--- *** ---
--- 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 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 issues and melancholy Kit, besides unspeakably upset Grace.

Despite the former pious holy woman's immense desire to spend on her own in a separate room, meantime, the young couple was in the living room.

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 rib cage.

Howsoever, uneven with the sluggish motion of tearing off bones the glassy fragments that constructed the heart and even if a single fragment were missing from the construction. Throughout the proper heart's synchronization and functioning was far from adequately, healthily possible.

"Strangely, it has 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." A heavy frustrated sigh flushed the young man's sensitive nostrils, altruistic compassion 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 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 attractive evergreens unevenly. "She needs some rest and that's why I brought her to the guest's room!"

"She looked quite," Pause scratched the young man's throat, cusping his mannerism to manipulate a soft clearing of his throat with a cough, muffling it by 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 is partly responsible for her imprisonment.

"I know what you are exactly talking about!" Cunningness and seriousness touched smoothly the young man's exclamation, 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 her lover's smoky quartz gemstones to link them. In fact, to maintain appropriate eye contact since their parents have taught them at a young age whenever they managed to communicate with. Thereafter, eye contact was the essential key for decent communication instead of hideous averts.

"Oh! I don't have any intentions of returning to Briarcliff to save his ass!" A frustratedly 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 is Judy thinking after sharing a roof together? That every wish of hers is our command?"

"I told her you would be against getting Timothy out of that hellhole." Even when the recent broadcasting documentary movie about forest animals was still ongoing, it diminished the genuine notion of eye candy for the couple just shortly after raising the topic about the former nun and her yearning to venture up to the notorious madhouse and 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 has downfallen!" At that 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 by her deeds and intentions even how much she truly meant to the gasman.

"I would never allow that ex-Monsignor to ruin her life as much as weeks ago. Judy has had enough of being put in such a shitty dilemma with lies and false hopes!"

"Kit!" Haphazardly, the French compatriot's pure graveness and sternness spotlighted her rejoin, growling through her gritted teeth as disappointment coated the gasman's handsome facial features with 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 jump-cutting pictures' play.

Embroidered on the television screen a 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 a tremendously pious man who is capable of nothing else than fueling his ego with his pure manipulations and sugarcoated lies on top of the myriad lies?" The hush pitched the room for 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 was 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 the sole thing they are 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 overall in their small, nevertheless, undeniably comfortable household. The former sleazy nightclub singer starts to mistrust the pure harmony and peaceful serenity they were oozing off as a young couple.

Full of vibrant hopes and future in front of them with an 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 to unzip his mouth.

"But also for his rare bird! Look at us! Thanks to Timothy Howard, we are all free! Freedom truly means a lot to me." Grace meowed a honeyed whisper in a docile mumble, venturing the pad of her thumb ushering its muscles to brush her boyfriend's lower plump lip in its delicateness spellbinding.

Further, both juvenile adults could recall just shortly after they shared a roof with the Bostonian, thus, one day she opened up in front of them about her grim past and anticipated their stark abhorrence to assault her, but things didn't happen due to her expectancies at all.

They are rather disgusted by her former fiancé Casey for the criminal adultery breaking her heart alongside the frequent usage of strong language, addressing with inappropriate insurmountable nicknames the blonde which has nothing to do with her true character.

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. 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 supported 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 that he gave us!" All of a sudden, the guest's room door swung open, ill-family creaking to keep the juvenile adults' wits about the blonde fleeing 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 had 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, and 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 to 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 their 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 are as happy as if you are 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, 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 were 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 except whatever she kept in mind after interpreting it in her swarm of thoughts. Subsequently, slithers downward to her organs and her tongue conjugates the imminent words bluntly.

--- *** ---

"Come on, Owen! You have to collect some rest through the night." Beehive of orderlies who were instructing the lunatics in the men's wing to go back to their wards for extra good night's 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 forced to stake inside their wards with coarse timbres, accentuating their cautions.

What was oblivious to Timothy was that two security guards in charge of a night shift nudged him to attract his attention and push him into 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 both antagonizing security guards, crossing his muscly arms coldheartedly, teasingly as if nothing could harm him and halt him from his invincibility.

What flabbergasted both guards was that the renamed patient didn't even reaffirm a reaction against their harassment, nor did he opt to lower his spirits abruptly.

"How funny, pricks!" Daredevil halfhearted 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 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 pumps 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 a 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 their own fewest owners.

"Ouch! Fuck!"

"I think I am 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 fashionable overconfidence.

Aiming to the men's wing door exit and glancing back at the collapsed partly dead, injured bodies of the staff members. He offered them a smug, villainous grin, opening his mouth in a wide O and ornamenting with a curtain of ivory-honed teeth the baleful bared notch of rich number of teeth.

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

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

--- *** ---

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

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

Once the former holy priest escaped from the ill-famed mental institution without being caught and sneaked into Kit's household where his clarity detected Judy's current residence.

Even when the smitten British compatriot was tickled gently by the opulent snowfall at 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 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 to double 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.

Ripping her eyelids widely opened at the pitch-black darkness until one of her elvish blanched hands managed to reach for the nightstand's lamp to pull the string and illuminate 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 against the chilly climate, consequently, her imminent destination was the kitchen after timidly turning the door handle to swing open the door. She gave sufficient compact space for peering over into the hollow's gap for observation.

The petite figure drawing a wobble on her way to the emptily ebony-cloaked-clad corridor with a lethal hush and dumping askew opened her room's door just because she would 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 she was endangered to trip somewhere unintentionally clumsy. 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 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 is that?" An inward echo convinced her hesitantly to enter the living room and check who's the uninvited guest rapping on the living room's window when everybody else had drifted off asleep.

As asleep as 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 creators, made of their flesh and blood.

When the middle-aged lady set foot in the living room and inspected each corner of the room emphatically, and 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 the 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 heart rate murderously rocketed momentarily and sank into oblivion to seek peace or rest for a split-second. Moistening begrudgingly her lips after manipulating her strawberry-coloured tongue twirl and spiral in the apex's target the upper and lower plumpish lips to grant her a modicum of courage.

A 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. It was a stone blue denim vest, paired with a light, plain pair of jeans and an uninterestingly hoary T-shirt, adumbrating wonderfully his amusingly toned muscles, matching with his eldritch grin and fulsomely luminous tawny gemstones.

The spawn of Lucifer was awaiting response even for an action, vouching for 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 a 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 icy early morning climate to show more skin rather than deterring it with thicker, cozier and warmer attire to moderate his body temperature and prevent 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 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 are in one body with two starkly contrasting souls, cusping and feuding with one another for domination.

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✞ Do you think possessed Timothy will hurt our fellow Judy?✞

✞ Do you rather prefer possessed or pre-possessed (normal) the former clergyman? ✞

✞ Don't forget to leave a honest feedback with your initial impressions, if you have genuinely enjoyed and liked the chapter. :)) ✞