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

A few hours after the possessed former priest broke into his lover's current residence and kindled her petite frame through her fortunate survival after kindle sloughing her fleshy muscles and welts. They registered the glass fragments' welts mapping her delicate, nacreous arms, legs, torso and porcelain, elderly youthful complexion, Judy was conveyed to the nigh hospital shortly after Timothy vanished in the thin air.

Every invincibly resolute conjuration no longer was registered to be up to date. The symptom of the default adjustment of the clicked unlocked door released Kit and Grace from their vibrantly romantic sanctuary and ventured to phone the ambulance after ascertaining the sequence of the daredevil game of Timothy, situated in the kitchen and guests' room.

What hideously flummoxed the juvenile couple was their friend with the former title of nefarious prestige of a tormentor was wounded and the vast harrowing sore pain sedating her upper body and lower body muscles, especially her legs.

They have never beheld the former devotional sister of the church in such helplessly, sinisterly despondent condition after embracing her with open arms as their second nature to object to her vulnerable side, mirroring her weaknesses and incessant haunting demons.

They hadn't predicted the sequence of the possessed inmate's daredevil game to indisputably, flawlessly play his own cards right and unlock his rare bird's vulnerable vista, embodying her vulnerability, bewitching ominously her stamina and lowering her spirits, diminishing her self-esteem momentarily.

"Ambulance, it is urgent!" The stormy tempest of nurses, hampering to the senior doctor who was visually in his late fifties with grizzly, balding neatly trimmed a handful of days ago haircut was capping above his large ears. They matched with his amber brown cabochons and expressively dark, thickly hoary eyebrows.

His mammoth wrinkle-calloused hands were roughly grappling the ambulance bed, ushering to patient room 104, scooting to pass a handful of nurses who were working a night shift and were retreating to random patient rooms in the grandiose, old façade.

"Ms. Martin is with severe burns from the fire and glass wounds!"

Doctor Timon Banks was his actual name. He stood 5'9 with his outstandingly vague rotund body structure, barely contradicting his peers who were overlooking keeping a balanced diet and struggling with weight loss.

Even regarding excessively remarkable appearances in the midlife segment of their lives, in fact, they are no longer gullible and vulnerable to the general population's crudely cold, ruthlessly blunt comments on their looks. His opulent career as a doctor in one of the local Boston hospitals was a celestially superlative bonus in his life as a happily married man to a volunteer in the church and triplets from their marriage.

Within a series of strides, buzzing to patient room 104 and accompanied by the young couple who were far from unlucky to seek first aid by telephoning exceedingly the ambulance.

Consequently, the patient room's door swung widely opened when Timon dumped the hospital bed with the drifted-off asleep patient, whose impotent condition crucially affected the motionlessness of her muscles, recently suffocated in prominently promising relaxation.

His trembling mammoth, roughly ridged with tiny folds hand maneuvered to reach for the doorknob and turn it, while the juvenile couple bandied glimpses, tendering each other gullibly optimistic smiles, hazily glimmering wryly unquiet subtlety. Their heart rates rapidly rabid increased with each advancing moment in the very wee hours of the morning with the somber, still nefariously nocturnal cloak swathing outdoors.

It was painted with the same brush as the starless mid-February night prospect. Even when Kit and Grace's wedlock was due in early March, their unborn child was due at the end of the year brightening their great potential relationship with galore of adventurous and elating moments. To share altogether and recollect them as brass fragments of memories.

On the other hand, they weren't apparently serenely elated tonight just shortly after putting the missing fragments of their puzzle's solution with Jude's relationship they separately shared as individuals.

After a month of intransigent efforts to repair the toxicity which the young adults apportioned them from having a healthily friendly platonic relationship with the former pious woman of the cloth in foisting effortlessness in the petty things such as cooking, laundry, dishes, cleaning, housework in general.

Namely anything refilling their daily schedule and leisure time, they couldn't get over their friend's hopeless despair after she told them everything about her nemesis with its owner Lucifer's spawn. He namely changed their lives within a couple of hours only and sensed the genuine notion of imminence, imperiling their moderately serene lifestyle as future parents and possible godmother of their unborn ray of sunshine, residing in Grace's womb nonetheless.

In spite of the young adults were genuine mere representatives of atheism or rather a faithless status, they were chimerically mesmerized by the supernaturality partaking nowadays when the possession was far from a common phenomenon, encountered whether in children or adults. Devil's possession was peculiarly characterized per se for the medieval in their humble opinions except according to the former holy woman's purely pragmatic philosophy.

As a former religious holy woman, solemnly took her vows of chastity and poverty for a decade and a half, to liberate herself from the free lifestyle which every common, typical American would indulge herself with the insanely boozed rotguts in the bars.

One night stands with every town pump and the ultimate carte blanche of unlimitedly sinning though in her case the insanely boozed liquor was her methodical alternative to free the reins off her open-mindedness.

Especially in her romantic relationships after her fiancé dumped her on the wedding day prior with the vicious carnal sickness that ceased her natural fertility to accomplish her pearly sole dream, paired with the unspeakable adultery. Having her own family and her own kind creations, made of her flesh and blood.

Furthermore, the vows that almost every nun obtains as a solemn pledge of lingering her faith in the almighty God and marrying herself along with her flesh to him as his hallowed possession. It was the initial encounter in her entire life with an infernal wight of Satan and most of all, attaining its residence in Jed Potter's vulnerable body.

Then, he links the vile essence shortly after his death with Sister Mary Eunice and spontaneously chases down the British compatriot even when he is no longer serving the clerical duties, due to his clerical possessions not being owned by him again.

When the three adults stepped inside the booked room for the Bostonian Timon laid her on the patient bed after heaving her weightlessly motionless body from the ambulance bed. Subsequently, the procedures of nursing and incessantly superintending the heart pulses on the heart rate monitor were already manifested forcefully, and emphatically.

Three o'clock in the morning was looming on the horizon with the meager daylight light as a wee hint of sunrise's daily episode. The wall o'clock in the sufficiently expansive room ticked surreptitiously quiet, indicating the exact time at the moment, tingling alarming tones into the French girl and her boyfriend's ears.

In the interim, the French girl and her boyfriend had recently perched their rears on the edge of the hospital bed, specified on Judy's right side.

"Everything is going to be fine, Grace! Judy is going to be fine." The cusp of realism and optimism, feuding Kit's consciousness maneuvered his colossal, secure hand to slither downward to his lover's pudgy bump, which was scarcely visible and bulging with its own of a kind bloated soft fat, grazed beneath his creamy palm and pads of his fingers.

The alarming tunes of the heart rate monitor's ballad pitched the ward, veiled in a nocturnally lethal doldrum, composing its symphony of numbness.

"Kit, she has severe burns and glass bruises, which are obnoxiously serious even," The heavy sigh humped with a great deal of effort at the top of her frail lungs, dropping her head with a medium mop of ticklish silken chestnut strands on his broad, muscly shoulder.

While scarcely flinching at the manipulated draped muscly masculine strong arm around her upper back and venturing to draw her in their intimate proximity with a deficient inch.

"Even way too disturbing to be seen with a naked eye." The attempts of the French compatriot to muffle her velvety timid whisper under her breath after the vowels and syllables were sluggishly headstrong conjugated, due to the unavoidable heartbreak, penned all over her youthfully charming facial attributes like an uncommon relic.

"Shu, shu, shu, darling! Everything is going to be alright. Judy is doubtlessly one of the strongest women I've ever seen with ya!" Ushering his cherub, pale-pinkish lips to press into a tender peck on her forehead, scrapping with the delicate skin of his cherub lips the alabaster facial skin which bewitchingly the young woman molted in, wrenching shut her lapis lazuli minerals for a split-second.

Smug hedonism drained off the cold, untouched areas of her figure with a modicum of tenderness.

"No matter if she is hospitalized for a few days or a month, she will be on her feet sooner than later!"

"Do you know what exactly happened to Ms. Martin by judging her current condition?" The Iowan lilt danced smoothly in a sharp accent, spotlighting his enquiry after shifting his attention momentarily to the couple. The heart rate monitor's noises asserted unsightly, malaise-dismaying tunes into the visitors' ears like throbbing vibrations into their eardrums, braced with headphones as a music source to listen to for distraction.

Even though the metaphoric rough slap across Kit and Grace's faces for testifying the most intensifyingly ugly haunting melody they've ever hankered inside the grand façade of the cure, death and medicines, dividing the borderline of the life and demise horizontally.

"There was a possessed man who's her old friend and suddenly attacked her, accusing her of betrayal and lies, even using supernatural power such as telekinesis, pyrokinesis and mind control." Meanwhile, a bitter lump seethed up, outstandingly bulging Kit's Adam apple inexorably and clearing his throat with a cough just shortly before delivering the answer that the doctor's enquiry was begging for in no time.

He stilled his supportive muscly, strong arm circa his lover's upper back to supply urgent comfort, warmness, and love.

"He was way more powerful than we have thought with my girlfriend. He locked us in our bedroom so that to react as quickly as possible."

"Sir," All of a sudden, the senior doctor lingered his gawk at the juvenile pairing, honing up his sharper sternness in his piercing amber-brown minerals, flattening his berry-coloured, chapped lips in an unwelcoming, aloof frown.

Incredulity was broadly obscuring his heavy wrinkles gloomily, unable to grant a modicum of naked belief in the younger man's leaked evidence behind the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer's speechlessly obnoxious condition.

"Believe him, doctor! We witnessed the true face of horror and the devil tonight. And speaking of her, she used to be a nun, and she had to deal once with a possessed by the devil young man." The young lady's haphazardness in her emphatic persistence to intervene in the gentlemen's heated debate where the doctor finely disapproved his belief in the evil and witnessed the horrors that once the general population was key roommates.

They contemplated daily the incarnation of apocalyptic supernatural segments such as exorcism, possession and so forth.

"Ma'am and sir, we aren't living in the Middle Ages!" The sharp exhale, rolling off onward the bald gentleman's lungs punctured his professional graveness and austerity, blending in a medley of stilling incredulity in the visitors' utterances yet, rolling his amber brown gems dramatically coldblooded. "What on earth makes you believe such fairy tales for little children or from the Bible?"

In the interval, the older man snatched his old pair of round-rimmed eyeglasses in a swift motion, and, thereafter, managed to lift his mammoth, stiffly veiny hand to the bridge of his nose and motion his meaty fingers to rub the gentle marbled flesh.

"We aren't exaggerating or anything. We are the only witnesses with Ms. Judy Martin who have seen those atrocities that are uncommonly occurring nowadays."

"Look what, sir and ma'am! Even as an atheist, myself, I have never believed there is good like God or otherwise evil like Lucifer and Satan!" Suddenly, the brunette intercepted her lower lip fastened by her front ivory teeth and pecked flatly the raw spot of its lip's silken soft skin, darting a skeptical eye to the pairing yet, his meaty digits teasingly, futilely playing with his eyeglasses' frames. "But as a non-believer in any religion, I'm leaning to believe you the thing that is criminally responsible for your relative's awful condition somewhat exists or at least is witnessed by the others."

Stilling the inwardly ticking clock, indicating the unvarnished time in the small city of Massachusetts, the ward's merged blinds in a thick knight mantle obscured the former aspiring Monsignor's stark vision to penetrate with his piercing topaz gems through the glassy medium-sized window. His delicately pallid, weathered fingertips lingered on the glass.

The immunity against the glacial wintery climate, which was orthodoxly diminishing naturally the body temperature with a single, invisibly subtle touch perpetually, didn't halt him from giving up his hopes to discover and mind contemplating his rare bird being hospitalized and recovering from his unbelievable tremendous damage.

The real Timothy Howard would never harm, even opt to belittle his rare bird in every single way except one of the most powerful blow-minding mastered in mind control and sheer manipulation demons.

More powerful than the devils, representing presentably, smartly the seven deadliest sins, epitomizing the lavish operation of emotions and feelings, reckoning needs. The most potent among them. Demogorgon!

Demogorgon sounded sorely steel to lace any owner's vocal stings with its already constructed vowels and syllables, slipping from their mouths sloppily. The fiendish deity was exquisitely playing his cards right and inhabiting one of the most amenable priests, holding him captive relentlessly.

His quests were indisputably evident. Doom! Apocalyptic affliction and torture over his loved ones especially the owners of the broken words and false promises! Every deadly sin was swaddling emboldening the possessed patient and nudging him to commit another unforgivable sin.

"How pathetic!" His English lilt, rolled in an infernal cavern's depth and marvelously coated with unnaturally eeriness punctured his rhetorical exclamation, absentmindedly tipping and playing onto the glass's surface, tugging a complacently villainous, profoundly merciless grin at his mouth and spreading broadly across his already flexed jaw.

The rich beehive of snowflakes whistling in solo, humdrum choir and dancing restlessly blunt in the thin air until accumulating their weight on every surrounding with a lavishly snowy blanket.

☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢☢ 

☢What are your candid thoughts on Timothy observing Jude outside? ☢

☢ Is our fellow Jude going to recover in a New York minute or otherwise it will take her mildly longer than the usual? ☢

☢ Don't forget to leave a honest feedback! Thank you for reading this chapter! :)) ☢

Author's Note: I'd like to apologize for this finely sloppy chapter, nevertheless, I was oozing of tremendous ideas and eager to pour my ideas for future plot twists, linking with the storyline, besides I'd blame myself for delaying with the updates anyway! I hope you liked and enjoyed this chapter as well! :))