✝Trigger Warning for Violence, Strong Language and Death ✝

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--- A Quarter an Hour or So ---

Within the progressing nocturnal episode at a snail's pace, the former devotional woman of the cloth delightfully accepted Father Malachi's offer to stay in the church to be hydrated and well-feed if her needs were a far cry from sated. Even though the younger lady wasn't peckish at all, nevertheless, the munificent offer of a glass of water couldn't be objected from Jude. The starkly satisfying and hedonistic hydration of her organs and body in general.

"Are you sure you want to leave on your own, Jude?" The welcoming, warmly soothing northern lilt of the revered clergyman tingled angelic anthems into the blonde's petite, sensitive ears as their gazes speared one another and honed up their sharpness abruptly. Even though Father Malachi didn't have any intentions of persuading Jude to flee the chapel, nevertheless, her headstrongly categorical decision to leave on her own was quite controversial as well.

Even if he wasn't very fond of the Bostonian, he didn't wish her the worst at all. His sacred benevolence thickly marvelous bled and coursed through his veins and velvety voice, radiantly scintillating glimmering like a Christmas tree's decoration.

"I am afraid something leery may happen to-" The series of dancing steamers, scarcely predictable to be formulated, although Father Malachi's well-schooled nature, were sailing out of his wet, strawberry-coloured tongue until Judy cut him off curtly, nonchalance registered in her reassuringly optimistic gesture with a hand, waving past his vision whilst seating on the exquisitely polished chairs inside the senior clergyman's dorm.

The hitching breaths, choiring monotonously frequent slumbered inside the dorm of the chapel as the dimly golden nightstand lamp partly bestowed the sufficiently expansive room with a generous layer of angelic, divine light.

Even when the categorical, timid dithering dilemma of the former sleazy nightclub singer was whirling and twirling into her hurricane of thoughts vehemently stormy. It didn't prevent her from reconsidering and fathoming the relentless consequences of lurking in the lethally nocturnal mantle of the darkness outside, obscuring her clear view of examining in adequate scrutiny the surroundings bracing her.

"Don't worry about me, Father! I will be alright." The soothingly nonchalant timbre, spotlighting the blonde's utterance with her pure optimism, cusping with the absolute realism flashed Father Malachi's rough grain of concern, sketching his heavy wrinkles and facial attributes abruptly. A vaguely sympathetic, flamboyant smile elaborated to be tugged at the corners of her naturally nude pink, plump lips.

"Be careful, Jude!" Shortly before the former pious nun fled the dorm room along with the chapel, she yanked the senior clergyman's stiff, masculinely veiny hand into her elvish, creamily marbled and smacked a tenderly reassuring kiss on his frail knuckles for farewell. "As soon as I see Timothy, I will make sure to process with the exorcism."

"Thank you, Father! Good night!" Maneuvering her kindhearted wave of her hand at the older gentleman after retiring to the exquisitely lacquered, hardwood door, the last thing, he saw of her very presence that bountifully filtered the patchy hollow of loneliness in the wee hours of midnight.

The nefariously hideous creak of the dorm room's door ghosted the separate of the both adults as Judy headed in her own way and retired from the grandiose sacred building within a handful of minutes solely.

Her imminent destination was home and within a handful of minutes after her petite frame's very presence occupied the chapel's exterior, meantime, a stealthily foul grapple with its fatalistically mammoth hand clawing her delicate, palish expanse with its fingers, hooked in a bloodthirstily venomous slit across the unblemishedly alabaster, glossy flesh behind her startled the blonde.

Her initial reaction was breaking her facial expression by twisting curved her naturally roseate, chapped lips into a huge O, expressively raising an arch of her thin, dark eyebrow and flicking up with her smoky quartz bijous at the familiar tall figure behind her with its medley of breathily cinnamon and tobacco-stained breath, pinching her skin and electrifying goosebumps unceasingly showering her epidermis. Hitching her breathing intimidatingly uneven, the heart pulsations' acceleration vigorously thumped into her brittle rib cage, sensing the fatal imminence of losing her life or at least the damage she would earn from the possessed doctor.

She wouldn't deem the love of her life as an apocalyptic threat to her unless his spiritual possession was dancing squarely around her very essence with its stealthily grim dance of demise and malice.

The former sleazy jazz nightclub singer's stubbornly potent feeling of confronting her worst nightmare which was eventually the spiritually possessed doctor bestowed her with the quest of staying away as much as possible and get home safe and sound or at least seek Father Malachi's aid in no time before it was too late. Before her actual demise. Before her nemesis. Before the unholy devilish corruption persevered and won with contaminating bewitchingly dark the impending prey of vulnerability.

"T-Timothy," At that moment, the younger gentleman manipulated his huge, roundish smoky quartz bijous glimmering with the brightest, the most sinful brass pigment sheened her lion mane of luxuriously old Hollywood gilded curls, curtaining her ghostly pale façade like stage's projectors.

Moistening embarrassingly with twirling her wet, strawberry-coloured tongue her lower and upper chapped lips, the masculinely lusty, unhealthily envious grip sealing her waist. It emanated from the younger gentleman's solely free hand, the former licentious nightclub singer's vowels and syllables unceasingly limped backward and forward in her throat to formulate a rational, adequately sober utterance even if it solely consisted of a word.

Furthermore, the British compatriot's brilliant sanity detected his rare bird's apprehension and the vigorous heart pulsations, throbbing into her ears as if the time had halted.

"W-What are ya doing here?" The spur-of-the-moment's recent ejection of the posed question, immediately begging for an immediate response built perpetually a logically plain conversation between the both former members of the church.

"W-Why do you think I am here," The eerie nonchalance and huskiness in the British compatriot's rhetorical inquiry delivered icy chills to the older woman's figure, oddly relishing and dearly treasuring the violent grasp bracing her neck with her former boss's.

The haphazard pause squeezed his mouth whilst manipulating to twirl his swan tongue to sponge his rare bird's nape of her neck, sponging its flawless porcelain flesh, stilling his manly deft grasp without having any intentions of releasing her unless Demogorgon played his own cards right and utterly satisfying himself with commanding his current victim of possession.

"Rare bird?" Even though Jude was somehow elated to behold the former ambitious Monsignor in the wee hours of midnight after coveting eagerly, persistently to encounter one another somehow surreptitiously, she knew his intentions would damage her but the damage would be worth at least. In the sacrifices of her own life to behold, even the young-looking, freshly handsome face of the love of her life in the last seconds.

"B-Because of me?" Girlishly timid, adapting prominently to the former nun's Boston lilt didn't vanish as her weathered, sheepishly smooth hand managed to claw one of his hands that headstrongly nicked her slim waist.

"That is correct," All of a sudden, tightening his brace around her milky expanse, stoicism majestically contoured her facial features momentarily and gritting balefully her ivory teeth, writing lively her muscles and finally realizing his vilely unspeakable intentions of spellbinding his own nemesis on her. "That is for the betrayal and contacting Father Malachi and Dr. Josiah Crawford, you old slut." The stark unmasked malice in his scintillating glare as he pursued to confront her painfully stoic, parchment complexion paired villainously with his huskily vengeful undertone, accenting his menace, lingering his fingertips to tighten the invincible grip.

In the meantime, his chocolate brown cabochons infernally blazed supernaturally bright citrine pigment, amalgamating with the natural eye colour, glittering his bleakly coldhearted, ominously vindictive glare, draining every ounce out of her and his very own soul with each elapsing second. The ferociously hostile nickname addressed to the Bostonian bestowed an unavoidably heavy rain of woefully crystalline tears, trickling down her lower eyelids and intensifying the tandem's frequency.

Purely furious adrenaline pumped into his veins, greatly blending with the fantastically great deal of ire jittering into his larger frame until the Bostonian's slyness didn't dump her with ushering the heel of her shooed feet to kick him backward in the groins. Subsequently, releasing herself from the invincible grip of the devil as Timothy thumped backward on the lavishly expansive snowy carpet, swaddling frostily his partly unconscious body, expelling a breathily unimaginable, painful groan under his breath, whereas seizing tightly his slits and viciously gritted ivory, still firm for his age teeth.

"That is not part of our reunion, Jude!"

"Ya aren't my Timothy," After straightening entirely her posture and dashing up to the nigh naked grand oak tree to snatch a weapon, in order to protect herself with a sufficiently long, thick tree branch with a meager decoration of snow, swaddling the wooden material. "Yar a fucking monster and deserve to be exorcized before hurting anybody else."

"I-I am trying to help you," As soon as the British compatriot's balance was moderated abruptly and straightened his posture from the ground by kindly patting his round, panted knees and buttocks from the snowy carpet's aftermaths until a deftly strong smack of a tree branch beckoned across his youthfully refreshing, charming complexion, attempting to regenerate his own daredevil deep, morbidly appealing voice, oozing of masculinity and power.

"Fucking liar!" Elaborating a gutturally unhealthy croak with steamily flaring her tiny, flexible nostrils forcefully, the tall figure's buttocks and back perched backward on the snow with his inability to poise moderately his pose utterly at last. "Ya deserve to be weakened and be in a psychiatric ward,"

When Timothy's conscience was fully, bountifully regenerated, consequently, he manipulated his weathered, quivering satin hand to hex inexorable telekinesis on the older lady as her petite frame collided into the grand, naked oak tree as her back reclined against the wooden material.

The strong-willed clash of vowels and syllables and ferociously sore noises to be composed in an individually elegiac ode echoed inner voices into the former devotional woman of the cloth's thoughts, managing to frequent the choir of her blinking caramel brown embers as her flimsy heart was torn off on a thousand of glassily frail pieces, patching the hollows of her rib cage with its recurring heavy rain of tears, soaking her garments and flesh.

"It is yar fault, ya vile," Regaining her plain posture after lifting up her rear from the ground and willfully hurting up to the former aspiring Monsignor, lingering her dancing spidery meaty fingers around the branch as her only weapon to weaken him, despite her attempts as well. "Toy boy!" Suddenly, Timothy hexed a deliciously dangerous pyrokinesis at the approaching figure whilst manipulating his fingers to cast the bewitching spell and translucently wry twin fat tears gushing down his well-carved, chubby cheeks.

"Goodbye, rare bird!" The marvelously rotund vibrant flames blazed the muscles of the Bostonian as their proximity was violently diminishing by a few inches per second, howsoever, his luck for possessing supernatural spells emanated from his vile essence's new home.

Diminishing coyly the decibels of his velvety voice with naked nonchalance, nevertheless, patterning roughly unforgiving with rueful timbre transmuted his last words to Judy into a mumble. Contemplating the fiercely thought-provoking illustration of the love of his life burning into the inescapably invincible flames of the demise thawed her naturally fleshy, fragile muscles with the gradually increasing body temperature and excessively sweltering heat.

The battlefield was a clash between two gladiators with their own one-of-a-kind, authentic worldviews of good and evil and determining their own emphatic destiny either with a victory or a defeat.

There were two strong-willed and physically and mentally prepared gladiators, or on the contrary, fighters, but the real, grotesque truth was the winner was only one. The devil won over the very angelic God's messenger to prevail over Demogorgon's daredevil game. A grotesquely heart-wrenching game over!

Within a handful of minutes viciously dancing flames gnawing villainously the muscles and darkening the natural skin tone with lethally somber ashes, mapping her from head to toe, Judy's final moments of her life spookily flumped forward as her lovely shaped, round knees swabbed modicum of the snow's carpet clumsily ruthless.

A ruefully complacent, lukewarm smirk victoriously was inked on Timothy's parchment face, wearing a thousand patterns of bloodily inevitable victory and bleeding thickly, portentously his smugness. 

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✝What are your candid thoughts on Jude's death scene? Did you expect it?✝

✝Do you think there is a possible salvation for Timothy, in spite of the circumstances?✝

✝ I hope you liked and enjoyed this brief chapter. Don't forget to leave a straightforward feedback! :))✝