phoebe Audrey.

The gaits elegantly lionized figures of Rome, accompanied by their children to be honored by their admirers waved amiably, kindheartedly to everybody that has the chance to regard their salute. Bright, friendly smiles ignited its ablaze pyro barriers, enkindling enthusiastic smiles brushing their lips and blush touching their chubby, well-defined cheeks with generous nuance of cherry.

“Here are the chosen ones!” The crowd purred a croak with jubilance, lacing their tongues, clapping their hands and the majority of the general population protracting their hands for a handshake and minimal chances of being greeted and noticed by them, factly, everybody can’t be noticed at all.

It wasn’t their first time Nicholas and Phoebe accompanying their parents on special events shortly after they’re taught to walk and expand their limited vocabulary, due to their fragile age. The brunette was hiding shyly behind the middle-aged woman’s rigidly shapeless, dark wool habit hem, demure smile constricting her jaw line, averting her chocolate brown pools from the strangers’ eyes. Her petite, pudgy hands seized the dark wool fabric, grazing her smoothly alabaster palms with its fabric rigidness, itching its delicate skin.

At the moment, the twin brother was by his father side, glancing at every outskirt of the major crowd, admiring its ginormous mass of people and nuns’ fixed eyes on them, cheering them up and chatting with one another, commenting their double standard life by judging their occupation and family status in general.

They yet wondered how a devotional man of the cloth with his wisely chosen right hand by judging her austere authority, chaste, responsibility and intelligence are capable of baring children and they attending on events and mass. Furthermore, they’ve were wondering yet how the rules have significantly altered when the former aspiring Monsignor raised in the highest, most celestial tiers of the patriarchy.

The society always trusted the morals and still believed the religion’s legion constitution where the nuns and priests were forbidden of baring their own creations, made of their own flesh and blood or on the contrary, the patriarchy and their mentors are obligated more than anything to abolish them from their own positions. The assembled flock of civilians were in awe how the Mother Superior and the Pope were the sole exceptions or numbered as the fewest church members, who’re happily married to one another with children.

 

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--- End of Dream ---

--- 27th of December, 1964 ---

 

Was that the reality? Or rather, a mirage in its dream realm which could never happen?

The both questions swirled and twirled in the senseless former nun’s whirlpool of thoughts with her tightly clutch shut eyelids, her once glossy by its sheer, decent hygiene roseate lips lost its genuine luster, producing light snores, pumping her chest as if the snores, exhales and inhales were giving her CPRs, curing her senseless condition. Her once halo ringlet of flossy old Hollywood gilded tresses with its outstanding lavish flossy texture were already grizzling its curls’ texture, diminishing the gild opacity in the limbo. Her once porcelain, lavish with its youthful palish tone epidermis was unhealthily, feebly blanched by having meals twice a day which were with low-quality and swamping the pit of her stomach with nausea, amalgamating with the medicine which she seldom or at least pretended to take, prescribed to cure her mental illness or the insanity that faked the reason she’s committed as a patient against her will and being stripped off every clerical and personal possession of hers. She was just Judy Martin. Again yet even before joining the church and renaming herself from Judy to Jude, because of the church’s rules.

The sensation of a handful of slim, pristinely dexterous fingers that were plugged in her pink nether area, teasing her core with its contracting walls against the possessed sister of the church’s fingers, baptized in its insatiably crystalline juices of her orgasm which she’s reaching. Oblivion fogged the senior blonde along with migraine plaguing her cells all over again, regardless how many times she pretended to take her own medicine and masticate the meals that were far from luxurious or sufficiently bearable for consuming. The recurring sixth sense of being watched didn’t flee with an ease at all. Fiendishly feline, brass dappled irises landed on the unconscious, drifted off asleep inmate.

The senior blond groaned a grunt, muffling a yawn until her eyelids fluttered open, indistinctness tinting her vision as a dark, infernal figure stood beside her old, tattered bed in the ward. It was a nun. The ward’s iron, rustily old door was askew opened in the women’s wing. The evil was opting to corrupt one of the inmates and eating her with its bleak darkness, shadowing her entire identity. Once a sinner, always a sinner! Her fashioned in balled brittle fists rubbed the groggy eyelids until the blurriness vanished in the thin air.

What the former pious woman of the cloth could behold was her former mentor and most of all, daughter figure was commanded by the Satan pushing her fingers inside her core, chewing on her lower lip greedily with her front ivory, youthfully firm teeth its delicate skin of her roseate lip, mimicking in low voice the moans which could Jude reproduce as a symphony. For how long Mary Eunice has been in her cell as a short destination of testing her patience and belittling her, plummeting her morality and rationality? Only the possessed woman of the cloth knew by herself.

Everything about Rome, having children and being happily married to the love of her life was all illusion and existing for the mirage realm which has already dwelled out of after her dream was commuted to the reality, where everything was far from beautiful to be real and too ugly to be crudely cold and unbalanced to block the path to ultimate felicity. She could dream every scenario with Timothy, marrying, having heavenly honeymoons and voyages even having their own children and live far away from the miserable, sinister mental institution with their own dreams and ideals. The reality bundled her in the crudely hypothermic blanket, prickling her epidermis with electrifying goosebumps as its richness of next level realization didn’t diminish her migraine.

The tribulations of her daughter figure and migraine in the same time were messing her up, mudding her with series of scum, unpurity and sore agony overlay her flesh, heart, inner voices and whirlpool of thoughts. Frown twisted across the Bostonian’s naturally rosy-coloured, dry lips, eyeing skeptically her own ex-protégé. She couldn’t expect her ex-protégé is prone to homosexual manners even having sleazy intentions towards the representatives of the opposite sex except the opposite ones.

“W-What are ya doing?” The older woman’s balled fists grappled her own bed sheets, oblivious to her shapeless, convenient patient robe’s hem was flaring across her mid-thigh with her spread lean, long as towers legs, giving a better access to the slyly vile spawn of the Satan to tease her unless something urged her to stop in a halt with manipulating with her own slim, starkly baptized in slimy, delicious juices. “Mary Eunice, what do ya think you’re doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing is also a good question!” Mischievously wicked, half-hearted snigger clicked the roof of the young lady’s mouth, gawking glassily with fiendish lust her former mentor’s pallid with light-heavy wrinkles complexion, contrasting her frown. The realization of being molested by nobody else than the once most irreproachable, purest, naïve and least detrimental soul that has feared of Jude’s iron fist and authority that ran the facility became one of the most powerful nuns behind the dull, dilapidating walls of Briarcliff. Nevertheless, Judy couldn’t protest physically, in spite of her severe and headstrong attempts to protect herself physically against the demon’s plotted plans of corrupting its own prey. What the former holy woman could dream of was entering the rabbit hole of the freedom, releasing herself from the madness that boozed her sanity. Being strapped on an old, tattered bed was another trap and tribulation for her. It was too late for her to protect self from the possessed juvenile holy woman’s intentions. Suffocating her stamina and sanity. All the senior blonde could do was croaking from the top of her frail lungs for somebody whether an orderliness, nun, security guard even the Monsignor, himself to come and rescue her. Nobody was standing for her anymore after losing everything. Discrimination reigned in the mental institution. The entire asylum was against her. No friends or at least, mutuals were encircling her and having any intentions of saving her skin. With the sole people she’s socializing were Kit, Lana and Pepper.

Frank was already dead even when he’s amidst the fewest loyal, true friends she’d ever had in her life and cherished their genuine, one of a kind friendship they’d.

“No, no! You’re corrupted.” Blubbery twin crystal tears bubbled up her eyelids, dripping its rivulet across her lower eyelids as they slowly and steadily gushed down downward her parchment facial skin. The middle-aged lady suckled on her lower dry, plumpish lip. “Stay away from me you lesbian demon!” Even when her venomous serpentine tongue crafted the most fierce utterance, Mary Eunice overlooked it and guffawing bluntly as if Jude’s protests were far from distinctive, opting to mute them somehow with the interweave of high-pitched bewails and infernal laughters. “Help! Somebody help me! Monsignor! Dr. Arden!”

“Don’t pressure your tongue so much with asking for help, Jude! Your favorite Monsignor is never going to come back for his old whore to help her.” Meanwhile, the juvenile blonde leant against her former mentor, a few inches leaving its gap cavity unfilled, manipulating yet with her fingers inside the former member of the clergy’s nether area until a ball of saliva formed on her tongue, lingering thickening it richly. “Do you still think of his big, hard cock fucking your brains out? Huh?” Coldhearted cough scratched Mary Eunice’s throat until Jude spat on her recklessly, headstrongly.

“Fuck you! And get your foul fingers from inside me!” In the meanwhile, the smitten member of the clergy removed her hands from the elder blonde’s entrance by daubing the clammily abominable spat area on her young-looking, fresh face with her fingertips, withdrawing with a couple of inches, whereas the sharp tone of Jude’s cussing boiled the bile that rose in her throat as humongous ire and contempt brewed and cooked inside her in its cauldron with venomous liquid.

“How dare you,” Meantime, the doctor of science, Dr. Arden paced in the women’s wing hallway, looking for his favorite nun until the croak of Mary Eunice resuscitated his adrenaline, pumping in his veins by scooting up to the solely opened cell in the middle of the night. “You old slutty bitch? When you will be taught on discipline?”

“Anything wrong, Sister?” Suddenly the former Nazi war criminal startled the juvenile holy woman with his haphazard presence as she dabbed with a cotton oyster-white handkerchief the saliva, staining her cheek.

“Yes! I was teasing this old whore until she spat on my face and insulted me!” The juvenile blonde managed a faint nod in solemn agreement, smug, mischievous grin baring her teeth by grimacing her face with a glare, shot at the older lady. “She deserves a cruel punishment!”

“Needless to say, Sister! Of course, I’ll take care of Judy by taking her in my laboratory and teach her a lesson!” At the moment, the senior doctor approached the patient bed by unstrapping her immobile body parts and dragging her violently from her ward, whereas she writhed in his tight, inescapable grip, scowling ferociously. “Come with me, Mary Eunice! Especially if you want to be my assistant!”

“With enormous pleasure I wouldn’t miss the show, Doctor!” As soon as the former sister of the church protested and drained the remaining energy she could cry out loud from the top of her lungs for help, meantime, Mary Eunice fled Jude’s cell by locking it with the rusty key and escorting her uncle figure up to his laboratory.

“Somebody help me! Please!”

 

--- *** ---

 

Within a handful of minutes elapsing slower than a crawling snail, series of bewails and emotional pleas cawed, itching the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer’s lungs after being dragged in the former Nazi war criminal’s laboratory and being strapped mercilessly on its patient bed, while being encircled by her worst foes. Dr. Arden and the possessed Sister Mary Eunice.

While the doctor of science was preparing the sterile tools, in the interval, the young woman was playing her own daredevil game. Testing her ex-mentor’s patience while mewling shrilling, husky whine.

“Please! Help me! Help me!” Meantime, Mary Eunice attempted to hush with her slim, pristinely long as a flute finger her mouth, shushing alleviatingly to her as if she’d to console a newborn’s uncontrollable blubbers.

“Keep her mouth shut! She’s too noisy, Mary Eunice!” Arthur’s stern utterance ordered the young blonde, turning to her for a split second.

“I’m trying, Doctor!” The administrator of the mental hospital assured him with a wink by shifting her attention to him for awhile, consequently her brass mottled irises, predominating more the citrine than the azure blue hue were fixed with an eerie flat line, indicating across her plump lips. “Shu, shu, shu, Judy! Don’t you know who got himself in a big trouble?” Wry, mischievous chuckle was almost dying in the corners of her mouth, leaning against her former mentor. “It’s you!” Emphasis of the noun parted her lips in the deep lisp, accentuating her utterance.

“Monsignor, help me! Somebody help me!” The screeching pleas were followed by writhes.

“You aren’t even trying Mary Eunice! That’s so disappointing until the work is about to be done.”

“Nobody is going to help you, pathetic slut! You’re going to die right there, right here!” In the interim, the Bostonian’s tear-stained in heavy rain complexion crinkled with raising an eyebrow, pursing her cherub lips at the baleful words of the once sweet, innocent holy woman. “You did it to yourself, instead of allowing yourself to indulge yourself with my sweet, insatiable touch between your legs.” All of a sudden, the echoing masculine, familiar footsteps in the profound corridor of the madhouse caught the three adults off guard promptly. It wasn’t an orderline. It wasn’t a patient. It was Timothy.

“It looks like the Monsignor will acknowledge the big trouble is going to embrace the consequences.” Seconds before entering in the unwelcoming, eerie laboratory of the senior doctor, Arthur grunted a mumble by ambling up to the trapped inmate on its patient bed.

Chapter Text

 

 

Author's Note: I'd like to apologize for the previous chapter how blandly boring and ordinary was, nevertheless from now on the story is commencing to arouse interest, in my humble opinion or at least I guess. I hope you like and enjoy! :))

 

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The ambitious Monsignor was pacing double checking the lethally hushed in silence corridors of the old, dilapidating mental hospital. Suddenly ruckus, emanating as a despairing bewail from the former Nazi war criminal's laboratory tingled into his ears like the vexing sound of slowly and steadily scraping nails downward the wood. His pale-pinkish, soft as satin lips crinkled in a pensive, bashful purse. The bewailed croak soundedly familiar to him. It was his rare bird.

Abundance of questions whirled and twirled in his vortex of thoughts. Little did he know why Arthur Arden had malicious intentions of agonizing the once holy nun. What he fathomed so far was that Dr. Arden and Jude were foes, antagonizing one another, in fact, Jude has always found the doctor of science bone-chillingly fishy. He didn't need to knock on the doctor of science's office door.

His masculine, light footsteps whistled, solely clicking the cemented flooring in the abysmal hall until his mammoth, veiny hand managed to lower to the door handle, turning it in subtle silence, without attracting further attention. The notoriously creaky door hushed the creaking sound, tingling his ears by setting a foot in his co-worker's austere, unwelcoming office by shutting the door, while his cherub, baby pinkish lips popped up suddenly. His coffee brown embers with the most vibrant coffee pigment have already lost its glossiness. They were rather blanched with the most contagious, palish coffee brown, leaning to cedar brown.

"Dr. Arden!" When his chocolate brown orbs managed to scan the former Nazi war criminal's office, consequently his lips curled in croak, addressing formally. He ambled up to the laboratory's den by earning promptly ternary pairs of inquisitive eyes.

Two piercing, bone-chilly glares, darted to the British compatriot, who has interfered in the middle of the daredevil game which Arthur Arden and Mary Eunice were playing and composing the real concept of torture. The sole pair of eyes that noticed him, whilst laying and managing series of squirms, encumbering with pain and pressure due to the excessive protests vibrantly contrasted the other twains of fierce embers, igniting the most caustic flame, incinerating its coals. All Timothy could read from distance in the corner of his chocolate brown ember was the myriad of mortification and shivers, blanching her feeble face and mottling her honey brown irises. What it surprised the former devotional holy woman was the suddenness of muffling her whimpers as soon as she wasn’t alone with her maulers. Her pale, dry lips flattened its plumpish surface in a hushing purse, swigging a lump in the back of her throat in struggle.

In the meanwhile, the ambitious Monsignor clutched in a balled fist the rosary beads, wrapped around his pristinely clumsy, strong fingers. He didn’t have time to lose and his remaining time to save his rare bird was elapsing slowly but surely.

“Sister Mary Eunice! What are you up to now?” The gravely posed question of Timothy flinched the possessed by the devil young woman, fidgeting her fingers, whereas the senior doctor cleared gruffily his throat with an ease.

“M-Monsignor? It’s impossible yar presence to be so real.” Fortunately, it was solely distinctive the murmur, floating from the former religious nun’s roseate, cherub cracked lips of the dryly cold common climate in the madhouse. The heart beats, throbbing vehemently in her chest brake abruptly even when armoring the haphazard intentions of her flimsy heart frailly to spring up.

“This patient has been so disobedient and that’s what she brought to herself. The big trouble.” The juvenile possessed sister of the church’s retaliation tingled trouble into Timothy’s ears, whose dark, thick eyebrow raised an arch. Disbelief contoured gingerly his charming facial features at his newly chosen right hand’s utterance. He might teaming with Sister Mary Eunice, who’s even yet possessed and capable of anything to exterminate with an ease due to her supernatural power she possessed, nevertheless, the scene was so far sinister to witness the attempted experiment on one of the wretched souls’ current metaphoric refuge, where she could find her own death within a few minutes or a few hours after the dreadful experiments. Even as an administrator of a notorious mental institution for criminally insane, the British compatriot was even responsible for the patients who disappeared or were inhumanely murdered even tortured. His one of a kind rara avis wasn’t exceptional either. He could lose drastically his trust in her and noting wee, vague inkles of her insanity eating her sanity by transforming quickly from the woman of the cloth that ran a facility with an iron fist and raising in the highest tiers of facility’s staff, plummeting down to a patient, deemed as nobody else than a madwoman, but he wouldn’t forgive himself if he loses her. Her life’s price was far from meager. It would be worth millions of prays for her soul and the damned wasted potential to aid her to heal.

“If she’s strapped on this bed, there should be a reason. You can’t just strap her without any sincere real and enjoy torturing her for another imminent experiment.” The softness of his lilt, amalgamating with strictness caution rose the biles up in the juvenile woman of the cloth and doctor’s throats.

“Monsignor, I doubt you’ve some kind of business to interfere there and prying which is readily mine!” The former war criminal’s rejoinder stung the austere, unwelcoming glare of the head priest of Briarcliff, fixing them on the much older man. “Especially when it comes up to the experiments on these patients and I can admit your former right hand is absolutely one of the worst, most noisy patients I’ve ever strapped on a bed. Sister Mary Eunice can tell you what exactly happened and why she’s brought with herself the whole mess.”

“I entered in her cell to pleasure her while she’s asleep until she woke up a few minutes later by asking me what I was doing, therefore spitting on my face and cussing at me like a sailor! That’s intolerable behavior from a patient!”

Silence arched between the horde of adults, whilst the holy man’s hands lowered to his charcoal black trousers’, putting them in its pockets in disquietude.

In the interval, chubby, crystal twin tears trickled downward the senior blonde’s cheeks, opting to muffle and mute her snivels, staining with sticky moistness her feeble, parchment complexion. The hushing silence escalated to Jude’s sunk heart and the wonderment in Dr. Arden and Mary Eunice’s enquiring, sly glares, trying to formulate scenarios of the impending words, lingering on the Monsignor’s tongue tip. What the former devotional member of the clergy prayed for was that to be back in her ward for extra good night sleep and her love interest somehow to confront her tormenters.

“So Monsignor, what’s your word on her behavior?” The hoarseness in Mary Eunice’s lisp stung his ears, honing sharp words, marching from the beginning of his berry-coloured tongue, whereas it was the judgmental’s moment, weighing on its scales the senior blonde’s foes opinion and the man of the cloth’s opinion. Sluggishly gulping the lump in her drying throat, Judy blinked her partly opened eyelids as her plumpish lips popped up. “I think she deserves a lesson to be taught for such unacceptable behavior and treatment towards a nun that tries to take care of her.”

“No!” The firmness of his refute in his attempt to stop in a halt the former Nazi war criminal and his assistant startled them as soon as they faced his darker side within seconds after usually witnessing his soft, innocent side that veiled him as a casted celestial light, factly, he’s a priest. “There’s nothing you can do about preventing her behavior and then trying to punish her with a torture!”

“E-Excuse me, Monsignor?” Wicked giggle clicked the roof of the juvenile sister of the church’s mouth, rolling her brassly tinged orbs, muffling its richness in her wicked giggle, while Dr. Arden’s rejoinder was engulfing Timothy’s nonchalance that softened his facial features as a stray puppy. “What are you doing?”

“Dr. Arden, you don’t realize how many patients disappear daily or even die in oblivion not only because of natural causes or any illnesses and then who knows where they’re located. Whether in the morgue or somewhere in the woods with your experiments by mutilating them to look like freaks!”

“I think you’re prone to believe in a madwoman, who is nothing than an old whore and a murderer! Who are you prone more to believe, Monsignor?” Even the bizarreness in the possessed woman of the cloth’s demeanor was the core of Timothy’s doubts, articulated in his intuition and observation in the past days even when he could behold the genuine dark side of Mary Eunice just a couple of weeks after the exorcism of Jed and his unpredictable death due to a heart attack. What it urged him was to hire another doctor and Father Malachi by the following day after and attempt to banish the vile essence out of the young blonde’s frail skeleton. The brilliance in her insight, readily reading every surrounding’s mind was inevitable trap for Timothy, instantly acknowledging and opting to belittle him with whom he teamed in the past weeks, judging Jude’s grim past with her discreet, somber secrets. “Huh? I’m afraid you still like this slutty murderer and something is awaiting you, if you dare to bring her position back to her.”

“No matter what she used to be in the past, I’m not judgmental and I’m not the one who judges her. It’s only God that judges her and is prone to give second chances to the sinners that repent!” Meanwhile, he approached with a strut up to the patient bed, his pristine fingers clumsily working on the straps, consequently unstrapping them from her neck down to her ankles. “And you don’t have the right to torture even take her life. It’s going to be not only your responsibility, but also mine. You don’t realize every patient’s life is valuable.” At the moment, the despaired inmate sat on the edge of the patient bed, cupping her face shamefacedly, trying to conceal the tears, veiling her tear-stained, pallid complexion. His strong, muscly arm curled around her mid-back, guiding her to flee the laboratory in a jiffy and their impending destination was his office, in order to console her, in spite of the security guards that worked night shifts and being incessantly in charge of guarding the abysmal, bleak hallways of the old asylum. The sluggish gait of the inmate, guided by her former boss scarcely echoed a click against the cemented flooring as they were on their way to flee.

“Monsignor, you’re only a priest and we’re the ones who’ve a business with this patient, whose name I don’t want even to mentio-“ All of a sudden, without turning his back, the British aristocrat cut her off curtly.

“So as the other patients should be under your care, but Jude is in right hands!” Seconds before walking away from the former Nazi war criminal’s austere office, Timothy’s caution resuscitated adrenalines and fury, pumping in Arthur and Mary Eunice’s veins, overflowing lava beneath their epidermis. Meantime, the Monsignor and Jude fled Dr. Arden’s office, pacing sluggishly in the hallway as the younger man conformed his rare bird’s locomotion, patience eased him and calmness and disquietude textured his still young-looking, palish profile. Tears and snots baptized the older woman’s palms with a clammy layer of snots and moistness, ducking her head abashedly whilst her muffle relinquished the snivel, tearing off the lethal silence in the middle of the night. “Everything is okay, Jude! Everything will be fine.”

--- *** ---

Within a couple of minutes, Timothy and Jude entered in the dim light office of the head priest of the mental institution. Alabaster, tiny snowflakes, massing in a beehive whistled outside, blanketing generously with a snowy blanket everything.

Even when the ambitious Monsignor earned a handful of security guards’ inquisitive glances, they questioned themselves how the British aristocrat is capable of guiding an inmate that was already out of her cell and lodged in his office until whenever he decides, in fact, everything that motioned or was behind the dull, lifeless walls of the madhouse were his ultimate responsibility. 

In the interim, he guided her to the compact bed that was amidst the fewest furniture, adorning the en-suite bedroom, linking his office. Her rear perched on the edge of the bed until she uncupped her face in a jiff, ruddily-rimmed embers eyed him glassily, jadedly. Glint a stray spark of gratitude and speechlessness, far from believing once she put herself in the patients’ shoes after being stripped off her clerical possessions and title and losing significantly the love of her life’s trust.

“What’s all this for?” Bewilderment boiled in the pit of her stomach, whereas Timothy laid her down to kip, wrapping the duvet circa her weightless figure, shielding it from the common chilly climate. What she expected was to be retrieved back in her cell instead of being sheltered in her former boss’s office especially the en-suite bedroom.

“Shu, shu, shu, Jude! Do not pressure yourself!” He hadn’t any malicious intentions at all. As a director of the asylum, he’s also responsible for his old friend’s condition in general along with the other lunatics and staff members. Optimistically benevolent smile indicated across his baby pinkish lips, consoling his rara avis with a tight, kindhearted hug, whereas cradling her head in his toned, alabaster elbows. “It’s not your fault at all.”

“Not only she tried to rape me, furthermore teaming with Dr. Arden to torture and mutilate me and finally dumping me in the forest like some other disappeared patients!” At the thought of committing homicide towards the nymphomaniac inmate Shelley swamped with nausea and ineludible compunctions his stomach, blush flushing his neck though he couldn’t directly tell right away Judy he’s the one, who suffocated her with his chaplet and reciting a final prayer when Shelley was hospitalized and before finding her own death on its hospital bed. At the moment, his utter attention was shifted on the Bostonian and his main goal was to console her as much as possible by drifting off asleep peacefully without thinking twice agonizing herself with the events that took its place a couple of minutes ago. “She’s incredibly sadistic and she’s possessed.” Despite the insanity that consumed her, in his humble opinion, he couldn’t agree more there. The truth was the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer wasn’t the only one who acknowledged the possession of her ex-protégé.

“You’re absolutely right she’s possessed and I must bash the demon with the help of another doctor and Father Malachi on the next morning, despite,” Stutter limped on his throat, heavy sigh flushing his chest after releasing her from the embrace as one of his colossal, veiny hands’ amusingly warm fingers traced her well-carved profile, daubing with the tad of his thumb the stream of tears. “Despite I’m afraid you should be kept for a bit longer here until you’re fully cured!” His heart ached that the love of his life was involved in deeds which he could hardly believe at first until her foes blinded him to bones and Timothy must delay her release, due to his lack of trust in her lately and doubting her morality, ceasing to picture what her freedom would bear a semblance of and what she’s capable of once she joins the general population.

In the meantime, she was far from restless by flopping on the other side, scarcely facing her ex-boss and the older lady was immensely exhausted to peel a single word anymore. The sniffles subdued in the background, ceasing to tingle in the younger man’s ears, that still is comforting his rara avis. Relief prickled his electrifying epidermis, whereas shivers danced in the former woman of the cloth’s spine and bones, sedating them with the delicate touch of Timothy, grazing her cheek with a feather, delicate peck and cradling her jaw line. It wasn’t his first time touching different part of a woman’s body except her hands.

“Sleep tight, Jude! You deserve rest!” Velvety whisper danced on his tongue, his fingers managing to play with her disheveled, silver-gilded stray tresses consolingly, lightly. Her eyes fluttered tightly shut, preventing the yellow-lamp bulb scintillating her flimsy, ruddily-rimmed eyes any longer, chewing on her lower cracked lip with its dryness of her throat.

Although Timothy had nowhere to slumber tonight, he preferred to supervise from time to time discreetly the middle-aged lady, acknowledging her condition and spending almost the entire night in catnaps on his office’s bureau, in case, if he falls asleep. 

 

Chapter Text

 

 

Author's Note: I know how this possible is amalgamation of Atonement (AO3) and somewhat Release (ff.net) as some of my favorite stories which aren't from Wattpad, nevertheless, I wanted to experiment with some mix and controversial plot twist that is worth at all! I hope you like and enjoy this chapter! 

 

 

--- *** ---

--- The Next Day ---

--- 28th of December, 1964 ---

 

 

The morning after approached sooner than expected.

In the wee hours of the morning, the ambitious Monsignor and Jude fled his office altogether after collecting sufficient rest through the night, in spite of the insomnia that perched on the holy priest’s eyelids the last night, in fact, he’s supervising per an hour his former right hand’s condition until he found himself drifting off asleep on his own bureau.

As soon as the former devotional woman of the cloth had a poor-quality breakfast along with the myriad of patients and pretending to swallow her own daily medicament, subsequently Timothy after brewing his own coffee and reentering his austere office to phone Father Malachi, his mentor urgently.

When the midnight black, glossy earpiece was clung to Timothy’s ear, his strong, pristine fingers curled around the earpiece, while his solely free mammoth, veiny hand grasped the plain white, porcelain mug’s handle as he sipped his own morning coffee, awaiting the following phone call. An eerie flat line crinkled across his pale-pinkish, caffeine-stained lips.

Fortunately, the young possessed woman of the cloth hasn’t bumped into the man of the cloth and belittling him with her daredevil game. That was a dab of relief, ameliorating his thoughts, although the imminent, unpredictable clashes that awaited between her and him if he doesn’t play his own cards right and call exceedingly the senior priest for the exorcism.

“Father Malachi is talking! How can I help you, Monsignor?” The suddenness of the senior priest’s answer startled the younger man, almost choking with the bubbled up lump in his throat, swigging it sluggishly though reluctance persuaded him to not cough and prevent the choke with the caffeine beverage. On other hand, relief creased between his eyebrows, clearing his throat.

“Good day, Father! We’ve an issue in Briarcliff even shortly after the young man’s exorcism.” Stutter limped on his berry-coloured tongue, whereas the angst was overflowing beneath his epidermis, adrenaline and disquietude pumping into his veins and doubling his concerns, affecting his heart beats that brake in his ribcage after the unthinkable, significant change in the juvenile woman of the cloth as a top task to bash the demon out of her frail skeleton with professional help. “This issue hasn’t ceased for days and there are a few witnesses that can confirm it’s absolutely true.” Frown twisted upon Father Malachi’s heavily wrinkled due to the relentlessly inexorable aging process, parchment complexion.

“What do you mean with this, Timothy? Is there a victim of possession in Briarcliff after Jed’s heart attack and sudden death?” Sometimes Father Malachi preferred to address his protégé with his first name friendly after a couple of years collaborating altogether and accepting him as his own son figure, although his childless and unmarried status through the decades of his bland, insurmountable life, serving his ecclesiastical duties with potent efforts.

“Yes! Sister Mary Eunice is supposed to be possessed as she fainted after Jed’s death. Her behavior is undeniably eccentric and nothing, compared to the normal Sister Mary Eunice we know.”

“Suppose?” Emphasis was highlighted in the rhetorical, one-word inquiry of the older man, suckling on his lower lip, whereas his solely free hand’s meaty fingers managed to reach for his hoary bald wire, capping his head and scrapping faintly with his small fingernails the delicate skin of his head. “Hmm, so what kind of behavior have you spotted in her as you described it eccentric lately?”

“She’s vulgar and she tried to rape by pleasuring Jude in her ward, therefore due to her misbehaving, Sister Mary Eunice and Dr. Arden dragged Jude in Dr. Arden’s laboratory by strapping her on the bed. This happened exactly a night ago.” Hemming limped in the back of his throat, almost dying on his tongue tip when certain vulgar words which were far from adequate from a devotional member of the clergy to utter them were petering out. Unknowledgeable crystalline tear blossomed on his lower eyelid, forming a rivulet, trickling hesitantly on his cheek. Timothy has never cussed or used strong language, breaking a vow and earning the judgmental, fierce glares of God who’s the only one that judged him and his deeds. “I was double checking the hallways, in case if turmoil lurked somewhere in Dr. Arden’s laboratory or somewhere from the both wings that imprisoned the patients that were asleep. I was lucky I saved Jude’s life and I sheltered her in my office for only one night, instead of sleeping on her own all alone in the cold night.” Skepticism crinkled the senior man of the cloth’s eyebrows’ cusp. “She was so weak and vulnerable. She could be killed or even worse, dying slowly in pain like the tortured patients of Dr. Arden, whom I afraid he blackmailed me to illuminate everything about Briarcliff if I remove him from his position and get rid off him.”

“I see! Within less than an hour the exorcism will be performed on Sister Mary Eunice.” Sigh of relief flushed the British compatriot’s encumbered with agony and angst chest, boiling his bile and brewing disquietude and cooking inside him with shivering coldness, swamping his lower abdomen to the untouched, unloved areas. “But the bad news is that there aren’t available doctors that will help us to bash the demon. I’m sure Dr. Arden can help and be the last hope.”

“That’s such a shame! But, of course, Dr. Arden might be part of the exorcism and be pretty helpful. Thank you for your word, Father Malachi!” In the meantime, Sister Mary Eunice entered discreetly without knocking and keeping the head priest of the madhouse’s wits about her presence along with her feminine, meek footsteps that once echoed in the profound, dim light hallway. Skepticism glinted in his cocoa brown embers, igniting its ablaze flame after adjusting the earpiece back to the phone and sipping his coffee, eyeing glassily with immense concern the juvenile blonde, studying her manners and body language. Her mouth opened n an enormous, cocky grin, alight by the older man’s vulnerability and virgin-like nature. “Sister, I think you have forgotten to knock on the door at least once!” His stern caution caught her off guard without stopping her striding up to his hardwood bureau restlessly with long, small footsteps, monotonous click of her Mary Jane against the cemented flooring.

“Oh, I’m really sorry, Monsignor! I didn’t realize the rules would be the same like in Sister Jude’s office.” The young lady pretended the guilty conscience and her irresponsibility gnawing her, pursing thoughtfully her lips, whereas the distrustful aroma of lilacs and gardenia wafted across his nostrils, amalgamating with the fresh, hot coffee’s aroma shortly after being brewed and poured in its mug. Little did he know what urged the young woman’s odor to doubt her momentarily even more right away after the last night’s nightmare he witnessed and if he wasn’t that lucky to hurry up, throughout his rare bird would be the impending victim of the former Nazi war criminal’s barbarous experiments. His nostrils flared skeptically, surveying from head to toes the blonde.

“It’s fine. I’m not Sister Jude to be tremendously strict, nevertheless, I dislike the rules to be broken, in the name of ignorance and lack of responsibility!” Even when the British compatriot forgave the blonde’s plea as a bland excuse and her lack of self-confidence after being bullied for years and Jude’s iron fist were the core of her incessant bland excuses, frequently whispering its dark inner voices and diminishing her self-esteem, despite her stamina that aided her to win abundance of battles through the years of bullying, discrimination and the loss of her biological parents at early age. “What brings you here, Sister Mary Eunice?”

“I just wanted to make sure check on you, Monsignor! Even when you brought that old whore to sleep in that linked bedroom the last night.” Her brilliance of sanity meant a big trouble for the British aristocrat, opting to cope with looking after the ex-nun and the imminent exorcism as an attempt to rescue the juvenile nun’s soul before it was too late.

“No matter what she used to be in her past, I’m not the one to judge her and put labels on her for her actions. She was so weak and vulnerable the last night and I don’t blame her.”

“Aw, it’s such a shame!” Her roseate, soft as satin lips parted in a baleful, haughty frown, trying to protract her fingers to pawn his shoulder until he withdrew with loathing, getting from his seat and to keep the proximity as larger as possible. “Did she try to touch or pleasure you, Monsignor? Huh?”

At the moment, Timothy shook his head in a solemn disagreement, pursing his lips pensively, frustratedly. His resilient silence was clearly obvious for her and his demeanor hinted her he’s quite fishy lately especially since the night before when he confronted her and Arthur Arden.

“No! How would you think of this?” Once he strolled up to the office door to flee and find Dr. Arden, meantime, the young sister of the church escorted him from behind without giving up with an ease. Wicked chuckle clicked her tongue.

“You’re unrealistically mistaken, Father! You don’t know that this old whore loves you and thinks of you every night, touching herself and,”

“Carl! James!” The hoarseness in Timothy’s croak echoed in the abysmal hall of the old asylum, seeking aid to come in no time and lock up Mary Eunice in a ward by strapping her on a bed and stripping her off her clerical possessions with a shapelessly rigid, mere patient robe-clad to her bony body.

“You won’t get away with that, Father! I thought we’d be great business partners and you’re in a big trouble!” Within less than a quarter a minute, a few orderlies emerged in the corridor, following docilely the Monsignor’s voice emanation, marching up to Mary Eunice. Further, sufficiently heavy, masculine footsteps were approaching like shadows, casted on the young sister of the church.

“Carl and James, take Sister Mary Eunice to one of the free women’s wing cells and strap her on a bed! Within less than an hour, there’s going to be an exorcism!” Eloquence in his order managed the both orderlies’ bobbing their heads in a strong, diligent agreement, dangling their arms around the younger woman’s body, dragging her off in the corridor, in spite of her recurring writhes in their tight grapples, fluttering tightly shut her eyelids and baring balefully her ivory, still firm for her fragile age teeth.

“You won’t get away with that, Monsignor! You’re nothing than a narcissistic, selfish traitor that listens to a madwoman! A madwoman’s toyboy!” Meanwhile, the oblivious of Timothy’s nonchalance in Mary Eunice’s wails, swimming behind the dull madhouse’s walls, sunk the possessed holy woman’s heart, scarcely believing her goose is going to be cooked within the exorcism and possibly fainting haphazardly. Overwhelmness plagued the British compatriot’s vortex of thoughts, a heavy sigh flushing his nostrils with its surged fresh, encumbering oxygen and ambling up to his forthcoming destination without thinking twice of the events that took its place a few minutes ago. It deeply hurt him how he betrayed Jude and Mary Eunice, but his alternatives were limited nonetheless, offering him the once innocent young nun’s salvation and taking care of his rara avis unless the circumstances convince his spontaneous opinion change in imprisoning her against her will.

On one hand, the possessed holy woman’s words stung his pair of chocolate brown pools with the warmest and most vibrant chocolate, widened in the realization the weighed scales of her words and his feelings, equalized as one. Dozens of truths emphasized her utterance about his genuine feelings for the Bostonian. Timothy genuinely loved Judy yet and had deeply intensifying feelings for her without exposing them to her at all. Mary Eunice knew why he sheltered his rare bird in his office the night before and having benevolent intentions over her, in spite of his lacking trust in her demeanor. On other hand, what the British aristocrat hankered more than anything was his facial features’ and body language to be arcanely readable by anybody even the people who knew him and Judy. He had no intentions of releasing and according the middle-aged woman’s arranged release soon unless the trial or further circumstances such as Mother Claudia menacing his reputation and entire hard work, invested in his celestial dream of rising in the high tiers of the diocese as the highest priority until Jude’s release or reimposition to her position which she used to be.

Forbidden love and forbidden feelings were the top questions that whirled and twirled in the ambitious Monsignor’s whirlpool of thoughts.

 

--- *** ---

--- An Hour Later ---

 

Within an hour, Father Malachi, Dr. Arden and Timothy were in the ward for bashing the vile essence from Mary Eunice’s frail skeleton even when at first the senior doctor of science disagreed and he hadn’t any intentions of participating in the exorcism, menacing his heartache if he loses his once favorite innocent young nun after the vile essence dwells out of her identity.

In the meanwhile, the patients were overcrowding the common room, despite Jude was sitting on the tattered couch by herself, taking a drag at her cigar and puffing pungent smoke with her mouth, agape in a soft O. The frequent, playing on looped Dominique song was tingling miserable tunes into her sensitive, petite ears.

As soon as the both members of the church and the doctor of science set a foot in the poorly adorned cell, the exorcism begun with recited in a croak prayers out loud, fizzle the Satan’s chances of winning the battle and defeating the young woman with a heart attack. In the interval, Mary Eunice writhed her feeble body muscles, urging the fight against the prayers and the trusses on her ankles, wrists and throat. The dim golden daylight filtered the naturally bathed in light cell through the battered wall window, warmly blanketing Mary Eunice’s stark, palish legs with its patient’s gown hem flaring across her round, knobby knees. Her youthfully flossy aureate long mop of tresses was ruffled on the cotton, convenient pillow.

“You can’t do this to me. You fucking piggies!” What the smitten young woman of the cloth disregarded was her strong language, series of desperate bewails with her deep, infernal voice accentuating them. “Once a traitor, always a traitor! I didn’t know you will do this to me, Dr. Arden! I trusted you with my life.” She turned to face the former Nazi, gritting maliciously her ivory, still firm teeth, whereas he gawked at her, glimmering azure, translucent tears submerging his sapphire blue orbs, quietly weeping while supervising her on the right side of the patient bed, whereas the both priests made the Sign of the Cross and recited prayers from the Holy Bible without an ado.

“Don’t listen to the demon, Doctor! Focus on your business.” The senior holy man advised Arthur though the horde of men overlooked and opted to focus on rescue the taintless identity of Mary Eunice, scarcely glimpsing at her insults, trying to test their patience as well.

“Monsignor, I think your favorite old slut misses your big hard-on into her smelly clam between her legs!” Heinous guffaw floated from the young blonde’s rosy-coloured lips, grinning complacently and bloodily at him, turning to face him with a sinister stare, draining his soul off. Generous layer of blush touched Timothy’s chubby, well-carved cheeks, whilst ignoring her utterance and utterly dedicating his time on the prayers, his rosary beads wrapped around his fingers. Attractive veil of perspiration veiled his young-looking, lily-white complexion, faintly cooling his facial skin. “And that’s why you’re the town pump’s favorite beau, aren’t you? Didn’t you know that your favorite town pump is touching herself every night, thinking of you?” In the interim, the exorcism was progressing with luxurious series of prayers and wretched wails as a background sound, reproducing a tune. “Oh, Timothy, don’t stop, please! Oh God, Monsignor, you’re so huge! I didn’t know the priests are that huge.” The Satan’s taunts and mimicking the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer’s sultry moans and groans engulfed the younger man’s stamina, peeling off the iron armor of his heart and the blanche veil, veiling overally his face and powdering with shamefaced, unhealthy cherry hues.

“Don’t listen to it! It’s all lies.” Father Malachi insisted, whilst mumbling a mouthful of prayers until the former woman of the cloth collapsed on the pillow, snivels whacking her, cupping her face with the palms of her petite hands.

“Argghhh!’

“Mary Eunice, everything will be fine! The demon is finally released from your body.” In the interval, the younger man crouched down, cradling the young lady’s head in a kindhearted, warm embrace with his toned forearms, shushing consolingly emboldening. “It’s not your fault at all. You’re safe and sound! You deserve to rest!”

 

 

--- *** ---

--- A Few Hours Later or So ---

 

After the successful exorcism and rescuing the taintless soul of Mary Eunice’s identity, consequently she was housed in her own ward to collect extra rest through the daylight hours.

In the meanwhile, the symphony, looping as a background sound of babbling lunatics, some of them banging bluntly restlessly their heads in the brick walls and the incessant French song on the recording player playing in the expansive room  tingled the epitome of the real insanity and wretchedness, reigning behind the dull, lifeless walls of the mental institution.

What it baffled and flabbergasted the Bostonian was her ex-protégé’s absence today and for not bumping into her with her fiendish game with its crucial goal of testing the former licentious nightclub singer’s patience.

All of a sudden, what it caught off guard the middle-aged woman was the double common room door opened as Timothy ambled up to her to check on her since it was his obligation acknowledging her condition in general.

In the meanwhile, the former holy woman’s smile spread across her lips soothingly at the sight of the younger man, who approached her.

“How is Sister Mary Eunice?”

“She fought so hard and fortunately, the demon is bashed! She’s currently resting in her own ward.” Sigh of relief indicated the blonde’s pride and euphoria, chewing on her lower plump roseate lip with her front teeth. Her heart leaped promptly.

“That’s such a relief!”

“I truly believe she’s so strong.”

“T-Timothy,” Meantime, she cut him off curtly, emphasizing his name, whereas quirk contoured his thick, dark eyebrow at her emphasis.”I was thinking this, in fact, you really enjoyed my culinary skills and like my cooking,” Stammer limped in the back of her throat, swallowing hard during the brief pause, whilst the younger man didn’t dare to interrupt her, showing signs of disrespect and blatant manners, due to galore of simple reasons. Their friendship with its controversial stability due to its sudden betrayal and toxicity. She was his rare bird. In spite of her inferior position, wearing undeservedly, it didn’t hurt him to listen to her when it was her turn to express her own thoughts. Nostalgia swamped the pit of her almost empty stomach. “I know there’s almost nothing much to do there and thanks to my culinary skills, I could do something for both of us! For the old time’s sake?”

“Jude, I’m afraid your treatment and therapy should be ongoing instead of investing your efforts in feeding the entire staff! All I can advise you are to rest and invest your cooking skills in baking bread in the pantry.” An eerie flat line flattened the curve of his baby pinkish lips, holding her gaze with nonchalance.

“That’s true, Father! However, I truly missed the times when I cooked a meal for both of us. And I strongly promise the meal will be on much smaller scale. It will be just for both of us.” In the meantime, headstrong adrenaline pumped flimsily into her veins, overflowing with lava at her former boss’s stubbornness and calmness clashing with the coq-au-vin offer. “It won’t hurt to have a coq-au-vin for the old time’s sake in the name of our friendship and Sister Mary Eunice’s victory over the devil! And it will be a quiet evening for both of us and once we finish the meal, I’ll go back in my ward and you will do yar own business.”

Although the British aristocrat’s controversial thoughts, weighing its scales whether to trust his instincts by declining with all respect the dinner offer or on the contrary accept it as an occasion of their ongoing friendship, he reconsidered his rara avis’s suggestion with a half a minute pause and doubting any harm in sharing a dinner with his once favorite holy woman.

“Since we’ve been friends for a long time and you consider me as a danger or having malicious intentions of harming ya, what’s yar word on it?” Suddenly the former sleazy nightclub singer broke off the silence with her haphazard enquiry. Smile glittered a thousand of optimistic, bright patterns, flashed upon her parchment, pallid complexion.

“Since it has been awhile I’ve enjoyed your meals, I’m completely sure you need arranged assistance in the dinner preparation.”

“Help?” The huskiness of her wry chuckle didn’t ebb out, muffling it with one of her hands. “I never needed help before.”

“Alright, Jude! This Thursday at seven o’clock we can have our dinner.”

“I thought Friday would work for you?” The rhetoric nuances in her inquiry mildly irritated him.

“Jude, I don’t understand what difference in the days bothers you? Why, tho?”

“Fridays were like always my favorite days to cook and prepare a meal.”

“Fine! So it’s Friday in eight o’clock the arranged dinner as I’ve to visit some places.”

Within a handful of minutes after the priest exited the common room and conversating his former co-worker about their arranged coq-au-vin Friday dinner night, the Bostonian still pondered whether if Timothy is going to be sincere and keep their arrangement within a couple of days only without thinking twice of altering his hectic daily schedule.

Little did the Bostonian know how their forthcoming coq-au-vin Friday dinner night will pass and is it a good idea to achieve somehow his trust back again and decreasing the chances of her imprisonment inside the facility.

Chapter Text

 

--- *** ---

--- A Couple of Days Later ---

--- 1st of January, 1965 ---

 

 

Shortly after Mary Eunice’s recover from the severe pangs, knotting her bones and muscles along with her thoughts during and post exorcism, she was conveyed in different institution somewhere in Boston. Institution, reinstituted by the Mother Superior and determining her inability of not being capable of running a facility for criminally insane with authority and iron fist like the former administrator of Briarcliff, whose clerical possessions were stripped from her and the unexpected ending destined her to spend the rest of her days behind the dull walls of the notorious madhouse.

Further, the former holy woman hasn’t acknowledged her ex-protégé’s abolishment from Briarcliff and her transfer to other institution with fewer responsibilities encumbering her daily schedule. Nobody hasn’t informed her yet. Perhaps it was for her good. Or perhaps, despair could bandage her heart with numbness and melancholy for being for years together and now her transfer wouldn’t be a warm welcome at all.

During the week days, the ambitious Monsignor paid a visit to special places where his appearance was necessary in the daylight episode of the days, whilst returning in the madhouse in the wee hours of the night and supervising his former right hand in her ward.

Once Sister Mary Eunice was no longer a head nun of Briarcliff, the crucial task was to find a replacement of the young nun, whose replacement was actually Sister Bernadette. Sister Bernadette and Timothy’s visions and worldviews brightly contrasted due to their huge age gap, in fact, the newly chosen head holy woman of the mental institution was somewhere in her 60s even with a couple of years Jude’s senior. Furthermore, they shared different visions and Bernadette was far from better leader than her progenitors. Sometimes she and the aspiring holy priest had obnoxious, mutual disagreements that were the crucial reasons why some of her decisions weren’t providing the best supplies, medicaments and aid for the patients even for the staff.

As soon as Friday or rather the end of the week approached sooner than the expected for Jude, whose ablaze impatience ignited adrenaline, pumping into her veins and awaiting the days of hollow with her childlike jitteriness by expending every second of her valuable time in the common room with socializing Lana and Kit even Pepper and arranging somehow Lana and Kit’s releases to happen within days. In the beginning of the week, the Bostonian has conversated the both innocent inmates and arranging their release via the future Cardinal’s signature on their release’s documents, in order to grant them the freedom they’ve yearned for and they genuinely deserve rather. At first, Jude wasn’t utterly trusted by her both frenemies and they thought their arranged release could be somehow a joke until she genuinely persuaded them that her stable friendship with Timothy and being together for years is going to take a toll on diminishing the chances of disbelief.

In the wee hours of the evening whilst the bakery was crowded by a couple of lunatics, outnumbering the former pious sister of the church, whose utter attention was shifted to the dinner preparation on small scales for her and the love of her life, Jude spent almost an hour in the bakery and overlooking some mockeries, interposed by certain lunatics that weren’t very fond of her even during her nunnery.

The amalgamation of urine, freshly baked bread and scum reek navigated its air waves along with the freshly baked coq-au-vin aroma in the oven quickly sweetened the stir and reek in the bakery in a jiff. Smugness contoured the former licentious jazz nightclub singer’s facial features with a generous powder of cherry blush, powdering her bony, well-carved cheeks. Perspiration veiled her face after chopping the veggies persistently and the sweltering, invisible air from the oven caressed her facial features, glimmering headstrong perspiration.

When the coq-au-vin lastly was zapped in the oven and served in two separate, clean plates with silverware eating tools, consequently she carried warily the tray, scarcely having any intentions of distracting herself with further things. The dinner was ready. It was almost eight o’clock. Moreover, the former promiscuous nightclub singer opted to evade detection from the staff members’ supervision in the abysmal, dim light hallways and commence to question her with galore of questions with ludicrous answers.

Once the blonde paced in the profound corridor with the tray of silverware eating tools and plates with served meals by standing beside the British compatriot’s office, fashioning in a balled fist her elvish, pale as ghost hand, rapping on the office door lightly, kindly until his British lilt echoed.

“Just a second!” Meantime, he snatched his pair of eyeglasses, tossing them on the bureau by clearing large space on the hardwood bureau, in order to set the tray and approaching the door, opening it and holding it gentlemanly while stepping aside to allow the former holy woman step inside his office with the tray and setting it on the bureau. “Good evening, Monsignor!” Politeness accentuated her utterance, followed by a faint door slam behind her as its owner ambled up to the desk, his cocoa brown pools were fixed on her and the platter, trying to not admire her disheveled long mop of golden curls, piled up on her shoulders and gracefully framing her round, full profile.

“Good evening, Jude! I’ve to admit that I was strongly looking forward to this dinner night since the beginning of this week.” Amusement airbrushed her facial features, attempting to slaughter the giggle, recurringly limping in her throat at his confession, a fountain of honesty and candor. Childlike elation glimmered their dark eyes, alight by agitation to sit against one another, spend a few hours altogether in friendly and not so much disquiet discussions. They didn’t have so much to talk since she’s a madwoman against her will and he’s just the love of her life, raised in the high tiers of the church. Or possibly having abundance of thoughts on their minds to share with each other after it’s been awhile they spent a few hours ventilating plenty of topics. “I haven’t had a decent home cooked meal in a long time. I’m not pretty good cook at all.” As soon as they seated against one another, he researched one of the drawers of his desk, the man of the cloth retrieved finely aged, untouched old bottle of cognac after Jude’s stored paraphernalia in a box were donated to the church except the bottle of cognac and the extravagant satin bloody red negligee after finding out that Mary Eunice snatched it from her possessions.

The mouth-watering, sweet fragrance of coq-au-vin wasn’t disappointing the man of the cloth, wafting its alluring fragrance across his nose after placing the cognac and the still unused scotch glasses, filling sufficiently the free space.

“I thought I’d bring the old cognac. I guess I wasn’t thinking that you can’t drink cognac, considering yar took vow-“ Her frail, dexterous fingers were curled around the fork and dinner knife, whereas the younger man was pouring the sinful alcoholic beverage in their glasses promptly, flabbergasted by her consternation and quirking a dark, thin eyebrow quizzically, due to the fact Timothy has devoted himself to the church for a handful of decades, solemnly taking his vows of celibacy, poverty and chastity, in spite of his roots’ ginormous wealth.

“It’s alright. Just because I’m a priest and I’ve took a vow of not drinking, that doesn’t mean I can’t drink once in a while.” His nonchalance and wisdom were far from unamusing for the older lady by cutting her off curtly as they both savored their very first bites from the scrumptious dinner meal. “Anyway the meal is delighting.” Content smile creased across the younger man’s pale-pinkish, damp lips after savoring the first bite, whilst the former devotional sister of the church’s girlish, solely distinctive snigger clicked the roof of her mouth after munching her first bite and tossing in the platter the dinner knife, her hand managing to reach for the scotch glass with the poured liquor, sipping a handful of guiltless gulps, lacing her tongue with the saccharine lace of cognac.

“You’ve been always so kind and open-minded especially when it comes up to my culinary skills, Monsignor!”

“No wonder why I wanted this bottle of cognac to be a surprise for this dinner, in fact, I found it somewhere with your old paraphernalia!”

Unconsidered silence arched between the both adults, masticating their dishes in silence as the sole background noises were echoing the austerely hushed office were their jaws operating the chunks of pot roast, tickling their tongues and frittered as ocean of puzzle fragments until their throats managed double gulps.

“I’d like to know from where you obtained this cognac.” The childlike inquisitiveness in the British aristocrat’s rhetorical enquiry reasoned the blonde’s smug, mischievous grin, perching in the corners of her damp, naturally roseate lips.

“I can’t tell you that. I can’t leak every secret of mine but I’ll tell you that it’s the last ever bottle around that is findable.” In the meanwhile, strong fingers, grasping spirally the scotch glass surreptitiously messaged in a mere eye scan of Timothy’s glance something discreet though his mind didn’t ultimately formulate what she truly meant with it except sipping of her glass of aged liquor. “Don’t ya like the cognac, Timothy?” Somehow even when they didn’t use to be that close during her nunnery, the blonde quickly found herself feeling like home in the British compatriot’s trustworthy company, judging his calm, bashful and benevolent nature.

“I like it. It’s a great addition to the good company and the spectacular food!” After his first savor from the cognac, his jaw line constricted the liquor, oddly fluttering his eyelids shut in tiny slits though his body and tongue approved the liquor, figuring out his taste eventually. Although his vows, the holy man bizarrely found himself liking the alcoholic beverage and cushioning the judgmental, fierce God’s glares, casting a shadow  on his parchment, young-looking yet complexion. “I’ve to admit I have drunk a few times liquor ever in my entire life.”

“It’s not bad spoiling yarself with liquor on special occasions and events, but why a few times only?” Incredulity crinkled her eyebrows’ cusp, raising an arch of her eyebrow in his straightforward confession.

“I wasn’t in the drinking at all and my mother’s tremendously pious, telling me that drinking leads to sin and God will punish me for my lack of control. I followed her advice otherwise though I secretly drunk a few times during special occasions liquor without her knowledge.” Frown twisted upon the middle-aged woman’s rosy-coloured lips.

“Your mother can say whatever she wants, but it doesn’t hurt to drink a bit from it at all sometimes.” The topic about the alcohol was dumbfoundingly sensitive for Jude, recalling the events from her past life as a promiscuous jazz nightclub singer, where the alcohol was the medicine to numb the heartbreaks and severe pain and agony of her first ever romantic relationship with her former fiancé. “Anyway I’d like to propose a toast. In the name of our friendship!” The suddenness of ebbed off frown, replaced with an optimistic, glowing smile, smeared across her lips glinted bliss and controversial hints of bewilderment. Bewilderment in the closeness of their inseparable bond the rustiness of its chains they used to have until it rusted after her abolishment as an administrator of the facility as the abolishment from the church and stripping her off from each clerical possession was partly his responsibility. Despite the relentless circumstances, they raised a toast, looking up at one another’s faces during the raised toast and throughout sipping their glasses of cognac.

The dinner and the conversation flow smoothly as an attempt of dins’ congregation in the wee hours of the evening. Notwithstanding the circumstances, the ambitious Monsignor avoided delivering hints of Mary Eunice, in order to arouse the older lady’s peculiar inquisitiveness and starting with the swarm of questions, outnumbering the positivism and harmony they shared along within one night after the betrayal. Timothy slyly reconsidered it wouldn’t be a good idea of leaking any information about the current occupation and residence of the former Briarcliff’s administrator. He had no intentions of upsetting her at all.

As soon as their glasses and plates were emptied, the blonde removed the tap of cognac’s fragile bottle until the younger man’s pristinely clumsy, strong fingers webbed, forming a spider web on the rim of the scotch glass, declining for a bonus drink offer, shaking his head meekly.

“Wouldn’t ya care for one more glass, Monsignor?”

“No, no, it was enough!” Although the declined offer for a second glass of liquor, the corners of his mouth scorched potently and his anatomy was ferociously singening his bones and muscles, reclining carelessly on his chair though the bulge, punctured beneath his trousers and heavy sigh elaborating his lungs. “I don’t want the liquor to come a bit too much for me.” Eventually the British aristocrat has never felt that relaxed to bones. Idiotically uncontrollable grin inclined his facial muscles to manipulate his cherub lips upward. His chocolate brown pools with the warmest chocolate mottling his irises fatigue-shimmered, squinting up at the Bostonian who poured for herself a second glass of cognac, thereafter swigging it within a couple of seconds greedily. Speechlessness illuminated his rebuking, giddy due to the inebriation stare at her for the alcohol taking a toll on both of them.

All of a sudden, the middle-aged lady revolved, approaching intoxicatingly him. Just a handful of inches proximity was enough uncomfortable for him when the gap was almost sealed with her petite frame, clad in patient gown with a few undone buttons, partly exposing her collarbone and cleavage’s milky as oyster-white, insatiable flesh. Electrifying beehive of goosebumps pinked his epidermis at her seductive, succumbing ogle with arcanely boiling emotions and feelings behind her promising honey brown embers, igniting its pyro barriers. They were unreadable at all. Only Judy knew what exactly maintained as an ablaze flame, caging inside her pupils. Her smile was unusually slinky, wearing a thousand patterns of flirtatiousness and seduction. Flourishing its own threats and consequences as already planted seeds of the patient Succubus and her infernal intentions. His chocolate brown irises surveyed her from head to toes, having a tough time managing to gulp a lump in the full, graceful profile of the love of his life. Silence hushed the limping words, whether dark or light on their tongue tips.

Once the former religious woman of the cloth noticed agitatedly the aroused crotch area, salivating unknowledgeably her pink lips, solely distinctive for her in the enticing sensation of saliva perching its light sticky rivulet, forming horizontally her lower plumpish lip’s line.

“Timothy, may I ask ya a personal question?” Meek, sheepish nod in solemn agreement encouraged her to resume her monologue. “Have you ever thought of being married? How about having children?” In the interval, she crouched down, squatting beside him as the neckline of her rigidly shapeless patient robe’s unbuttoned buttons exposed the neckline’s aperture of full, firmly shaped, far from adequate for his eye breasts, having a clear view of them, while eyeing enamoredly the gap between her pallid complexion and the diabolically scoffing cleavage. “Or at least, wonder what it would be like having a relationship with a woman?” His vortex of thoughts attempted to formulate his thoughts, clashing with the delirious horniness to reply her posed question with the most possible, rational even honest reply she’s seeking. Delirious horniness intoxicatingly affecting his masculine anatomy and the former nun fathoming how beneficially affected every man with her cure. The technical and mechanical fragments of seduction even the least experienced in sexual and romantic activities, goading the both sides equally though slightly more the pristine, taintless. After abundance of men teasing enticingly and hedonistically and being between her legs and being spellbinded by her touch and charm, consequently the British aristocrat wasn’t exceptional candidate at all.

“I’ve thought about it, but as you can see, I’m already married to God and I took a vow!” Meantime, her fingers managed to low, reaching for his charcoal black, wool blazer, playing with the fabric absentmindedly. “We can’t do this.” The motion of her feather fingertips cradling the blazer’s fabric was scorchingly ticklish for Timothy, opting to stifle a chuckle, following in the corner of his ember the delicate, succumbing touch.

“I see the blazer is quite uncomfortable. Why don’t we take it off? Huh?” The hoarseness in her Bostonian lilt was tingling angelic anthems for her.

At the moment, the Monsignor protracted his muscular, toned arms in the air, aiding somehow his rara avis to strip off his jacket from his frail skeleton with an ease, consequently wrapped around his chair’s back.

Sheepishly boyish smirk blurred the corners of his baby pinkish, cognac-stained lips, while her fingers swayed up to his chestnut, soft hair, playfully raking its hairs. He lifted up his gaze, meeting her, glowing and complacent than never.

“Jude, what are you doing?” His honeyed, low voice conjugated the enquiry, almost absentminded and dedicated to the recurring touch and play with his chestnut hair, longing for it up to timeless termination.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Her lips parted in a mischievous scoff, scarcely flattening her upper lip, leaning against him as their faces divided them almost no inch distance. Her warm, coq-au-vin and cognac-stained breath fanned lightly his facial skin as a cradling, mother touch, caressing her newborn child’s cheek. “Don’t you like it at least?”

“Jude, I-I cannot!” Stutter continuously limped on his tongue, crystalline, fat impulsive tears rimmed his brittle eyelids in his inability to control, whereas Jude’s other petite, smooth hand’s fingers lowered to his chin, tracing his jaw line delicately. “I took a vow. We just can’t fool around!”

“So as did ya fool around and kept yar vow whenever I go ya go, did you keep it?” Reminder in the sharpness of her resonance didn’t startle him with exception of shuffling bashfully his feet, his hand reached for hers that was cradling jaw, the largeness pawing hers and fitting ideally. Then her hand manipulated his by ushering to claw her round, firm breast. Gasp surged from the top of her frail lungs, warmness bristled her epidermis in the molting sensation. “It was a promise and do not pretend we have never promised something each other!” The flat surface of his palm cupped her breast, unfamiliarity soon elaborated his mind and the true notion of what exactly aroused symptoms of horniness not only from the point of a man’s view, but also woman’s. Altruistically assimilating the both sides’ effects of the sinful touch, consciously breaking a vow.

Suddenly the reins of his vows no longer knotted his thoughts, impulsively allowing his solely free muscly, strong arm to dangle around her waist, guiding her to seat on his lap as his bulge pokes her rear. The lethal silence suffocated the pleas and protests, dying in a whisper in their throats. He swallowed hard when he felt her rear rotating, whilst the blonde readjusted her seating position, snaking graciously her drop-dead gorgeous, leanly long as towers legs around his waist, trapping him with no inch of breathing properly for a single second. His tongue verged conjugating a plea or another bland, insurmountable caution, keeping the former sleazy nightclub singer’s wits about his vows and his menaced career. Her fingers knotted the nape of his neck, their lips barely an inch from one another.

“I-It’s true!”

“So as it’s true, just keep to yar word!”

Chapter Text

 

 

Author's Note: I'd like to apologize for not updating this story for almost 4 days, nevertheless, I had a bit author's block and I was crucially focused on getting a new chapter of Wings of Light, because I don't want to postpone with more than a week with the updates. Furthermore, I'd like to apologize if the smut is slightly early, nevertheless, after the smut more dynamic roller coaster of drama and trials are awaiting the protagonists as much as answered questions to the readers.

Anyway I hope you like and enjoy this chapter though it's only smut and it's nothing interesting at all. ;) <33

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All of a sudden, when their porcelain, alabaster faces’ proximity sewed the gap with barely an inch, almost their facial skins brushing delicately along with their cherub lips, unnerved gasp floated subtly Timothy’s mouth, the amalgamation of warmness, coq-au-vin and cognac stained breath fanning the former pious sister of the church’s face, mapping her overall epidermis with electrifying goosebumps. Her succumbing hazelish-brown embers, ignited infernal flame of lust, desire, love and warmness, vibrantly contrasting the ambitious Monsignor’s cocoa brown embers, igniting sheer innocence, celibacy, warmness and somewhat desire and love. The desire and lust were foreign for him. He’s like a curios child, just like Adam and exploring the outer world of the hallowed icons, the abbeys, the papacy’s arms and the prayers which were weaker than the devil and shadows’ malicious intentions, reckoning the foreign emotions and feelings even sexual experience.

Perhaps Timothy could be advised in his earlier years by his parents or older siblings that one day he’d be head over heels in love with a woman of his dreams and most of all create their own stable family with adorable and precious children. On the contrary, the member of the clergy couldn’t listen to his family’s advises and missing the boat of being a family man within joining the church shortly after entering in the timeless, crudely cold world of the adulthood where there’s no second chance or rather, the second chances were rarely regarded as a third wheel for its precursors to learn from their own mistakes and try their best to raise in the highest tiers of success.

Fear of rejection and stopping in a halt the romantic act, the younger man’s breathing was heavier and rustier than moments ago. He’d to admit that his rare bird out of her once bones-clad in conservatively dark wool, rigidly shapeless attires of the church and having a better vision of her full profile and petite-frame were just far from disappointing for his pristine chocolate brown pools, scintillated by the patient Succubus. Her seductive caramel brown pools, engulfing the priest’s self-esteem and scintillating luster rimming the warmest, most vibrant caramel brown fixed on him. The most radiant, keeping the deepest, most somber secrets and debarring its strawberry tongue to reproduce the secret’s anthem smile, scintillating him along with her ogle. Her lion mane of disheveled old Hollywood gilded tresses, piled up on her dainty shoulders and framing exquisitely her round, full profile. Even without lavish gloss, the tresses were astoundingly distracting.

After the ambitious Monsignor’s pale-pinkish lips pressed in a hardening, sultry kiss on the patient’s roseate, soft as satin lips which complacently surprised the patient, due to the fact, the love of her life takes the first further step, whereas his both mammoth, veiny hands steadily held her slim waist. Their irises fluttered shut, molting in the kiss and alienating from their once solemnly took vows especially in British compatriot’s case. What it mesmerized the older lady was that the holy man wasn’t forced and everything seemed realistically natural. Oblivious reality muted their concerns and compunctions.

Despite the younger man’s career was menaced to go downhill after getting laid with one of the patients behind the dull infamous asylum’s walls and earning the rebuking, judgmental glares of God that were darted to him and his lover, who’ll own his virtue, intoxication sedated his muscles, bones and his thoughts by impeding them to function adequately and reminders in the form of dark inner voices echo him before his impulse.

In the meantime, his pristine, strong fingers cradled her slim, breathtaking curves through her rigidly shapeless patient gown. Jude’s long as flute stings fingers managed to reach for his chestnut hair, combing it with her fingers’ knuckles as a rich, mature harvest.

As the kiss progressed, growing into ferociously savage and savoring one another’s sweetness of their mouths, their berry-coloured, cognac-stained wet tongues commenced dancing though the former pious sister of the church could promptly note something was off by judging how childlike insecurity peeled off the plate, stable armor of self-confidence from the British aristocrat’s incessantly throbbing heart in his ribcage. The heart rate’s significant increase was catastrophically for him, blush flushing his neck whilst his strawberry-coloured tongue danced awkwardly, uneasily against Jude’s.

“Is anything wrong, Timothy? Do ya want us to stop it?” Suddenly the blonde murmured an enquiry in low, husky voice until she plugged her tongue into his mouth, deepening in a French kiss without breaking it off.

“No, no! Of course not! I’m just scared I’m not doing it properly.” At the moment, the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer’s rear was riding his thighs, whilst her folds were already drenched and hankering shrillingly after the bulge poked haphazardly her pubic bone and seeked its cavern. “And I truly want it.”

“Don’t worry, darling! You’re doing it definitely amazing.” Girlish, coy giggle tingled angelic anthems into his sensitive ears along with her guttural, rusty moans and groans. “I’ll teach ya only if ya take me to the bed in the other room.” Meekly the aspiring man of the cloth lugged by the waist the blonde, scooting up to the en-suite bedroom without breaking off the French kiss, whose still firm, ivory teeth for her age suckled on his lower baby-pinkish, plumpish lip.

The Boston, honeyed lilt in accentuating the friendly nickname to Timothy sent shivers of pleasure, sweetness and mild embarrassment down his body until he dropped the former devotional woman of the cloth on the bed after stepping inside the en-suite bedroom.

“Now get me rid off this tiresome gown!” Meantime, his fingers clumsily lifted up her patient robe’s hem up to her abdomen until it was stripped off from her frail skeleton, tossed in a discarded, disheveled manner on the cemented, chilly flooring. Jude’s petite frame was donned in nothing else than her mere pair of oyster-white underwear, sensually hugging her buttocks and her round, firmly full breasts as they broke off the kiss for awhile, whilst Timothy’s pulse exhorted him to take off his sweater along with his shirt after undoing the headstrong buttons and peel off like a shed snake skin from his figure. The gloat, stifling his despondency contoured his charming, yet youthful facial features. “Let me unbuckle it for you!” Suddenly a petite, stubborn hand pawed his leather belt, catching him off guard when he verged to unbutton the last buttons of his sheerly white, cozy shirt as she dragged him by unbuckling the belt with her dexterous, ardently anticipating to tease his member and its purple eagerness glimmer its fountain of vanilla semen after playing her own cards right.

In the interval, the man of the cloth mildly leaned as his hands were working on her bra, consequently unclasping it in delicate motion, whilst his masculine, satin fingers massaged her shoulder blades featherly, admiring its anatomy, whereas peppering her shoulders and downward to her mid-back with tender, dainty kisses. Once the older lady snatched the charcoal black slacks from his long as towers legs until they pooled his ankles and discarding them with the rigid, tiresome gown, he climbed on top of the middle-aged woman as he shifted his lips back to her delicate, pale neck, peppering it with feather, affectionate kisses until they escalated to ferociously aggressive and using technically his teeth to nibble its alabaster flesh.

Meantime, sore, hedonistic moans and groans floated from her throat, whilst her fingers drifted up to his shirt, peeling it off from his toned torso and bluntly chucking it with the pile of stripped garments, subsequently her fingers were playing in recurring rhythm with his dark hair, admiring its fresh, crispy softness.

“Oh fucking Christ!” What the Bostonian cussed was far from avertable, cocking back her head and giving him a better access to her alabaster neck, chewing on her lower plump lip cocksurely. “Don’t stop! Yar doing a great job.” Encouragement laced her persistent caution, tightly shutting her eyelids. Then her medium-sized fingernails scraped downward his toned, coated in a generous layer of perspiration back, leaving wild tracks of her feminine, steamy territory. Light-heavy, freshly mauve hickeys tinted Judy’s neck after Timothy teased its delicate, alabaster flesh by slithering his berry-coloured, damp lips downward, indicating squarely her skinny chest until his lips contacted her bosom, cupping with one of his colossal, smooth hands her firm, round breast, whilst his strawberry-coloured, wet tongue twirled and teased her erected nipple and mauve areola until his lips contracted, suckling on her erected, tiny nipple. “Oh God!” The former sleazy nightclub singer bleated series of moans and groans. Meantime, the chilly common climate in the mental institution pinpricked their exposed skins with bristled goosebumps and cooling down with unease their already warmed bodies in a swept up warm embrace.

Thereafter his lips returned to her in a hardening, steamy kiss whilst she guided his solely free hand down to her oyster-white, cotton panties by kneading the bundle of nerves in slow pace initially until coziness dwelled in their embrace.

“Oh Jude, you’re a perfection!” The British compatriot was in awe to admire the love of his life’s insatiable, breathy curves as he planted series of affectionate, light kisses all over her small, round stomach after the brief kiss they melted in. In the meanwhile, her hard clit yearned for his touch and his fingers lingering in its hardness.

“So as yar actually the beauty here and yar made for me!”

“I’ve to agree we’re made for each other but you’re the beauty there.” He corrected her curtly after yanking her panties which was the sole garment that hugged her petite frame and accumulating with the rich pile of discarded attires. In the interim, the younger man started nipping the swollen bud with his teeth, scraping its sensitive skin and salivating it, whilst his hands spread widely her legs, giving him a better access to her core. “Oh my goodness!”

“Yar mouth is doing wonders to me.” Judy ran slowly but surely her fingers all over her torso, admiring her ageless swan curves and twirling his pink tongue circa her erected clit, while the Bostonian clawed her breasts in the palms, pressing the flat surface of her creamy palms onto her hard nipples. After teasing her swollen bud with tongue, throughout the tad of his thumb rubbed on circles steadily and swiftly. Meanwhile, the former licentious jazz nightclub singer rotated her hips. “Fucking Christ! Don’t stop!” She reprimanded with raspy, rusty undertone, mewling past his ear after he grabbed her lips in a sultry, brief kiss whilst her fingers were working on his waistband boxers persistently until they were tossed carelessly out of their love nest at last. He finally was on top of her and grabbing his member by massaging her drenched folds with the hardness of his member, louder moan floating from the top of her brittle lungs.

Within a half a minute she positioned his member at her entrance, opening their eyelids, in order to admire one another’s enchanting facial features seconds before the thrusts. In the interval, they cupped one another’s faces in the palms of their smooth, milky as vanilla hands as their bare chests were pressed, sensing the vehement heart rate, hammering altogether. Megawatt grin mouthed the blonde’s mouth, whereas the controversial ambiguous smile of insecurity and complacency parted the British aristocrat’s pale-pinkish lips.

“Don’t tell me ya will regret it once we’re done!” The muffled whisper sounded like a siren’s song after escaping Judy’s naturally roseate, plumpish lips as she bit her lower lip, reluctant to caution him once taking his vow, there’s no way to bring back the time and pay for his irreparable mistake. “Are you completely sure you want it?” The intensifying silence was ambiguous. Far from explainable were his intentions of his virtue being took by nobody else than Jude in her case. A couple of years of stable friendship and building trust together along with the haphazard, arcane betrayal of his blind naivety in believing in the lies which were a conspiracy against the former nun to strip her off from every clerical possession of hers and snatching it violently from her bare hands resuscitated controversial feelings and emotions of toxicity. Between love and hate, between mistrust and trust, between dark and light, between chaos and harmony. Or rather, his inebriated condition commanded every cell and muscle of his, muting his rationality and afterwards on the morning after regretting for giving his  virtue to nobody else than a falsely committed against her will a patient and opting to conceal every tangible piece of evidence of his impurity. What Judy didn’t want to remind herself after combating the scourge’s tribulations of alcohol what were the effects and affects of tipsiness, formulating a sequence of consequences which are rueful, whistling its own requiem in the barrens of past’s ruins and mistakes, whether irreparable or reparable.

“I do!” He managed a humble, meek nod as his hands clawed her shoulders.

Initially, the thrusts were slow and painful, whereas the older woman advised the love of her life to rotate and grind his hips until the wings of self-consciousness flapped floppily, thus dwelling out of his heart. Uncontrollable, impulsive moans and groans floated from their damp lips. Thick, marvelous layer of perspiration glimmered on their all naked like Adam and Eve bodies with Jekyll and Hyde’s personalities, brightly contrasting one another.

The entire night was actually their instead just for a few hours sitting on desk, eating and sharing with each other shenanigans.

In the darkest night, the most palish, luminous stars glimmered as a beehive of startled bees, buzzing frequently in their own home.

The hesitancy and fear’s barriers were already demolished like once majestically built sand castles before the tempest’s apocalypse.

“Oh Timothy!” The former promiscuous nightclub singer mewled in low, velvety voice his first name, her fingernails grazing headstrongly his toned, muscular stark back, indicating her own territory. “You’re unbelievably blowminding!” The thrusts were quicker and less painful as if solely the pleasure and self-indulgence weren’t foreign to the couple at all. “Faster!”

“You’re so tight!” Breathless reprimand grunted when his tongue struggled to craft the unspeakable words which Timothy could never utter and has never uttered, blush touching their chubby, well-sculptured cheeks. “Rare bird!” Smug smirk troubled to curl upon Jude’s naturally rosy-coloured, cherub lips once he addressed her with the prominent nickname for his one of a kind lover.

The recalcitrant muscles of their thighs and hips synchronized, resuming their functioning as one, grinding and rotating on one another. In the interval, the core’s walls constricted firmly the erected member and their climaxes were approaching within a couple of thrusts.

“Fuck!” Assemble of shrilling, feverish moans and groans chanted in unison when the ambitious Monsignor collapsed on the former holy woman’s top after planting his seed inside her entrance and unplugging his cock. Meanwhile, the younger man flipped on the other side by lying against Jude, stilling his snaked muscly, strong arm around her waist, whilst the fingers kneaded the slim, swan curve of her shapely abdomen. Their eyes fluttered open lastly, looking up at each other with humongous desire, lust, warmness and love. “How I did?”

“You were undeniably wonderful. Don’t be so anxious!” The former devotional member of the church patted affably, faintly his muscular shoulder with the heel of her palm. The hoarseness in her chuckle didn’t ebb out. “For first time, I’ve to admit yar were all natural and that was just splendid.”

“Jude,” Benevolently calm, content smile beamed, wearing thousand patterns of merriness and glittering the most vibrant patterns. “I’m honored! And thank you for everything! For the dinner and to feel like a true man.”

“I must rather thank ya for the wonderful dinner and night we both had.” In the meanwhile, her dainty, elegant fingers absently, delicately cradled his sharp jaw line. All of a sudden, crystalline tears bubbled up in her honey brown orbs, sheening its crystal-clear rivulet, formed on her lower eyelids and slowly and steadily trickling its twin, fat tears on her cheeks to gather her garments and get back in her ward after the promised Friday coq-au-vin dinner night they had. Heartbreak tore her flimsy heart on trillions of glassy, frail pieces after the coq-au-vin dinner and making love to one another and possessing his virtue at last, pangs of conscience will gnaw her slowly but surely like a hunted prey until losing her sanity and hollow becomes home of her morality and conscience. Despite the former pious member of the church didn’t want to flee Timothy’s office, in fact, he’s the administrator with Sister Bernadette of the notorious facility and Judy was just a mere madwoman, committed against her will after being stripped off from her ecclesiastical possessions which was partly his responsibility. Further, the always in charge security guards and staff members will commence their search for a missing patient from her own cell. It was the little secret between the madwoman and the Monsignor. After savoring the forbidden fruit from the greenery highlands of Eden’s majestic, desolated garden.

The silence was far from predictable. It was haphazard. It was more intensifying than a prayer in silence and weeping on a deceased inner circle’s member gravestone. It was weaker, more feeble than the galore of questions, twirling and whirling in a vortex until their answer is delivered lastly.

Last but not least, the British aristocrat mused what was the symptom of the uneven silence, frown twisted across his baby pinkish lips, daubing with the tad of his thumb the drizzle of tears, questioning the hush and the suddenness of light rain.

“Jude, is anything wrong?” Within a half a minute no reply, nor piece of evidence of a direct, straightforward action, he quirked a dark, thick eyebrow, creases swimming across his forehead and eyebrows’ cusp. “Jude?”

“You didn’t hurt me, but I hate to say it and it’s because I can’t stay here any longer. I’m just a patient that should be in her ward for good night sleep instead of sneaking in the Monsignor’s office and ya know.” When she sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing with her nimble, delicate fingertips her temple until the blonde felt a mammoth, consolingly secure hand pawing her bare, well-carved elbow and fingers grappling it without releasing its grip.”You’re a priest and ya have yar own dreams and business, whilst I mustn’t put my nose in yar business at a-“

“Jude, stay here! Do not leave me all alone!” From the person she trusted the least and detested with every ounce of her being up to the man, she was head over heels in love again was inevitable for her.

“Look what, Timothy! You’re a priest and you’ll be appointed as a Cardinal very soon. Guards will start looking for me and yar goose will be cooked.” She cupped her face, flushing heavy, jaded sigh from her sensitive, flexible nostrils. “Think twice what do ya want actually more!”

“I just want you, Jude!” Suddenly he dragged her, tucking her warmly, conveniently under the duvet, their naked bodies snuggling in the coziness and lingering their muscles and bones, having no intentions of picking up her discarded garments and flee the austere office along with the linking bedroom.

“Yar drunk. I don’t believe you!”

“Believe me!” As soon as their porcelain, still young-looking complexions, overally shadowed by the pitch-black prospect of the en-suite bedroom barely shared an inch distance, he pecked a tender, feather kiss on the top of her head soothingly, cupping her cheek in the palm of his larger, protective hand. “Even if I’m drunk, it doesn’t matter. Just stay with me!”

“I’ll!” Within a few minutes the aspiring priest drifted off asleep just seconds before Judy was senseless, dedicated utterly to the beauty coma and wake up as early as possible and flee the love of her life’s office, in spite of she didn’t want to. “We’re just like Jekyll and Hyde! Two different people with completely different souls and roles in the life.” Meantime, her fingertips caressed gently, woefully his sharp jaw, admiring its masculine  structure that struck her about him, numbering his toned figure for a virgin man, who’s never crawled in a representative of the opposite sex’s bed and has never experienced anything romantic and sexually with a lady, whether his seniors or juniors.

The night the both lovers shared with each other not only expressed platonically in the coq-au-vin dinner, moreover in uniting their essences as one and fleshly is never going to be forgotten by Judy and Timothy even when they weren’t supposed to get laid and have interactions on deeper level.

Chapter Text

 

Author's  Note: I'd like to apologize for the lack of updates over this story for like a week or two, nevertheless, I wanted to take a break from this short story and I was out of ideas how to write the sequel. Furthermore, Wings of light and the one-shot series are already freshly updated and I didn't want to abandon them with lack of updates or delaying with the updates.  Anyway here we go with this trashy chapter, because it's nothing special unless you read it for yourselves. I hope you like and enjoy it as well! :))

 

 

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--- The Next Morning ---
--- 2nd of January, 1965 ---

The morning after approached quicker than the light summer zephyr, gently caressing the sand's lavish carpet, blanketing underneath the mist, crystalline sea.

The ambitious Monsignor's office along with the en-suite bedroom, linked with the austere office were once battlefield. Battlefield of scrumptious coq-au-vin dinner, shared with one another, resuscitating the ambience for the old good time's sake. Battlefield of opulent lust, desire and love. Wrinkled bedsheets and discarded bluntly garments on the flooring. Feather even shrilling moans and groans once echoed behind the four-wall rooms. Wide, marvelous thick waves, colliding through the dull walls of the old mental institution. They were rather like ghost whispers, swimming through the tempest of lethal silence as grave. Discarded garments replaced with invincible, painful emptiness.

The lust and desire were replaced with hollow's best friends. Or rather, the hollow's incarnation. Cavities, crying out loud for a change. A rich harvest of barrens. Emptiness. Sorrow. Loneliness. Compunction.

When the wee hours of the morning's hoary light filtered the en-suite bedroom through the battered window, a chilly blanket swaddled Timothy who wore nothing else. He was as naked as a newborn baby.

Once he muffled with the palm of his mammoth, smooth hand a mere yawn, fanning his epidermis and thereafter rubbing with his fashioned in balled fists his groggy cocoa brown jewels, the British aristocrat came to his senses at last, flipping on the other side of the bed and fathoming the crude circumstance of waking up in an empty bed. Waking in the emptiness with nobody else to snuggle in one another’s arms, nuzzle their noses in a tender Eskimo kiss. His Jude was missing and gone. It tore his hearts on trillions of glassy, flimsy pieces, shattered as a luxurious pile of frustration, heartbreak, compunction and misery.

Frustration as a great deal of disappointment for being unable to alter the circumstances and most of all, bring the time back.

Heartbreak for after making love to each other and most of all, giving his virtue to his one of a kind rara avis and her disappearance spoke volumes. He genuinely loved her with his entire heart and their feelings for each other drastically changed through the night. From the Monsignor and the patient, having a dinner for the old time sake up to the lustful lovers which was clearly impossible with a few exceptions.

Compunction with waterfall of questions, sprinkling in his mind and keep questioning himself was it worth. Was it worth giving his virtue to the former pious sister of the church? Was it worth having a coq-au-vin dinner with her? Was it worth allowing her to make a dinner for both of them on small scales? Was it worth even to raise the topic about Friday night?

The intoxication has already ebbed out from his frail skeleton so as the alcohol dwelled out of his blood.

Did the former nun opt somehow to bamboozle him and alluded him somehow to release her or at least a handful of patients? Did she have any secretive intentions? Were they part of her plan for escaping Briarcliff?

Moreover, the aspiring Monsignor didn’t have any benevolent and solid intentions of arranging her release soon unless the court proves her innocence and collect more evidence behind Frank’s brutal homicide which wasn’t committed by her both bare hands which aren’t capable of murdering anybody except in self-defense and endangering her life. Even having coq-au-vin dinners or friendly conversations with the former licentious jazz nightclub singer didn’t change the fact of keeping her behind the dull walls of the infamous asylum.

In the meanwhile, the British aristocrat bleated a grunt under his breath, coming to the conclusion that his garments and boxers were discarded on the floor and no attire hugged his tall figure. Further, his chestnut hair was scruffy and his chocolate brown orbs, glinting misery, heartbreak, frustration and solitude scanned the clock on his left side’s nightstand, reading approximately six and a half o’clock in the morning.

It was high time for him to get up and getting ready for the day. Crystalline, translucent tears rimmed his chocolate brown jewels after blinking a handful of times for a split second, sniffling until discovering on the other nightstand a plain note and recognizing ideally whose manuscript belonged to. It was Jude’s, of course. By judging her manuscript, it was exquisitely and intelligible written even through her swiftness and hasting to pour every impulsive thought, consequently constructing with it a sentence until it forms an intelligible paragraph lastly. His pale-pinkish lips were twisted in a pensive pout after retrieving his discarded ecclesiastical garments which were forming his work uniform and dressing up himself, progressing with the preparation for the ready. Subsequently he approached the nightstand and snatched with childlike inquisitiveness the note, perusing it through the elapsing seconds, ticking as an antique clock in his whirlpool of thoughts and his coffee brown jewels surveying warily the text.

 

To my darling Timothy,

Good morning! I’d like to apologize for dumping you on the same bed where everything happened the last night. From the old good friends we used to be up to lovers and giving your virtue to me delightfully. I wish I could be the first person you’ve ever woken up next to. First and foremost, if you’re about to blame yourself why you’re alone on the bed, it’s actually my fault. I’m still a patient and the guards will start looking for me through the halls and it’s going to be not only my fault for not being in my ward, but also, you know. Hopefully I didn’t upset you at all.

I’ve to admit that the last night was spectacular, Timothy! Thank you for giving me a chance to cook a dinner on smaller scales for the good old times sake and spend a few valuable hours together! It was a wonderful opportunity to be back together as friends, but I don’t know if I have told you this, I’ve always had impure thoughts of you nonetheless. Despite the betrayal and for using to hate you, I don’t know how everything returned back. With each day, my love for you grows rapidly. It’s indescribable. You’ve been always on my mind, no matter the horrible times we had together or either of us.

For a priest and the first time we had, you use that mouth of yours quite well which amuses me. It makes me wonder if you’ve always been a devout Christian especially a Catholic. I also realize, I know fewest important facts about you and your life in general. I’d love to get to know you better. At least, I’m trying to guess that your favorite color is actually…red? I’ll make sure to ask you more about yourself, because while I love the enigmatic, pious priest you’re exactly, I really want to know more about you.

My love for you is unarguably plenty. I can’t even describe with a thousand words paragraph my damned feelings and the way my heart covets you. I’ve never desired someone as much as I do you. There’s no thing I could change about you. You’re just perfection from your warm, benevolently eyes to your muscular, secure arms. I feel blessed for being called a rare bird and you liking my culinary skills.

I know how weird it’s going to sound but you’re absolutely cute. You don’t have any clue how your English accent is making me smile and it’s pretty attractive.

I wrote this note as an explaination, due to the circumstances that separate us. It’s not that because I don’t want every morning to wake up next to you and cuddle even feel your lips on mine. It’s because my yearn every morning you’re the first person ever waking up next to you and I hope you’re not feeling lonely in the morning, Pisceian. If you do, keep up in mind the unforgettable night we had.

I love you Timothy,

By Jude

 

 

Within a handful of minutes after reading the brief note, thus the British compatriot managed to swallow a lump in the back of his throat, bubbling up in his Adam’s apple. Heavy, relieved sigh flushed his toned chest and after scanning each word, poured in each paragraph brought him a dab of relief and sheer felicity which he’s never expected after fathoming his crude cruelty towards her for believing blindly Dr. Arden, the once possessed young sister of the church and the murderous Santa Claus Leigh Emerson. A soft, childlike smile bloomed upon his baby-pinkish lips. The dolor fell off from his porcelain, still youthful complexion in a jiffy. His coffee brown embers ignited the most fiery, vibrant coffee nuance, mottling his round, huge irises. His heart rate increased surreptitiously significant, drumming recurringly vehement in his ribcage. Bold blush touched featherly his chubby, well-sculptured cheeks. The younger man molted after taking his time to survey the fragments of the brief note. Little did he know how his rare bird is full of surprises even as a patient, committed against her will and her once possessions along with remarkable paraphernalia snatched from her hands.

All of a sudden, Sister Bernadette rapped a couple of times on the office door, keeping his wits about her presence and his office phone on the hardwood bureau was ringing. Meanwhile, he rolled vertically the note and surreptitiously put it in his charcoal black slacks’ pocket and scooting up to his hardwood bureau to answer right away the phone which was urgently.

“Monsignor, may I come in?” The stern, unwelcoming southern lilt of the head nun of the facility nagged at the younger man, hesitantly seating on his desk and grabbing the earpiece.

“Hold on a second, Sister! I’ve an urgent phone call and give me a minute only, okay?” After answering the phone call, consequently the earpiece was clung to his sensitive ear. The mirth petering off of his parchment, youthful complexion within a second, swallowing a lump, bubbling up in his Adam’s apple and taking a deep breath. “H-Hello?”

“Monsignor! It’s a relief to call you. We’ve something urgent to discuss!” The sternness punctured the senior woman of the cloth’s Bostonian lilt, whereas Timothy gnawed on his lower plumpish lip and his heart sunk in oblivion.

Chapter Text

 

--- *** ---

"Monsignor, we shall talk urgently!" The rustier, huskier accent of the senior woman of the cloth emanating from outside reprimanded, whereas her sufficiently wrinkled due to the inevitable aging process balled fist rapped frequently on the office door. An eerie flat line indicated her incessant sternness, contouring her heavy wrinkles and unfriendly aura, oozing of her.

The heart rate of Timothy increased rabidly rapid, affecting surrealy the drums throbbing in his ribcage, armoring the heart's intensity and the pulsations pulsating vehemently into his ears, tingling the clear Boston lilt of the Mother Superior.

Initially the thought-provoking intention of accepting the forthcoming phone call crossed his mind and swimming through the chaotic, hazy tempest of dilemma, whether answering the forthcoming phone call which is one-off or on the contrary, miss the phone call and have a professional, grave conversation with the head nun of the mental institution. What Timothy reconsidered was wisely objecting for a few minutes his co-worker, in fact, once he misses an important phone call, otherwise the priest would miss exceedingly prominent piece of news.

"Good morning, Mother Superior!" After clearing his throat with a light-heavy, hoarse sigh, thereafter his honeyed timbre accentuated his seriousness. "What we're supposed to discuss urgently?" After scratching with his solely free colossal, veiny hand the top of his head with his small, neatly trimmed fingernails, his eyebrows narrowed in quirk.

"It's about Jude and two more innocent patients, whose place isn't exactly Briarcliff." The senior, revered woman of the cloth emphasized her utterance. "Their names are Kit Walker, the falsely accused as Bloodyface and Lana Winters, a journalist and reporter. Jude told me everything! They're pretty innocent and they should be released today."

"Mr. Walker and Miss Winters will be released within a few hours, however," A heavy, fresh breath coursed through the British aristocrat's brittle lungs, glancing back at the office door to make sure that Sister Bernadette didn't disappear. "I'm afraid Jude should be kept for a bit longer, in fact, her innocence isn't proved and her cure shall continue!" Suddenly what the younger man could hear as a baleful echo through the earpiece was Mother Claudia's baleful scowl, tingling notorious tunes to his ear, supporting his chin with his clumsily pristine fingers, cradling his jaw line surreptitiously and rolling dramatically, hesitantly his round, big cocoa brown jewels, glinting indecisiveness and glacial coldness, blanching the vibrant nuances. “Her daily cares, regularly taken on doses medicaments and prayers are still ongoing.” His strong-willed nature was confronting the dilemma which the senior nun was confining his comfort zone and individual decisions as a director of the madhouse. What it criminally surprised him was that the blonde has contacted somehow with her mentor discreetly and plotted Grace, Lana and Kit’s arranged release, in spite of Mother Claudia’s insistence her protégé to join them. Still, childlike inquisitiveness spiked his thoughts and guilty pleasurable impulse to enquire the Mother Superior. The blood in his veins boiled earnestly and lava overflowing his capillaries.

"Monsignor," The haphazard fritter of his flimsy heart, tearing off on trillions of glassy pieces and shattering as a lavish cataract of heartache's fragments, fathomed hesitantly the sequence of keeping the love of his life jailed behind the dull walls of the facility. His baby-pinkish, chapped lips twisted in a frustrated frown, indicating his frustration and speechlessness even his inability to alter the law. Furthermore, Mother Claudia deeply knew that her own protégé would never commit homicide even towards an employee, due to the senior holy woman knew personally her protégé for more than a decade and acknowledging her former guilty pleasures, computing her gloomy secrets and her tough life since an early age. The former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer would never be involved in a heinous deed, reckoning a homicide. "But also Grace will be released!" Meantime, the ambitious Monsignor stiffened in his chair, tasting the dehydrated, bitter corners of his mouth with a budging tongue.

"Grace mustn't be released, so as Jude! An ax murderer and a madwoman aren't supposed to be free."

"Father Howard, as Mother Superior I insist if these both patients aren't released from Briarcliff immediately," The baleful timbre, accentuating the revered nun's caution, hissing nonchalantly, whereas the clergyman was absently stilling his fingers on his jaw, the pads of his thumbs delicately brushing his alabaster facial skin. "Otherwise you will lose your position as irresponsibility to my injunction!" After clearing his throat with nonchalant, aloof cough, the younger man bit his lower cherub lip. What the menacing caution of Mother Claudia did was startling Timothy. After the tough hard work and diligence and owing his rare bird an enormous credit for the aid along efforts through the years to pursue and accomplish his blinding celestial dream and rise in the higher tiers of the church, he hasn't envisioned his clerical possessions being yanked from his stark hands. His pre-morning humor was mopish, extraordinarily affecting the syllables and vowels, swimming through his throat and tongue. The absence of hydration, consumed food and morning coffee even smoked cigarette were the true symptoms of his mopish, fishy humor. The joys of the last night and the intoxication, relinquishing his virtue to the former holy woman were the sole remnants of his merriness and explicitly, unspeakably inebriating memories and playing the major role of Timothy Howard, who he’s eventually. Not the pious, altruistic and aspiring Monsignor.

“Hold on a second,” After stilling his fingers, curled around the earpiece that was clung to his ear, his only free hand’s fingers unwrapped around his jaw and lowered down to his desk’s drawers with the rich patient’s file and rummaging for Lana, Kit, Grace and Jude’s documents to jot down his signature as a responsible director of the madhouse. Consequently the patient’s file with the documents was tossed on the hardwood bureau and scattered at the free scale space and retrieving his pen.

 

--- *** ---

 

Shortly after the British compatriot had a phone conversation and thereafter a business discussion even in the wee hours of the morning with Sister Bernadette, thus he left his office, in order to inform the recently released patients they’re already free to gather their garments and luggage even call them a taxi to drive them wherever their dream destination is situated.

It was almost nine o’clock in the morning with its usual hoary light filtering the expansive common room with the tedious symphony of babbling and hysterically bursting out laughing and bewailing inmates even the bangs of their heads against the brick walls and the frequently playing sinister French song Dominique.

Judy was accompanying Lana, Kit and Grace, although at first they’re murderously antagonizing her for her harsh, dogged treatment towards the unblemished younger adults with her strictness and the canes, welting and wounding their stark rears, besides tinting and scarring sorely painful their buttocks. Howsoever, still there are always second chances even for the sinners and the former antagonists in their stories and realms. The formula of the atonement they fulfilled was goodwill, diplomacy and the revelations. Moreover, they’re getting along so much lately, explaining the platonic friendships Jude made through the past days with Kit, Grace even Lana, thanks to her despondent and disheveled appearance and condition she’s recently confided in.

The horde of adults were seating alongside each other on the tattered, threadbare couch, whereas taking drags at their cigar lengths and blowing grizzled smokes through their nostrils and pink, chapped mouths.

Dominique, nique, nique! S'en allait tout simplement! Routier pauvre et chantant! En tous chemins, en tous lieux,

“Lana, let’s make a deal!” While the young couple was conversating one another, Jude leaned against the homosexual, her roseate, chapped lips scarcely brushing Lana’s earlobe, coated with scum and filth due to the poor hygiene that the asylum has supplied the inmates. The velvety, firm accent of the middle-aged woman spoke an arcane language for Lana, eavesdropping to her former tormentor’s injunction.

“Sure!” The homosexual swallowed bittersweetly the lump, bubbling up in her throat, squinting in the corner of her coffee brown pool the former woman of the cloth, glancing back in each corner of the common room, making sure she hasn’t heard a foreign sound that isn’t associated with the crude reality and obscuring her mirages after the daily, regular doses of medicine she’s swallowed or at least, pretending in front of the orderlies and staff members to take the medicaments have muddled her vortex of thoughts.

“As I’ve spoken to Mother Claudia to ask for a special permission from the Monsignor to arrange your, Kit and Grace’s releases very soon,” After sharp exhale coursed her slender, ragged torso, seconds before resuming her utterance with the epilogue of the deal the blonde has plotted actually. “Expose this institution and its atrocities’ remnants, right?” After taking another drag at her cigarette, the former sleazy nightclub singer puffed a translucent foggy dim, unfurling in the further corners of the common room, licking greedily, proudly her roseate, chafed cherub lips.

“Yes! With my whole heart and burning hatred to this unholy place, I’ll illuminate everything.” In the meantime, the journalist managed a nod in solemn agreement, a complacent, cocksure smile decorating her pallid due to the lack of daily sunlight fertilizing her flesh with healthy light, adorned with significant, light-heavy plications after the loss of Wendy, discovering the true face of Bloodyface and most of all, the unwanted pregnancy with Bloodyface’s child.

Il ne parle que du bon Dieu! Il ne parle que du bon Dieu! À l'époque ou Jean-sans-Terre! D'Angleterre était le roi!

“That’s actually our deal, Miss Lana Banana!” After the friendly, kindhearted emphasis of the mocking nickname Judy was calling the reporter, all of a sudden, the three young adults and the blonde were snapped out of their company’s attention, shifting their attentions directly to the British compatriot after pushing the double door, his elegant, masculine footsteps’ monotonous clicks dancing against the cemented flooring and approaching the shabby couch. Silence was consuming Kit and Grace after the older brunette nudged them, keeping their wits about the director of the facility’s outstanding arrival in the sufficiently expansive room. “The Monsignor!” The Bostonian opted to muffle her whisper, stilling her cherub, dry lips after swallowing a lump, budding up in her throat until her muscles flexed freely.

“I spoke with Mother Claudia and arranging your releases! You’re no longer patients in Briarcliff.” Initially the horde of patients were beyond mesmerized it was too real their liberation from the madhouse’s inadequate care flickered up widely opened the ocean of dark jewels, transfixed on the ambitious Monsignor. The velocity of their instilling heart beats intensified unrealistically after the news were delivered to them as a warm welcome for the beginning of the day. Unlike Lana and Kit’s flabbergast and nonplus contouring their youthful facial attributes, Grace and Jude were yet questioning Timothy’s words with childlike disbelief, rebuke prickling their epidermis with electrifying goosebumps, indicating their ethereal, heavenly euphoria of the achieved freedom at last, thanks to Mother Claudia’s interference in the inmates’ imprisonment conflict. “Furthermore, there’s going to be a taxi called in a couple of minutes and driving you to your dream destination!” Once they took a final drag at the cigar lengths, afterwards they tossed them on the cemented flooring, stubbing them out with their slipper-shoed feet firmly and lifting up their rears from the sofa lastly.

Dominique, notre père,! Combattit les Albigeois. Dominique, nique, nique! S'en allait tout simplement!

 

What it boggled the former nun was that her mentor is also responsible for her release, although the fresh memories of her personal conversation with the senior member of the clergy paying a visit to the mental hospital were far from an unrequited dream.

As soon as the young adults fled the common room, suddenly the British aristocrat broke the ice as his rara avis stopped in a halt with her meek escort, in order to have a personal conversation, involving both of them solely and nobody else as participants.

“Jude,”

“I’d like to know why I’m released from Briarcliff, in fact, your decision to keep me for longer for the cure and taking my medicine and praying are in force!” The blonde’s insistence in her childlike curiosity to discover the true answer for her arranged release in the foreshadowing truth.

“Let’s discuss it outside instead in front of the patients,” After Timothy cut her off curtly and ushering her to flee the common room in a jiffy until their figures stood beside the double door and dim light, abysmal hallway foreshadowed the final moments of the former business partners inside the mental hospital. “Jude, the Mother Superior threatened me if I don’t release you and Grace, I’ll be removed from my position and the diocese will count my days!” Suddenly the clergyman managed to duck his head, fathoming the limited time that was elapsing smoothly, but far from sluggishly with his rare bird. Woeful smile broke haphazardly the younger man’s expression. His heart ached intensely, spotlighting across his chest. “But you, everybody is released due to your wish Kit and Lana to be the first ones out, because they’re completely innocent!” His English lilt accentuated his lowered voice though his coffee brown embers showed galore of emotions. The Bostonian noticed the woeful demeanor of her lover, alluding their farewell moment. Ruefully beaming at him, her quivering, slim fingers reached for his broad, muscly shoulder to paw it affably, squeezing it emboldeningly to meet her gaze.

“Thank you for everything! For the last night, allowing me to cook a dinner on small scales for both of us only and for the freedom ya have given to me and the souls that are far from repenting to belong there!” In the interval, the amicable shoulder squeeze encouraged his smoky quartz pools meeting hers without averting them. Their stares spoke volumes. Abundance of peppy emotions and feelings ignited their embers, being readable by the other twain of jewels and dearly espousing the genuine story behind the rueful, exacerbating silence, stretching them with the limited proximity they shared altogether. “I hope I didn’t upset you.”

Instead of the answer, begging the highlighted woeful exclaimation with the lowered timbre of the vowels and syllables, dancing in rhymes and constructing the ambiguous sentence after escaping the darkened tongue. Paradoxal paroxysm and shivers down his body of sweetness, pleasure and despair sedated his bones and muscles. The silence was arcanely muting and killing the imminent words, attempting to formulate a rational or a reckless confession, pouring their entire world of thoughts in a revelation that was worth thousand patterns of sentiments and sensations. The hush lingered between the both adults, incapable of interrupting the invincible hush with peeling a single word.

Notwithstanding the absolute reality, the British compatriot commenced swimming through the tempest of his thoughts, asking himself what’s worse. Keeping his own rara avis imprisoned as a madwoman or telling one another farewell and the silence slaughtering the pile of utterances, lingering on their tongue which they’d exchange in the elapsing minutes of the endless quietude. Less explainable than an omen, Bible and Christian books’ context. Slightly more explainable than theoretic questions, struggling the scientists and discoverers.

Snorting with her nostrils inwardly the amalgamation of heavy medicaments, reek of urine, poor hygiene and the alluring fragrance of gardenias, seconds before pacing up in the profound corridor of the madhouse, they looked up at each other’s facial attributes for last time until the trembling, weathered by the common chilly climate fingers were replaced with the empty coldness, swaddling the British aristocrat’s shoulder, fixating his gaze on the former sleazy jazz nightclub singer withdrawing from him per a second with every took step, progressing her journey to be out of sight.

 

--- *** ---

--- A Quarter an Hour Later ---

 

A quarter an hour after Kit, Lana and Grace got dressed up in casual garments, Lana left the old asylum by getting inside her own taxi, whereas the young couple preferred to stay and awaiting patiently for the former woman of the cloth to get ready and flee the grandiose façade within a handful of minutes.

In spite of the French young lady was against the blonde to be sheltered in Kit’s household after discussing it, Kit somehow pitied and noted a vague sparkle, oozing of the Bostonian which was somber and noting her one of a kind individuality and cleansing his own conscience by aiding her to be part of their small family though the younger lady was in the first trimester of her pregnancy and experiencing the regular symptoms of every lady, going through the sandstorm of mood swings, morning sicknesses, drastic weight gain and food craves.

Once the door swung opened, the former member of the clergy was donned unbelievably dazzling, scintillating with her own fashion style which wasn’t extravagant and seductive at all.

The young couple’s eyes widened at the sight of the middle-aged lady slender figure being hugged in an olive-green cashmere dress with V neckline, exposing partly her well-sculptured by God’s nimble, loving hands collarbones and neck with long sleeves, armoring her pebbling her epidermis with electrifying, bristled goosebumps. Black, wool stockings coating her leanly long as towers legs with knee length leather boots. The olive-green’s cashmere dress hem flared across her round, well-carved knees with each movement. Her long gilded mop of greasy, silver-gilded curls, framing her round, full profile were piled up on her shoulders. Although the low-quality hygiene, scum, filth, death and acute medicaments’ reek were clung to her frail skeleton, it didn’t ebb off her radiance and her scintillating beauty for her early sixties. Further, a winter, cozy pantaletot overally shielded her torso.

 A vaguely glowing smile embellished her facial attributes, meeting the young adults’ stares in awe, whilst the brunette’s elvish, weathered hand rested on her small bump.

“What are ya waiting for?”

“To come and live with us.” The young man’s offer tore off the middle-aged woman’s facial expression with an incredulous quirk of her eyebrow, stubbornly pursing her lips at his goodwill.

“I think ya have mistaken anything, Kit! I did bunch of atrocities to both of ya and I doubt it my presence is coveted in your house and with your future child.” At the moment, the former licentious nightclub singer ducked her head shamefacedly at the offer, gnawing on her upper, dry lip after gulping a lump dryly, bittersweetly. “You don’t want an ex-old mean nun to run around yar house by washing the dishes and step inside your house.”

“Judy, there are always second chances,” Suddenly the both young adults approached Judy, subtly taking her both petite, weathered hands in one of their hands, the pads of their fingers kneading her fragile knuckles. Hesitantly, stilling her honey brown orbs to the cemented, dull flooring, she lifted them up and linked them up with a pair of smoky quartz and pair of lapis lazuli irises, darted to hers as cupid arrows. “No matter the past and what you did to us with Grace and Lana and the others, redemption is the key to be at peace with each other!” Squinting up at their glistening with sheer innocence, warmness jewels which were uniquely rare granted her another hope. Chubby, crystalline tear trickled down from her lower eyelid after rimming her eyelid. “Even the child we’re waiting impatient with Grace will surely love you as her or his own grandmother.” Tentatively gulping another salty lump in the back of her throat, the sudden familiar, masculine footsteps clicked monotonously against the dull hall’s floor. It was Timothy’s.

After the Bostonian turned to peep back at her back, noticing a tall, familiar figure, mildly shadowed by the dim lightness, flickering naturally in the hallway, her mind urged her to stop in a halt and have a brief conversation with the ambitious Monsignor, despite she maneuvered her foster family non-verbally to leave the mental hospital’s façade within a few minutes without wasting a valuable time and to get inside the taxi.

“Rare bird, wait,” As the horde of adults were aiming to the Stairway of Heaven to descend the spiral stairs, Jude tried her best to overlook Timothy, pretending as if nothing has happened. Her heart ached, although her intuition kept caging her inside her headstrong reality where the Monsignor actually had contrasting intentions.

“Jude, speak to him!” The younger lady muffled a whisper with her French, mellow lilt to the Bostonian to not disregard the British compatriot. “I think he wants to say anything to you.”

“Just no! I think we said what we needed to,” Heavy rain of tears poured on her parchment, pallid complexion as their shoes, clicking against every imposed spiral stair. Stutter scratched her dry, dehydrated throat, whilst the British aristocrat opted to approach Kit, Grace and Judy. Heeding the hymns of masculine, meek footsteps behind her were tingling a requiem into her ears. “It’s time to open a new chapter in the life.” Within a few minutes, they ambled up to the parked vehicle and getting inside, whereas Timothy stopped in a halt, paralyzed to bones to stop his rare bird from getting out of sight, moving up in Kit and Grace’s household. The incessant vehicle buzzing engine interweaved with the whistling beehive of tumbling crystal, palish snowflakes.

“You’re right!” The both juvenile adults bobbed their heads in a solemn agreement.

As soon as the taxi car drift off through the freshly cleaned asphalts, the man of the cloth bowed his head coyly, suckling on his lower cherub lip between his ivory, still firm front teeth strongly, without averting his blanched chocolate brown irises from his shuffled shoes, losing its true luster. Twin fat, uneven tears pooled his eyelids, throughout gushing down his cheeks and daubing them with his fingertips, Little did he know where Kit and his small family lived to ease his journey to find his own rare bird. His flimsy heart was whacked on waterfall of glassy, brittle pieces, shattered as a shore, swamping his chest mistily.

Chapter Text

 

--- *** ---
--- A Few Weeks Later or So ---
--- 10th of February, 1965 ---

Within the advancing time and Kit living with two ladies under roof wasn't a child's play at all for him. Two women with huge age gap and gut-wrenching worldviews and philosophy, besides sharing different backgrounds. In spite of the series of discordes between the young adults and the middle-aged lady, however, they relied on each other and gave to each other second chances especially Kit and Grace to Jude after agonizing them with the bloodthirsty canes, welting and scarring their rears. Last but not least, the young couple and the blonde were doubtlessly agitated for the unborn child that was living inside the French compatriot's belly.

The young couple were spending more time outside on snowy hikes in the woods, whilst the former holy woman preferred to stay at home with her own vortex of thoughts and cleaning even doing housework in the one-story property which was the sole home she inhabited recently.

The wee hours of the afternoon were dimming the small city of Massachusetts' atmosphere with rich snowfall, pelting down and conveniently, delightfully blanketing with chilly snow blanket the overall surroundings and swarm of stark as newborns trees' branches. Silver light filtered through the living room's window.

Again, the former devotional member of the clergy couldn't escape from the madness of her impure thoughts and maniacal obsession over the man of the cloth though Grace and Kit weren't very fond of him, in spite of his long time friendship with their roommate. What it questioned the former woman of the cloth was if Timothy was pondering profoundly and swimming through his ocean of thoughts about her and having impure thoughts of her yet.

Did he truly love her? Was Timothy dwelling out of the crude reality's realm and dwelling in the profound, heavenly depths of his reverie for modicum time at least? Was she part of his reverie? Was Judy the protagonist in his blizzard of thoughts? Was she the crucial reason why he mourned and putrefy physically and mentally?

The mellow swishing of the blizzard outside tingled angelic hymns into the former licentious jazz nightclub singer's sensitive, petite ears and fathoming almost every person's guilty person with a smug, shameless smile spreading across her roseate, cherub lips and wearing a thousand patterns of glee. Literally reclining on seatable furniture, composing her own posture and nonchalance and lethargy contouring her facial features with bright colors, whereas the storm was dancing and chanting its own soundtrack in a deep resonance. Warmness, comfortable coziness and indulgence were clung to her and reeking of snugness.

The housework was already done. No longer dust and chunks' remnants such as food and random' leftovers were clobbering the flooring of each room. The fresh, ventilated air was wafting inside the property. It was a genuine paradise.

It was high time for the former nun to relax and give herself some time to take care of her physical condition with a mere nap on the sofa and her muscles and bones to be stiff, scarcely encumbering themselves with any kind of pressure.

After readjusting her position and her petite feet perched motionlessly on the arm panel, softness battering her ankles, subsequently her back cocked back on the arm panel, seconds before fluttering shut her eyelids to dwell out of the reality's realm and inhabiting consciously and mentally reverie's outskirts. Nothing could halt her except the haphazard background noises and sounds, snapping her out of her daydreaming as if a mother was interrupting her child's daydreaming and waking him up for school after storming off in his room and pulling off the curtains to allow the scintillating sun dazzle his vision.

--- *** ---

--- Dream ---

Everything seemed pitch-black darkness behind the dull, lifeless walls of the notorious asylum. The patients even more despondent. Their chances of survival diminished with almost every advancing day. Everything was just pointless even monotonous in their daily lives. From the tranquilizing medicaments which the despondent inmates were accepting even pretending to swallow some of them and fathoming the barbarous sequence of their mind's irrational, uneven functioning up to the babbles and anticipating slowly but surely their destined demise inside the mental institution.

Judy's life hasn't been always easy at all. After joining the church to release the reins off from her sleazy, hectic lifestyle of boozing, getting laid with strangers for one-night only and the hit-and-run prey on her way to home in the ebony darkness was one of the toughest decisions ever made in her life. Disinfecting her own soul from the sins and vices, casted as shadows and demons from her grim past and haunting her in the corners of the ebony obscurity.

The reek of urine, poor hygiene, bleach, death and heavy medicaments were wafting across each staff member and lunatic's nostrils.

First and foremost, the facility has chosen already a new head nun by another Monsignor's side and ruling together with an iron fist the remnants which they're gradually leaving behind themselves.

Jude and Timothy were stripped off from their clerical possessions due to Dr. Arden and the recent head nun that were the top staff members of Briarcliff. Moreover, they were renamed as Judy's current name was Betty Drake, whereas the British compatriot's new name was eventually Kai Vincent. They've had plotted a couple of scenarios to flee the mental institution without hesitance and being caught. Notwithstanding the plotted scenarios, they're still awaiting for the ideal moment to escape the old, infamous asylum without turning their backs ever again and have a fresh start.

Within the approaching morning and the elapsing time which was slower than an uneven bead of soaked lion mane, strangely, the former holy woman hasn't seen the British compatriot in the common room, nor anywhere else. Little did she know what has happened to him and most of all, what's the reason behind his abrupt disappearance. Abundance of questions twirled and whirled in her train of thoughts.

After discreetly fleeing the common room without being caught by any orderlies, nor the security guards, the blonde's impending destination was up to the men's wing, surreptitiously sneaking as a spectral, leisurely wandering inside an old, dilapidating façade's remnants.

The background sounds of shrilling, despondent wails traced into wide waves, throughout colliding into the lifeless, hoary walls. The wails spoke emotions to the surroundings. The opulent, surrealistic cauldron of sorrow, misery, death and severe agony was brewing and cooking.

Once the middle-aged lady snuck up inside the men's wing and glancing back and forward's directions, making sure the space was readily clean and safe for her to set a foot, thereafter blanketed corpse on a patient bed with sheerly rigid cotton, oyster-white blanket swaddling the unrecognizable masculine corpse, motionlessly reclined on its sanctuary of demise. Sheerly oyster-white blanket shielding the feeble, pallid corpse from the common icy climate.

The winter was already agonizing and plaguing with frostbite the wretched souls.

In spite of the loneliness, blanketing lukewarmly the Bostonian, she tiptoed to the fully blanketed dead body. What she could remind herself was that it was just another inmate, finding his own death approximately sooner than later. Or rather, the last, fatal breath was inhaled and exhaled just awhile ago.

Her childlike, acute inquisitiveness commanded her impulse and instincts to unwrap the blanket and discover the dead body's identity and to whom belonged to eventually. Within the swift, resilient surreptitious scud up to the ambulance bed to convey the impending prey of the demise, the blonde's jaw chattered timidly, her lower chapped plumpish lip quivered after struggling to discover the bizarrely recognizable attributes beneath the blanket.

Maintaining with petering out the proximity with the ambulance bed of the deceased inmate, whose dead body is going to be conveyed in the morgue, her trembling petite, weathered hand reached for the cloth until her fingers and palm manipulated the unwind, the coverlet peeling off from the younger man's motionless, expressionless face.

"No, no!" At the moment, Judy's jaw clattered recurringly, landing her apprehensive caramel brown embers on her former lover's emotionless, pallid face, chewing on her lower lip to stifle the desperate, uncontrollable hollers, dancing in her throat in a bittersweet lump. "This isn't supposed to be real." Meanwhile, her childlike inquisitiveness convinced her to unfold the rest of the coverlet as the instruction potently maneuvered her fingers' muscles, whereas her only free hand muffled the quiet sniffles. Vigorously translucent tears glimmered on her lower eyelids, thus rolling on her cheeks everlastingly. Her entire complexion was blanched in mortification and her heart sunk, unable to recover from Timothy's death.

Timothy's corpse was laying peacefully, inertly and his feeble bones were in a patient outfit-clad. The muscularity of his arms and legs haven't vanished even though the low-quality food he's being provided like Jude. His mammoth, pallid hands were barely brushing his support.

"No! That's quite surreal to be real." The middle-aged woman bended against the bed and pressed a hardening longer kiss on his berry-coloured, chapped lips, managing to cup his cheeks and the raw coldness trounced her palms and fingers. Although the common coldness, encountered in the corpses and feeble wretched souls, it didn't prevent the former woman of the cloth's intentions to cease them from functioning and play out. Even when the former priest was ill or as chilly as the both farest poles in the world, it didn't stop Judy from having a physical contact with the love of her life who was nothing than a carcass. "No, Timothy! Do not leave me!" What the Bostonian was fearing more than anything was losing a beloved person and Timothy was the last ever beloved person she's lost due to the cutthroat, ruthless mental institution's conditions, measured in the heavy medicines which were doped with the wretched souls, the poor-quality and paltry food with which they were ensured to have twice a day meals, the electroshock therapies for the least obedient patients and the lacking quantity of staff members to look after the lunatics.

--- *** ---

--- End of Dream ---

"Judy, we're home!" All of a sudden, the front door swung opened after the young couple had a small journey outside, bleating the croak to keep the older woman's wits about their arrival at home.

"Dammit!" Meantime, a vague headache tormented Jude after coming to her senses, her spider palish fingers managed to reach for her temple, manipulating her fingertips to rub the temple's groins restlessly, gently until the twain of young adults' meek, monotonous footsteps echoed against the corridor's flooring after peeling off the winter pantaletots from their frail skeletons, subsequently hanging them on the coat hanger and hopping up in fuzzy, convenient slippers. "Hi Kit and Grace!" Jude seated on the couch, peering over her shoulder to acknowledge Kit and Grace's presences as they were strolling up to the couch to take a seat alongside her.

"Hi Jude!" The stoicness sketching the former devotional member of the clergy's attributes startled the young couple as the French woman was by Judy's right side, whereas Kit was by her left side on the contrary. "You okay?" The young man's posed question slightly embarrassed the former holy woman, gritting her teeth to stifle the series of yelps due to the vicious migraine after kneading steadily her forehead. Fresh cerise, vibrant blush tinged the older lady's cheeks at the posed question and opting to clash the migraine with sorting her mind, constructing with the proper words a straightforward utterance.

"A slight migraine but everything is okay! Don't worry about me at all, kiddos!" The steadiness of her honeyed, Boston lilt accentuated her vouch, shifting her attention to Kit with a vague, benevolent smile, blossoming upon her roseate, cherub lips to refrain and prevail the physical discomfort due to the megrim, aching partly her mind barbarically. "Spill the tea about yar hike in the woods!"

"It was fantastic." After a heavy sigh flushed the French woman's chest, earning pair of dark irises transfixed on her, the brunette returned the middle-aged woman's smile with radiantly merry, glinting across her porcelain, youthful complexion and wearing thousand patterns of merriness, whilst holding the gaze with Kit and Jude. "Truthfully the experience outside with somebody you love truly is much different compared to the solo walks," Swarm of husky chuckles clicked the roof of their mouths, consequently synchronizing verbally, tunefully a symphony of the jubilance and chuckles in the living room. "You know, Judy! The cold can't stop us."

"I absolutely agree with ya, Grace! The walks with somebody ya sincerely love are one of the most magical, best experiences you'll ever have."

"Needless to say that there weren't any people, walking in the snowy forests. It just reminded me of the first ever date we had with Kit." In the meanwhile, the brunette's gaze darted to the young man, her French lilt puncturing her pure, breathless exultation. "Honey, isn't like that?"

"Exactly, my love!" The young man's mouth opened in a soft, complacent grin, while ogling at his girlfriend with sheer warmness, love and desire. Optimism and mirth were adorning their attributes, sheening smoothly vibrant texture. Rigid felicity, indicated in their alight embers and vibrant, blissful smiles even series of chuckles and snickers. "I remember how we brought the Polaroid camera to take a couple of goofy and memorable photos!"

"Indeed! What about you, Jude? How did you spend your time at home?"

"It was alright and exhausting as I was doing bunch of housework by cleaning and so forth, ya know! It's nothing special and after that I'm here." Her nostrils snorted the fresh, ventilated air of coziness and the sensing the genuine notion of home with her roommates. "On the couch!" Half-hearted, hoarse snickers slipped from their tongues in unison.

"The old same story about the house's housekeeper!"

--- *** ---

More than a month or so was one of the toughest episodes of Timothy's life as a devotional clergyman. After Judy's arranged release with Kit, Lana and Grace and the love of his life is staying with the young couple in their household, afterwards the British compatriot's life changed retrogradely.

Sleepless nights, the inescapably orthodox symptoms of the sinister, stark insomnia and overwhelming thoughts, rotting over the former pious woman of the cloth's absence were commonly encountered in the British aristocrat's hectic daily life. He hasn't shared with anybody even acknowledged any single soul over his angst over the blonde's absence and how much he suffered with each advancing day even an elapsed second physically and mentally. Little did he know how he's still on his feet and keep visiting hallowed places wherever the Cardinal sends him and most of all, having a mere, professional contact with Sister Bernadette.

Despite Timothy's great deal of efforts to evade any skeptical speculations behind his back not only from staff members, but also from Sister Bernadette, furthermore his recent business partner noted cynical odds in his demeanor in the past weeks and days.

The sleepless nights and the insane quantity of boozed caffeine beverages and the starvation for a few days except with a handful of smoked daily cigarettes even the dubious dark circles, dancing and shadowing his lower eyelids were mortifying even commencing to resuscitate the worries in the senior woman of the cloth. The despondency, punctured in his English lilt were inevitably spotted and spotlighted even questioned by Sister Bernadette. Last but not least, the British compatriot opted to obscure his melancholy.

Whilst seating in his own austere office, the aspiring Monsignor's colossal, veiny and weathered hand grasped an old, Polaroid photograph, photographed by a professional photographer of him with Jude after delivering speech in the church.

The once beaming, charming smiles, embellishing their parchment, still young-looking complexion saddened even more Timothy. Crystal, salty tears rimmed his chocolate brown orbs as weathered fingertips tipped the Bostonian's shining smile. Their mirthful pools were darted to the camera. Genuine felicity was spreading like plague even melancholy and the traces of memories scarring with low spirits and nostalgia, tearing off the man of the cloth's heart on thousand of flimsy, glassy pieces, shattered and swamping a frail lake of misty heartache and somberness. His flexible nostrils snorted a sniffle, ducking his head and his tongue almost struggling to forge the impending exclaimation with weaker timbre.

"My rare bird! I sincerely miss you!" The lowered, velvety whisper dripped from his mouth until the abruptly swung opened office door caught him off guard at the sight of the merciless sister of the church, accompanied by Dr. Arden with their grimaced faces, dipped in glaring ocean. "You haven't even knocked on the door! Don't you remember what are the rules before even daring to open the door?"

"Monsignor, you're officially stripped off from your clerical possessions!" 

 

Chapter Text

 

 

Author's Note: I'd like to apologize for a half a month delay with the updates, nevertheless, not only I didn't have any motivation to continue this story, but also I was out of ideas or I've cluster of scenarios how to resume it and yet hesitating whether if they're going to be pretty beneficial or otherwise spoiling the story and ruining its quality. Furthermore, I'm planning to cut short the chapters, in order to finish this garbage earlier before Christmas holidays. I hope you like and enjoy it as well! Please, don't forget to leave feedback which arouse my elation to read them how much did you enjoy reading it! :))

 

--- *** ---

The intensifying atmosphere between the former Nazi war criminal, accompanied by the senior austere sister of the church Sister Bernadette and the aspiring Monsignor. What the aspiring Monsignor loathed more than anything was the irresponsibility and blunt entrances inside his office before keeping his wits about the current visitor's arrival.

Furthermore, Sister Bernadette has informed the Cardinal about Timothy's eccentric behaviour in the past weeks and not investing any quantity of money for hiring more staff members to look after the wretched souls, besides for more higher quality food and medicaments even equipment with which the patients to be provided and staff members.

Notwithstanding the circumstances, Dr. Arden and the senior pious woman of the cloth were bloodthirstily hostile with Timothy lately and plotting galore of luxuriously malicious plans to strip him off from his clerical possessions even forbid Mary Eunice's contacts with the British compatriot even not having any interactions with the former patients Jude, Kit, Grace and Lana.

"It's not Monsignor anymore, Father! I've spoken to the Cardinal, informing him about your eccentric demeanor lately which is quite repulsive," In the meanwhile, a heavy, cold-hearted sigh flushed the senior holy woman's constricted, bulky chest, whereas the younger man gnawed on the raw spot of her delicate lip, flickering up her scintillating glare at the younger man. "And I bet you're still thinking of that released patient. The old whore!" Emphasis punctured her rebuke in her northern lilt, crossing her floppily bulky, hypodermically soft fat arms contoured  beneath the rigidly shapeless, wool habit.

"No matter what she used to be in the past, you don't have the right to call her like that! She isn't an old whore!" Tempest of heartache tore off Timothy's frail heart on millions of flimsily glassy pieces, shattered in a cataract of somberness and swamping the hollow with misery, heartbreak and frustration. Misery for scarcely getting out of his mind the vividly melanholic, unersmemories of Jude's last moments in the asylum by hopping up in the taxi, accompanying Kit and Grace.

"Regardless the circumstances, Mr. Howard, this woman is a disgrace to the church and the society! Just releasing her with Mother Superior's help and due to her threat means nothing." At the moment, the British compatriot lifted up his rear from his hardwood bureau, in spite of his arduous persistence to confront the older adults, whose intentions and morals were far from acceptable.

 

 

--- *** ---
--- A Couple of Hours Later ---

Within the advancing hours, the daylight episode of the day abruptly jumpcutted up to the nocturnal episode with the darkening starlessly cloudless sky. Full alabaster moon hovered up in the nocturnal, somber sky, dispersing its own marbled pallid light, mirroring the blanketed in shadows surroundings below.

After Kit, Grace and Jude had a dinner in the kitchen, thus Jude cleaned the kitchen table and washed the dishes, whilst Grace aided her. At the moment, Kit plugged the radio in the plug, subsequently linking it, in order to switch the stations until he peaked to the evening news' station which he was listening to daily.

In the meanwhile, the sink's faucet was turn and lukewarm, crystal jet water splashed onto the sink's ground, reproducing the featureless cataract. The French compatriot was maintaining an adequately appropriate proximity with the former devotional holy woman who lathered with a compact sponge the filthy, food-greased dishes and handing them to the younger woman to collection the already lathered and washed dishes on the dish drying rack to wring its translucent crystalline beads.

“The former Monsignor Timothy Howard was abolished from his own position after being charged by the head nun of the infamous mental institution Briarcliff and the doctor of science Dr. Arden in his eccentric demeanor, occurred a month ago after the release of a few patients.” When the radio journalist initialized with the breaking news, whereas the horde of adults were all ears about the evening news station, honing their ears to assimilate the information that was the journalist interpreting, meanwhile, the young man was tidying the food chunks and remnants from the dining table with an outworn, old cloth. During the minute of silence, nobody dared to peel a single word and unzip their cherub lips to emit another crafted utterance with its syllables and vowels, exquisitely sorted to form a word, based on its formula. Incredulity stung widened in shock not only Grace and Kit, moreover Judy’s embers. The different notions, conflicting with one another embers’ owners blazed them with the fieriest blaze. What it could be readable past the young couple’s visions was they haven’t expected such a brassly unexplainable scenario, far from imaginable. In spite of they know how much their former foe was indisputably quite fond of the British compatriot unlike them, they were inwardly at peace with themselves after witnessing the British compatriot’s betrayal towards his rara avis and being partly responsible for her institutionalization.  “After Sister Bernadette and Dr. Arden have contacted the Cardinal even informing Father Malachi, the both sides backed them up without a shadow of doubt and started the process with the former Monsignor’s removal from his position, declaiming him as an insane with schizophrenia for his distance from the reality and pondering in his thoughts and keeping in mind yet of a former nun and patient in the same time.” After washing the last dish during the lukewarmly running jet water and splashing its jet below the flimsy marble material until the blonde clumsily tossed unintentionally, reluctantly the plate on the floor. The ballad of the radio reporter’s deep, half-hearted declaim and the broken plate on dozens of frail marbled pieces, squirted a handful of yards tingled a distracting ode, whereas the French compatriot turned off the faucet and the blonde crouched down after daubing her drenched hands in the towel and retrieving a broomstick and paddle to clean neatly the mess after herself, grunting in a murmur inflammatory cuss with a heavy, dry snort “Holy shit!”.

“Judy?” The young man accentuated an emphasis in addressing his friend’s name after cleaning the mess after herself, the broomstick’s wooden handle lingered in her spider palish fingers, ducking childishly mortified her parchment, yet elderly young-looking complexion with a generous layer of thick rubicund blush powdering her overall facial skin with sweltering heat crawled underneath. In the interim, the former promiscuous nightclub singer’s frail heart thundered in her ribcage, scarcely hankering her former foe’s honeyed voice, fueled with immense concern, nor the radio news. “Judy, you okay?” All of a sudden, after repeating in a choir his northern lilt, accenting his rhetorical enquiry, the older lady lifted up her shamefaced face from her uneasily fidgety slipper-clad feet up to Kit’s handsome facial attributes. Dab of relief oddly consoled and softened her facial attributes in a jiff after linking her hazelish-brown jewels with his cocoa brown. She managed a nod in agreement, opting to obscure the heartache of acknowledging the British aristocrat’s institutionalization inside the madhouse and the mortification of the accidentally broken plate. “You don’t need to be that concerned about such a petty accident, involving a broken dish.” At the moment, the proximity they maintained diminished with inches and his bizarre, mildly embarrassing closeness powdered a heavier powder of blush overally the middle-aged lady’s face, sensing how small, weak and vulnerable she’s when somebody attempted to provide her affable, kindhearted comfort, longing for it. “Come on, Judy! You can take a break, while I’ll take care of the business.” Encouragingly, consolingly manipulating his colossal, alabaster hand to rub her shoulder blade enforced her cherub rosy-coloured lips to stifle a gasp at the nip of the raw spot of her lower lip between her front ivory, firm teeth.

“Kit, no!” The sharpness, punctured in the Bostonian’s snap didn’t interrupt the young man from snatching the broom from her long, slim fingers as flute stings immediately.

Last but not least, the ex-priest won’t be replaced as an ex-director of the mental institution, whilst Dr. Arden and Sister Bernadette are still in charge of Briarcliff and invest innovations from the budget they’ve earned in the past weeks. Stay tuned for more news about Briarcliff!” In the interval, the brunette approached Judy and guided her in wobbles up to the guests’ room warily, in order to not harm her and provide her modicum of kindhearted, altruistic comfort and affection after noting her abrupt despondent condition not only after unintentionally breaking the plate after tossing it on the kitchen floor, but also grieving over the former man of the cloth’s imprisonment. The radio news was yet ongoing and lowly humming in the kitchen’s background.

“Where are ya taking me, Grace?” The northern lilt, puncturing the graveness in Judy’s low spirited posed question didn’t break the French girl’s facial expression, supporting her middle with an alabaster, lean arm, snaked steadily to maneuver her to the guests’ room.

“You seem pretty despondent, Judy! I think the best thing you could is to rest and not pressuring yourself physically and mentally.” Grace detected the low spirits, oozing of the former pious holy man promptly and aided her to be on her feet physically and mentally after nudging with an elbow the door handle to the guests’ room, subsequently swinging opened the door at the welcoming, cozy atmosphere, hovering the sufficiently expansive room. “It’s not your fault at all.”

“It’s my fault I left him to think constantly about me and I didn’t even say anything to him when he’s screaming my name while leaving Briarcliff.” Shortly after the brunette bit her lower lip begrudgingly and emboldened the former nun to seat on the edge of the queen-sized bed gingerly, tenderly, she snaked another alabaster arm to support her middle in the scooped embrace. “I remember how ya and Kit persuaded me to speak to him instead of ignoring him as if he’s a second choice, because he wanted to tell me something.”

“Judy!” Hideous sob broke the Bostonian’s facial expression, consequently allowing a heavy rain of crystalline, translucent tears to trickle downward her lower eyelids, barely having the strength to daub them with the pads of her spider marbled fingers, whilst burying her tear-stained face in the crook of the French girl’s arm, soaking her convenient sweater with her own bittersweet, fugly tears. “Are you crying over somebody who firstly betrayed you due to his ego and then arranged your release? It’s ridiculous.”

“I still love him and he doesn’t deserve the hell which I’ve already been through, Grace!” A heavy snort flushed the former sleazy jazz nightclub singer’s vulnerable, stickily soaked nostrils, drawing her in a tight, friendly hug after throwing her arms to brace her satin shoulders. The heartbreak, tearing off Judy’s heart on trillions of glassy pieces wasn’t enough for her to cope with Timothy’s imprisonment and her unimaginable intentions to go back in the facility and rescue him at any cost with the cost of her pearly life. “We’ve to do something about him and grant him the freedom which he granted us,” The continuous requiem of sobs were distinctive for the both women as the French compatriot purred a velvety shush with her French lilt, kneading with her fingers her spine with paradoxal paroxysm and warmness. “Before it’s too late and that old hag Sister Bernadette even Dr. Arden kill him or at least be partly involved in his homicide.”

“Everything is going to be alright, Judy!”

“It’s not going to be okay until Timothy isn’t released from that fucking hellhole!” Suddenly the middle-aged lady nagged, her tongue scarcely forging the vowels and syllables, limping backward and forward on her tongue after attempting to cope with the lethal heartbreak and melancholy. “Or at least we do something to get him out.”

“But Kit would be strongly against-“ When the brunette opted to conjugate an utterance, the former pious sister of the church snapped at her, cutting her off curtly momentarily after breaking off the embrace and taking their time to admire one another’s facial features even when the blonde’s red-rimmed and unattractively swamped with crystalline dew eyelids blinked the tears, aching due to the overwhelming melancholy.

“I don’t give a damn if he’s against Timothy’s release or something, because I’d deeply regret for dumping him to rot in the hellhole where he truly doesn’t belong at all.”

 

--- *** ---

Hours after the former holy man was abolished from his own position as a director of the notorious facility, thereafter two orderlies dragged him violently to the hydrotherapy when he was donned in the ordinary, extravagant patient outfit, shielding his frail skeleton from the common frosty climate. Writhing stormily in their grasps and bleating protesting whimpers pitched the dully lifeless hallways of the madhouse, trying to escape their grips due to the obnoxious hydrotherapy bathtub where the liquid’s temperature was searing and welting his sensitive epidermis.

Furthermore the British compatriot was renamed from Timothy into Owen Manson and series of black and white, fuzzy mugshots were framing his patient file paged up on the top. What he solely knew now was that he’s destined to spend the rest of his days behind Briarcliff’s lifeless, hum-drum walls and potently doubting the love of his life will return to rescue him even beholding his rare bird ever again. Shameless, ominous betrayal slit his heart and spurting a thick bleed of gory cataract. Hopelessness and emotionlessness highlighting his yet charming facial attributes with the scruffy stubble mapping his sharp jaw line and blanched coffee brown irises, losing its true glossiness.

“Mr. Manson, you’re supposed to be quiet instead of letting yourself down!” One of the orderlies rebukingly rejoined at the inmate after stepping inside the hydrotherapy room and dragging his weight up to the bathtub with great deal of efforts.

“Shut your filthy mouths!” The former devotional clergyman croaked a reprimand at the top of his brittle lungs once his knees contacted the marbled bath and one of the orderlies grasped vehemently him, in order to keep him secured without having any intentions to attack either of them and flee in a jiff, whereas the second staff member attempted to peel off the younger man’s vest and scowling ferociously to horrify even more the inmate, hardly giving him an opportunity to escape their vicious claws. The series of pleas and writhes were jading the British compatriot’s muscles and bones, commencing to welt his wrists, leaving traces of outworn skin with mauve tints after one of the staff members headstrongly, steadily clutch his wrists, incapable of protesting physically. “Arghhh!” All of a sudden, his English lilt chanted an infernal profound resonance which sounded far from humanoid’s croaks. Peculiarity spotlighted the diabolic mewl, while the coffee-brown pigment no longer mottled the former holy priest’s embers, thus flaming with the brightest, the most daredevil brass nuance, instantly glinting sheer bloodthirsty covet for avenge, abhorrence and invincible immortality.

“You don’t have the right to swear and use strong language to staff members in the name of disrespect, Mr. Manson!”

“Just keep him quiet with one slap, Graham! Isn’t that har-“ Once the second sanitarian managed to smack a slap behind the patient’s nape of his delicate, oyster-white neck to cut him off, parting his lips in the scoff retaliation, suddenly Timothy casted teleportation in front of the both asylum’s staff members, startling them with his abrupt disappearance in the thin air and being oblivious for them where his current location was until an emphatic, unyielding clicking tongue’s soundtrack tingled bad vibes into their ears and ditheringly turning to face the possessed former holy man, whose ivory, still firm teeth lingered in a bared, baleful grin, decorating his pallid complexion. “Jesus Christ! Owen, I don’t know what has gotten into you but Sister Bernadette should be informed about the next exorcism,” After the British compatriot’s hands manipulated to cast a spell on the both older men, subsequently the telekinetic power shoved them inside the bath, their epidermis seethed due to the gruesomely high temperature of the liquid.

“Cheer up, beautiful assholes!” The unbelievably blowminding explicit language which Timothy has never presumed to utter, subsequently anything explicitly slipping from his tongue was obliviously a third wheel, a daredevil, hoarse snicker stilling on his mouth and his chapped, pale-pinkish lips curled in the scoff, folding his arms victoriously after teaching a lesson to Graham and his colleague. “Have a nice bath, faggots!” The both older adults felt small, vulnerable and powerless to stop the possessed younger man, drowning in the hydrotherapy bath without an ado, just seconds before the former clergyman fled the room before being caught by whether a nun, Dr. Arden or on the contrary a security guard.

Chapter Text

 

--- *** ---
--- A Quarter an Hour Later or So ---

A quarter an hour after Grace opted to provide sufficient comfort and tender warmness to Jude just shortly after acknowledging the breaking news via the radio, the former holy woman hasn't left her own room even though the crystalline, salty tears petered out after welling in her red-rimmed eyelids. She didn't have any intentions of leaving the guest's room and bothering with her own issues and melancholy Kit, besides unspeakably upset Grace.

In spite of the former pious holy woman's immense desire to spend on her own in a separate room, meantime, the young couple were in the living room as they were reclined on the leather sofa and the television screen vibrantly gleamed their hypnotized, fixated jewels on the eye candy pictures, lowly humming a documentary movie about forest animals and their strive for survival.

The time was elapsing slower but surely in the former sleazy jazz nightclub singer's case. The notion of time's advancement in centuries peeled her cells and almost gave her a headache just shortly after the sobs. Her flimsy heart thundered yet in her ribcage, howsoever, uneven with the sluggish motion of tearing off to bones the glassy fragments that constructed the heart and even if a single fragment was missing from the construction, throughout the proper heart's synchronization and functioning was far from adequately, healthily possible. 

“Strangely it’s been a quarter an hour since you helped her on her way to the guest’s room and she hasn’t even left her room.” Heavy, frustrated sigh flushed the young man’s sensitive nostrils, altruistic compassionate contouring his facial attributes as the television screen gleamed brightly his fixated chocolate brown embers, stilling his dangled strong, muscly arms around his girlfriend’s waist.

“Give her some time, Kit!” What the wet, berry-coloured tongue of the French girl crafted in series of vowels and syllables was a piece of advice, oozing of wisdom and simplicity, whereas her lover was nuzzling his nose tip into her medium mop of silken chestnut unruly strands, inhaling the alluring aroma of attractively evergreens unevenly. “She needs some rest and that’s why I brought her in the guest’s room!”

“She looked quite,” Pause scratched the young man’s throat, cusping his mannerism to manipulate a soft clearing off his throat with a cough, muffling it with diminishing the hideous, shrilling decibels. “Guilty!”

“Guilty, because not only because of the broken plate.” All of a sudden, when Kit recalled what the genuine symptom of their friend’s inexorably readable distress across her parchment, yet elderly-youthful complexion was, subsequently his pale-pinkish, softly-satin lips twisted in an unforgiving frown at the thought of the former ambitious Monsignor and his current imprisonment couldn’t be a warm welcome for him to accomplish a hallowed atonement after putting Judy in a mess and he’s partly responsible for her imprisonment.

“I know what you’re exactly talking about!” Cunningness and seriousness touched smoothly the young man’s exclaimation, ushering his dark, fuzzily thick eyebrow to quirk at his girlfriend’s words, tingling an ode to him.

“That ex-priest!” The French young woman managed to emphasize with stridency, her lapis lazuli jewels eagerly pursuing for her lover’s smoky quartz gemstones to link them, in fact, to maintain an appropriate eye contact since their parents have taught them at young age whenever they managed to communicate with, thereafter the eye contacts were the essential key for a decent communication instead of the hideous averts.

“Oh! I don’t have any intentions of returning back in Briarcliff to save his ass!” Frustrated, childlike fuss mewled onward Kit’s pair of pouted baby-pinkish, lusciously soft lips and mild exasperation pumping into his veins like overflowing lava, infusing in a luster cataract of searing liquid. “Jesus, Grace! What’s Judy thinking after sharing a roof together? That every wish of hers is our command?”

“I told her you’d be against to get Timothy out of that hellhole.” Even when the recent broadcasting documentary movie about forest animals was still ongoing, it diminished the genuine notion of an eye candy for the couple just shortly after raising the topic about the former nun and her yearn to venture up to the notorious madhouse even rescue the ex-clergyman, lingering their gemstones in a twain of gazes. “But she doesn’t listen to me at all!”

“I don’t want a friend of mine to be associated in a relationship or anything with a traitor whose freedom is granted to him due to the pitiful condition he’s downfallen!” At the moment, the brunette’s petite, marbled hands lingered clasped into her lover’s grip, ensuring her myriad of warmness, sheer love and security, sensing the true notion of her pearly one of a kind character, characterized in her own deeds and intentions even how much she truly meant to the gasman. “I’d never allow to that ex-Monsignor to ruin her life as much as weeks ago. Judy has had enough of being put through such shitty dilemma with lies and false hopes!”

“Kit!” Suddenly, the French compatriot’s pure graveness, sternness spotlighted her rejoin, growling through her gritted teeth as disappointment coated the gasman’s handsome facial features with a mild perspiration, glinting in the partly pitch-black living room, avenging at his girlfriend’s seriousness which was currently plaguing her words in the intensity of her vowels and syllables shortly after their craft.

“Grace,” Meanwhile, Kit purred a disappointed growl just when his lover manipulated one of her clawed elvish hands into his reassuring grip to yank the remote control and subsequently turn off the series of jumpcutting pictures’ play, embroidered on the television screen as disconcerting activity for the majority of the general population during their leisure time. Mutual warmness no longer absorbed one of the young man’s colossal hands in the scooping seize. “Are you defending tremendously pious man who’s capable of nothing else than fueling his own ego with his pure manipulations and sugarcoated lies on the top of myriad lies?” The hush pitched the room for a half a minute as soon as the television’s playing pictures ebbed out and didn’t gleam its own scintillatingly flashing lights. What the French girl could hardly believe was her boyfriend’s vast self-will and the lacking altruistic compassion, sheening past his charming facial features were far from bearable for her even when she’d modicum of goodwill and compassion for people who were prone to ominously vile deeds and earned their retribution via losing everything and the sole thing they’re recently possessing was their soul. The discord was swelteringly heating and thickly stretching the stings of their temperaments.

“Oh God, honey,” In the meanwhile, the juvenile lady tried her best to abide as cool as cucumber to not aggravate their discord with high-pitched hostile croaks, hovering overally in their small, nevertheless, undeniably comfortable household and the former sleazy nightclub singer starts to mistrust the pure harmony and peaceful serenity they’re oozing of as a young couple, full of vibrant hopes and future in front of them with ocean of opportunities and choices they’d construct every brick of their one of a kind bond even an impending proposal, consequently wedlock and their family in general. “He did a nice thing not only just for both of us,” Readjusting her posture and cozily cupping his cheeks in the palms of her amusingly warm, protective hands, the velvety in her French lilt chanted the optimism, formulated in the sentence and commanding the gasman’s silence abruptly, barely boldly peeling off a single word in the attempts of unzipping his mouth. “But also for his rare bird! Look at us! Thanks to Timothy Howard, we’re all free! The freedom truly means a lot to me.” Grace meowed a honeyed whisper in a docile mumble, venturing her pad of her thumb ushering its muscles to brush her boyfriend’s lower plump lip in its delicateness, spellbindingly. Further, the both juvenile adults could recall just shortly after they shared a roof with the Bostonian, thus one day she opened in front of them about her grim past and anticipating their stark abhorrence to assault her, but the things didn’t happen due to her expectancies at all. They’re rather disgusted by her former fiancé Casey for the criminally adultery breaking her heart alongside with the frequent usage of strong language, addressing with inappropriate, insurmountable nicknames the blonde which have nothing to do with her true character and most of all, ceasing her fertility with a maledictory carnal illness. Syphilis! It sounded disturbingly morbid and extravagantly bone-chilly, menacing every sexually active being or virgins anticipating their first times quite soon to have no longer heirs, inhabiting their wombs or at least seed and sensing the rich fountain of shame and disgust welling into their bodies, swamping with nausea in the pit of their stomachs.

“No matter what he brought to three of us with Lana, my love,” In the meantime, the young man drew his face even closer to his girlfriend, scarcely an inch dividing their moderate proximity, his muscular, toned arms yet supporting her middle contently, protectively as if he swaddled the most precious thing in his compact world. Prominence accentuated his northern lilt. “Even if he helps us financially, I still can’t trust him and grant him the freedom which he gave us!” All of a sudden, the guest’s room door swung opened, ill-famedly creaking to keep the juvenile adults’ wits about the blonde’s flee from her room and being cut off just in the middle of their conversation, fortunately. Moreover, it was oblivious for the former pious member of the church what Kit and Grace have discussed up to the recent moment. “Holy shit! Judy!” Meanwhile, the lights were turned on once the Bostonian’s fidgety spider lily-white fingers clumsily lingered on the light switch, clung to the wall. Luckily, the gasman’s cussing under his breath was solely distinctive for him and the French compatriot. Peering over the couch, curiously searching to examine Judy’s amazing, gracefully lean petite frame, approaching them within seconds in strides of a couple of steps, echoing against the carpeted flooring.

“Come on, birds in love, isn’t slightly too dark for ya?” Hoarseness in the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer’s snicker didn’t fade away, increasing the couple’s spirits on much higher emotional tiers after a heated argument they just shared in private. The mirth didn’t leave her porcelain, fresh complexion, freshly and neatly crystallized after rinsing her red-rimmed facial skin with comfortably cold water. “Why ya look at me as if I’m on another planet, kiddos?” Her naturally roseate, cherub lips curled in the witty rhetorical posed question, eyeing them affably, glowing at them sheer amicability and alight by Kit and Grace’s hospitability which was one of the crucial reasons why the smile lingered ever-lastingly spread across her mouth.

“You’re as happy as if you’re actually on cloud nine, Judy! Hot goddamn!”

“Well! There are no more tears and sorrow, lingering on me.” After flushing a sigh at the top of her brittle lungs, thus her spider palish fingers managed to reach for a fistful of flossy gilded tresses to tuck them conveniently behind her petite, vulnerable ear idly, instinctively. “Was I interrupting anything?”

“Not at all! We just finished whatever we’re discussing.” Gamely, kindly winking at the older woman, Grace couldn’t help but emit a playful, girlish giggle, demonstrating her unblemished nature whenever she didn’t have anything else to say so much except whatever she kept in mind after interpreting it in her swarm of thoughts and subsequently slithers downward to her organs and her tongue conjugates the imminent words bluntly.

 

--- *** ---

“Come on, Owen! You’ve to collect some rest through the night.” Beehive of orderlies who were instructing the lunatics in the men’s wing to go back in their wards for extra good night sleep or on the contrary dragging them violently, forcefully if they didn’t even follow their instructions at all. The possessed former priest’s tiresome brass gems were fixed on the ocean of patients just like him with stark despondence and angst being enforced to stake inside their own wards with coarse timbres, accentuating their cautions. What it was oblivious for Timothy was that two security guards in charge of a night shift nudged him to attract his attention and push him in his cell, besides hankering the monotonous symphony of criminally insane lunatics’ bewails tingling unholy requiems to him. “Do you even listen to, riot?” After a ferociously forceful push drawing with a few inches distance’s magnification, the British compatriot turned emphatically to face the both antagonizing security guards, crossing his muscly arms coldheartedly, teasingly as if nothing could harm him and halt him from his invincibility. What it flabbergasted the both guards was that the renamed patient didn’t even reaffirm a reaction against their harassment, nor opting to lower his spirits abruptly.

“How funny, pricks!” Daredevil, half-hearted chuckle healthily darkened in his deep, English lilt which wasn’t as moderate as the normal Timothy Howard’s, eyeing skeptically how impotent the mortals were compared to the spawn of Lucifer. “The devil has his own mission and his mission isn’t to sleep right now, losers!”

“Try to do anything about the question!” One of the staff members whimpered a croaking caution, whilst the British compatriot slowly but surely approached in a cocksure gait, indicating his strong and steady self-confidence in each step, drumming against the dully cemented flooring. Diabolical adrenaline pumping into his veins, striving for avenge to daze one of the staff members to win some time and flee Briarcliff, consequently using persistently his clarity to detect consciously his rara avis’s current location and surprise her. “What are you doing?”

“Do not touch us, you disgusting scamp!” A second staff member cried out loud authoritatively, raising an arch of his light, baldly naturally sketched eyebrow.

“Don’t you ever dare even to touch either of us-“ Once the third orderlies chanted his own song without a sequel, suddenly the former religious man of the cloth manipulated his own hands effortlessly to cast an invincible telekinesis, shoving in row his targets to crash vehemently against the cemented, lifeless walls. Immense weariness and sore pain clung to their bones and muscles, sorely groaning in their own succumbing pain and torture, being mesmerized by the patient’s supernatural power which he solely possessed unlike the other humanoids, outnumbering him with their insipid existence and lacking bonus supernatural abilities which had its own fewest owners. “Ouch! Fuck!”

“I think I’m done with all of you!” The victorious, cocksure gait of the former aspiring Monsignor, indicated in his footsteps, drumming silently against the cemented flooring was imprinting his fashionably overconfidence, aiming to the men’s wing door exit and glancing back at the collapsed partly dead, injured bodies of the staff members, offering them a smug, villainous grin, opening his mouth in a wide O and ornamenting with curtain of ivory, honed teeth the baleful bared notch of rich number of teeth.

The last sounds which pitched the injured staff members with severity was the heavy slam of the old, rustily iron door of the men’s wing, abandoned dumped to recline against the walls and rusty doors like half dead bodies, succumbing in their own pain and wounds even scars.

The crucial question of the former ambitious Monsignor was to flee Briarcliff promptly before being caught and returned back in his ward even severely punished for his attempted escape, besides to find his rare bird.

 

 

 

--- *** ---

--- A Couple of Hours Later or So ---

--- 11th of February, 1965 ---

 

Once the former holy priest escaped the ill-famed mental institution without being caught and sneaking in Kit’s household where his clarity detected Judy’s current residence.

Even when the smitten British compatriot was tickled gently by the opulent snowfall in three o’clock in the morning, presumably the beauty coma’s hours for the young couple and the blonde, he stepped beside the living room’s partly opened curtain at the early February’s winter prospect, illustrating exquisitely the incarnation of frosty winter with its true colors and forgotten to be closed by either of the recent inhabitants of the small, modest household. His devilish silhouette was mirrored behind his tall figure, cloning his shadow for doubling the eerie atmosphere.

“Oh crap!” Shortly after coming to her senses in the middle of the night, the former licentious jazz nightclub singer stretched her lean, alabaster arms in the thin air after grumbling another anathema, lurching in her throat and ripping her eyelids widely opened at the pitch-black darkness until one of her elvish, blanched hand managed to reach for the nightstand’s lamp to pull the sting and illuminating partly finely the guest’s room. Dehydration plagued the former woman of the cloth and a trip to the kitchen for a glass of water just a few minutes before getting back into her bed wouldn’t hurt her at all.

As soon as her bare feet hopped up in comfy slippers, guarding her petite feet from the chilly climate, consequently her imminent destination was the kitchen after timidly turning the door handle to swing opened the door, giving sufficient compact space for peering over into the hollow’s gap for observation. Petite figure drawing a wobble on her way to the emptily ebony-cloaked-clad corridor with lethal hush and dumping askew opened her room’s door just because she’ll be back within a handful of minutes only.

On her way to the kitchen and pacing in the ebony cloak, obscuring the clearness in her vision to be confident whether if she’s endangered to trip somewhere unintentionally, clumsily or nudge anything with an elbow or hand, elaborating a shattered item, a couple of window taps, louder than the snowfall’s whistle and quieter than seniors’ recurring snores leading to the eardrums to explode caught her off guard, her frail heart thundering awfully uneven in her chest, constricting the megawatt pressure burdening her perfectly normal soft fat and feminine anatomy.

“Who’s that?” An inward echo convinced her hesitantly to enter in the living room and check who’s the uninvited guest rapping on the living room’s window when everybody else were drifted off asleep like peaceful newborn babies after their birth certificates were issued and signed up by their biological parents, cleaned up neatly and smartly even spending enough time with their own creators, made of their flesh and blood.

When the middle-aged lady set a foot in the living room and inspected each corner of the room emphatically, bashfully, all of a sudden something darker caught her eye right away. It was nothing else. It was a humanoid with incessantly glimmering brass embers, blazing naked vengeance and ruthlessness. Far from humanoid’s kindhearted, benevolent facial expression which would break the unknown smitten creature’s complexion. Far from real. Far from a dream.

Within every girlishly demure step, striding to the window, the more the heart rate murderously rocketed momentarily and sinking in oblivion to seek peace or rest for a split second, moistening begrudgingly her lips after manipulating her strawberry-coloured tongue to twirl and spiral in apex’s target the upper and lower plumpish lips to grant her modicum of courage.

Smugly infernal, eldritch grin embraced and blanched her complexion in horror once her honey brown embers were darted to Timothy, donned in his patient’s outfit which was a stone blue denim vest, pairing with light, plain pair of jeans and uninterestingly hoary T-shirt, adumbrating wonderfully his amusingly toned muscles, matching with his eldritch grin and fulsomely luminous tawny orbs. The spawn of Lucifer was awaiting for response even for an action, vouching his impending intentions from the Messenger of God, muffling a hysterical mewl, searing her throat.

“Oh God, Timothy!” At the moment, she fashioned in a balled fist one of her hands, therefore rapping series of times to draw his attention in no time and keep his focus on the Bostonian. She was beyond mortified and disquieted by contemplating his uncommon, unsuitable for icy early morning climate to show more skin rather than deterring it with thicker, cozier and warmer attire to moderate his body temperature and prevailing any symptoms of flu and catching cold. “Come on, honey! Let’s get ya inside somewhere warmer and cozier for yar own good!” After retiring from the living room and venturing to the front door as in her relief neither Kit, nor Grace were even distracted by her footsteps and voice, she turned the rusty key in the keyhole and consequently in a single click the front door was finally opened at the sight of the uninvited guest. The devil and Timothy Howard in one body with two starkly contrasting souls, cusping and feuding one another for domination.

 

Author's Note: Since that's a mid-finale chapter, in fact, within 10 chapters the book is going to come to its own epilogue, thereafter what are your thoughts from the beginning up to now? I know what crazy plot twist with possessed Timothy and giving fine Mr. Jingles vibes are perplexing the readers, nevertheless, I don't want to end every story of mine with happy ending even describing constantly whether Jude or Timothy as the good guys as always, subsequently somehow switching their roles from time to time or even turning them in antagonists in certain cases. I hope you liked and enjoyed this chapter! :))

Chapter Text

 

 

Author's Note: I guess somebody is going to be dead after this chapter. 

 

Trigger Warning for  Strong Language, Gore, Violence, Blasphemy

 

 

--- *** ---

"Why did you betray me?" The profound undertone in Timothy's bizarrely infernal posed question, accentuating his sheer despondence and homesickness of not beholdinf his rare bird for awhile and most of all, missing her delicately sultry, indisputably warm caresses, grazing his muscles and prickling his epidermis with electrifying goosebumps. At the moment the older woman stepped aside to give a larger space to her former boss to enter in the small household, his cocksure gait indicating his invincible, insensitivity and immunity to any harm. Vague crystalline tears rimmed his brass mottled gemstones in bright topaz. Tempest of emotions spoke into his gemstones and they were all written across his parchment, unrealistically pallid complexion like a book with widely spread pages.

"It was wrong. Ya were a priest, Timothy!" Bashful timidness punctured the former devotional holy woman's stutter, lurching awkwardly backward and forward on her strawberry-coloured tongue, squinting up her fixated hazelish-brown gems at him after stepping inside the corridor, venturing his lips to part in the flourishing smug grin, baring his balefully ivory teeth, sheening twilight. "I couldn't be with you unless it was yar decision to leave the church, because of me." With a slam, the front door was shut promptly and manipulating her spider alabaster fingers to snap locked, subsequently she meekly ushered Timothy to escort her up to the kitchen.

"Lies on top of lies!" In the meantime, the docile, silent footsteps of the escaped patient echoed sheepishly against the carpeted flooring, following modestly the blonde up to the kitchen after stepping inside and he seated finely polite on the kitchen table.

"I'm not lying. I'm just saying the facts!" Suddenly the younger man ushered his infernally topaz gems to roll cold-bloodedly dramatic, mockingly, mewling a gruntunder his breath, solely distinctive for him, whereas the older lady was propping on the counter. "Would ya like something to drink?"

"Just a glass of water, please!" His insistence begged for the offered glass of water to be instructed in a jiffy as the blonde swung opened the kitchen cabinet, reaching for the rich collection of empty, unused glasses and retrieving a mere glass and thereafter twisting the faucet on, assailing the opulent jet water, splashing the sink's steel surface and pooling up to the rim of the glass with translucent, lukewarm liquid.

"H-How did ya know I'm living here?" What it aroused abruptly the older lady's childlike inquisitiveness was how the former aspiring Monsignor detected her personal information and most of all, nailing her current residence as his brilliantly crystal intelligence sparked in his hurricane of thoughts and spellbinding with a spell. The disinclination, reluctant to be immune to any eloquence in her recently conjugated vowels and syllables in her stammer were instantly detected by the possessed patient, sensing modicum of fear, welling in her petite-frame shortly after twisting off the faucet and swamping the glass with lukewarm, fresh water and dashing in short, versatile steps up to the guest.

The elasticity of the doldrum, muting the background noises in the kitchen and the bracketing rooms which were a couple of yards registering its proximity, stretched the both former pious members of the church as Judy handed gracefully hospitably the glass of water to the younger man, proffering him a sympathetic, hospitable smile, flattening her lusciously natural roseate lips, sensing the swelling pride and melting temperature of her flimsy heart due to granted pampering towards her love interest.

"Thank you, my rare bird!" The obscene deepness in his English lilt, accentuating his altruistic expression of gratitude softened his handsome facial attributes, smeared in scruff with stubble, prickling his gorgeously sharp jaw, embodying his mangy looks with lacking smartening care to fertilize his epidermis and hair, sent shivers down the blonde's spine of sheer embarrassment, paradoxally hyperbolic pleasure when the prominent nickname for his lover was addressed promptly and emphatically. "For how long have you been living with Kit and Grace?" Even when the possessed inmate played goofy as if he had meager knowledge about her recent lifestyle, situated nowadays, he carded his dancing pristinely strong, meaty fingers around the rim of the glass and lugging it up to his mouth, his chapped pale-pinkish lips grazing the frail glass whilst managing to swig a mouthful of tiny, humble sips.

“Since the day ya granted me the freedom.” All of a sudden, the Bostonian managed to push one of the stray chairs to perch her rear and sharing a sufficient quantity of closeness with Timothy even when his quirkily fishy demeanor characterized his unnaturally deep and daredevil voice timbre along with his brass blemished cabochons which were oblivious for the former pious holy woman, barely detecting the alludes of possession or on the contrary the genuine notion of the vile essence, dwelling in the caverns of one of the fallen angels’ bodies and corrupting its unblemished essence with filthy, hideous ebony and embodying every cell of the evil and its saturating contrast with the light and goodwill. “The freedom of not being a patient in Briarcliff which I dearly cherish with every ounce of my heart.” Meanwhile, crystalline, translucent tears welled in the older woman’s caramel brown gems, woeful pity readable overally across her femininely beautiful, delicate facial features whilst examining in a scrutiny her lover’s looks and his leaking somber aura, oozing of him. She was beyond heartbroken and despondent to behold under her gaze the small, mortified and weak inmate of the sinisterly nefarious mental hospital’s spawn of his recent occupation, because she could see her own mirrored reflection, impersonating her identity just a few months ago when Judy was no longer Sister Jude and losing every ounce of her clerical possessions which she’s being stripped off against her will. In spite of the galore of tribulations they’ve been through the past weeks and months whether separated or together, Judy wasn’t very fond of the staff members’ hideous wights of their far-fetched cure methods transmuted him into nothing than an incarnation of the pity, wretchedness and death’s uninvited guest. She’d sacrifice every ounce of her body and muscles to go back into the nefarious mental institution and teach them a lesson in the name of love, avenging for Timothy’s unknown or almost futile institutionalization, characterized by far-fetched symptoms with their own authors and witnesses. “You’re a magnificent human being and person, Timothy! What the hell they did to ya and transmuted ya into an incarnation of the former me?” Velvety tearfulness punctured her coy whisper while manipulating the palms of her petite, healthily creamy hands to card the former aspiring Monsignor’s cheeks, providing him comfort, affection and warmness which was obviously ungifted to him. “I’m pretty scared yar suffering twice as much as I did or more. What those bastards granted ya when I wasn’t there?” Her posed questions begged for his immediate, rational response, whilst one of his colossal, weathered hands’ strong, meaty fingers danced in brace around the rim of the glass, squinting up his smoky quartz, blotched with bright, infernal brass pigment gems, ushering his Adam apple’s seething to swig the salty lump, being all ears at the words of the former sister of the church.

“Dr. Arden and Sister Bernadette accused me I was insane and diagnosed me with schizophrenia even though I spent sleepless days and nights!” Heavy sigh plunked his ribcage with fresh oxygen, unwrapping exquisitely his virginally masculine, delicate fingers from the glass and ushering his both mammoth, amusingly frosty hands to claw the soft calloused-knuckles of his lover, pinning them with extra weight. “There weren’t any behavioral hints of my insanity or at least the mental illness they sentenced me. I was overwhelmed through the whole month just shortly after your release. I couldn’t think clearly and rationally. I never murdered anybody to be accused in insanity.” The quiet, rustproof sobs broke the blonde’s facial expression, sweeping off the mirth which once adorned vibrantly every segment of her anatomy. Palming his well-sculptured, alabaster cheeks as her fingers trailed gently, gracefully his cheekbones, Judy tendered a benevolently radiant, reliable smile, curling upon her mouth even though the woeful nuances, painting her smile. “But a sudden supernatural power had gotten into me and I taught a lesson to some of the orderlies when they’re getting rid off my clothes for the hydrotherapy bathtub and some staff members when it’s finally bedtime for the patients.”

“Ya don’t deserve the hell which those leery bastards have given to ya. At any cost!”

“It’s my nemesis for what I did to you and stripping you off from your possessions. You deserve much better,” After yanking the glass of cool water from the kitchen table and lifting it up to bring beside his mouth, in order to swig a handful of wee, innocent sips, hydrating his organs, he discarded one of his hands from his rare bird’s and taking her both petite, femininely dainty hands into his, kneading with the digits of his fingers in clumsily sluggish pace the brittle knuckles’ highlands, admiring the femininity in her anatomy, structuring her one of a kind physique and God’s dexterous hands carving and mastering her Achilles’ Heel physique for every man whether young or old even enticing eye candy for his monstrous serpentine, imbibing the insatiable charm and grace into her physical looks. “Jude! That’s God’s punishment for my sins and mistakes which are far from forgiving.”

“Never forget for whose arranged release and freedom yar actually responsible for! Never and ever!” The haphazardness of slopping their foreheads, resting on each other’s weight in tandem waltz, vaguely brushing each other’s intricately soft facial skins, locking up one another’s ogles until Judy’s caramel brown jewels wrenched widened in extensive stupefaction at the sight of deftly changeable irises’ pigments from the familiar, soothingly warm pools of profound chocolate brown into the foreign, coldheartedly bloodthirsty, egregious citrine daredevil sanctums of unsacredness and demise. “I’m also partly responsible for this. Ya remember, don’t ya?” As soon as the vibrantly sheening citrine nuances arrayed his big, round crystals, glimmering the brightest beryl, casting its ray perpendicularly, a ferociously aggressive, extraneous growl rolled out of the tip of the younger man’s berry-coloured, wet tongue, subsequently the blonde retired with a handful of inches, ditching her hands from his grip, flinching and reclining backward on her chair, verging sloppily to slump heavily on the kitchen flooring, parting her lips in a wide O.

“You’re the one who didn’t even bother to walk away from the asylum with the lovey doveys when I wanted to speak to you.” Thereafter the British compatriot registered his colossal, veiny milky hands to cast a spell as sequence of splintering the recent furniture which Judy was seating and fortunately, lifting up her rear from the cozy surface just before landing on her lower back on the chilly floor, elaborating breathy, idle pants and gritting her teeth intimidatingly, registering a strenuous stance, connoting her in self-defensive attitude. “Just for a minute!” Fashioning into a balled fist and forcefully slamming the dining table with the slight wince of the liquid from the supportive glassware artifact, consequently he honed the sharpness of his glare, acerbically skeptical shot at the former sleazy nightclub singer, straightening her posture and attempting to compose her own muscles and bones even though the intensifying rumpus where she’s victimized. “To turn your back to face me after I called your name! Kit and Grace told you I needed to tell you something but you just minded your own business.” Suddenly the young man straightened his posture from the kitchen table and commenced to approach with each step his rare bird, whose proximity was unchangeable when she withdrew backward with an inch at least, generous layer of perspiration thickly, marvelously coating her eyebrows’ cusp, quizzically arching a dark, thin eyebrow. “Where your mind was then? Don’t you ever dare to lie to me or exaggerate anything that has to do with our story then!” The menacing highlight which his strawberry-coloured, wet tongue conjugated, spilled venomous locution, whilst Judy’s heart beat rapidly rabid increased and thudding vehemently into her ears and bony ribcage.

“W-Why yar doing this? Why are ya even thinking this way?” The sharp exhale’s haphazardness sailed and hauled with great deal of efforts from her chest, flump backward, reclining against the counter’s drawers, stoicism roughly granulated her facial attributes, enduring the severe physical and mental agony, afflicting her bones, muscles and cells with puny quantity of time to nimbly evincing her reactions before it’s too late. “Is it to punish me?”

“No, I’m not punishing you, Jude!”

“This is punitive is what this is. We’ve forgiven each other. Happily! I’m happily having a fresh start. I’m just happy.” In the meanwhile, her hazelish-brown jewels flamed brutal honesty, primly baleful with medley of compassion, stoicism and angst, swallowing hard. “We’re just,” Then the former priest seized his chapped pale-pinkish lips in a thoughtful, emphatic purse, hunkering down past his lover’s reclining body, locking up with her teary gaze. “I love you, Timothy, and I would do anything for ya! Would ya even consider,” The leaked revelation tore off the both former members of the clergy’s hearts on glassily mineral segments, shattered randomly, daubing with her elbow the twin heavy rain pouring on her porcelain, still elderly youthful complexion. “Ya come in here, and you wave your diabolic yellow eyes, smelling of dangers and trouble in my face, when you would be never capable of hurting any female or me.” Indicating herself with her spidery palish fingers her chest, fingering and tipping her pajama’s fabric, whereas Timothy rolled his eyes teasingly, devilishly and flaring his nostrils ferociously, furiously as adrenaline pulsated into his tall figure. “There’s your word and there’s my word. And you know perfectly well, I know you personally well to assimilate yar mannerism and what yar intentions actually are.”

“You’re a liar!”

“No! What…How…What?” Inhaling the pungent reek of heavy medicaments, urine and mold, wafting past her flexible button nose, series of stutters stubbornly defected her syllables and vowels, troubling to drip from her tongue tip, snapping shut her eyelids for a split second until they stung widened in bewildering shock, mirroring her apprehension and nonplus crystally clear.

“Yeah. How else could I detect your lies, indicated in your actions, taking its place a month ago?” Meanwhile, the possessed inmate moistened his dryly cracked, baby-pinkish lips after spiraling vertically his tongue to sponge his lower and upper lip. “Your selfishness! Your fears!” The former licentious jazz nightclub singer managed to daub her last drying tears with her digits hesitantly nimble, snatching her lower lip between her front creamy-coloured teeth, nipping the delicate skin of its raw spot. “Your broken promises?” The elasticity of doldrum’s tissue stretching the both adults’ dilemma manufactured a foreign gasp, elaborated at the top of the older lady’s brittle lungs. “No! Oh my God, Jude! Empty words?”

“It’s rather my selflessness. I knew so far that yar were tremendously dedicated to your golden ambition to become a Cardinal and then a Pope! But I’m not a liar.”

“Oh! Per se,”

“Listen to me, Timothy!” All of a sudden, the British compatriot straightened his posture and composed it nonchalantly as if nothing wrong has happened, objecting series of speculative theories behind the intensifying atmosphere, troubling the both former members of the church. “No! Listen! No!” The advancement of her decibels tingled alarming tones into Timothy’s ears, averting his glare for a split second from his rara avis, inhaling and then exhaling subtly. “There is only one truth and we both know it, okay? It’s complicated, all right? So please, let’s adjust the diplomacy like grown adults! Nobody is going to be hurt.” When his topaz minerals glistened the brightest ray and landing into a scintillating glare whilst gritting maliciously his teeth, he manufactured his mammoth, virginal hands into balled fists, lingering his obviously peeved frown flattening his pair of cherub lips.

“I’m gonna make you a deal, Judy!” In the interim, the younger man ushered his hands to hex invincible telekinesis on the older woman and effortlessly, slothfully levitating her petite-frame, stilling the hex just before finishing his utterance. “I won’t hurt Kit or Grace or anybody, if you grant your soul to the devil!” As soon as the older woman shook her head in dismissing the offer to vend her soul to the vile’ spawns, in order to liberate from imperil her recent sole friends from the daredevil dilemma, meantime, gesticulated with a single arm horizontally and spellbinding the telekinetic power to trash Judy against the kitchen’s window, throughout thudding the window’s slew glassy fragments vitiating her reclined petite-frame against the wall and her spine supporting her helplessly seated posture, bleating series of shrilling, ugly whimpers, almost distinctive for her and the possessed former man of the cloth. Wonderfully patchy bleeding slits and bruises glinted scarlet miniature vista at the sight of Timothy, ambling up to his lover in cocksure gait. “The more you reject this offer, my rare bird, the more you and your beloved friends will suffer!” Hooking her trembling fingers clumsily around her bleeding wrist, she lowered shamefacedly her jaded eyeing to the scraps of shattered glass segments, pronging her delicate flesh.

“Holy Jesus! N-Never!” Blatant groans skidding of her tongue tip, whilst panting and trying to perch her toes on the kitchen floor and dash to her bedroom to retrieve the Holy Bible, reciting in a murmur the prayers. “Ya aren’t Timothy who I ideally know! Yar a monster and the devil that controls him.” In the meanwhile, the Bostonian hopped out of the countertop, stolidity patched her porcelain, pallid complexion, dashing out of the kitchen in no time and her pace’s calculation interpreted in humdrum drums, resembling an elephant’s footsteps. “I’m never going to sell my fucking soul for the sake of the evil just to make sure anybody is safe because of this finely pointless offer.” After blocking with a chair the door, in order to diminish the chances of the uninvited guest to break into the guests’ room abruptly, the middle-aged lady scurried up to the right nightstand, rummaging the top drawer for the Holy Bible and rosary beads which were leftovers of Kit’s heritage from his parents who were sufficiently pious to attend the church once a week and granting their son to have an ample hallowed equipment for prayers and casting away the vile spirits from the small household. Once the rosary beads danced in braces around her fingers and sitting on her double bed, spreading widely the Holy Bible’s pages and flipping the pages with inked paragraphs, embroidered to the flimsy pages, the former holy man scurried up to the guests’ room, stepping beside and maneuvering his hands to perform mind control and telekinesis on his recent target. Jude. “No!” All of a sudden, the leather, thick Holy Bible’s flipped cover flumped and pinned the former religious woman of the cloth’s dainty marbled fingers, while ushering the dancing brace of rosary beads circa her fingers to uncurl and opt to suffocate herself, per se tugging headstrongly the hallowed chaplet perpendicularly, chewing on her tongue. Vowels and syllables waltzed in twains in her oral caverns, barely constructing a rational utterance. The maniacally infernal, deep chuckle with its owner suffocating the nocturnal midnight silence and eavesdropping the stirring young couple, emanating from their bedroom they shared together for more than a month and their intentions to check the ruckus’s sequence until their door clicked shut, incapable of fleeing their romantic sanctuary.

“You know neither the baloneys paged up in the Bible, nor the rosary will help you now, dear Judy! In a New York minute, everything will end delightfully.” His uncanny telekinetic mastery authoritatively was loitering the tight grasp of the chaplet yet, whereas the Bostonian mewled series of blatantly blathers with no specific modicum of sense, spotlighting the words and combating dyslectic vowels and syllables. Meanwhile, the patient lingered the mind control and leak every ounce of her hurricane of thoughts and intentions, throughout miring them irreparably with the Holy Bible dropping clumsily on her feet and grazing with its solid leather cover her vulnerably petite toes. Thereafter her figure levitated upward to the ceiling after mischievously wounding and weakening her physique with desperate crying stamina for rest and supplies to congeal. Within a half a minute keeping the manipulation of the elaborating conjurations, thus his fingertips flickered up beginnings of tiny, citrine flames, igniting the delicate pallid skin of his digits.

“Release me!”

“A te, de l’essere Principio immenso, Materia e spirito, Ragione e senso,” The prologue of the Hymn of Satan’s prayer fell from Timothy’s masculinely plumpish, baby-pinkish lips, sitting on his knees in performing the fiendish ritual of Satan’s hymn and summoning the ignition of his rara avis’s fiery blanket to swaddle her muscles and dissolving her from muscles until her bones were dumped as remnants. Smugly supercilious, scintillating grin curved his lips in straddling them in the ivory enamel exposure, wrenching shut his eyelids. “Mentre ne’ calici, Il vin scintilla, Si’come l’anima, Ne la pupilla,” In the interval, inevitably iniquitous flames kindled the former nun’s body on the ceiling and crying out loud for help.

“Help me!”

 

 

Author's Note: I know how many people despise me due to this brutal cliffhanger, nevertheless, it's never too late to enchant with some pain and torture the characters. Furtermore, if  you aren't familiar with Latin, subsequently the Hymn of Satan's translation from Latin into English is this:

To you, creation’s

mighty principle,

matter and spirit

reason and sense

 

Whilst the wine

sparkles in cups

like the soul

in the eye

 

Anyway I hope you liked and enjoyed this chapter though the dialogues were longer than the actual situation!