--- *** ---

--- 2 Years Later ---

--- 19th of November, 1969 ---

The last 2 years of lost hope and loneliness flew slowly but surely.

2 years of another lost and false hope that Shachath promised to the former man of the cloth, in his humble opinion. 2 years of loneliness, knitting him in a lethal cold embrace with exception when he's reuniting with his family once per a few months, in order to forget about the loneliness for awhile. 2 years of heavy rain of poured crystal, salty tears, staining his face.

A month or so abided until the beginning of the imminent decade. Nevertheless Timothy didn't stop believing of finding somehow his rare bird whether in Boston's outskirts or in the bar where's he going to have a drink tonight.

As the British compatriot has donned himself in casual garments such as a mere, cashmere pale navy shirt with a handful of undone buttons, exposed partly his hairy, toned chest; midnight black with its ebony exquisite nuances slacks, hugging his legs with casual ebony oxford, shoeing his big feet. His hair was the same with lack of white hairs due to the inescapable aging process. The same chestnut pigments friendly glistened like dew, baptized the vert grassland in the wee hours of the pale morning. The flawless porcelain, lily-white skin tone highlighted his round, masculine face with its well-defined cheekbones, the thick eyebrows with its sardonic quirk in certain situations, the baby pinkish lips and his chocolate brown orbs that once were as glossy as velvet have already lost its warmest chocolate hue, pigmenting the irises. His lips haven't even flexed his jaw in a choir to contour a slight smile.

His oxford clicked against the tiled in extravagant colors flooring of the old bar after the security guard checked his I.D card. The British aristocrat was encompassed recently in the bar by 2 inebriated couples, dancing on the dancing floor, whilst a handful of young adults' hysterical laughs after boozing insane quantity of the sweet, sinful liquor, lacing their tongues, searing the corners of their mouths and throats by sedating with its tranquilizing effect their bones and muscles.

"Oh hey! Watch out, kids!" Timid, austere caution almost died on the former priest's tongue by cautioning the tipsy young couple, who visibly looked in the beginning of their 20s as their surroundings were mistily oblivious along with their blurry visions.

"Get your motor runnin'! Head out on the highway! Lookin' for adventure and whatever comes our way! Yeah Darlin' go make it happen! Take the world in a love embrace!" Steppenwolf's song Born to be Wild was currently playing in the background in the old bar.

As soon as Timothy seated on the bar stool gingerly since he's been a few times in a bar and it wasn't a long time ago. In another lethally lonely night, the loneliness and the drink were his best friends. The bar's music was his ears' temporal friend, jingling its silver-tongued, rejoicing tunes by transmitting him in the musical realm, dwelling out of the reality as the song's lyrics were the landscape's colors, painting the scenery with its genuine colors, depending on the song. If it was romantic or happy one, on the contrary, the colours and pigments would be as vibrant as the exhilarating sunset. If the song was rather melancholic or a requiem, the colours were far from oblivious. As dark as the death and the fatal midnight.

"What would ya like to drink, sir?" The bartender's distinct feminine voice caught off guard the aspiring former Monsignor with a cockily seductive smile, gently brushing her ravishing red lips. Lightly or even a bit his plump, well-shaped cheeks tinted pinkishly as his throat flushed. Meantime, his chocolate brown pools landed in a haphazard shift at her sapphire blue pools, as piercing as the icicle's edge.

The bartender was actually a young woman in her mid-20s with a lion mane of silky old Hollywood honey tresses, cascading her mid-back as its tresses ideally framed her parchment, olive-tanned facial tone with its all feminine, pearly facial features. A scarlet, satin dress as its hem descended slightly above her round, lovely shaped knees, with long satin sleeves and V neckline, exposing partly her creamy as baby skin, luscious cleavage. She's been working as a bartender for a couple of years and being paid sufficiently well to keep on with her education and her rent. At last but not least, she wasn't tall at all as her height was approximately was 5'3 with lean body structure. Her name was actually Jill Lynch.

"I'd like some vodka. A very good one!"

"Alright, alright! Just in a second yar drink is ready." Jill said, chewing on her lower, plumpish lip by gathering a bottle of vodka from the collection of alcoholic beverages, subsequently slamming a glass on the bar table by removing its tap of the bottle, pouring its strong alcoholic liquid in the glass until it pooled almost the entire glass. "Wouldn't ya like some ice?"

"Sure!" Timothy accepted gladly.

In the meantime, the young lady tossed a handful of ice cubes in the glass by pushing it up to his elbow, gamely winking at him.

"Enjoy yar drink!"

"Thank you!" When he received his glass of vodka, the British compatriot snatched the glass by gulping a tiny sip, consequently leaving it aloof on the bar table.

"Fire all of your guns at once and explode into space! I like smoke and lightning! Heavy metal thunder! Racin' with the wind and the feelin' that I'm under!"

All of a sudden, the former police officer's shoes clicked against the bar's tiled flooring by seating alongside Timothy.

"Monsignor? The heck are ya doing here?" The older man startled the younger one with the suddenness of his appearance as the former holy man seized his lips in a thoughtful, apprehensive purse. His heart violently hammered in his ribs cage.

"It's not Monsignor anymore, Frank!" His vodka-stained tongue crafted wry, quiet snicker, falling off his lips in reluctance. His chocolate brown irises immediately fell on the former policeman's parchment, slightly wrinkled complexion. "Once one thing vanished, it drastically changed my life and that's why I'm not even a priest anymore."

"I see." Frank quirked understandingly his eyebrow until the same barwoman emerged by persuading him to choose as quickly as possible his emphatic beverage he'd like to order for himself. "I'd like filthy martini. Very filthy!" The older man emphasized the last words, emitting a husky, guttural giggle.

The barwoman obediently, docilely prepared the filthy martini, while the both men were conversating each other.

"What brings you here, Frank?"

"As a widower for a few decades, I can tell ya I'm here for a goddamn good drink almost every night after finishing a shift in the bank." The security guard replied by clearing his throat seconds before delivering the reply.

"For how long have you been a security guard in a bank?" Meanwhile, the former holy man's front ivory teeth nibbled on the silken skin of his bottom, pale lip by sipping his glass of vodka as the motion of the gulped sip flexed his throat.

"Yeah Darlin' go make it happen! Take the world in a love embrace! Fire all of your guns at once and explode into space! Like a true nature's child! We were born, born to be wild!"

"For a few years. I left Briarcliff for better when the institution was sold to the fricking state!" In the meanwhile, the bartender poked his elbow amiably, in order to note the already served glass of filthy martini, glancing at the blonde. "Thank ya for the drink, ma'am!"

"It seems Briarcliff became burden for you!"

"It became for sure, Tim! Let's raise a toast for tonight!" At the moment, the both men raised their glasses by marking a raising a toast as their eyes were linked with one another. Beaming smiles honed up in the corner of their palish, damp lips. "Cheers!" The glasses of liquor clinked in a choir until they brought up the glasses, grazing their lips by sipping of them for a split second until leaving them aloof on the bar table. "So ya mentioned earlier that ya aren't a priest anymore due to one thing that vanished abruptly in yar life, if I'm not mistaking."

"Definitely! And for 5 years I'm still looking for the answer." Suddenly Timothy sighed a dramatic, coldhearted sigh as his stomach flushed at the heartaching thought of his rare bird's precipitous disappearance that still haunted him up to nowadays without finding any tangible track or piece of evidence of Jude. His Jude. His right hand. His rara avis. His one of a kind Jude. "I think God doesn't answer my prayers. And that's what tormenting me for years."

"Well, buddy, God is going to answer yar prayers for sure! But think twice," Meantime, Frank ate the first 2 olives of his beverage as its scrumptious, temporal savor spiked his tongue as cactus's vicious spikes. "What are ya exactly looking for as an answer? Be wise!"

"I just want to find Jude and I've found a letter on the morning after when she's ultimately vanished from my life for a half a decade. In the letter, she didn't even mention where she can be found, besides she criticized herself by portraying herself fatuously as I deserve something much better than her."

"Oh really? Yar looking for Jude? Huh?" Raspy gasp constricted the former cop's ribs cage after surging its oxygen from the top of his brittle lungs.

"Mhm!"

"Well, I can help ya here. She lives in a cabin, located in Pennsylvania's woods."

"We can climb so high! I never wanna die! Born to be wild! Born to be wild! Get your motor runnin'! Head out on the highway!" The music yet played in the background, whilst the both men mooted a grave discussion. From personal to way too personal with its leaking information about the former pious sister of the church's current location.

"But Frank, there are big forests and abundance of cabins in each state's woods, you know!"

"Don't worry about that one!"

--- *** ---

--- A Day Later ---

--- 20th of November, 1969 ---

The day flew as quickly as a light summer breeze.

Timothy booked a ticket for Pennsylvania after the bar as his flight was on the day after in the wee hours of the morning.

Once the former aspiring Monsignor arrived in Pennsylvania as Frank gave him a note, jotted Jude's address where she exactly lives. Timothy researched the woods by roaming dehydrated and being peckish for more than a half a day.

When in the corner of his eye noted one-story, esthetically humble cabin, he instantly recognized whose owner could possibly own it. Furthermore, the former member of the clergy was sitting on the hammock, knitted on the trees by taking a drag at her cigar, relishing the esthetic nature's ambience, encircling her in a warm, serene embrace. Once she glimpsed at the taller figure approaching her, she flinched by dropping unintentionally the partly smoked cigarette by stomping it apprehensively. Her naturally rosy-coloured, soft as satin lips wedged in a reluctant purse as her heart raced momentarily. It was Timothy.

"From where he knows where I do live?" The Bostonian's whisper almost died on her tongue, sighing a sigh of relief loathly.

"Jude?" In the interval, her rosy-coloured lips popped up promptly, pawing with an elvish, lukewarm hand her chest, indicating her heart pulse as its vehement pulses pulsated into her ears.

"T-Timothy?" The both former members of the clergy produced stutters, zinging their lips without averting their gawks right away.