--- *** ---

--- A Few Hours Later ---

Shortly after the British compatriot has formally resigned from the church by negotiating with his mentor, Father Malachi, he was still the Monsignor, donned its clerical, conservative attires of the church, nevertheless not wearing the revered title Monsignor anymore. He was just a mere man with his own primary needs, desires, passions and dreams. The former man of the cloth was just Timothy Howard into his own eyes unlike the general population, whose eyes, whether unintentionally or trustlessly was spotting him, still believing he's the benevolent, blameless priest with his celestial dreams to rise in the patriarchy.

Moreover the elder man of the cloth questioned his protégé's real motives to flee the church by dwelling out of the sacred realm full of religious icons, holy missions and duties which were encumbering his schedule. At first, Father Malachi was flabbergasted how Timothy longed to flee the church due to personal reasons even to search for his own rare bird which was his crucial and sole quest for now since the younger man had great potential to raise significantly, beneficially in the patriarchy by becoming Cardinal of New York and afterwards being the Pope in golden, divine Rome, stepping on the scarlet, satin aisle and overlooking the swarm of ordinary nuns and priests, who were bowing before him and addressing him Pope. However, the elder priest comprehended and assimilated rationally, complexly his former protégé's motives to be no longer part of the clergy, putting himself in Timothy's shoes as if he's found the love of his life during his priesthood and one day her disappearance disquiets him.

At last but not least, the former holy man didn't give up with bland, feuding ease at all. His impending destination after Father Malachi's office was to meet in person with Jude's mentor, Mother Claudia.

As his old, black cab was being driven by the former priest, who was strongly looking forward to transact about his right hand's absence, the late October streets of Boston were as peaceful as usually with its light autumn breeze, the rich carpet of crispy, flimsy leaves, sheeting the ground. Dim sun was hanging up in the cloudy sky, outnumbered and almost concealed by hive of grizzly clouds.

Once he parked the vehicle, subsequently he got from it by locking it up and entering in St. Andrews as strong hopes whirled in his whirlpool of thoughts to seek the answers he's looking for with strong-willed perseverance and credulous will aspiring him.

When the former aspiring Monsignor stepped beside St. Andrews' grandiose, oak wood double door, he gingerly pushed them as his chocolate brown pools were met with the elder nun, squinting her sapphire blue orbs at the monumental, mosaic window, seized her lips in a thoughtful purse until the grandiose double doors in parallel shut. His oxford shoes timidly clicking against the cement flooring, producing its repetitive choir. His sudden, haphazard presence caught off guard Claudia.

"M-Monsignor?" All of a sudden, the older woman hesitantly turned to the younger man as the loneliness, isolating themselves from anybody especially certain prying and childishly intruding members of the clergy was a good idea to have a decent, clear and laconic discussion which won't take less than a handful of minutes. Bashfully sympathetic smile touched her rosy-coloured, dry lips.

"It's not a Monsignor anymore, Mother Superior!" Sharp exhale flushed his constricted chest as the heartache was gnawing him as a savage animal with its sharp as spires teeth the gore and flesh until utterly flaying of the corpse at last. "I just resigned from the church after negotiating with Father Malachi."

"Why you're leaving the church, dear child? What makes you to take a different direction in your life," Meantime, the woman of the cloth strolled up to him, landing her azure blue irises at him with mild incredulity, glinting under them as twinkling stars. "Full of great potential to be the Cardinal and then the exalted Pope in Rome?"

"Sister, sometimes the worldview drastically changes once something even the pettiest thing causes the change!" The British aristocrat's colossal, creamy as velvet hands were into his pockets, unnerved to relax for a single second since his rare bird's disappearance not only into his eyes, furthermore of his life. "I had this great potential to be the Cardinal of New York and therefore the Pope in Rome with a Mother Superior by your side, in spite of the circumstance my right hand is no longer among with us. I mean she's just gone in the limbo." His lip pouted after suckling in its lower one uneasily. The older woman's eyes widened, goggling glassily, blankly at the younger man. "I found a letter on her desk earlier this morning."

"I know everything about her resignation but she told me to not tell anything to the Monsignor about anything, because he would go insane."

"I'm numb since the moment I found out she isn't in Briarcliff anymore. I feel nothing." His lips puffed coldly, dryly the cough, glimpsing at the carpeted flooring, nibbling on the silken skin of his bottom plumpish lip. "I won't be insane unless I find where she's at the moment."

"I'm very sorry to tell you that, Timothy, but," Meanwhile, Mother Claudia shot a stern, unwelcoming stare at Timothy by inhaling the church's scent. "But I need to keep her promise. To not tell anybody where is Jude!"

"I really need to see her. You shouldn't tell her I was there and you told me where is she!" The former aspiring holy man insisted unwaveringly as beg glistened his chocolate brown pools, fueled with desperation, immense heartbreak and numbness in the same time. "Just pretend as if nothing has happened."

"I can't do this! It's like a betrayal to her and a false promise which I didn't keep to her." Even when Timothy tried his best to accrue information about the blonde and her current residence, the revered nun coldheartedly, unconditionally loyal to her former protégé to not leak the pettiest information about her even in front of her former boss, who was looking for her and had a very close relationship not just platonically. "I've always kept her secrets and my word to her, regardless how personal are. Especially when she shared them in person with me. And I strongly respect anything she does as a decision."

"Mother, you shouldn't fear of the consequences! At least, I'll be truly glad if I find out a bit about her, thanks to you!"

"I'm really sorry but I can't leak anything about her." The stern retaliate dripped from her lips as cobra's venom, lingering on her tongue for her recent victims."

--- *** ---

--- A Few Days Later ---

--- 28st of October, 1964 ---

As the days progressed shortly after the former ambitious Monsignor resigned from the church, in order to research the entire Boston and afterwards the other small cities and states especially the nearest to find the former sister of the church, he was currently in Michigan by reserving a room in a motel until the morning after when Timothy's going to flee for Wisconsin.

When the former man of the cloth was sitting on the ottoman, boozing fourth glass of rum as he has ordered for himself 2 big bottles of high-quality rum, his vision clouded misty mirages along with murderous fuzziness, spending the entire night consuming insane quantity of the potent liquor, lacing his tongue. Relaxing his body muscles. Infecting with its vicious alcohol into his blood and veins. His bones sedated.

He commenced to lose faith and hope to find Judy even after being in a few states and small cities, besides Boston and Massachusetts. The melancholy and suicidal thoughts submerged his blizzard of thoughts within less than a split second. Timothy felt impotent to guard his blizzard of thoughts against the vices. Suicidal thoughts. The discourage. The lost faith. The lost hope.

Heavy rain was pouring outside, clinking with its regiment of rain drops the closed windows and the small balcony, linked with the booked room. Palish moon hung up in the sky with its millions of sheening gilt stars, painting its nocturnal prospect.

Crystal, bittersweet tears stained his parchment, still young-looking complexion with dampness. His lips pouted as sometimes opened as deep caverns, swallowing the tumbling tears of its melancholic heavy rain, poured on his face. His eyelids tightly clutch, without allowing to motion the facial muscles to blink. Ducked head as his chin was propped by the palm of his mammoth, callous hand, whilst his other one held the glass with the last poured rum liquor, pooling it, whereas the bottles of rum were already emptied and scattered on the table. Sniffles and the serene song of heavy rain, brightly contrasting each other, floated in the background, jingling into the British aristocrat's ears.

"Why Jude? Why Mother Claudia?" In the interim, his pale-pinkish, rum-stained lips as its alcohol seared his lips' delicate skin seized the tearful rhetorical questions, addressed to the both women. "I hope you're still alive, Jude! Because I'm looking for you no matter what made you to flee the church and Briarcliff, hiding from me like a scared, wounded hare!" Hopelessness was sketched upon his face and vomited in his timid mumble. "My goose will be cooked if you're dead. Because if you're dead, that means I'm dead too. I'm a complete nothing without you." After guzzling greedily, cold-bloodedly the last glass of rum before leaving it aloof on the table recklessly, he emitted a rueful cough, scratching his throat.

All of a sudden, he plunked down the ottoman down on the ground, drenching the carpet with his bitter tears.

"I want to die right now especially if she's gone!"

Suddenly his epidermis bristled in goosebumps, whilst peeping over his shoulder shortly after sensing the delicate, feather touch of Shachath's gloved hand, caressing his dark hair. At the moment, the dark angel's other gloved hand daubed with a thumb his last drying tears, gushing down his cheeks whilst crouching down against him.

"You aren't real." The former man of the cloth's wry smile instinctively, haphazardly bloomed on his lips at the sight of the charismatic Shachath as pair of chocolate brown met pair of piercing, chilly sapphire blue orbs. Her bloody red lips were brushed in an affable, kindhearted smile. His heart momentarily skipped a beat. "I didn't even summon you."

"You summoned me somehow, Timothy! Think twice!" The delicateness of her velvety voice sent shivers down his spine and paroxysm, contaminating his bones and muscles.

"I don't know you!" He swallowed hard at his own words and the fallen angel's unpredictable presence, catching him off guard as he couldn't put a finger on it.

"But I know you, Timothy!"

"I want to be already dead. I tried and I tried and I've been rewarded with nothing for my hardships to find her."

"Are you certain you've still a hope to find Jude?"

In the meanwhile, the former holy man shook his head regretfully, wedging his lips in a pensive, reluctant purse.

"Do not lose faith with an ease! She's still alive and you will surely find her one day, regardless how long it took you." His sniffles and sobs subdued in the background of the motel room as his lips popped up promptly without breaking off the eye contact with the dark angel.

"I fucking need her, no matter if nobody doesn't want to tell me where's she!" Timothy didn't pay absolutely any attention to his own scowled whisper since the dissatisfaction enveloped his heart and was vomited in his whisper. Meantime, Shachath cupped his cheek lightly into the palm of her petite, amusingly lukewarm gloved hand, in order to console him.

"You will meet one day somebody, who's the only person, besides God that know where's your rare bird. It's an old friend of hers and her employee."

"F-Frank?" The younger man hemmed coyly, boyishly, whereas the angel bobbed her head in agreement, humming a melodious tune, lingering on her tongue. "I hardly believe he will tell me anything about Jude since he dislikes me."

"But thanks to him, you will know where your right hand is!" Optimism and realism cusped as feuding both sides, soothingly assuring the former priest to resume his life and not allowing the depression, suicidal thoughts and the soreful pain overtake him, winning its ordeal. "There's nothing to discourage to pursue the answers you're looking for, Timothy!"

--- *** ---

It has been a handful of days since the Bostonian has established in Pennsylvania and she quickly bought a cheap, nonetheless, sufficiently convenient, clean and well-adorned cabin in the woods in Pennsylvania's countryside.

Furthermore, the blonde found a new job as a volunteer of orphans in an orphanage by not being donned in the ecclesiastical, dark wool attires of the church. She loved her job very much with her entire heart and aiding the children, who have been fated to be orphans and being housed in an orphanage until the beginning of their adulthood by communicating with them, besides spending her spare time with them, playing with them and exhorting them with advises from the life and her experience, sharing their own stories about their pasts. The middle-aged lady felt no longer the burden that once encumbered her and her heart along with the heartbreak of fleeing for the rest of her days Boston and the love of her life just because she feared of hurting him and most of all, Timothy to acknowledge anything behind her gloomy past. Her gloomy past and the woman, she used to be and she isn't shadowing herself anymore by sentencing her to death after joining the church somehow.

Judy was feeling like a free woman, capable of following her own passions by doing them with pleasure and a smile, stroking her lips. She loved children and they love her back, in spite of her age that doesn't permit her to bare her own baby anymore, besides being naturally infertile and empty due to the malicious syphilis. Nevertheless, she didn't give up by beholding the orphans as her own children models that brighten her day and entire week. Moreover, the former licentious jazz nightclub singer cherished each moment she was away from Timothy and being more with children.

When the blonde was in her cabin after a long, weary but marvelous day in the orphanage, she turned on the radio to distract herself and the mute the loneliness that was consuming her new home, while slicing the potatoes for a potato soup.

"One fine day, you'll look at me and you will know our love was, meant to be! One fine day, you're gonna want me for your girl! The arms I long for, will open wide!" Chiffons' song One Fine Day was recently playing on the radio as the multi voices and the piano interweaved in the background, whereas the former administrator of the notorious madhouse was thrumming eloquently to herself, swaying her hips in the rhythm, chopping the potatoes on tiny cubs for the potato soup.

As soon as the middle-aged lady finished with chopping the potatoes and sliding them in the saucepan with the already boiled water, mingling with the vegetables broth, she glanced at the framed old photograph of her and Timothy, posing alongside each other after finishing their recent holy mission in Connecticut.

In the interval, Jude grasped the framed Polaroid photograph, taken by a professional photographer by squinting up a scrutiny at her. Beaming, gleaming with its bliss smiles, honed up in the corner of their lips. Their friendly, saturating with its vibrant pigments irises, darted to the camera directly.

Nostalgia growled in the pit of her stomach as ruefully crystal, salty tears verged to spring up by flooding her eyelids with dew of moistness to stain her porcelain, yet youthful complexion. She chewed on her upper lip nervously as her forehead rested on the picture frame, her fingers bashfully tracing their beaming faces.

"I'm so sorry, Timothy! I'm yar disappointment, shame and disgust if ya think I've been always a saint with a big and golden heart."

--- *** ---

--- 3 Years Later ---

--- 20th of November, 1967 ---

"What is worse than waking up in a desolated, old room with acrylic pictures, hanged on the walls by staring at you eerily?" An inner voice disturbed the former priest, who laid on a tattered, old bed of a godforsaken cottage, located somewhere in the highland. His shut eyelids shielded him against the maliciously creepy stares, landed on him.

When Timothy came to his senses by rubbing with his colossal, balled fists his drowsy eyelids by sitting on the edge of the bed, muffling a mere yawn, the pitch-black darkness encircled him, wondering from where the inner voices came.

"W-Where am I?" The British compatriot posed the question with stammer that his tongue sluggishly crafted.

"Do not ask unless you discover by yourself the answer you're looking for, Timothy!" Another inner voice exclaimed in the vacuum as he got from the bed, ambling up as his oxford clicked against the old, oak wood flooring of the cabin. The pungent stench of gore and acrylic waffled across his sensitive nose. "It's the next door the answer you're looking for. You will like it!" Fiendish, inward whisper jingled into his ears, followed by a wicked chuckle, boating in the ebony dark room.

"This can't be a dream." In the meantime, Timothy twiddled until his colossal, veiny hands clumsily touched a notoriously squeaky door, surveying for the doorknob until the door clicked opened, subsequently crawling until a corpse with widely spread legs and arms was lying on the ground, baptized underneath it with pool of gore. "No, no! Where this blood is coming from?" He emitted a mutter under his breath until his fingers fiddled lion mane of glossy old Hollywood aureate tresses, ruffled over the unknown dead lady's head as a mermaid's hair. "Jesus Christ! I-Is that you, Jude? Please, don't tell me you're dead!" Her immobile corpse didn't respond to the British aristocrat's touch that inspected the mysterious corpse. All of a sudden, when his hand slithered from her lion mane of silken, wild curls, it landed on her blood-stained lips as his fingers were baptized in reeking gore as if somebody has brutally beaten her to death and tormented her until her dead body was left in the middle of the nothing without being dragged off. The murderer was unidentified yet and perhaps he slyly got away with a murder. Then he managed to lift up his hand as his fingers, smeared in blood waffled its reek up to his nostrils. "Noooooo!" His high-pitched bewailed scratched his throat as sobs betrayed the silence and his calmness.

"Timothy? Is everything fine?" In the interim, Timothy's younger sister, Anna snapped him out of his train of thoughts as he dwelled out of his reverie realm by meeting Anna's piercing, austere gaze without averting it right away.

The both siblings were actually seating in the living room all alone with their own prejudices and whirlpool of thoughts since Timothy hasn't seen his family for ages and he decided to pay a visit to his birth town, London, in order to reunite shortly with his big family as they knew behind the abrupt vanish of Jude in the former ambitious Monsignor's life.

It has been already 3 years since the Bostonian's vanish and Timothy has researched every state without any satisfying results, unfortunately. At last but not least, he tried to have a fresh start and hope his rara avis to come somehow in his life again whether within a few years or decades.

"Oh yeah! Everything is okay, Anna! Don't be that concerned at all!" The older man's lips produced a slight absent-minded caution as an assuring smile swayed across his baby pinkish lips.

"I can fully accept how you can't still get over your rare bird's absence but you always think of her!" The brunette clarified in honeyed voice as she sipped her mug of green herbal tea.

"It just hurts me it's the third year without her. Just imagine what it could have happened to her, Anna! Don't you think?"

"She might have a new boyfriend, probably kids, having a nice job that makes her happy or something else that brightens her life unlike her former life. Who knows?" Meantime, the younger woman shrugged off her shoulders, alleging a couple of theories what might the former woman of the cloth may is doing nowadays. Once when Anna mentioned in front of her brother the first 2 speculations, it brought humongous ire and vexation that were brewing and cooking inside him as cobra's venom.

"I'm praying for her happiness and soul every day. Every morning and every night, no matter how I might be bittersweet of the idea if she's a new boyfriend or she hasn't got my children."

"But you'd be happy for her if she has children."

"Of course! Why not?"