Author's Note: That's the sequel of the trilogy one-shot under the name Sweet But Psycho which will include solely Timothy and Nancy my female OC. Moreover, Oliver is going to be solely mentioned! Keep in mind this one-shot will be short but sweet. 

Anyway it's a special dedication to my marvelous lovelies sociopathsis, southernauthor, Trash_Bag_123, JunykoWalker, Celeste-Moore, barnesthor-, Yararebird, stallonesgirl! I hope you like and enjoy this one-shot sequel! :))

Trigger Warning for Mentions of Drugs and Strong Language

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

A few hours after the knight in his shining armor dragged the missing patient out of the psychotic psychiatrist's lair or on the contrary Timothy sacrificing not only his life, but also each pounding ounce of his functioning anatomy, subsequently he didn't have any intentions of fleeing the grandiose medical facility where Nancy was transported momentarily.

A few hours of subtlety afflictive doldrum suffocated the very hospital room's lifelessly fern green walls except for the incessantly humming heart monitor indicating the senseless patient's sluggishly rabid heart pulsations melded with the leveled out megawatt escalation. The hours uneasily ticked. A handful of doctors revisited the site often to incessantly check on Nancy and observe the mild progress of her recovery even if it has been a few hours since she has been temporarily housed inside the facility.

As soon as the hospital room fiercely vacated by the dozens of fleet doctors and nurses' visits with their very presences ghostwriting the artificially lit site except for the aspiring Monsignor accompanying the senseless atheist, the cusp between the heavenly hallowed life and the infernally unholy demise was an iron-willed strifle for the atheist, herself.

Timothy's blood boiled vehemently, whereas his flimsy heart minced unceasing on thousand of frail glassy fragments and deluging his ribcage at the thought of the senseless condition of the young woman. Unlike the medley of heartbreak's gears and amplifying the vigorous heart pulses thudding into his ribcage after sinking sinisterly abysmal, relentlessly in the hazily timeless, invincibly dingy ocean of despondency, a flat line flattened his upper and lower lusciously plumpish lips and vastly obfuscating any wee inkling of sheer, sunny felicity to darken his charming facial attributes. Every healthily luster colour painting the holy priest's façade petered out and replaced balefully with pasty blanched mask dolling up his profile underneath its translucently extravagant thin, blanched veil of the rabid madness inscribing his lower eyelids and light-heavy wrinkles. The scintillating saturation of radiance and marvelous charisma alienated from the cocoa brown gemstones and superseding its infectiously brass venomistic, invincible pallid nuances of the nemesis.

The inevitable nemesis. Nemesis's soar flavor laced the British aristocrat's dry, berry-coloured tongue. It could be interpreted in a couple of exemplar versions for abundance of people with different perspectives. In his case, it was rather the nemesis for Briarcliff and himself how the once temporarily hired young psychiatrist in the old, dilapidating mental hospital could be capable of not only illegimitately abducting one of the most guiltless patients, but also dopping her to lose drastically consciousness until her eyelids wrenched shut in the form of twin chubby slits preventing her vision to inform her for her recent surroundings and her muscles asphyxiated to function and contract them.

In spite of Timothy has never had any problems with Oliver during their eventual partnership in the exorcism of the young man Jed Potter, anyway it was never too late for detection of the cryptic secrets and mysteriousness unspeakable intentions of the psychiatrist. Everybody had their own secrets and mysteriousness obscuring even the wee inkling of wicked suspiciousness to doll them up.

The man of the cloth has never believed in the violence and the radical methods of eliminating the foes even in the most afflictive way, howsoever, he didn't have any choice except to collect more information behind Nancy becoming the recent victim of Oliver's mystic temptation interpreted in his gentlemanly politeness and graceful intelligence that could allure sea of ladies and permeate their oral slits instantly and magnifying the great deal of damage in their fleet happiness until they acknowledge the real face of the juvenile doctor. He's the real Bloody face.

In a long minute of the heart monitor's lull melding with the hitched breathing of the older gentleman, meantime, his colossal, masculinely veiny hand slipped sloppily, clumsily gentle to ghost the young woman's unamusingly frigid, well-sculptured cheek and his brittle digits and fingertips gingerly, gentlemanly tracing her well-carved, satin cheekbone, admiring the crispy curve of her facial anatomy.

"I'm really sorry for my irresponsibility, Nancy!" Reciting in a mumble, his British lilt punctured his honey-mouthed, boyish bashful apology under his breath whilst his bottom pale-pinkish cherub lip twitched to drip the impending despondent ministration he manifested to duck his head, inching against the young lady's emotionless, unnaturally pallid complexion paired with her halo ringlet of disheveled, greasy iris locks curtaining sleekly, graciously the outstandingly discrete details which he hasn't behold imprinted onto her profile. The dark circles prominently, hypodermically crept underneath her lower eyelids, formulating her lacking and skimpy sleep she's collecting throughout the days. The wee hints of light-heavy wrinkles blossoming eagerly, rapidly rabid across her authentically gorgeous facial features that once wore its youth, natural beauty. She was still beautiful even if she's drifted off asleep. A few wrinkles couldn't compensate the ethereal endless grace of Nancy. "It's my fault I wasn't aware of the early events of your disappearance," All of a sudden, the Satanist came to her senses and wrenching widely opened her eyelids.

"Huh?" Sheepish, bewilderingly groggy grunt escaped her chapped, roseate mouth whilst registering to fashion into balled fists her petite, femininely marbled hands to rub her amber huge, round minerals pensively, while the British compatriot maneuvered his only free colossal, alabaster hand to muffle the cough process of clearing casually his throat. "M-Monsignor," Shortly before the satanist's ominously headstrong attempts to sort her mind and assimilating the whole process of her hospital's transportation and her eventual knight in the shining armor seating on the edge of her patient bed as the ambitious Monsignor withdrew mildly his façade from hers.

"Nancy, I'm glad you're still alive," Dawdling his pristinely delicate fingertips to cradle her well-carved, frigid cheek beneath his flabbergastingly warm, soothing fingertips and pads of his fingers, while registering to struggle to offer her a deftly vague, benevolently beaming smile spreading across his mouth. The attractively tangy cologne of the British compatriot tickled mischievously the younger lady's flexible nostrils though she didn't respond to his kindhearted smile than with a lethally low-spirited, indisputably sooty frown curving upon her naturally rosy-coloured, chapped lips. Everything seemed vague, foggy mounting the patient's visual horizon. Explicitly graphic, brutally venomous images of her former love interest who once wore the knight in the shining armor title was her Achilles' Heel until he exposed himself in front of her about his little hobby with skinning women's corpses, in order to incise and craft furnitures with their fleshy, frosty skin along with his mask. "And you're awake. Thank God!" What it mostly minced the young woman's heart was contemplating through the thin veil of doe misery and obscured megawatt lividness of the older man, whereas struggling to survey in a studious, precise scrutiny his handsome, youthful face. The holy man's chocolate brown jewels inginited the very flames of his tearful heartbreak and genuine sorrow to acknowledge that the atheist was one of Oliver's captives.

"How I established there?"

"After I searched the places where you could be possibly found after your mysterious disappearance from that snake pit," Seconds before the jadedly heavy sigh to bubble up elegantly from the clergyman's toned, muscly chest, subsequently his virginally feather-soft, promising fingers invitingly slipped down to her earlobe and tucking gracefully a fistful of disheveled, heinously rebellious greasy strands behind her petite, vulnerable ear. Furthermore, what the aspiring Monsignor despised about the madhouse was not only the bleakly gloomy, dark ambience clouding the staff members and the loonies, but also he didn't have any intentions of returning ever again even though his doubtlessly potent chemistry he shared with the head nun of the mental hospital and Sister Jude's daughter figure, Sister Mary Eunice. "I didn't find any tangible trace of you with exception the last thing that came to my mind to check in as place was Oliver's lair." In the meanwhile, the atheist slammed her front pearly, filthy-greased teeth to stifle any noises slipping sloppily clumsy from her oral caverns, while manipulating the teeth's edges to gnaw at her bottom cracked lip, being all ears to her savior's silver-tongued monologue.

"Don't tell me you will bring me back in that hellhole," Struggling to swig greedily playful the thickness constricting her feminine Adam's apple, suddenly the subtle nimbleness of Timothy manipulated his lips to purse pensively, spontaneously. "I didn't have other choice rather than accepting gladly Dr. Thredson's suggestion to flee with him! I didn't want to go insane like the others. Briarcliff is a hell place on the earth."

"I won't send you back in that snake pit, don't worry, Nancy! Tell me more about what he did to you!" The starkly insisiting undertone remarkably excising his eagerness to acknowledge Nancy's life behind the scenes in the past few weeks tingled alarming tones into her ears.

"I really used to be familiar with his kindness and gentleness. He used to be that sweet and gentle one of a kind doctor that he got me out of that hellhole where the least I deserved to stay. But everything changed one day," The haphazardness of the hoarse pause suffocated fleetly the hospital room's lifelessly fern green walls with tempest of stormy numbness, uncomfortable frigidness coating subtly the contrasting ambience of the very presence of Timothy settling in the very space of their maintenance of proximity. "Once his little hobby leaked thanks to him that he crafts furniture with women's skin and keeping me in the basement without even giving me a chance to have a bit interaction with the daylight sun, everything turned downward. I didn't even know what day it was except for the breakfasts and dinner meals he brought me in the basement and he treated me like a prisoner that's solely capable of eating and breathing."

"Oh!" Managing a docilely intelligible bob of his head to reaffirm her façade's position to grace the priest with the sequel to her dramatically cold-blooded, heartbreaking monologue, twin fat tears leaked its thin stream of rivulets onto Nancy's lower eyelids, refraining from sobbing.

"No wonder why my skin got paler and that was undeniably unhealthy! In addition to he also dopes me every night, in order to have a full good night sleep." The series of unconditionally cold-blooded, dry stutters sailing out of her tongue after conjugating the beehive of ferocious vowels and syllables to construct her forthcoming utterances that steamrolled into stutters instead, meanwhile, the clergyman's fingers daubed gently, nevertheless, dexterously the thin stream of tears gushing down her cheeks. "He used a specific drug to sedate me."

"My God! That son of a bitch," Ferociously antagonistic adrenaline coursed through Timothy's very veins and muscles while assimilating entirely the satanist's truthful monologue of her own perspective about the absolute reality behind the benevolently quiet, secretive psychiatrist that was well-known for his inhumane homicides of representatives of the opposite sex. "I'm genuinely sorry to hear all that, darling! I'll try my best to get that bastard jailed out before hurting another lady like you." Leaning down to press a tenderly mellow, heartwarming peck to her right cheek to bedaub the crystalline tear, then he lifted up his hand to perch on her scalp and soothingly feather-soft to stroke her long mop of purple tresses. "I'll try my best to give him the punishment he genuinely deserves, my rare bird."

Author's Final Note: If you have liked and enjoyed this short work, subsequently would you like me to write a book with Nancy and Oliver and Timothy which will be like the full version to the trilogy one-shots Sweet But Psycho along with this one? I'd like to hear your thoughts, because I'm headstrongly hesitating.