Short chapter playlist this time: Maps - The Yeah Yeah Yeahs

He wouldn't have awakened so early were it not for a banging on the door. He blinked, eyes swollen and throat sore. Who could this be?

He could see her through the screen door. Opened it hesitantly. "Valerie."

"Hey, Tim." She wore jeans and a men's oxford under a thick suede coat. "Sorry for stopping by unannounced like this."

"No, it's -" He opened the screen, gestured her inside. "It's fine. Just...surprising." He wondered what could have brought this guest. If Jude was alright. Valerie didn't seem particularly harried or concerned, so he reigned in his own worry.

"I bet." She chuckled, looking around. "Cute place."

"Thank you." He remembered manners. "Would you like coffee? Juice? Or -"

"Coffee would be great, Tim. Thanks." Hands in pockets, she meandered to his table.

He rifled through cabinets, finding everything he needed for coffee. Set the percolator on the stove to boil. "Um...cream?"

"Nah. Just black."

"Me, too." He nodded. Awkward.

She was studying him closely. "Rough night, huh?"

"It was dreadful."

Val looked down. "I feel for ya, Tim. I mean...I feel for Judy, too, but..." She tisked. "Damn. You're both pretty fucked up, aren't you?"

He couldn't contain a sad smile. "Yes. I suppose we are."

"She didn't tell me anything, really." Val continued. "Just that you two had a past relationship, basically. You deserted her. She said that she had put you behind her somehow."

"It seems she did."

"I think it's kinda sweet that you came all this way ta find her and all that. Settled down in a house and everything. I even told her so."

He removed the percolator from the stove, pouring into two mugs. "I'm certain she was moved." He sat across from Val.

"Thanks." She cupped the hot mug. "Tim...Judy's a mess. I mean, she's always been - I dunno - messy, I guess. But this last week she's really lost it." HIs forehead creased. "I know what she tells me. That she hates your guts. That you're a piece of shit. Cowardly and lyin' like a dog and -"

"Yes, we've established I was a train wreck of a soul."

Val smirked. "Point is - there's more to Judy than meets the eyes. Always has been. Yeah, I get she's a little in the bottle, but not all the time. She likes the fellas, but not the right ones. And let's face it - anybody'd climb those legs like a jungle gym, right?" He blushed. "But she's deep, man. She feels shit like...way more than most people. I guess that's why she drinks sometimes. To ignore all the pain. Yeah?"

"Yes." His head hurt.

Val cleared her throat. "I um...I came here to see if you might could help Judy out."

"She does not want my help. She's made that quite clear." He plucked a hair from his coffee - his own.

"But would ya? Like if she allowed it, would ya help her?"

"I would do anything for her." And he hadn't known it, not really. Not until he said it. But as soon as he said it he knew it was true: He would do anything for Jude.

Val sighed. "So look. Here's the situation. Fuckin' Moseley kicked her out of the Blue Moon."

"She was paid through last night!" Timothy defended. "And certainly Mr. Hathaway paid her -"

"Tim." Val was shaking her head. "You really are a sweet guy. Moseley is a real piece of shit. He's been after Judy's tail since she got in that place. Even cheated her out of a couple nights she rightly paid for. It didn't matter last night that she had the money. It wasn't money he wanted."

"That's simply...illegal. And disgusting." Timothy was flabbergasted.

Val shrugged. "It fuckin' happens. Judy has a...reputation. Kinda." She reached suddenly for his hand, wanting to reassure him. "But you listen. Half what you hear is bullshit wishful thinking from spurned pups, right? I know Judy. She don't get around like folks make out she does. And sometimes these assholes just...try ta take what ain't offered. Ya get me?"

"I do." HIs stomach churned. "Where is she now? If Moseley wouldn't let her stay there..."

"She's back at Hathaway's. Just fer now."

"What about you?"

"Oh, no no no." A low whistle. "My gal - Missy - she'd murder me if I brought Judy in the house. Then she just might murder Judy." A chuckle. "She thinks Judy's a regular Jezebel. Doesn't even like me workin' door on nights she sings at the club."

"I see." He raised his hands. "I doubt she would concede to staying here with me. Ever. Under any circumstances."

"She might not have a choice."

"Other motels?"

"10 or 15 miles outta town, sure. Getting a ride to work would be hell." Valerie sighed. "Judy's already talkin' about findin' some John ta take her in." She firmly tapped his table. "The Hell I'll let that shit happen. Last time some jackass took her home she called me from a gas station bleeding from her face." She closed her eyes. "That motherfucker..."

"I hope you called the police."

The smile was evil. "We handle shit a little differently when it's one of our own, Tim. Suffice it to say, that's one dick-swinger who'll never rape or beat another woman." She leaned toward him. "I trust you. Hell, even Hathaway trusts you. And that's saying a lot."

"Jude doesn't trust me."

"Make her trust you, then." Val insisted. "Christ, don't be such a negative Nancy! Ya want me ta start calling you Nancy, Tim?"

"No!"

"Is that your real name? Nancy?"

"My name is not Nancy," he emphasized.

"Then quit acting like it is!" Val snapped, laughing. She sobered and leveled with him. "Look. Hathaway's a great guy. Like an old man ta me. And he loves Judy like a daughter, too. She makes him a lot of money. But she can't stay at the club. She'll drink the bar down if she gets in the dumps bad enough. So. I'm gonna talk to her. She's gotta realize there's someone out here who wants ta help her and can."

"I wish you the best of luck." He toasted her with his coffee mug.

Val studied him for a moment. "So what was she to ya, Tim? Your bird?" He winced a bit. "Were ya married to somebody else or somethin'? Did ya cheat on her? Whatever ya did, it musta been epic."

It was such a long story. So much to tell. And really, what good would it be to regurgitate it to Valerie? He paraphrased. "Jude - Judy - was...in love with me, I suppose. And I knew it. We...worked together. Were quite good together, actually. A good team."

"Where'd ya work?"

"Briarcliff. The asylum?"

"Holy shit, for real? Judy never told me she worked in the nut hut. What'd ya do there?"

"She...directed the institution. And I was her boss."

"Judy was a director?" Val grinned. "That's crazy. I thought a buncha nuns ran that place. The church owns it, right?"

"Judy was a nun. When I knew her. And I was a priest."

"Woah." Val set aside her coffee. She raised her hands, placed fingers at temples. "Hold up a sec. Judy...was a nun."

"I knew her as Sister Jude."

"This is all just fucking crazy ta me, Tim." She rubbed her eyes. "Judy was a nun. Jesus Christ. And you were a priest, so...even if she was in love with you, it's not like you two coulda...you know."

"Yes, I know. But I did know that she harbored feelings for me. And I used those feelings to...manipulate her. I used her. I was a very different man. Ambitious. I sought power and position in the church. And I saw Jude as a tool to achieve it."

"Wow. You were a real rat bastard."

He nodded. Sighed. "I was." He wasn't certain how much more he should tell her. Wasn't certain what Val even knew of her own reality. She didn't push for further details, so he left the topic. "Now. If Judy agrees to come here, which I highly doubt she will -"

"Nancy." Val stopped him with a finger. "Get the couch ready. I'm gonna bring you a real leggy guest." She stood up. "I don't know when, but sooner rather than later. Hathaway isn't gonna lock the liquor up for long. And I'll be honest, I dunno what you'll do with her once she's here. But maybe it'd be good for you two ta...talk and stuff."

Timothy smiled tensely. "We will."

"I just know you won't hurt her. I have a feelin'."

"I won't lay a finger on her."

Valerie laughed. "Well, we'll see how long that vow holds true if Judy lets you off the hook, huh?" She nudged him none too gently. "See ya soon, Tim."

He watched through the screen as Val climbed into her truck. Watched her leave his drive, exhaust curling into the chilly morning air. A wave of relief and anticipation washed over him. He looked up to the ceiling. "Thank you," he murmured.

He took Val's advice and attempted positivity. Uncertain when (when - not if) his 'leggy guest' would arrive, he ran some errands. The coffee can emptied, he bought some bedding. A nice, bright blue. Extra sheets. A few fluffy blue towels and flannels. A soft, yellow throw blanket. Thinking of his empty cabinets, he found a set of dishes with happy a chicken print, and a few pots and pans that looked promising. He'd been using a fry pan as a sauce pan, anyway, so it was time to expand his repertoire. A red checkered table cloth for the kitchen.

He stopped at the bookstore on his way home. The proprietor - Ms. Lundt - had come to know him, and he appreciated conversing with her. Today, she had exciting news. "I got in some lovely art books, Mr. Howard! This one made me think of you for some reason."

"Thank you." He was pleased she'd thought of him. It was a kind gesture in this stultifying existence. The book was heavy, wide. Edward Hopper. He flipped through it, aghast at the detailed images. Lonely lives. Shadowed cities. Blonde women waiting for something. It couldn't have spoken to him more. "Ms. Lundt. It's wonderful. I'll have it. And I need some more poetry, as well." He'd run out. Had really come to appreciate the well-formed line of verse.

"Hmmm." The lanky lady shuffled about between the tightly arranged shelves. "How about some e.e. cummings this time?"

He wasn't familiar with the poet, as usual, but she had not steered him wrong yet. "Perfect."

The sky was overcast when he left. He bought some flowers from the little sidewalk stand. Yellow roses and red poppies. White daisies. They were bright and...perhaps Jude would like flowers. They would be just fine on the kitchen table.

The little house looked more like a home when he was done. The flowers were very inviting, even if they were displayed in an empty pickle jar. His cabinets were fuller. His heart was fuller. He filled his belly with a grilled cheese and tomato soup. Settled underneath the yellow throw on his couch. It was soft and smelled faintly of Woolworth's, an actually rather pleasant smell. The Edward Hopper book lay on his coffee table now, opened. This particular painting spoke to him. Morning in a City. A woman, tastefully nude, her blonde hair carefully coiffed, staring out a window for...something. He looked at it often.

Three days passed. Three days of Edward Hopper and nature programs. Single meals and solitaire. He kept negativity at bay with reading.

This poetry was wild. Captivating. The words spilled like a drink to be mopped up, placed back into some semblance of order. A mess, but a gorgeous mess. He was taken with the novelty of the arrangements and the tactility. One in particular made his happy mind go tired and his eyes weary. It made images come unbidden, and turn to dreams...

Lady,i will touch you with my mind.

Touch you and touch and touch

until you give

me suddenly a smile,shyly obscene

(lady i will

touch you with my mind.)Touch

you,that is all,

lightly and you utterly will become

with infinite ease

the poem which i do not write.

In the dream, Jude lay upon his bed. His bed here in the little house. She smiled. Her hair was a fan of flax around her head, coiling around her fingers, arms raised in lackadaisical surrender. The slip was white in his dream. The color of purity. A stark, glistening contrast to the blue of his bedspread. She wore nothing beneath it. He knew this because touching her - exploring her - he had gently, slowly, achingly slowly eased it up, up over her hips with just his fingertips. Her skin was soft and supple, goosepimpled easily. That exciting fur, her bitten lip, the catch of her breath and stickiness clinging. Her belly fluttered when his touch reached it and further up the slip slipped until he bared breasts, such beautiful breasts. The nipples felt like dates to his tongue; his lips wrapped the pebbled skin and he thrilled at the way they knotted. He touched them, too. He touched her and touched her and touched her so gently until electrically she invited him and he slipped the way the slip had into her thighs and up and into her and his brain, his mind refused to calculate the equation for the pleasure. And -

Banging.

Not in the dream - though his mind initially attempted to incorporate it with provocative results - but at his door. He blinked, shook order back into his head, and rose stiffly from the couch where he'd drifted that night. It was early. Sunlight was still grey.

"Hey, Nancy! Wakey wakey! Eggs and bakey! It's Val." Yes, he knew it was Val. He opened the door and saw her grinning through the screen. "Look at you. Bright eyed and bushy tailed." She wore a workman's coat, hair askew as if she'd just awakened as well.

"Good morning, Val." His voice cracked on the first words of the day. The first words in several days, really. Val shifted on the step, a cautious gleam in her eye, and behind her he saw - "Jude." His heart was in his throat.

She looked rather worse for wear. Her hair, usually gleaming, was a bit stringy, perhaps dirty. There was no makeup on her face (welcome, actually), and her eyes were puffy, red. She looked as though she'd been crying...for days. She wore a plain green blouse and a long skirt, held her purse before her, eyes downcast.

Timothy stepped aside. "Come in."

Val opened the screen, entering. "Thanks. Got coffee?"

"I will momentarily."

Val looked back, seeing Judy wasn't following, and grabbed the blonde's arm. "Come on, sister." Jude scowled at her friend, nearly stumbling on the step. "You got any breakfast, Tim? Your new housemate here has eaten nothing but bar peanuts and pretzels for four days."

"God!" Was that true? She did seem rather weak, a little paler than he was used to. "I'll make some omelettes."

"Aw, yer a treasure, Tim." Val hung her coat on the rack by the door. "Feels nice in here. I like what you've done with the place."

"Ah. Thank you." He was rifling through his refrigerator. Started the percolator. Anything to keep busy - to avoid the awkwardness of Jude's avoidance of awkwardness.

"Oh, hey I brought ya some firewood. Split it yesterday. It's in the truck." Val sat at his table, made herself at home easily.

"That's very kind, Val. I appreciate it."

"No problem. I been clearing some land off for Ol' Ms. Lundt." Val looked at Judy, who stood beside the couch. She was staring at his coffee table. At the Edward Hopper book. At Morning in the City. He winced. He hadn't closed the book in days. Could only imagine what she was thinking. "Judy. Why don't ya sit down before ya fall down." Val nudged his only other chair with her foot and Timothy pulled it out, gentlemanly.

"Please." He said quietly.

Chin rising, reluctant, she sat. "Thank you." The words barely escaped on a rasp and he worried.

"Tim. Ya need more chairs." Val pointed out.

"Yes. It appears I do." He smiled, placing coffee cups before the women. Little welcoming chickens danced on the porcelain. Or at least he hoped. "I'm happy to stand for now, though." He poured. Set out the cream and sugar. Spoons.

Silence descended. Only the sounds of spoons hitting cup sides and a sizzle of butter. He dropped bread into the toaster. Folded eggs and cheese into a copper bowl. He felt Jude's eyes on him at last, but ignored the stare. He'd gotten better at flipping the fluffy eggs. Still not perfect, but at least they weren't destroyed. He set the first omelette before Jude and her head bowed over it. Was she praying? Val stood on no such ceremony and dug in. "Damn, Tim. You can cook, man!"

"I'm learning." He admitted. He leaned against the counter to eat his omelette. It was quite good. He sopped his plate with toast, watched his guests do the same. And Jude was starved, perhaps. She ate almost ravenously.

"What d'you think, Judy? You can cook a fair piece, too." Val poked Jude's leg with her foot.

Jude nodded. "Ya did a good job."

The quiet, saddening praise meant more than anything. He swallowed heavily. "Thank you." He refilled their coffees and for the first time, Jude spoke unbidden.

"I..." She had to clear her throat. "I thank you far...taking me in. I promise I won't be here long. Just need ta...get back on my feet." She sounded so tired. So resigned. A far, heartbreaking cry from the Amazon who'd terrified him a few nights earlier. He found he preferred her strong and fiery over this downtrodden waif.

"You are no burden at all, Jude." He wanted to touch her somehow, but didn't. "Take your time here with me."

Val gestured to the couch with its pillow and throw. "Looks like Tim already has a bed made for ya, Judy."

"No!" He spoke quickly. "I sleep there. Jude - Judy, I prepared a room for you."

Val met his eyes over Jude's still lowered head. "Really, Tim? That's damn ni-"

"I won't take yar bed." Jude interrupted. "Couches and I get on good."

"Well. Unfortunately, I already prefer my couch." He gave no room for argument. "And we shan't both fit there. So, the bed is yours." Although imagining them fitting on the couch together created an odd warmth in his belly. She kept quiet other than a whispered 'thank you.'

Val cleared her throat. "Judy, I'm gonna grab yer stuff outta the truck. And if Tim will help, we'll get that wood unloaded onto the back porch?"

"Of course."

They left Jude seated at the table. Outside, the air was crisp. He wished he'd grabbed his jacket. "She seems...unwell." He said at the pickup.

"She's swallowin' her pride, Tim. And that's a mouthful. Not to mention she hasnt had a proper bed, bath or meal in days now."

"I hate seeing her this way."

"Well, I guess it's up ta you ta do somethin' about it." She carried in two suitcases and a hatbox. Timothy grabbed two other small boxes. Was this all Jude owned? Inside, Jude was at the sink, washing dishes.

"Leave those." Timothy insisted, stepping toward her.

She held out a sudsy hand, stopping him at arm's length. "Lemme do this. Please." Her head bent over the soapy water.

He stepped back. Her unhappiness was contagious. He grabbed his jacket and went back outside with Val. "I hardly know what to do." He confessed quietly.

"Give her time." Val began neatly stacking firewood against the railing of his tiny back porch. He handed the cords up to her, some already split. "It sucks to be a woman with no choices. Especially when you've always made yer own way somehow."

"I don't want her to feel that way."

"So don't make her feel that way."

"She's washing my dishes."

Val shrugged. "She'll feel the need ta earn her keep. Let her do what she feels like she needs ta do." Val paused stacking. "Look at me." He did. "She's just...an open wound right now. And only part of that is yer fault. Yeah?" He nodded. "And she knows that, too. She's gotta come ta terms with a lot of shit. If she wants yer help, help her. If she doesn't, just hold her hair when she pukes. Get me?"

He was slightly horrified. "I get you."

The wood stack was even now with the railing. They started on the other side. "Tim. Try not to let her drink. She's detoxed fer now. Why she looks like shit. But...it doesn't take much to relapse. Even I know that."

"You do?"

Val shrugged. "Yeah. I was a total sot fer a couple years. My gal pulled me out of the bottle."

"How?" He handed her the last cord.

"She was patient. She was firm. She kept me distracted. She loved me." A sigh. "Judy...Judy isn't as hard as she seems. I know you know that, right? She's hungry fer love. Real love. So was I. It's easy ta be fucked, Tim. But it's hard ta be loved. Love means...openin' yerself up. All the soft parts of yerself. It means it's easier ta get hurt."

He nodded, understanding entirely. "Val. You're very wise."

"School of hard knocks." She gestured to his house with her head. "Like that one in there." She chewed her lip for a moment. "She's grateful. It's a weird place ta be. Grateful and resentful."

"We...we shall deal with that as it arises."

"Yeah." Val nudged his elbow. "Have you ever met two people and thought, 'Man. Those two people are meant to be togetha?'"

"Not really."

"Well. Me either. But I think you and Judy...I think you two are meant to be togetha somehow."

He blushed. "Somehow."

Val stood up. "I'm gonna be off. Say bye to Judy." She swatted his head affectionately with a glove. "You gonna be okay?"

He nodded. "We'll be fine."

"Judy knows my numbah. What's yars?" She produced a ballpoint pen, clicking, jotting the digits he gave on her hand. "Call me if you need anything. She'll do the same."

"Thank you, Valerie." She gave him a wink, entering his house from the back porch. Timothy sat on the step for a while longer. Thinking. Giving the women some time. Giving Jude some time. But it wasn't enough time. When the chill got to be too much for him and he went inside, he walked in on a tight, clinging embrace, Jude weeping softly against Val's shoulder. He started to back out again, but Val gestured for him to come closer.

"Judy." She rubbed Jude's back. "Yar gonna be fine. You know that. Tim's gonna be good to ya." She gestured for him to come even closer, face frustrated over Jude's shoulder. He stepped as close as he dared. "Look, here." Val pulled away from Jude, held her at arms' length. "If ya still want hugs, ya got somebody right there who I feel pretty sure would hold ya tight."

He'd held Jude once. Once. Kind of. He'd pulled her away from the farmboy - from the devil. Brief as it was he remembered later being struck by the feel of her body in his arms. Jude was firm, shapely. She'd felt substantial. And her loose blonde hair had tickled against his face. He would gladly hold her again. He would lift her if she fell. He had made her fall, after all...

But she gathered herself, pulling from Val's hands. She wiped at her face with her hands, and Timothy offered her the warm, clean handkerchief from his pocket. After only a moment's hesitation, she took it. Val gave him an encouraging look as Jude wiped her eyes. "Judy. I'll see ya Thursday if not before, eh. Pick ya up for work." Jude nodded, gathering her wits. "Tim. I'll see you Thursday, too."

He saw Val out, closing the door behind her and turning slowly to Jude. He'd no idea what to say. And she looked so resigned and miserable, he hesitated to attempt any small talk. "I've put your things in the bedroom." He gestured. "You can make yourself at home. There are several empty drawers in the chest. Room in the closet. Um..." He tried to think of any other pertinent things to tell her.

"Timothy."

"Yes?"

"I wouldn't have come here if I'd had any other choice."

And that stung a bit. "I understand." His throat tightened.

"But I truly appreciate yar kindness."

"Of course, Jude." He whispered.

"And I won't apologize." She continued firmly if shaking. "For what I said the othah night. I'm still angry. Beyond angry at you. And I think I have a right to that." He nodded, acknowledging she was right, letting her have her say. She suddenly looked away, biting a lip, scoffed softly. "But ya know? My mothah told me once - when I was just a girl - that God doesn't always answer our prayers the way we expect him to. And I'll confess I been prayin' lately. Prayin' hard."

He knew the feeling. "What have you been praying for?"

She looked at him directly for the first time since she arrived. "Far a way to forgive you. A way to let go. Like I did before." Tears escaped her eyes. He hadn't even realized she was crying. Peculiar. "Because I'll nevah be happy this way. Not now that I remembah. And this is all I'll have far eternity."

"We don't know that that's true." His fingers itched to touch her. To take her arms, stroke tears off her sculpted cheeks.

She shrugged. "I chose to come back here, ya know? Because I didn't want to be alone. I was nevah any good at being alone. And now...I feel more alone than evah."

"But you're not alone, Jude." He spread his arms helplessly. "I'm here. However you may need or...want me. Forgiven or not. Val's here. And she cares very deeply for you."

She shook her head, turning away. "That's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?" He followed her a few paces behind. Couldn't see her face to gauge an emotion.

She stared out a front window, back to him, holding herself. "Did you mean what you said Saturday? That...you may have loved me?"

"Yes." He answered quickly. "Jude..." How to explain? What words wrapped around feelings like theirs? The depths of regret, love, and desperation? He struggled for words.

She seemed to understand. Embraced herself tightly and rubbed at her shoulders. "This is too much right now."

"There's time."

"Oh, yeah!" She laughed ruefully. "Fuckin' tons of it." When she finally glanced back at him, she wore a smirk. "Can I use yar bathtub?"

"Yes." Apparently, their discussion was tabled. "I...got some new towels."

"Did ya?"

"I did."

She looked past him, to the kitchen. "And um...a tablecloth?"

"That, too." It seemed so silly, talking to her this way. Towels and tablecloths. But she was keen to leave the heaviness behind and honestly - so was he.

In fact, she took a proper look around for the first time since arriving. "It looks really nice." A shy smile. "You made it real homey."

"I wanted you to feel...welcome."

"Am I?"

"Very much, Jude."

Her shoulders relaxed. She tried a less shy smile. "Thank you. Again."

He shook off the thanks. Gestured for her to follow. "The bath is this way." Awkwardly. "Not that you wouldn't have found it." Flipped the light in the bedroom. "Not exactly a mystery mansion." Flipped the light in the bathroom. "I've put the linens on this rack in the corner and -"

"Did you know?"

"Hm?" He paused to find her still standing in the bedroom. "Know what?"

"Blue." She stroked the bedding. "It's my favorite color."

"Lucky guess." But he could have burst with the simple pleasure of pleasing her somehow. She slipped past him into the small bathroom. It was the closest she'd been to him yet. He clenched his fists to resist stroking her arm.

"It's a nice place, Timothy."

"Thank you." He cleared his throat. In the stark bathroom lighting he could see the deep circles beneath her eyes - the brown in them muted. "I'll leave you to..." He gestured to the tub. "If you need anything..."

She chuckled, a brow raised. "Like...my back washed?"

He was sure the hot embarrassed flush was amusing on him. "I meant -"

"I know what you meant." She leaned against the porcelain sink. "I'll call you."

"Right." He closed the bedroom door behind him, giving her two walls of privacy. Or giving himself two barriers to temptation. He wasn't sure. In the living room, he was possessed to compulsively tidy. Closed and stacked books on the coffee table. Folded his blanket. A quick sweep of the bark chips by the wood stove.

He heard the shower running. Absolutely did not imagine a naked woman beneath it. Instead, he opened the refrigerator and stared inside it at the cream. No idea why. After the shower, the water ran for a bath. He didn't imagine her in bubbles, either. "God help me," he muttered.

It was growing chilly. He stepped onto the back porch for wood even though there were a few logs inside. There could always be more. He arranged it by the stove. Started a fire in the iron belly. He was blowing at the flame when he heard it through the thin wall: Jude singing.

Humming at first. A low key. Then words barely murmured. A slow, odd melody.

Pack up

I'm strayed

Enough

Oh say say say

Oh say say say

Wait

They don't love you like I love you

Wait

They don't love you like I love you

Maps

Wait, they don't love you like I love you

He eased against the wall. Wanted to be closer to her voice somehow. Closed his eyes as the song echoed in the watery bathroom acoustic.

Made off

Don't stray

My kind's your kind

I'll stay the same

Pack up

Don't stray

Oh say say say

Oh say say say

He heard the tinkle of water between lyrics. Occasional humming. Light splashes. He could have curled up inside her song and slept.

Wait, they don't love you like I love you

Wait, they don't love you like I love you

Maps

Wait, they don't love you like I love you

The noisy racket of water draining snapped him from his reverie. He rose guiltily, despite the fact she would never know he listened to her bathe. Well. Listened to her sing.

It was still several minutes before she emerged from the bedroom. Timothy had fretted himself onto the couch, watching a documentary on Bengal tigers. She sat beside him easily, an entire couch cushion between them. He didn't look at her, but he smelled her. A waft of clean, floral coolness, and the air of relief that came with it. She wore white: a soft lnen skirt and loose tank. He could see a thin bra strap peeking on taut shoulder.

"What's this?" She asked.

Ahem. "Bengal tigers."

"Interesting." Suddenly, there were toes near his thigh. Near, but not touching. She'd folded her legs underneath her.

A glance told him she was watching the television, so he allowed a glance at the toes. They were polished with a clear varnish. Her feet were shapely. And they were very much attached to legs he already knew to be entirely diabolical. He looked away.

"That's a pretty big cat."

"Agreed." He nodded. "Sad that it's endangered."

"Mm-hm."

He chewed at his lip. Finally looked over at her. She'd washed her hair. It was golden again and shining. Curls still wet were tight. He wanted to tug one. See if it would bounce back to its coily form. She caught him staring. "How was your shower?"

She blinked. "Nice. Good water pressure."

"Ah."

"You hungry?"

He blinked. "I could eat. It's lunch time."

She looked into his kitchen. "Can I use yar stove?"

"Yes." He followed her into the kitchen. "Can I help?"

"I dunno. Can you?" She was looking inside his refrigerator. "What do you want to - Oh my God! Timothy, you will never eat all this food!"

He peeked over her shoulder. Not in charge of his own refrigerator, he could only imagine someone above had seen fit to fill it. "Oh, is that paté ?"

Jude whipped toward him. "Do you even know what's in your own refrigerator?"

"Not always."

Eyes wide, she blew at wet bangs. "Unbelievable."

But he reached past her and retrieved the tray of paté . And if there was paté , there would be crackers. Two steps and he found a box in the cupboard above the sink. "Hm?" He gestured to her with the tray, offering. She shrugged.

They sat at the little table eating paté . Watching a documentary program on Bengal tigers. Occasionally sipping slightly bitter tea. Barefoot together. The fire crackled. Crackers crunched and crumbled. A pleasantly accented Englishman lulled their consciousnesses with talk of tigers on television.

When the paté was gone, and the nature program was over, the silence became a presence. A third party. Timothy picked at a rough cuticle. Jude watched his fingers move against one another from across the table. Finally, she spoke.

"What do you do here?"

He blinked at her. "I read. Watch television. I've been learning to cook and to um...dance."

She stared at him disbelievingly. "That's it? You don't work? I mean, I know it's Limbo, but...ya still have rent, right?"

"I do not." He put his chin on his hand. "I suppose my work has been to find you."

"Ta save me."

"I don't think you need saving." He shook his head. "I think you have a strength like no one I"ve ever known. I think I'm here to save my own damned soul. But I think we can find some sort of peace together."

Jude squinted, sussing lies. "The only piece men evah want from me is enough to damn any soul."

"Not this time."

"Then why not before? In Briarcliff? Why didn't ya save me then, Cardinal?" She rose from the table. He watched her retrieve cigarettes from her purse by the door. "Hm?" She leaned against his couch, waiting, brow high.

"I was a different person, then, Jude."

"Ya look the same ta me." She exhaled a thick plume of smoke.

"Looks can be deceiving." He pushed a saucer to the edge of the table - a makeshift ashtray.

"I can't argue that." She acknowledged. "Habits hide lots of secrets."

"That they do." He gestured to her smoke. "May I?" She shrugged, tossed him the pack of Luckies, then the Zippo. The flame lit truths. "None of us were what we appeared at Briarcliff, were we?"

"Not true." She shook her head. "I think most of our charges were exactly what they seemed. Kit was. Lana." A wry chuckle. "Eunice."

"Hardly Eunice." He argued. "I was initially blind to her possession."

"Eunice was exactly what she seemed." Jude's insistence was firm. "She was an innocent. And then she was a devil. Out of her control. You -" she pointed at him - "were a lie in a white collar. From beginning to end. And you knew about Arthur Arden. Hans Gruper. You knew about his history. His experiments. You knew -"

"And you, Jude?" He interrupted her. Good that this should come to a head. Good that they should get this out. "Were you not a lie, yourself? Did you not lie to me?"

She was aghast, responded yelling. "I omitted certain facts from you. Because I worshiped you! I stupidly believed in you!" When she whirled to pace, her skirt flared. "I foolishly fell in love with you, Fathah."

"Stop calling me that."

"Then stop calling me Jude!" She snapped back. "You made me Betty, after all. You made me another lie."

"And I've admitted that! Have regretted that!" His voice rose to match hers. Not quite shouting. "I did terrible things, Judy." He stressed the name. "Yes, I lied. Yes, I was a dreadful man. That's why I'm here. But there has to be forgiveness somewhere. We have to let go of the demons that haunt us."

"Demons." Jude scoffed, circling the couch like a trapped animal. "Demons don't haunt me. Storms haunt me. I can't sleep far thundah. Lightning makes me cry like a fucking child. Cold chills me to my bones. I hate the feel of wet stone. Can't be in small spaces. Being alone makes me crazy - anxious as a cat in a room full of rockin' chairs." She leaned on the table, into his space. "Do you know how long I was in solitary? Do ya realize how long you left me down there ta rot?"

He closed his eyes. "Too long."

"Months, Timothy Howard!" She slapped the enamel, making him flinch. "Like I was no bettah than an animal! Ya let the devil fry my brain, let me be offered up to Leigh Emerson like a Christmas pudding! D'you know what he did ta me?"

"No!" He stood, leaning into her space now. "I had no idea, Jude! I was in the devil's control, myself! A demon's tool. A demon's...toy!" He spat. Looked away, embarrassed. "I was powerless, too. In many ways."

"Bullshit!"

"I came to you!" HIs throat hurt now, tight with tears. "It was your counsel I sought when I knew the truth. The truth about Emerson. The truth about Frank. When Eunice -"

"You mean when you gave the devil yar virginity?" She smirked sickly.

"It wasn't like that." A growl. His gut still knotted to think of it...

"Why don't ya tell me what it was like, Timothy?" She sat now. Lit another cigarette. "I always wondered what you'd be like in bed. Or were you even in bed? Did ya sigh sweetly? Whisper yar token resistance into her ear while you wrapped her creamy legs around yar -"

"It was rape, Jude!" The table shook when he leapt from it. "She climbed atop me and made me hers. Eyes black as sin. I could not fight her! I could not resist! That was not Eunice and you are well aware of that. It was a demon and as much as it pains me I confess that it took me against my will. Made me powerless." He shook.

"Well, welcome to the Rape Sucks Club." Jude sat back in her chair, settling. Seemed almost pleased that he'd suffered.

He rubbed frustrated at his head, stomach churning at their confrontation. "It's a devastating feeling. I am sorry you are also a victim, Judy."

Her mouth worked. She flicked the cigarette. "It happens. Especially in my line of work."

"Did Emerson -"

"No." She shut down that line of questioning quickly. "He tried, though." Her eyes drifted closed, remembering. "He beat me. Threw me on the bed. Climbed on top of me. And I stabbed him with a letter opener." She smiled ruefully. "Wish I'd killed the motherfuckah."

Timothy sat. Put his hands flat on the table - a gesture of peace. "I regret beyond words that I did not believe you, Judy. That I did not hear your words."

"Frank was my friend." She suddenly insisted. "I would have mourned him. I would nevah have hurt him. Much less killed him." Tears choked her. "I loved Frank. He treated me kindly always. Respected me. He woulda protected me that night. Woulda saved me. That's why Eunice killed him. Why the devil took him."

"I know."

"I woulda mourned her, too." Anger exhausted. Tears streaked her face freely. She wiped at them with her thumbs. "Mary Eunice. My - my little sistah." Emotion - avoided for so long - was sloppy. Dirty. Jude could care less, sniffled and wept weakly. "You know...she used to come to my chambers. During the storms. The N'oreastahs. She would - would tap on my door. I always knew it was her. She was so scared! So sweet! She would sleep with me. Like a fucking girl. So unconditional was her faith..." Her head fell in her hands. "She feared me! I wish I'd been kinder. Wish I'd been -"

"Jude." He stopped her. "Eunice cared deeply for you. She still does. She is the reason I'm here now. She has been my guide in this...place."

"I wanna see her." She suddenly grabbed his hand. "Will I see her?" Desperation pinched her red eyes.

"I hope so." She was still gripping his hand. He took it in both of his. Could feel her sticky tears. "Eunice was a forgiving soul. She was good. The best part of Briarcliff. And that is why it was so unbelievable. Why it was so easy to overlook her plight. The demon knew how to choose."

Jude nodded, chewing her top lip. "That's why it didn't take me. Or you. I've often wished it had. Spared her soul." She shrugged. "Hell, I already knew the devil, anyway." She slid her hand from his, rubbed at the fingers self-consciously.

"I've wished the same."

"I coulda fought it harder." She nodded certainly.

"Or...been a far greater force to reckon with." He smiled wryly, attempting some humor even if dark.

She gestured at him with her cigarette, appreciating his attempt. "Either way, you woulda been fucked."

He laughed, relieved at the break in their exchange, at the slightly lightened mood. But he sobered quickly. He owed her the truth. "She...she wore your slip."

Jude's features froze for a moment. Time froze save for the swirl of smoke above her head. Her eyes narrowed. "What?"

"It was red. Silk. You wore it at the club a few -"

"How did you know about that?"

"It was in your things. In a box. She must have taken it."

Jude looked away from him, a hot flush on her features. "I used ta wear it whenevah..."

"Whenever what?"

Her gaze slid back to him like oil. "If I knew I was going to be with you." A shrug. No more secrets. "Cooking for ya. Meetings. Chapel."

"Beneath your habit."

"I told ya habits hide secrets."

He took a deep breath. "Quite a secret, Judy."

"It must have known. Like it knew othah things about me." She thought, rolling her now defunct cigarette between two fingers, forehead creased. "But I wonder why -"

"I imagined you in it." He blurted. Looked into his empty tea glass.

She was quiet at the admission, considering. Mouth slightly open. When she spoke, she spoke slowly and deliberately. "You said that you destroyed a woman you might have loved. Was it love, Timothy? Because it was awfully easy far you ta abandon me the way ya did."

"I didn't know then. I couldn't understand." How to put this into words now that words were being put? He struggled, holding his temples. "I loved God. I loved myself. You were a Sister of the Church. My sister in faith. I called my love for you holy."

"Was it?"

"No." His face burned. He covered it with his hands. "Christ, Jude it was..."

"Lust?" She asked.

She'd supplied the word. He still couldn't meet her eyes. "At best."

She shook her head. "I knew there was something," she murmured. "But I knew it wasn't the same as I felt. I knew it was -"

"It was safe to want you. To...imagine having you that way. Because of our positions in the church." After this confession, he looked at her.

She'd crossed her pretty legs. Tilted toward him, but not too close. "Interesting, Timothy. What other...positions...did you imagine for us?"

"Don't be cruel," he muttered.

"You have to understand my resentment."

"I understand completely, Jude. But this is not the way for us to proceed. Anger is a barrier to our development."

She laughed openly. "What development?"

"I want your forgiveness! I want your happiness, woman!" He stood again, restless. Pacing. "I deserve your anger, Judy. But I deserve the chance to redeem myself, do I not? As you did? Can you tell me you were blameless in life in the eyes of God? That you did not harbor your own dark secrets? Your own lust?"

"God's eyes mean less and less to me lately." She was unswayed by his anxiety. Watched him with an unsettling gaze. "I took advantage of the hell you gave me in Briarcliff. I paid my fucking dues. I was rewarded. But whether that was God's doing or...just simple human kindness..." She shrugged. "I don't know."

"Eunice said you had a lovely ending. What did she mean?"

The small smile was a real smile. Not laced with ire or sarcasm. "Kit Walker took me out of there. For whatever completely insane, misguided reason, he took a crazy woman into his home. With his children - one of which you would have taken from him, by the way - and gave me something I never had in my entire dismal life."

"What was that?"

"Love." She spread her hands. "Just...simple, joyous, perfectly sweet love. A family. Babies ta hug. A peaceful place to die, and a hand to hold while it happened."

"I'm glad you had that." He was. Deeply. Relieved that she hadn't wasted away at his hands, after all. "Do you still want love, Jude?"

She stared at him, measuring. "Do you?"

"Yes. And peace. And happiness. The simple things you spoke of."

"Love takes time, Timothy."

"Time is all we have."

"Not true." A smirk. She tapped the empty plate. "There's also paté."

He blinked a few times before laughing. Nerves releasing tension, he sat again. More than content to leave this conversation....for the moment. "Thank God for paté."