✞ The times may have changed,

Doctor,

but the nature of evil has not. ✞

Within the elapsing hours of great blend of lukewarm indifference and sheer surreal mirth, the beaming smile glimmered spread across your cherub, naturally mauve lips, texturing thousand patterns of merriness. You spent a half an hour conversating with Dana, Barb and Frederic and telling them everything from the initial clashes with Sister Jude and Timothy up to the bakery shenanigans whilst you swapped with Shelley, besides the sinister atrocities about the infamous madhouse which was housing unholy fragments and criminally insane, embodying the general population's outcast. Furthermore, your pals acknowledged that the ambitious Monsignor is going to arrange your release within a few days only and Frederic and Barb were beyond mesmerized and scintillatingly believing each ounce of his promise unlike the redhead, who didn't deem the man of the cloth trustworthy at all.

Fortunately, thanks to the man of the cloth's liberal decision to subtract with a few hours your shirt in the bakery, you were currently playing cards with Kit, Pepper, Grace and Shelley. At first, you were bizarrely mesmerized by the French girl's amicability and how sheerly innocent she appeared to be with her demeanor.

"Dominique, nique, nique! S'en allait tout simplement! Routier pauvre et chantant! En tous chemins, en tous lieux, Il ne parle que du bon Dieu! Il ne parle que du bon Dieu!" The same French tune was yet playing on looped in the common room, eerily tingling its featureless instrumental and vocalist chanting the lyrics.

"So I'll be the first one to shuffle the cards!" Even when you haven't played cards for a long time, nevertheless, you still recalled freshly the rules and a sheet of paper was motionlessly crossing past your sight and your fidgety, spider fingers were idly playing with the pen, clasped between your fingertips, supporting the light-heavy item to jot down the score of every player even though when you weren't very aware of the rules in the notorious madhouse how if one of the staff members catches you with a pen and a sheet of paper, consequently your retribution belonged to the solitary conferment. Anyway after politely requesting one of the staff members to bring you the cards and finding stray pen and empty blanket alongside with an empty large-sized table to situate the card game, furthermore he permitted you to use the pen and the blanket for now, in spite of the strict rules. Gamely smirk perched on your lips as you ushered the plain pen to scribble Y/N on the top of the flimsy sheet of paper with its indigo blue oil inking the material.

"Before to start the game, do ya all know the rules?" The nymphomaniac flipped hedonistically partly her unruly greasy gilded strands onward, squinting up her lapis lazuli gemstones from Pepper to you in approval, moistening slyly her lips after manipulating to twirl her strawberry-coloured tongue to daub her chapped upper and lower lips' dryness.

"Of course!" The horde of adults, reckoning you emitted a croak in strong agreement, bobbing your heads to double your affirmation.

"Good! Let's shall start." After jotting down on the blanket the other participants' names, you managed to flex your throat muscles with gulping a salty lump, seething soothingly in your throat. "{Y/N}, did ya write our names?" In the meantime, you lifted your {E/C} gemstones from the sheet, meeting the inmates' inquiring gazes, fixated on yours with a sympathetically emphatic smiles, cracking upon their lips.

"I did! Everybody's names are there. Don't be so anxious, Shelley!"

"Splendid!" Her tongue clicked the roof of her mouth, propping her chin with the palm of her petite, weathered hand and dainty fingers cradling meekly her feminine, delicate jaw line, whilst narrowing her orbs after shuffling the cards randomly and manipulated your fingers to toss a tip-over card per a person, depending on the seat they're taking and counting the cards consciously until everybody earned nine cards alongside with you and you left the luxurious pile of tip-over cards in the middle of the grandiose hard oak wood table with solely flipped card 10 of Clubs alongside. "Here are our cards. Wohoo!" The stark, childlike mirth, dripping from the blonde's mouth after snatching instantly her cards, whilst the other players and you gingerly, plainly retrieved the nine pair of cards which were randomly given to. In the interim, you were recently equipped with Ace of Spades, 4 of Spades, 2 of Hearts, 10 of Hearts, 5 of Clubs, 7 of Diamonds, Queen of Diamonds, Queen of Hearts and King of Spades. Your slimly long fingers were persistently curled around the cards, scarcely demonstrating to the participants, in order to not break the rules' game unless whenever it's your turn to keep their wits about to score one another, depending on the matchless yet cards compared to the trio pairs which are suitable, judging the numbers and brands.

"À l'époque ou Jean-sans-Terre! D'Angleterre était le roi! Dominique, notre père, Combattit les Albigeois.Dominique, nique, nique! S'en allait tout simplement!"

"Your turn, Grace!" Quirking your {EY/C} eyebrow at the French compatriot with docile, humble nod of your head whilst fixating your {E/C} jewels on her, urging her after sorting her cards from descending to ascending number, thereafter an idle, demure gasp lurched from her mouth as vowels and syllables and instinctive noises were solely capable of her tongue's mastership's conjugation, whereas Pepper and Kit were utterly focused on the game and the blonde was eagerly anticipating her own turn which was after the juvenile gasman and the pinhead.

"Oh!" Stifling another reluctant, haphazard instinctive noise whilst maneuvering her lower lip to be nip between her front ivory teeth, she glimpsed clearly the diversity of cards, glinting beneath the saturating yellow-light bulb-clad, casting artificial light across her azure pools to illuminate the darkest corners due to the wee hours of the evening, looming in the small city of Massachusetts. Acute, utter focus was dedicated to her stare, darted to the cards and the 10 of Clubs and the flopped pile, hesitantly flushing heavily the coursing oxygen at the top of her brittle lungs. Scrutinizing for a split second and memorizing the pairs which weren't sufficiently suitable such as Ace of Hearts with 3 of Hearts and 5 Hearts, 6 of Diamonds along with 7 of Diamonds and 9 of Diamonds, besides 10 of Clubs along with 10 of Hearts and 10 of Spades, her game strategy was obviously peculiar and her only free hand's dainty fingers reaching for the flopped card by flipping to surreptitiously discover its number which was for her own surprise 8 of Spades, subsequently seizing her cherub, naturally mauve lips in a pensive purse and tossing 8 of Spades on top of 10 of Clubs.

"It looks like this game is going to be pretty fun!" The nymphomaniac swatted affably, lightly with no consequences your feminine, delicate shoulder blade, in fact, you and Pepper were the only participants in the game whose seats were alongside each other. "Come on, Kit! Show us whatcha ya got!" Then every player's attention was shifted momentarily to the juvenile gasman, while Shelley winked mischievously playful at him.

During his turn and his pristinely strong, meaty fingers were hooked and supported the cards' feathery light weight with 3 of Spades, 4 Spades, 5 of Hearts, 6 of Diamonds, 7 of Diamonds, 8 of Diamonds, Queen of Spades, King of Spades and Ace of Diamonds. Gun-shyness roughly textured his charming facial attributes, zipping his baby-pinkish, insatiable lips in purse, examining studiously his twains of cards until he didn't flip the impending card from the pile and peering over his, scanning promptly "2 of Spades" and subsequently snatching the card and dumping 5 of Hearts.

When the pinhead's turn approached sooner than later, throughout her big round lapis lazuli embers flamed determination after scanning momentarily her own cards and her tongue crafting the impulsively solemn, half-hearted snigger, battered out of her lips. Every player's eyelids were sheets-clad, perusing warily once again whatever they've got since the first turn. The ambience was perpetually intensifying, electrifying goosebumps smearing your epidermis.

"Whatcha playing, kiddos?" Oddly the unfamiliar male voice snapped all of you out of the cards' game, shifting your attentions to the middle-aged man, who seemed peculiarly kind-hearted and open-minded. Frank was visibly man in his late forties or on the contrary early fifties with a working uniform, swaddling warmly and conveniently his muscles and indicating his neat seriousness and diligent professionalism. The cap party obscured his hoary, neatly trimmed haircut which was capping above his dark eyebrows and ears. Nevertheless, his heavy wrinkles due to the relentless aging process strangely highlighted potently his still handsome face with scarce stubble. You could guess the security guard was a widower, losing his wife a decade ago or so due to cluster of reasons which are unexplainable. Your speculations may have nothing to do with the absolute reality.

"Just playing cards with special pals, Frank!" Meantime, the blonde flickered up her eyes to meet his glowing gaze, offering him a mischievously sympathetic smile, decorating her pallid, still young-looking complexion. "What about ya too?" Anyway you were far from coolheaded to peel a word, in order to protrude somehow his attention even though you've already acknowledged he doesn't mean harm at all, howsoever, he's just a middle-aged security guard who can either violently forceful drag you to the head nun's office or on the contrary charge his jet-black, nicely polished club and attack you whether if you wanted or not.

"Nothing special, Shelley! Just doing my own job." In the meanwhile, you tampered your front ivory teeth to gnaw on the raw spot of your upper naturally roseate lip during the inmate and the staff member's small talk. "Sweet Jesus! The night shifts suck ass, however, they're kinda worth, ya know!" As the card game was interrupted and you were absorbed in Frank, in order to not miss anything in the game in case, the former police officer extorted his cap, steadily grasping in his strong, white-knuckled calloused hand as his only free hand's masculinely bulky managed to reach the top of his clammy head and scrap with his small, well-trimmed fingernails.

"I can't stand the night shifts but here we go." At the moment, the young man's tongue forged the vowels and syllables, headstrongly constructing his imminent sentence, expressing his abhorrence of the night shifts on the gas station until his false institutionalization in the notorious mental institution, squinting up his smoky quartz embers at the former cop to maintain an adequate eye contact. "It's just like a journey which every one of us is being through."

"Routier pauvre et chantant! En tous chemins, en tous lieux, Il ne parle que du bon Dieu! Il ne parle que du bon Dieu! Certain jour, un hérétique, Par des ronces le conduit,"

"Exactly, kiddo!" Exhale flushed his vulnerable, tiny nostrils after putting back his cap on his hoary haircut, whereas you quirked an eyebrow, attempting to relate to the conversation that turned out to be a group verbal chat with more entrants, exchanging with each other personal stories and experiences. "Ya know as I used to be a cop and the night shifts were usually my second nature to be in the police station even when my wife was still alive, they were calling me to come, in order to investigate suspicious cases of homicides and kidnaps even crime scenes with tracks of crimes at least."

"Go ahead!" The eagerness glinting the nymphomaniac's smoothly-textured facial attributes and you were all ears to eavesdropping the former policeman's shenanigans, enthusiastic grins thrived across your lips and you oddly found yourself ogling at the middle-aged man even when he could be your father or uncle by judging the huge age gap. Nonetheless, you found Frank simply attractive gentleman for his age and the wrinkles didn't even revolt you except highlighting his outstanding facial features, glimmering their brilliance and grace. Moreover, your attraction to older representatives of the opposite sex was undeniable at all even though the head sister of the church of the mental hospital could be your mother even aunt and her indisputable grace didn't frustrate you nonetheless.

"There were some difficult bastards to be caught on the crime scene even being arrested, however, my ex-wife had experienced miscarriages twice, despite our attempts to have a baby during our hectic daily schedules as she used to be a tailor and she's being robbed even deadly threatened by some bastard burglars." All of a sudden, the widower ushered his head to duck homesickly at the thought of his deceased wife and their strong-willed attempts to have one child at least, in order to derive their remarkable paraphernalia and small flat, nevertheless, his hopes seemed to be broken to be a family man with a child by his side at least.

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear it!" Even when you were so far sheepishly girlish to address the security guard with his first name, nevertheless, your benevolently compassionate side emerged from the remnants of your trust issues and creamily grained your parchment, youthful complexion, the grin was mopped off from your mouth and blurring the patterns of mirth, narrowing your eyebrow in melancholy.

"Don't be sorry, {Y/N}! I'm trying to cope with the most precious thing I've ever lost in my life by replacing suffer, pain and grief with work." Suddenly his tourmaline orbs were boozing your ogle, embarrassingly rimming them with crystalline tears which he opted to oppress them and cease them from their own existence, woefully beaming at you.

"I'm not blaming you for your wife's death. You're quite strong and stay strong!" That was the sole piece of advice you could give to the older man, returning ruefully the smile, swallowing hard, sensing heartache due to Frank's heartbreaking back story and his obdurate attempts to prevail the loneliness.

"Mais notre père Dominique, Par sa joie le convertit.Dominique, nique, nique! S'en allait tout simplement! Routier pauvre et chantant! En tous chemins, en tous lieux,"

--- *** ---

--- A Couple of Hours Later or So ---

After playing cards with your pals and Frank chanting his song about his back story and back to his career as a cop, it has been an hour since the orderlies were guiding the patients back to their cells and the day you've been through its eventful roller coaster from your old friends' visit in the common room up to the card games was swaddling you warmly with laying restlessly on your outworn patient bed, contemplating blankly, glassily the jet-black ceiling and pondering profoundly in your vortex of thoughts, questioning your life yet and everything else.

All of a sudden familiarly masculine, monotonously drumming against the grayish cemented flooring footsteps caught you off guard and tingling humdrum tunes into your vulnerable ears, inhaling the pungent reek of bleach and rust, wafting widely across your nose. You dithered whose footsteps could be whether if they were the former policeman's or rather, the ambitious Monsignor's.

Once the footsteps vanished in the limbo and the clink of keys chanted its own ballad, inserted one of the rusty, old keys leading to your ward to unlock in a single click and swinging opened to the ebony prospect of the poorly furnished ward, subsequently within a split second the rusty, iron door was askew opened with a small space of gap giving sufficient access to your irises to peer and acknowledge the current visitor's presence.

"Monsignor," Stutter escaped your chapped lips, maneuvering sluggishly to gulp the bitter lump bubbling up in your throat, transfixing your {E/C} jewels on the askew opened door and Timothy's masculinely tall figure approaching you in a stride of couple of meek steps. "What brings you here?" What it mesmerized you were his recent intentions and most of all, what it brought him to pay a visit to your cell.

"Just wanted to check on you, {Y/N}!" The velvety timbre, puncturing his English lilt has never failed to disappoint you at all and you were sensing gradually being head over heels in love with him. Still questioning your attraction to him and how you're capable of falling in love even slightly opening up in front of him even when he was just a devotional clergyman and he didn't have any time for friends, family and lovers. Benevolently beaming, calm smile was embellishing his facial attributes and you couldn't help but returning the smile in a favor, sensing far from unnatural to grant him the same gesture due to your stark versatility. "Are you feeling better?" In the interval, he seated on the edge of your bed, mild, unavoidable blush powdering your chubby, well-carved cheeks due to his sincere politeness.

"Just a bit." Affirming your own words with a meek, modest bob of your head in agreement, the older man skeptically raised an arch of his dark thick eyebrow whilst examining in scrutiny every petty detail about your petite frame from head to toes. Your mauve bruises tinting your fairly exposed arms and legs alongside with the dried blood and your sorely cracked lip. His pristinely strong fingers gently traced the bruises and wounds which even transmuted into hideous scars. The warmness prickled your epidermis with electrifying epidermis and coveting to eternally endless linger on your flimsy flesh, whereas your heart skipped a beat, glancing at the direction of his fingertips gingerly, delicately brushing the flaws. "Even Sister Jude hasn't mentioned about their disinfection and cleansing them to pieces."

"She told me she doesn't want to do it, but I'm on another opinion otherwise."

"Father," All of a sudden, you felt muscly, amusingly secure arms snaking around your upper back and your inner thighs, consequently lifting you up from your threadbare, smeared in old, dried filth and blood bed sheets and furrowing your eyebrows perplexedly due to his unnatural strength for a man of the cloth. He didn't even seem to do exercises or attend gym to train and flex his body muscles, but his physical strength and vitality were peculiar and flabbergasting, in your humble opinion. Instinctively you braced the nape of his delicate, palish neck with your both brittle, satin arms in the cozy nest where you found yourself immune to any damage and harm from the crude world as he stormed off your cell and shut the notoriously creaky rusty door and eventually locking up, thereafter glimpsing at the both directions, making sure you were all alone instead one of the security guards or orderlies who were taking an extra shift to catch you in double trouble. "Where are you taking me to? To that hag's office?"

"I've to treat that dried blood and those bruises on my own. I can't leave you as filthy as a stray dog." At the moment, your forthcoming destination was literally his office and treating your flaws with disinfectant and whatever medical supplies necessitated even though you're mesmerized how altruistically caring he proved to you unlike the woman of the cloth due to her coldblooded mercilessness towards the lunatics. Suddenly you haphazardly managed to purse your lips at his altruism, scarcely daring to peel a single word and refraining to sob which didn't mirror your weaknesses or anything at all. Frederic, Timothy and somewhat Kit and Frank could be the sole males who were caring for you and their treatment towards the ladies was deemed as the most normal.