--- *** ---

Once the conjuration rapidly rabid progressed at snail's pace and became a victim of the medley of unholy diabolical and sacred prayers' lull pitching the guests' room, once again Father McKenzie manifested to dart his lapis lazuli big, rotund minerals to survey in a scrutiny the room, in case if there were other visitors surroundings the clergymen and their possessed colleague. After scanning perkily fleet your petite frame that boldly populated the guests' room, a straight line blurred each pattern of exceeding despondence and fiendish mirth.

It seemed that Father McKenzie's authoritative, nevertheless, politely calm caution to flee the room didn't work at all. Mild irritation roared fiercely through his muscles and bones momentarily. His lapis lazuli optics' luminous glossiness swathed with fiery mild exasperation, whilst the older man of the cloth was utterly focused on the silver-tongued, graciously resilient prayers recited in mumble and the rosary beads lingered its brace around his virginally strong, alabaster fingers.

"Didn't you hear me, Miss Y/N?" Quirking perkily his dark, masculinely thick eyebrow to articulate his fluent dim annoyance, your youthfully refreshing facial features softened momentarily. "It's for your safety to leave the room." In the meantime, you slammed your front pearly teeth to nibble the delicate skin of your bottom cherub lip recurringly prim.

"Let's play, little pigs!" The profoundly infernal bicker sailing out sloppily from the spiritually possessed ambitious Monsignor mischievously taunted the male pairing to drift their attentions to his explicitly inevitable provocation, participating in the daredevil game even when Kellan Teagan's naturally pale-pinkish, deliciously cherub lips twisted curtly in the prayer. "You will die." Devilishly flamboyant, self-assertively wicked snicker dripped from the ambitious Monsignor's mouth, elaborating his wrists' muscles to writhe at the non-verbal protest while channeling to readjust his posture into seating, despite his ankles were tightly bided. "All of you!" The profoundly husky, devilish utterance after constructing the diabocally lethal, baleful the dozens of vowels and syllables to articulate his menaces not only to the holy men, but also to the other surroundings in the room, in spite of the persistent attempts of yours to refrain from bawling your eyes off, subsequently within a few moments twin chubby crystalline tears creamily groveled on your lower eyelids in the form of tiny rivulets, whilst unable to avert your gaze from the conjuration's explicitly realistic, wickedly authentic vista you currently contemplated through ethereally endless.

Despite the fact you're leaning to bestow the both exorcists' with sufficient trust to banish the vile essence out of Timothy's frail skeleton, anyway everything wasn't guaranteed to equate to an utter success. Even if the exorcists' headstrongly versatile attempts to grant Timothy a second life after the vile essence alienates from his frail skeleton and bloodthirstily greedy, gaggingly rambled the expansive world's outskirts to find his impending victim of spiritual possession, the second life's chances cusped between minimal and average.

Nobody knew if the exorcism would be the actually last hope to bracket the angelically sacred life with the demonically unholy demise and the subsequency bashing the demise out of the aspiring Monsignor's choice that was paged up on the final page of the book of his life.

"What if he dies before he awakes?" The whisper almost died on your dry, berry-coloured tongue, whereas manifesting to seat surreptitiously on one of the royal armchairs to recline leisurely your figure to rest as the thin stream of twin crystalline rivulets tricked down your well-carved cheeks. Galore of arcane questions behind the scenes of the conjuration swirled and twirled in your vortex of thoughts even when you're graciously friendly cautioned to flee the site for your safety. Even if you aren't sharing with the majority of the general population's religiousness, at least you were pretty informed about the preys of exorcism due to the fiasco of the doctors and clergymen to save the others' precious lives. Even if the British aristocrat hasn't developed utterly deep relationship with you through the platonic line at least, it would break your heart once you acknowledged his actual demise and the vast frigid ball crawling like a vicious rattle snake inside your abdomen and asphyxiating the pit of your stomach and ethereally timeless numbness enveloping your frail heart. It would be heartbreaking to acknowledge somebody's death after they did more benevolently heartwarming things for you rather than you did for them. It would be a greatly spine-chilling loss over a preciously unique one of a kind that sacrificed not only his reputation and career, but also his life to grant you the ultimate freedom and joining the general population, factly, you're falsely committed against your will. "I pray the Lord his soul to take!" The ecclesiastically meaningful word Lord bitterly savoured on your tongue tip and bearing a semblance of the unnaturality emanating from your docilely meaningful, low-spiritedly unnerved humor settling comfy to infectiously imbuing, whilst manipulating the series of hideously thoughtful blinks of your E/C gems allowing the twin waterfall of tiny, luminous tears to dribble diligently down your profile.

In a long quarter an hour of the iron-willed attempts of Father Kellan Teagan and Father McKenzie to bash the vile spirit out of the British aristocrat's frail skeleton after a couple of half-hearted recites in murmur prayers and perusing rowdy certain canticles from the Holy Bible to weaken posthastely the utter force of the demon's inviolably brass, vast control over his recent prey's contagious, apocalyptic affliction.

As soon as the British compatriot blacked out abruptly as you and the other men of the cloth's gawks speared eagerly the process, consequently you registered to claw your jaw line with your both elvish, creamy hands, whereas your heart sunk in the hazily abysmal sea of ambiguous oblivion to the spontaneous senselessness suffocating Timothy's muscles and facial expression. An eerie flat line permeated across his baby-pinkish, scrumptiously plumpish lips and emotionlessness manuscripting his handsome, feeble facial attributes.

"He passed out." The sheer oblivion to Father Kellan Teagan and Father McKenzie's your very presence ghosting reassuringly warm while you lifted up your rear subtly from the royal armchair and slowly but surely ambling up towards the king-sized bed's footboard, whereas the linger of your knitted fingers hypodermically shielding your jaw muffled series of blatantly guttural gasps and despondent sobs.

--- *** ---

"No wonder why this night was eventually unbelievable!" When the former licentious jazz nightclub singer glided smoothly to escort the security guard towards her austere office's hardwood door, an amiably sympathetic, goofy smile dawdled to fall from her porcelain, elderly youthful façade, factly, her other love interest eventually fulfilled her ultimate felicity and granted her the best Thanksgiving experience ever in her entire life. "Ya were amazing and sympathetic as always, Frank!"

"Ya aren't obligated to thank me for anything, because I'm just being natural." As the security guard's orthodoxy marbled, dexterous fingers crooked around the office door's doorknob, subsequently he didn't avert his azure blue gems from the poetically caramel brown gems that magnified the endurement of their maintenance of stable eye contacts. Judy's caramel brown cabochons were so profound. They were so poetic. They were so fabulous. They were doubtlessly expressive. They were elegantly exquisite. They were fashionably brusque, regardless what's the extraordinary climate altering the cold-bloodedly ruthless anomaly in the piercing glares or the bountenously reassuring, vibrant gazes."The dinner was promisingly amazing along with the discussions we had."

In a long minute of resiliently embarrassing, bone-chilling doldrum pinching the thin elasticity in the proximity the duo exchanged with one another, the pious woman of the cloth darted her wet, strawberry-coloured tongue's fat to daub smoothly her upper and lower delightfully plump lips while assimilating the entire scenario of the Thanksgiving special dinner night they exchanged with one another and the sparks of glee shimmered brightly to permeate its positive, optimistically profound vibes to brace them.

As if the time has halted promptly the pairing didn't have any intentions of peeling off the doldrum's embarrassment, due to the fact even the hush genuinely, invitingly cured the mystically rowdy din of purred laughters and series of confessions.

"Did your chasing rainbows with the Monsignor died out, Judy?" The haphazardness of the former police officer to snap Judy out of the uncomfortably icy hush after posing the question with silver-tongued raspiness, wry irony prominently touching the genuine notion, whereas winking gamely, mischievously at her, caught off guard the Bostonian as she shrugged her dainty, delicate shoulders due to the true nature of the amusing utterances invading the suffocation of the noises and dinnes.

"I think so."

"C'mon, Judy! Since he's leaning to move on," All of a sudden, Frank threw his strongly muscly, unconditionally secure arms to brace the blonde's upper back and drawing her into a kindheartedly tight, doting embrace as their chests synced the press along with the sychronisation of their rabidly perky heart pulses, throbbing into their ears. "Yar also capable of changing yar life for better rather than chasing rainbows for things you will eat your hat, ya know!" The hoarseness in Frank's friendly, motivationally emboldening reminder to convey its meaningfully majestic message to her to alter her perspectives on the ambitious Monsignor and the celestial dreams they're both traded for a couple of weeks at least are possible. "I'm fairly hopeful yar perpetually changing your mind." Melting unceasingly into the megawatt soothing, platonically loving embrace, consequently low hum in approval jingled angelic anthems into the widower's flexible ears. "Because I can headstrongly feel that impulse of yars erupting the anomaly in yar decisions' change."

"I think the change is for better."

"Yes! Yes! That's right, dear!" Once the duo broke off the hug and took their time to survey in a cunning scrutiny one another's enchanting facial attributes, a broadly content grin curved into a wide O the widower's chapped, nude pink mouth. "I'm proud of ya for not being after somebody that is just smearing his own foul ambition across yar thoughts that's a cold day in July."

"Thank you for this night, Frank! Good night!"

"Thanks, Judy! Ya don't need to be that grateful. Likewise, good night and sleep tight!" The hoarseness in Frank's boyish sheepish, healthily breathy giggle didn't vanish in the thin air after twisting the doorknob and retiring back to the abysmally dim lit hallway of the old asylum.

--- *** ---

--- A Handful of Hours Later or So ---

"Come on, Timothy!" Vowels and syllables clashing for dominance to build your impending motivationally aspiring, heavenly caution to the British compatriot whilst you lingered your arms to secure his shoulder and waist on your way to your home, your mouths struggled to conjugate the series of restlessly breathy gasps and groans escaping your oral caverns in no time. Solely the night lamps provided you with sufficient artificial light to guide you in the very wee hours of the morning when yet the nocturnally starless jet-black darkness streamed its own cataract to fog the concrete ground, the monumental trees and the neighbourhood houses.

Just a handful of hours after the infernally ruthless conjuration of the British aristocrat, thereafter Father Kellan Teagan and Father McKenzie authentically, strictly instructed you to guide their fellow colleague to your home and the imminent conjuration is due in a few days, due to the fact it's scarcely purely safe for Timothy to have interactions with the crudely cold world in general.

Even though you didn't have any intentions of bestowing modicum of your money for taxi in three o'clock in the morning, anyway your home was less far rather than Timothy's, fortunately.

Little did you know what kind of tribulations impatiently anticipated both of you in the thickly marvelous, indiscernible cataract of nocturnal stream obscuring beneath its own thick mantle of darkness the real world's kitchen-sink vista. It resembled an eternal darkness where the escape was far cry from possible. The possibility of bumping into a lurking bloodthirstily spine-chilling notorious psychopath spurted utmost.

The hours between midnight and the very wee hours of the morning were the least safest daily episodes eventually, due to the utmostly unpredictable circumstances anticipating agitatedly for their imminent victim to be slaughtered in the lull of the gory, sinister demise. Nobody's safety was dearly promised while ghostwriting the outdoors' prospect.

"W-Where are you taking me, Y/N?" The deeply fiendish British lilt saturated remarkably Timothy's groany inquiry whilst biding his broad shoulder blade and waist, opting to stable his posture while the awkward hauling of his anatomy towards your actual home hazardously motioned the constriction of your fleshy muscles that were manipulating his larger frame to not lose consciousness and flump embarrassingly sloppy.

"The priests told me I've to take you to my home. It's just a brisk walk! You aren't presumed to be worried at all." Halting in a stop to take a brisk break from clumsily dragging his larger frame, thus you pressed an affectionately warm, consoling peck to his forehead and then his well-carved, surprisingly chilly cheek when your warmly cherub lips grazed the delicate facial skin, pronging with your stare the feeble restlessness contouring his facial features. "Don't worry, Timothy! I solemnly promise I'll take a good care of you even if I have to have a couple of days off from work at least while there will be somebody to replace me." Maneuvering your fingertips to trace gingerly his right cheekbone and then the kissed spot, a childlikely mousy, crystal tear dripped from his brass-melded coffee brown orb while studying you in the corner of his periperical eye. "I will be always there for you. Your muscles are paralyzed, because from the demon, himself."

"The heroes don't always wear caps."

"Mhm! It's true!" A tearfully vague, woefully doe smile curled up at the corner of his chapped mouth shortly before retreating stubbornly to work. Namely ambling up slowly but surely towards your final destination.