✝ Demons in my head
Demons everywhere ✝

--- *** ---
--- The Next Morning ---
---1st of November, 1964 ---

Within the progressing daily episodes with its photogenic transformation from night to daylight, your condition was fully restored to its default.

The early morning was fluently embraced by the partly opened curtains in the guests' room grandiose window with its divinely golden sun light showering the expanse of the room, beautifully saturating with its golden paint the exquisite furnitures and your youthfully fresh, parchment complexion and ruffled mop of greasy strands curtaining the cotton pillow.

Furthermore, the absence of alarm exquisitely setting its clock on the right nightstand didn't disturb you at all. Sheerly unblemished doldrum suffocated the sufficiently expansive room.

As soon as you entirely embraced the wee hours of the morning with the elating eloquent birdsongs, ghosting the atmosphere along with coming to your senses eventually by stretching your arms leisurely and subsequently discreetly fashioning into balled fists your petite, veiny hands, in order to daub your groggy, round cabochons for a split second until a foul-stained yawn pitched your oral caverns with parting your chapped, lusciously cherub lips in a soft O. Muffling the yawn, your cabochons wrenched widely opened to glimpse at every corner in studious, nevertheless, perkily quick scrutiny the corners of the room as you discovered eventually you were all alone, but the happily translucent of freshly brewed morning coffee with its sweltering porcelain mug surrounding the left part of your nightstand.

The scrumptiously delightful aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted widely past your tiny, flexible nostrils like unbearably thick fog, climbing above the horizon and submerging bleakly the city.

The sole discernible background noises were the frequency of your friends' chatters along with the silver-tongued, beatific birdsongs.

Your petite-frame was utterly relaxed and no longer submerged coldly into sore pain or at least vulnerable to any detrimentally gruesome fragment, imperilling your condition which has recently recovered from the last night events.

The oblivion of its memorable blackout and its aftermaths, dating from the night before were vaguely misting.

After adjusting your posture in seating and scanning promptly the recent time with its glowing digits, indicating "7:30am" in the morning, pure panic misted your nonchalance as you retrieved by grappling the handle of the mug with refreshingly steamy caffeine liquid to gulp in tiny, guiltless sips and searing your berry-coloured, dehydrated tongue.

Your work day is supposed to commence within an hour and you haven't even had your morning coffee yet along with smartening your looks. It was contagiously concerning you would lost your position which was dearly treasured by you and there were the fewest cases when you postponed with your diligence to be right on time to confront categorically galore of whimsical customers who would assume you haven't served them the exactly ordered beverage or meal.

All of a sudden, the door notoriously creaked opened, registering its imminent and only visitor to participate in your company as it door shut down within a couple of seconds after the redhead's comforting presence ghosted yours.

"Good morning, sunshine!" The featherly soft, doting timbre of her utterance, pairing it with the friendly nickname alight your {E/C} minerals, blazing pure benevolence to shoot a gaze at her as your brittle, spidery fingers were dancing around the mug's handle. In the meanwhile, a weak, reassuringly sympathetic smile tugged at the corners of your coffee-stained mouth after sipping for very first time and consequently dumping disappointedly the mug on the nightstand, no longer obtaining freely its heat battering the pads of your fingers and palm. Dana maneuvered her rear to perch on the edge of the double bed and returning you the sympathetically glowing smile, tattooed on her parchment, youthful complexion.

"Good morning, Dana!"

"If you're questioning who made the coffee, I did it." After the persistent clash of vowels and syllables to adequately formulate the imminent utterance of Dana, subsequently her tongue conjugated it and pawed boldly with her long, slim palish fingers her chest for a split second, in order to usher you she was the one who brewed the coffee for you and definitely served it on the nightstand. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes and," A pause, dumping on a cliffhanger muted your cherub lips, opting to sort your mind and not to raise a topic that would be worth consolations or vehement yells. "I was thinking could you drop me to work after the morning coffee and taking a fresh shower if you don't mind?" It's been a couple of times when you've stayed in your friends' homes and used their showers with their actual consent even you've done anything for each other as well. In spite of you weren't fully awake and refreshed even after a promisingly wee, delightful sip of the coffee, nevertheless, the hoarseness in your stammers were inexorable, sailing sluggishly without thinking twice how to reconstruct them even better or at least having more logic.

"Sure, why not? Why are you even asking, {Y/N}?"

"Because within less than an hour I'll be late and my goose will be cooked, you know, sweetie!" The fewest times whenever amorously kindhearted nicknames for your friends were pretty usable were in private conversations even stark comforts as the German-Canadian compatriot yanked confidently one of your elvish, creamily silken hand into hers, phasing with its smoothness and a swan thumb kneading your brittle highlands of knuckles. Balmy, kind warmness heated the pit of your stomach.

"Of course! You know anything you want me to do as a favor is my command." Stilling the swan thumb massaging your frail knuckles, providing myriad of sweet, heartwarming comfort, warmness and love, the older lady's breathing hitched with clearing gruffily, cozily her throat after manifesting its creamy cough. "And within less than an hour, I'll be also aiming to work with Frederic and Barb. So you don't have to go purple about it, honey."

"I'm not angry or anything, it's upsetting sometimes as if it feels like the time flies way too quickly than your expectancies."

"I've to finely agree with you, but," At the moment, ushering your solely free hand to claw firmly, buoyantly the ginger's hand, consequently a soar lump seethed your feminine Adam's apple and flexing your throat muscles to swig it immediately, fixating your {E/C} minerals on her scintillatingly illuminated with its sunny veil facial attributes, maintaining yet its appropriate eye contact. "But in first place, drink your coffee and take a shower! Your concerns should be dead by then." Managing to bob your head in a solemn, meek agreement, you strongly affirmed her words and optimistically looking forward for today and wondering yet what kind of adventurous and intriguing experience on your workplace would you confront.

What it profoundly questioned you either fortunately or unfortunately for your sake, depending how you would view its perspective was that your friend didn't tackle with great deal of efforts to raise the topic about the aspiring Monsignor as much as Frederic did the night before especially shortly after your paradoxal blackout. Although the ginger was just like your other friends potently reckoning the honesty as the key, intoxicatingly altruistic pairing you as platonic bond, the older lady didn't prefer to mischievously taunt you with heated debates about Timothy and how within a couple of direct interactions with him even earning his divine, intoxicating kindness and calmness you would find yourself having butterflies in your stomach with a man of the cloth that deeply cared about you.

Different perspectives. Different worldviews. Different people. Different theories about the phenomenally amorous phenomenon of falling in love with somebody significant or at least you'd deem unique were immersing its crudely cold, howsoever, monstrously enormous and abstract world.

The actions and words were sheer opposition and extraordinarily speaking volumes behind every one of a kind either protagonist or an antagonist on this world. Certain people were leaning to believe the gestures and actions of the targeted person would speak volumes if either they're genuinely cared about you or on the contrary, they're just counting on their mastered manipulative intentions, ominously pitching their inner voices and solely distinctive for themselves.

Each action, extraordinarily introduced every character's intentions and their true nature unlike the words which were usually granting broken promises like a silver barren rain of flimsy petals, showering its pure incarnation of its melancholy, false hopes and pretty, little lies.

--- *** ---

--- The Following Morning ---

As soon as the devotional man of the cloth's recovery from his senseless condition and the devil's temporal rest shortly after finding a new home in his impending victim's vulnerable frail skeleton, Timothy paid a visit to Jude's office to soothingly assure her about his recent condition and recently fresh recovery from the blackout. Even though the Bostonian was starkly relieved the love of her life was fully recovered from its sore pain and numbness, nevertheless, the eccentric behavior's hints were inexorably leaked in its vista.

Interpreting the eccentric behavior and drastic changes in the British aristocrat were eventually the tangy, devilish fragrance of his masculine cologne, battering his delicate neck, neatly trimmed chestnut hair and fragile wrists which were far cry from necessary alters in his physique and primping himself, in fact, he's a clergyman and the cosmetics along with colognes were solemnly futile except the casual activities of combing his hair, lingering its neat elegance and shaving his stubble per a couple of days. Furthermore, the former licentious nightclub singer commenced questioning Timothy's demeanor and his intentions, despite she evaded heated debates with him, in order to not earn her abolishment from her own position for her childlike, unnatural inquisitiveness which was unwelcomingly imperiling her career and vows in general.

When the British aristocrat fulfilled partly his daily schedule with paying a visit to his rare bird's office, throughout the dynamically progressing daily episode he fled the ill-famed, grandiose madhouse's façade and venturing into other sacred sites where his presence was obligatory at any cost.

Precisely arriving in the nigh Boston church and participating in the company of sea of nuns and priests, thereafter the British compatriot was cocksurely partaking two younger clergymen' group and formulating an adequate, professional debates and organizing slyly the forthcoming days of the church such as volunteers and their role, playing out in its charities and events.

The first holy man was actually in the beginning of his thirties or rather with a few years Timothy's junior, standing mildly taller than him with a handful of inches. His large-frame's body structure was slightly roundish, despite his fashionable elegance in the austere dress code of the clergy. His dirty blonde locks interestingly capped his head and framed his round, full profile with its bronze tan, highlighting exquisitely his dark eyebrows, short mop of dirty blonde silken locks along with his gracious nose. His brutally honest, straightforwardly spearing with its magnetism azure blue gems discreetly imbibed with a simple stare every listener's little secrets. Last but not least, the clergyman was serving for a handful of years in the church diligently, triumphantly its ecclesiastical duties. His name was Father Morgan Casey Walker.

"I was thinking about this event which may take its place in a few days in the church with its volunteers and the games which everybody are free to participate," Father James's eloquence in delivering his creative concepts behind almost every church's events and games were jingling angelic anthems into the male duo which was all ears momentarily. Moistening greedily his upper and lower lusciously thin, chapped lips after maneuvering his berry-coloured, wet tongue to drench with its saliva the raw spots of James's lips, meanwhile, Morgan's pristinely meaty, creamy fingers knotted delicately, landing his transfixed azure blue gemstones on the redhead, whereas the British aristocrat manipulated the flattening process of his insatiably plumpish, naturally nude pink lips into a bashful, attentive purse. "And every visitor who arrives on its event on Tuesday receives special rewards but there is going to be more," The huskiness of his pause stunned Timothy and Morgan, whereas swapping supernaturally skeptical glances with one another as if modicum of wighty doubts suffocated the trio abruptly. "What do you suggest, Father Howard and Father Walker?"

"I'm thinking that there is going to be a special bonus for the poor or rather the single parents of their children." The sheer optimism, welling in its silver-tongued, melodious blond's undertones stormily submerged with heat the pits of the other gentlemen's stomachs, whilst the aspiring Monsignor's fingers lifted up to graze shyly his pristine collar and subsequently idly, comfortably promisingly fix it with gearing up its touch.

"And Timothy, what are your thoughts? Do you have other suggestions?"

"I guess I'm strongly agreeing with Father Morgan and I think the brilliance in his ideas to reward every visitor within two days with their visit is actually a great opportunity to help the others even entertain them with its promising event and games."

"I thought you would have other ideas or at least, wee suggestions to develop that event and the games," Somewhat skepticism, incredulity roughly, arrogantly grained the redhead's facial attributes, while quirking quizzically, amusingly a thick, dark eyebrow. "You're incredibly smart, Father Timothy! But,"

"But what Father James?"

"It quite surprised me you instantly agreed with Father Morgan's suggestion what to grant to the poor and single parents' visitors on Tuesday."

"I just didn't think of anything else, you know!" Shrugging sheepishly boyish his broad, muscly shoulders and bittersweet lump bubbling up his Adam's apple, thus the older man flexed gingerly his throat muscles to swig violently the lump and clearing his throat gruffily with an awkward cough shortly before depicting the sequel of his one of a kind, outstanding monologue. In the interim, James and Morgan's incredulity swaddled them icily and shifting their attention to the director of the infamous mental hospital, flattening their lips into an eerie flat line as if their optimism ceased to rebirth shortly after noting the recently leaked infernally hints of eccentric demeanor and significant change into him as well. "S-Sometimes you've to agree with the others positions, because they're actually the best or at least might the better than nothing. Even agreeing than saying nothing is an answer."

"So it's finally decided that the poor and the single parents will receive more bonuses on Tuesday's event, right?"

"Yes!"

When the British compatriot perpetually manipulated his ghosting footsteps up to the monumentally rich polished double door of God's house to finish the rest of his daily hectic schedule, the prospect of the fleeing possessed holy man wasn't dumped by James and Morgan, studiously surveying in a scrutiny his manners and physique, analyzing complexly, outstandingly his change which took its place in less than a day and swapping with one another series of criminally leery glimpses once again as if they've currently formulated a conversation with nobody else than the most wanted criminal without their knowledge.

The demon has just played his cards right and almost obscuring his very first intentions. The devil waltzed playfully, blissfully around its diabolically somber fire of the victory for doing his very quest with his current victim of spiritual possession.