Chapter playlist: You're So Vain - Carly Simon; Long Tall Sally - Little Richard; Bring It On Home To Me - Sam Cooke

Bring It On Home to Me

Jude was up early. She'd slept well in her refashioned quarters. And she had to admit she was looking forward to seeing the Monsignor at breakfast. She even wore a red dress - just for him. And decided that something special was in order for their menu.

She collected Mary Eunice. "Good morning, little sister."

"It is a good morning." Eunice enthused. She'd made a bouquet for the breakfast table. Jude decided not to mention the Monsignor's visit, just in case he pussied out. Again. "Red is a very nice color on you, Sister."

Jude squeezed Eunice on the way downstairs. "I know," she confided. "We're gonna cook something fun today."

"Ooh, what?"

"Beignets."

"Mayonnaise?"

"No!" Jude laughed aloud. "Beignets. Little fried doughnuts with sugar on them. You'll love 'em, trust me."

"I love sugar."

"Sugar?" Shelley swung into the kitchen right behind them. Smacked Jude's ass. "You gonna give me some sugar, Judy?"

"I'm gonna give ya some soap far that dirty mouth, Shelley."

"No fun."

Eunice snickered behind a hand, and Shelley poked her in the ribs to bring the giggles to the open.

"What's fer breakfast?" Frank asked.

"Beignets." Eunice answered.

"Mayonnaise?!"

"Oh, far Christ's sake." Jude was pulling flour from the pantry. "Beignets! Hasn't anybody evah had a fuckin' beignet?"

"Yeah. French doughnuts." Shelley answered. "They're amazing. Want some help, Judy?"

"That'd be nice, Shelley. And some music." She blinked.

You walked into the party

Like you were walking on a yacht

Your hat strategically dipped below one eye

Your scarf, it was apricot

They had the batter whipped up in no time, rolling the lump on a floured butcher block, all grooving to the relaxing tune while Frank and Eunice squeezed oranges. Such a peaceful morning... And then the Monsignor arrived.

You had one eye on the mirror

And watched yourself gavotte

And all the girls dreamed that they'd be your partner

They'd be your partner, and

You're so vain

He looked incredibly non-Monsignorly. Dark trousers and a grey cotton oxford. Jude met his eyes over Shelley's bent head. Frank's brows rose. Eunice accidentally squeezed an orange into her eyeball. And slowly - like a scene from a film noir in slow motion - Shelley turned.

You probably think this song is about you

You're so vain,

I'll bet you think this song is about you

Don't you?

Don't you?

"Son. Of. A. Bitch."

"Shelley." Frank rounded the orange juice station, stepping between her and Timothy.

"Leave her be, Frank." Jude calmly interjected, rolling beignets. "They're fine. Eunice, how's that juice?"

Oh, you had me several years ago

When I was still naive

Well, you said that we made such a pretty pair

And that you would never leave

Shelley went straight for blood (as Jude anticipated), shoving Timothy into the utensil wall with both hands. "Good thing you don't have that collar on right now, cuz I'd use it to choke the useless fucking life out of you. Like you did me!"

Her anger was so raw Jude could feel it. They all could. Frank stood by helplessly, Jude giving him a meaningful side eye. Eunice had moved behind Jude, not exactly cowering, but more for protection. "It's all right, little sistah. This has to happen. Pour me some oil in that fry pan and enjoy the show."

But you gave away the things you loved

And one of them was me

I had some dreams, they were clouds in my coffee

Clouds in my coffee

"Shelley. You've every right to your anger," Timothy gasped, the wind knocked out of him. "I deserve your hatred." Long Tall Sally took over the radio and Jude wondered who the hell had blinked that hit.

"Thanks for the permission to have feelings, Captain Obvious," Shelley spat. She smacked him with a wooden spoon. He flinched, curled, and she continued smacking. "Cowardly piece of shit! You never deserved that title. Monsignor. Ya strangled me with a fucking rosary! You didn't even have the balls to touch me! Scared you'd sully your pristine hands? Pontius Pilate pussy ass motherfucker!" Her spoon broke. She grabbed his hair, pulling him to the sink. Jude swirled gracefully aside, twirling Eunice under her arm swing-style. Shelley set the sink on full blast, steam rising. "Wash your hands now! Wash 'em! Pretend I was some unfortunate that wasn't your fault if it makes you feel better. And wash your face to so you can show it to me without a shit-stain of shame!" She shoved his head under the spray.

Jude had to give him credit. He was taking this abuse better than she had. Of course, he lacked the justification she had. Or the plain old gumption to fight. She doubted Timothy had ever even exchanged a heated word in his life.

He sputtered in the stream of water. Shelley held him there. "You know what?" She continued, tears of anger, of pure rage creeping into her voice. "I baptize you. I baptize you a lying -" She dumped a handful of dish powder onto his head " - betraying, hypocritical, Narcissistic -" She rubbed the soap to a rabid lather " - deceitful, cowardly, blackmailing, stupid, short-sighted -" She flung him away from the sink, into the butcher block.

"Watch the beignets!" Jude yelled. Frank grabbed the butcher block, smoothly rolled it toward Jude.

Timothy landed on his ass and Shelley continued smoothly, straddling his knees and towel-popping his face. "Rotten, disgusting, lustful, power-hungry, idiotic, selfish, myopic, misanthropic, psychopathic, mentally deranged MURDERER! You hear me?" She cast the towel aside and grabbed his ears. "You're a murderer, man of God!"

Jude began slicing beignets, passing them one by one to Mary Eunice who dropped them carefully into the bubbling oil.

Shelley took a breath at last, leaning into Timothy's face close enough for him to smell her breath. "I'd choke the life out of you with my bare hands right now if I thought it would actually kill your dead ass! But that'd be a waste of my precious time. Because honestly, Father? I've wiped better shit off the walls of the hydrotherapy room than you and you aren't worthy of another ounce of my energy. You don't deserve to be here with us. You don't deserve Jude, or Frank, or Eunice! Any of us! You might as well have stayed cloistered away fucking your favorite statue of the blessed virgin forever because you've decided to show up and ruin beignets for EVERYBODY!"

Slowly, she stood up. And spat on his chest. Jude flipped beignets. Shelley plated them. Timothy coughed, drawing himself to his knees before Shelley. He bowed prostrate before her, neat oxford wet and covered in flour. "Everything you speak is truth," he gasped. "And I can only beg your forgiveness, Shelley. Not expect it."

Shelley nudged his head with her foot. "Damn right." She blew hair out of her face. "I'm not stupid. I know that's why we're all here. But I have to admit, it's a little harder with you, Father." She straightened her boho skirt, reached out a hand toward Jude, who placed a clean towel in it. "Thanks, Judy." She wiped soap and water from her arms and hands. Dried the ends of her hair. "I feel a little better." She draped the towel around Timothy's neck. "You will, too, father. I'll think things over. And get back to ya." She turned back to the stove and Jude, purposefully shoving her ass in Timothy's face. "Meanwhile...welcome to breakfast, asshole."

After that, breakfast progressed with relative pleasance. If awkwardly quiet. Timothy occasionally sniffled. He had a bloody nose. Jude saw, and gestured to her own nose, handing him a cloth napkin. "Thank you," he whispered.

"Judy." Frank as usual was the one to break the silence. "These mayonnaise biscuits are amazing."

"Thanks, Frank."

"Beignets." Shelley corrected. "What do you think, Tim?"

Timothy cleared his throat. "Jude has displayed her usual skill in the kitchen. These are... perfect." Eunice slathered apple compote onto another beignet. She hadn't even looked at the Monsignor. He continued, appraising each of them. "I regret that I have not...engaged any of you before now. Except for you, Shelley."

"Thanks, Father."

"And Jude informs me that you are all...aware of the Shadows that haunt our halls. They are concerning. As is the possibility that...Dr. Arden is among us, hidden."

"Yesterday's news," Shelley droned. "I'm more concerned about how I get the hell out of here, to Paris, where I belong. And far away from this freak show."

"I've told you how, Shelley." Jude reminded, sipping her juice. "And I believe yar well on yar way. But. I also believe this matter of the shadows, and of Dr. Arden has to be handled before any of us can go anywhere."

"So we have to pay for his sins?" Shelley asked. "That's total bullshit. I already paid for his sins. And his." A powdered sugar finger pointed at the Monsignor. "And yours." Pointed at Jude. "So I'm tapped out. No more fucks to give. Mary Eunice?" The little nun looked at Shelley as if she just became aware Shelley existed. "You've been awfully quiet. What do you think of this 'vanquishing the shadows' idea?"

Eunice looked at Jude, but Jude looked away. Her protege had to start answering for herself. In all things. "I wonder that the shadows are evil at all."

Surprise all around the table. Timothy rested his chin on his hands, caught Jude's eyes. "Explain?"

"I know that we find them frightening. But I don't know that they're...evil. What if we just don't understand what they're trying to accomplish? What if they're actually asking for help?"

"You're nuts." Shelley was rising from the table. "Those things really got hold of Judy. Look at her fucking arms! They can do that to any of us. And maybe worse. We don't know what they're capable of, or what we're not capable of. Frank?"

"Yeah, Shelley?"

"Come to the common room with me. I don't like where this conversation is going. And my tolerance for new...friends...has worn out."

Frank rose. Wouldn't argue with Shelley. In a way, he'd adopted her. "Judy. Great breakfast as always and uh - good to see ya, Monsignor."

"Just Timothy, Frank." The ex-priest smiled tersely. "And...thank you for having me."

Silence fell on the kitchen. Eunice stood, too, began gathering dishes. Timothy stopped her. "Eunice. Please, sit."

"Yes, Father."

He started to correct her, stopped at Jude's head shake. "Sister. You must know that I hold no blame over you for things that happened during your possession. You have to understand I forgive you. And that moreso, I apologize so deeply...that I was unable to save your precious soul. That regret has been one of my greatest of many regrets. Do you understand?"

"It wasn't your fault, Father. But I understand." Jude rubbed Eunice's shoulder, hugged her. "Father?" The young nun had very wet eyes.

"Yes, Sister?"

"Have you...left the church?"

Jude looked at him as expectantly as Eunice did.

"I believe...the church has left me. And perhaps I never belonged within it."

"Is it...because of what happened?" Eunice asked. One tear slipped. Jude thumbed it away.

"No." Timothy was firm, but gentle. "Mary Eunice...you are clearly aware I was plagued by significant doubts, sins and transgressions. And now, is the time for my personal reckoning."

"And mine." Eunice nodded. "Father?"

"Yes?"

"My virtue is also destroyed. Does this mean the church will leave me?"

His face reflected his pain at the girl's innocent question. And answers seemed to slip his grasp. Thank God for Jude... "Little Sistah. You're closer to God than anybody I've evah known in this life. And you know there are no secrets from God. He saw everything that happened. He knows every truth. Eunice...virginity - virtue - whatevah you wanna call it. That's a tricky thing. On the one hand, it's just...a physical barrier. But on the other hand, it's a spiritual one. And which do you think is more important to God?"

Eunice was beginning to smile. "The spiritual."

"Of course," Jude whispered. She took hold of Eunice's hands. "And the blessed virgin herself might not have the spiritual virtue you have, sistah."

Eunice reached for Jude's face, cupped her cheek. Jude nuzzled the touch. "You always know, Sister Jude."

"I learned the hard ways."

Eunice blinked, slipped another pink rose behind Jude's ear. "Thank you. And thank you, Father." She stood, stretched as though a great weight was lifted. "I'm going to start a Monopoly game. I have a talent for it. They never suspect a nun's going to drop hotels on Boradwalk and Park Place." She dipped a finger into a pile of powdered sugar. Licked it. "If you need my help with the shadows, let me know. I don't know what I can do, but I do think there's more to them than meets the eye."

Alone in the kitchen, Jude and Timothy sat across from each other in quiet contemplation. He broke the silence. "You have a particular understanding with them. Especially Eunice."

Jude shrugged. "I just listen."

"You say exactly the right things."

"I speak the truth."

"Yes, you do. Always did." 

"No, I didn't."

He sighed. "May I see your arms?"

"The marks are clearing up."

"I would like to see them clearing up."

An eye roll. She stretched her arms across the table. His fingers stroked gently over the now pink prints. Jude closed her eyes, let the singing sensation swirl. She could have moaned from the pleasure. "What is that?" Timothy asked quietly.

"Mmm?"

"You feel it, as well."

She opened her eyes to see his closed. His fingers still stroked her arms. "It's..."

"Pleasure." He breathed. "Something more..."

"Stop," she whispered. But her body begged him for more. And as though he listened to her body, and not her mouth, he increased the pressure until their breath caught in tandem. Drawing on all of her strength, she pulled her arms inward. He took her hands. "Don't."

"I want to touch you, Jude." He bowed his head, ashamed and laid bare.

Her fingers slipped out of his slowly, agonizingly. But this time the sensation remained coursing. Shaken, she lit a cigarette. "Once upon a time..." Her voice was husky with want and resentment. "Is this why yar no longer a Father?"

"No. It's a part of the whole." A wry smile. "I was a dreadful holy man, Jude. You were right. Just a man. Who lusted. Who loved. Who denied himself in the name of God."

Her throat ached. She was hot. "Loved?" What kind of man loved like that...

"Do you believe in perfect love?" He asked.

"No."

He chuffed a rueful laugh. "I think I still do. Or want to."

"Then yar still foolish." She gestured. "What do ya want Timothy? What's yar peace?"

Timothy sighed, folded his hands before him. "When I was a boy, I lived in a very poor neighborhood. Just outside of London. My father worked several factory jobs. My mother was a seamstress. A devoutly religious woman. My father...was not so. He occasionally drank. To excess. Occasionally beat my mother. Myself. I had a young sister who had a disease. She died very young. I remember it devastated my mother, and she prayed vehemently and passionately that my sister was accepted into heaven. Once I asked her why it was so important that she must pray for it every single day. She said that God's love was perfect love. That heaven was perfect peace. She wanted that for my sister. For herself. For me. She contracted pneumonia when I was nine. Before she died, she told me that she'd never truly felt love. For me, my sister, her husband. She told me that the only love I would ever truly feel would be God's love, and I believed her. My father wasted away after that, from drink mainly. When I was eleven, he died, and I went to a Catholic boys' home. And...after that - Seminary. So I suppose I never established my own ideals of peace. And my ideals of love were...unreal." His fingers absently worked designs on the table surface and Jude imagined them on her body. "There was a sister...at the boys' home." He smiled, reminiscing. "Sister Joan Lucas. She was kind to me. Motherly, I guess. She encouraged me. Inspired me. Told me grand tales of Cardinals, Popes and Sainthoods. I suppose she was...a very influential woman. More influential than my mother, certainly. More passionate in her convictions. When I first met you, Jude, you reminded me very much of her."

Jude nodded. "I see. What happened to her?"

He shook his head. "After I went to Seminary we corresponded for years. She went to a mission. I believe in Japan? Died when I was...23? 24?"

"Were you sad to lose her?"

"No." He was quick to answer. "I was absolutely convinced she had achieved that perfect love. I envied her a bit. And...I devoted myself wholly to rising within the church. For her, perhaps. For my mother. My sister. Something to prove to people who no longer existed to impress."

"And for yourself?"

"I was comfortable. The church cared for me. Nurtured me."

"And a nun."

He tapped the table with some finality. "And a nun."

Jude laughed ruefully. "You were created for the cloth, by the cloth."

"You were not."

"No."

He took a cold beignet. "Your turn, Jude. Quid pro quo. What destroyed your belief in perfect love?"

She sighed deeply. Why not? "I had a similar childhood to yars. Only a single mother. And she was the one who liked the drink. Family curse. She was religious, but not devoutly so. Neither was I. I grew up running the roads, so to speak. I was a piss poor student. Didn't like to study particularly. I worked. Hard. Met a fellah. Fell in love. Got engaged. Whole shebang. He...cheated on me. Gave me an infection. Accused me of being a whore. So...I guess I became one. I sang. In jazz clubs. I slept around. I still drank. And one night...I had an accident. I was driving. Drunk as hell. I hit a little girl on a bike. And I ran. I left her. I thought she was dead. But I was scared. I drove off aimlessly and woke up at a convent. Staring up at a statue of St. Jude." She spread her hands. "And here I am."

His forehead creased. "You thought she was dead."

A wry grin. "It was only here at Briarcliff that I learned the truth. She lived. Grew up. Had a baby of her own."

"A miracle."

"Dumb fucking luck."

"Luck you had not known."

"Very perceptive."

"And...your fiancee. Was he so powerful in his deceit that he truly destroyed your belief in love?"

"No." Jude stood. Dropped a few more dishes in the sink and leaned against it. "You did that, Timothy."

His jaw tensed. "I didn't realize -"

"Of course ya didn't. Ya weren't supposed to." She paced. Wrung her hands. "Ta know yar trusted sister - yar right hand - yar rare bird - wanted to be yar..."

"My what?" He asked quietly, pushing her. Challenging.

"Yar lover." Her eyes were wet. "You were so good, Timothy. I believed in ya. I believed I was so damaged, so unworthy, so -"

"Jude." He stood.

She held out a hand, stopping him. "Don't."

"I just -"

"No! Whatevah yar gonna do, just...don't." She chewed at her lip, thinking, not looking at him.

Timothy stood awkwardly by the table, uncertain how to approach her, or if he even should. So he let her fret. And she reached her own decision. A blink of big brown eyes and the radio flared.

If you ever change your mind

About leaving, leaving me behind

Oh, oh, bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

She paced a few more seconds, gently swaying. Her hands shook nervously at her sides and finally: "Wanna dance with me?"

I know I laughed when you left

But now I know I only hurt myself

"I - I've never danced." But his eyes were bright.

"Nevah?" Jude shook her head. "Far Christ's sake." She held out her hands. "Come on, then. If I can teach two five year olds I can teach you."

He took her hands, fully anticipating the static pull. He loved it. Had gotten used to it. But, he'd truly never danced with a woman, so a brief awkward skirmish occurred. His hands didn't know where to go, both aiming for her waist. She pulled one back into the air, and he raised the other. She took it down and he took her shoulder with the other. Jude laughed. "No,no, no...don't - stop, Timothy. Just - here." Firmly, she place one hand on her waist, stiffly raising his other. "I'll um...I'll lead, then. Watch my feet and just...follow. Slowly!"

He smiled. The electrical rush was more of a pulse this way. Close to her, it felt like a second heartbeat. But when he bent to watch her feet, he bumped her forehead.

"Ow!" They exclaimed, laughing.

"Shit," he muttered, glancing up.

Jude's surprised eyes flicked to his. "Is that the first curse word you've ever uttered?"

"No!" He was nearly defensive. "I think I've said damn."

"Give me a few more days," she promised. "I'll teach you how to do that, too."

Oh, oh, bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

For a moment, they moved in a simple box step. He caught on quickly, and it wasn't lost on Jude when he moved a bit closer. "Doing fine," she whispered.

"When do we do the twirling thing?" He asked.

"You can do it now, if you think you're ready."

"No, I'm not ready." She laughed, hummed, beginning to relax. "Alright. Now I'm ready."

"Go for it."

The twirl was a little choppy, but relatively successful. He transitioned to their original positioning stiffly. "That went well."

She chuckled at him, let her forehead rest against his chest. Subtly, he sniffed her hair. It smelled like warm sugar. She felt him swallow thickly.

I'll give you jewelry and money too

That ain't all, that ain't all I'll do for you

Oh, if bring it to me

"This is quite peaceful, I think." He murmured into loose curls.

"This is...perfect." She agreed softly. He wished he could see her face. But she seemed content to lean her head just this way. "Shall we try another spin?" She asked.

"No. I think...just..." He shifted his hold, his body, and she pressed fully against him. "This."

She didn't protest.

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

"Jude."

"Shhhh."

He hushed. And they danced.

You know I'll always be your slave

'Till I'm buried, buried in my grave

Oh, honey bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

The group spent the day apart, for the most part. It was as if each needed some time, some space. There was much to process. Jude was shaken by her conversation with Timothy. By their dance. Her self felt off somehow. Body vibrating. She'd wanted to kiss him, yes. Had felt he wanted to kiss her. But beneath the hum, the pulsating magnetism, was a deep, treacherous fear. The fear that something so wonderful, so pure, so perfect...could lead only to harm. To deceit - again. That perfect love was, indeed, a myth.

They'd not cooked dinner together. She missed the company, but needed the separation. She'd stayed in her chambers instead, poring over the same German words over and over and over. It made her head hurt. She sipped bourbon for the burn and crumpled the paper. "God, I need help," she muttered.

"You're on the right track."

She whirled, sloshing bourbon. Stared disbelievingly at the figure sitting on her bed. "Pepper?"

"Hello, Jude."

"What..." She approached slowly, cautiously. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"You said you needed help." Pepper shrugged. "We have a mutual friend."

"But..." Shachath. "Pepper...what happened to you?" She sat beside the pinhead, touching her affectionately. "I - I missed you." It was true. After Pepper was gone, Jude had no one in Briarcliff. Until Kit came for her, of course.

"I found a family. Like you did. And now, my family is immortal. Like this one kind of."

Jude shook her head in wonder. "You said we have a mutual friend. Shachath?"

"She sent me to check in." Pepper took the crumpled paper from Jude. "You already know who's in the basement, I presume."

"Yes."

"And that the shadows want him?"

"That's our assumption."

"You're correct."

"How do we - how do we deliver him to them?"

Pepper sighed. "You won't like it."

"Ugh, don't give me riddles, Pepper! I've got enough of those." She took hold of Pepper's shoulders. "I feel like we're so close. So close to freedom, to peace."

"What does evil want, Jude?"

Thought. "Power."

"It already has power. True, it seeks to gain more. But what drives the seeking?"

"Hell, I don't know!" Jude stood, frustrated. "I'm so tired of evil, Pepper! Can't we have one good, pure, innocent..." She stopped. "Innocent." Turned to Pepper. "Innocence."

"Bingo."

She sat again, wheels turning. "But the only innocence here is..." She shook her head. "No. Absolutely not."

"Told you you wouldn't like it. But she did say she would help," Pepper reminded.

"Arden was a monster in life. I can only assume he's a greater monster in death. I won't send Mary Eunice to him like a Christmas present."

"You don't have to send her. She will lure him out."

"How?"

"It's right under your nose, Jude. Think now."

"I'm thinking!" She thought. "Under my nose...it's something she already does. Or has. But Eunice doesn't...wait. It's our power. This power we have! To blink and-"

"You don't even realize the scope of what you have. None of you. But especially Mary Eunice. She's chosen."

"Chosen?"

"She has a great purpose."

"And this is part of her purpose."

"It's her final exam, you could say."

Jude nodded. "Is it...dangerous?"

"Everything is dangerous."

"Why didn't you ever talk like this when you were a patient here?"

"I didn't have anything to say."

Jude rolled her eyes. "Yar killing me, Pepper."

"She needs your encouragement."

"She has it! Always! But I have no idea what I'm encouraging her toward."

"Pink roses."

Jude blinked at Pepper. "I don't understand."

"The Monsignor will understand."

Jude chuffed. "He's not a Monsignor anymore."

"True." Pepper shifted uncomfortably. "About that..."

"What?"

"Get a move on, Jude. You're wasting time."

"Don't take that tone with me!" Jude poked Pepper's arm. "Wasting time on what?"

"We need the two of you to move things along."

"Move along how?" But Jude was flushed.

"Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you." Pepper sniffed. "It's important."

"Important that I what? Seduce a man who doesn't even know how to two-step?"

"Seduction won't be necessary. I recommend a direct approach. Trust me. It will be worth your while."

"And...what will that accomplish exactly?"

"Two birds. One stone."

"Fucking riddles, Pepper."

"Fucking isn't a riddle, Jude. Pretty straightforward, actually."

"It isn't that simple!" Jude insisted. "I can't even fully forgive him yet for -"

"You will. You must. You'll see your completion with him. And vice versa."

"Are you really going to give me any answers here?"

"You have the answers." Pepper stood. "And I have somewhere to be."

"Where?"

"We have a show in ten minutes."

"A show?" Jude was so confused.

"It's not important." Pepper stopped in Jude's door. "Talk to Eunice. Fuck the Monsignor. Get your job done."

"Pepper!" But the door closed, and Jude stared at it, agape.