☢ One step too late

And I never told you  ☢

--- *** ---

--- The Next Morning ---

--- 2nd of December, 1964 ---

As soon as the new refreshing day became a victim of the sunrise's vibrantly profound, golden lull, each elapsing second of passed at summer breeze's elegantly feather-soft pace, subsequently the pious woman of the cloth got up and was getting ready to pack her luggage in a few detached suitcases that fluctuated between neatly folded attires and lingerie, sinfully tantalizing cosmetics, her remarkably precious paraphernalia and pairs of shoes smartly sorted inside the cryptic large entities.

The early December dimly cloudy sun's ominously unyielding attempts to mount up the horizon and to be exquisitely spotlighted even if it was villainously outnumbered by sea of lifelessly sooty-silver clouds manifesting its creamy ghostwrite slowly but surely, the vague divinely gilt, demanding saturation streamed bountifully weak through the open-curtained window of the austerely ambient office of the blonde. The early December Boston days appeared to be chillier even than the mid-November ones. The wee inkling of the forthcoming astronomical season and its relentlessly vindictive iciness unceasingly rumbled up to alter the climate and abating the sunny, balmy days. The astronomical season that cusped the autumn and the winter in a potently intensifying bond spine-chillingly imperiled to diminish the quantrum of nobodies who were brave enough to populate the outdoors' sunshine luxuriously gilded translucent carpet.

Solely the warriors that had mandatory obligations to attend regularly prominent institutions like school, workplaces and so forth were the only warriors that ghosted the very streets and outskirts of Boston in the wintery days. Every day their hectic daily schedule could fuel utterly their cells and muscles with inexorably doubtless burden of stress and chaotic business and hauling out their unimaginable intentions of taking a brief break even if they channeled their frequent flickers, conveying its friendly reminder to not outwear their fleshy tissues. Every day was a new day for more refreshing inspirations, celestially dazzling ambitions and a wonderfully bright aim to articulate fluently their real motives that accorded them to pursue eagerly their divinely heavenly desires and raw foreign realm of their objectives.

"The notorious drug cook of Silver Spring, Maryland under the name Cole Derek Lowe, aged fifty-four, is found dead inside an abandoned brothel in one of the most isolated neighbourhoods of Boston!" In the meanwhile, the radio lowly hummed the exceeding breaking news about the hair-rising homicide of Cole Derek Lowe, pitching the background and melding smoothly even outnumbering the despondently rowdy, blatant bewails of the inmates ghostwriting the long, dim light hallways of the old, dilapidating asylum. The head nun of the asylum managed to pose before wall mirror of her en-suite bedroom whilst fashionably primping studiously her physique and subconsciously mild swaying her swanly drop-dead gorgeous, well-sculptured hips rhythmically, all ears to the radio news. Most of all, her childlike earnestness to contact the exalted clergyman Father Malachi for her emphatic resignation from the church and banishing her out of the ecclesiastically sacred duties to serve the miserable cloth of chastity and solemnly marrying God physically and spiritually, canvased the very jovialness to be illustrated on her delicate facial attributes. A weak layer of make-up such as conservative mauve pattern painting her lusciously brim lips didn't hurt to doll up herself at all. It could be a significantly luminous twinkle of her victorious motive to be ultimately fulfilled today and savouring the heavenly freedom of joining the general population to date somebody and spend the rest of her days with her soulmate altogether in their own property and construct their own fresh start utterly as the initial bricks is the true hint of the beginning they accorded as well.

A classy vermilion short-sleeved dress stopping slightly above her drop-dead gorgeous, symmetrically round knees as its jovial flare of the hem delineated exquisitely her curves along with V neckline partly exposing her scrumptiously well-carved collarbones and expanse, paired with classy refined sable chunks affixing her petite, brittle feet, black stockings and her conveniently sable pantaletot smartly sheathing her torso and hips. In addition to her physique, her prominent silver earrings pierced her delicate earlobes. The infernally enchanting fragrance of feminine perfume registered to whiffle past her button nose. Last but not least, her halo ringlet of richly velvet old Hollywood golden locks stunningly, outstandingly hoisted to frame her oval, full profile.

"The dead body was presumably dumped inside the abandoned brothel the last night as it's speculated nobody noticed the murderer to get away from the piece of evidence for the investigation that could have increased the chances to detect the actual perpetrator." The haphazardness of the emitted dozens of gentlemanly diligent, refined raps on the office door as Frank has already fully packed his baggage and patiently awaited for his almost ex-boss after keeping her wits about his very presence before the large entity caught off guard the Bostonian. The very thoughts that refilled the patchy hollow of the jumpcutting speculative scenario brightly abysmal shadowed her vision and creativity if Frank beholds her out of her habit for first time at last. Presumably he would be in awe to cast his obstinate ogle to prong her from head to toes and admiring her crispy grace. Regardless the circumstances, Jude is always stunning even if the fugliest, the least comfy piece of garment swathed her most intimate parts of her petite-frame and gracefully contoured her very curves. She was so profound. She possessed the real gaze of a holy Succubus with the most poetic, divinely eye-catching caramel brown gemstones have ever imbibed and conquered the representatives of the opposite sex's frail hearts. The Holy Succubus behind the lifelessly hoary, blood-curdling walls of a godless façade that was rather the mortuary and the final destination for the loonies.

"Judy!" The sheer hoarseness, masculinely attractive northern lilt punctured the widower's informal exclaimation whilst darting his wet, strawberry-coloured tongue to manipulative its fresh lick of his upper and lower pale-pinkish, brim lips.

"I'll be there in a second, my knight in the shining armor!" Honey-mouthed, mirthful radiance emphasized remarkably the very undertones of the former sleazy jazz nightclub singer's utterance, recklessly sloppy dripping from her mauve-painted mouth after shooting her cinnamon brown gems on her way to dash out of her en-suite bedroom and to unlock categorically the hardwood door.

"Moreover, the corpse was taken in a special laboratory for an autopsy to collect more evidence to suspect the possible perpetrator or perperators that have dumped and murdered inhumanely the drug dealer!" The pleasantly eloquent radio journalist's Boston lilt unfalteringly brilliant highlighted the breaking news' additional information behind the barbaric death of Y/N's ex-manager even though it was genuinely oblivious to the authorities who were involved unceasingly in the bloodthirsty nemesis.

"Here we go!" Meantime, Jude maneuvered her petite-frame to step before the office door and ushering her dainty slim, marbled fingers to waltz around the rusty key, whereas bleating a blatantly excited murmur under her breath escorted cozily by a bashfully idle, healthily guttural giggle. "Hi!" Once Jude answered the door after her agile fingers worked gradually on the rusty key to turn and click the door unlocked, consequently she pressed the doorknob diligently and the candidly pleasant vista of the former police officer dolled up in different outfit than his habitual work uniform that was sufficiently cozy and large to shroud loose-fitting his anatomy, nevertheless, modarely elastic to not dodge and underestimate the contour of his unappreciated, extraordinary masculinity beneath his ordinary work uniform. Plentitude of carmine pigment darkened the middle-aged lady's unblemished porcelain, elderly young-looking complexion.

"Hi Jude! Aren't ya ready for the big adventure, are you?" The awkwardness billowing up the verbal coherent waves of low hum gearing the radio was rather a third wheel for the duo even if it accommodated fluently to greatly commingle with their northern lilts accentuating their exchanged utterances and the fervidly relaxing birdsongs bracing the grandiose, dilapidating madhouse's building. The bashfully goofy, beaming smirk flowerily corroded the flat line that once flatted upon his baby-pinkish, brim lips. The morbidly joyous amplification of the heart pulses wavered unceasingly into her fragile ribcage. They synced to the parallel hammer into her flimsy eardrums and the hefty paradoxal paroxysm's ball curling into the pit of her stomach and dribbling its multiple rivulets of celestial warmness to marinate hypodermically her lower abdomen, accompanying sympathetically her organs.

Every time whenever the former policeman's figure perched beside the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer's eyesight even following every photogenic motion of his choiring eyeblinks, handsome profile and anything discrete that could cloud her hazelish-brown embers, he was the true reason of her graced smile as if it emulated entirely to her felicity on cloud nine. How such a mere man that lost his wife due to breast cancer and his both daughters were grown adults with their own individual lives and ambitions could wear metaphorically the title the knight in the shining armor and alter entirely the pious sister of the church's perspective on the love and the delightful things in the life? Was she beholding into him some kind of a redemption after each adversity that has taught her a lesson and prominently embroidering its permanent scar of medley of sorrow, heartbreak, lividness and numbness to not grant her trust with an ease to anybody that dared fiendishly cocky to bring her down and to overlook her true value into their eyes? Was he much better than Timothy who was currently having a speculative secret affair with Y/N?

"Today after the autopsy of the corpse, therefore the presumable perpetrators according to the DNA and the blood investigation will be questioned by the authorities! Within a couple of hours there will be more leaked information about the brutal death of Cole Derek Lowe."

"Of course, Frank! I'm more than ready to sacrifice for my resignation from the church." At the moment, the Bostonian dumped the timorously ajar opened door wigwagging featherly-soft when the pure impatience of the security guard's anticipation to gather utterly the holy woman along with her packed luggage, in order to grapple the suitcases and to turn off the radio without turning her back to contemplate through the thin veil of the incandescently doury sulfur past. Once the middle-aged lady's arachnoidly milky deftly crooked around the suitcases' handles to stable the extra weight balancing her figure on her mission to bolting out of her dour, uninviting office to participate in Frank's company to fulfill her quest of the yearned consecrated liberty at last, she manipulated her tongue to lick greedily gamely wary the dense layer of conservative mauve painting her upper and lower lip. "It's time for the change and the adventures."

"Excellent, dear! Likewise, I have called the taxi to take us to our next destination, ya know." Once the platonic duo glided smoothly at snail's pace in the abysmal, dim light corridor of the mental institution, a handful of staff members passed through Jude and Frank aimlessly, utterly focused on their imminent destination.

"That's good! We have like a few minutes before we say finally goodbye to our old crappy positions." A healthily breathy, freshly chirpy giggles traded with one another the pairing as their bottom mouth-wateringly plumpish lips twitched at the coherently blatant, expressive noise begging for its immediate haulage to conveying its blabbing long walls to imbibe the lifelessly brick walls of the façade.Their childish mirth didn't fall off from their facial attributes and their voices. The genuine sentiment of the merriness could be formulated in variety of individual exemplars, belonging to its owners to eavesdropping their roars expounding the doubtlessly essential notion behind its enchanting feeling. It was so contagious. It was so profound. It was so arcane. It wasn't even worth a couple of pages chapter to formulate fluently, fully the real concept of the felicity in the people's lives. "And to this snake pit, of course!"

"The farewell is inevitable and we shall take it with grain of salt," The raspy breathiness almost emulated to the conjugated snort while formulating her own very thoughts pouring up in her recent revelation, flicking up subconsciously her honey brown gems at the exquisite architecture of the corridor's walls thoughtlessly, in order to sort her mind persistently to not arouse her friend's subtle, unnatural incredulity eminently highlighting his hoarsely silver-tongued voice and the very curves of the sketch articulating his trustlessness twisted past his facial features. "It's like a moment of our lives that will be in the past within a few minutes at least. It's rumbling up to be embroidered its ink etching the paragraphs of our final days in Briarcliff on the books of our lives' previous chapters and our fresh start shall commence after Father Malachi dimisses my title and clerical possessions."

"Exactly, dear! I'm really on fire how we will build our own future life. It just arouses my keen enthusiasm to contemplate through its orb the majestic creation of the small bubble we're engulfed in." Meantime, the former police officer managed to clear his throat after yanking gentlemanly one of the suitcases of his friend, in order to plummet down the physical pressure she's dedicatedly absorbed in bidding her fingers and hypodermically coursing its sheer, sore pressurable pain of holding heavy entities. "It's like the oracle that is beholding through his magical orb our future, our aura we're definitely oozing of to construct our happiness and our desires in one place." Shortly before retreating from the hallway and setting foot in the lobby's segment of the façade, throughout Frank pressed an affectionate, platonically affable peck to Jude's well-sculptured, ghostly pale cheek.

--- *** ---

Once the very wee hours of the morning bled into the sunrise's vibrantly saturation to pierce your apartment's windows even if the velvet curtains broadly flapped its very tissues to sheathe tenaciously the panes, thus you and Timothy came to your senses beyond peacefully.

After the vermilion event of the sole homicide that coated marvelously your bare, petite hands in godless layer of nirvanic foulness, promiscuity clinging hypodermically to infect your very flesh in the thick gloves of the slayer, consequently you took a refreshing, hot shower the last night before hopping up back on the couch in conveniently new pajama outfit and discarding your bloody blotched in the basin for your future laundry. Fortunately, neither of your neighbours didn't venture up to pose galore of questions about the cryptical murder of your ex-manager, nor they have even oscillating between you and Timothy as the main antagonists in conspiracy against the drug cook.

The bloodthirsty smugness and unqualified nirvana clinging heinously headstrong to your facial expression that was so unbreakable and so untouchable by the eventual leaks of pangs of the conscience in the nearby future didn't cease to flabbergast you at all. You felt the eventual ultimate freedom of no vendetta roaring in your hurricane of thoughts and chasing down in the forms of sable, undeniably sly shadows and invincible demons to be casted in the corners of every site you're housed momentarily.

All you cared about was about your safety and no longer ghosting through the eventually future adversities' presents of your nemesis. No longer cared about Cole Derek who was possibly the true epitome of a psychotically compulsive infiltrator that could scarcely cope with your current life and your passionate ambitions. You solely cared about the aspiring Monsignor and your main goals.

Even if your very conscience's ominously unbending attempts to engender a wee inkling of shamefacedness to paint your façade and relentlessly seeping every tissue of vibrant glossiness of your pride, stamina and self-confidence and every glossy colour of your skin tone's healthy anatomy, it didn't work at all. The gears of the fiendish shadows and invincible demons' cells to contaminate your very thoughts were far cry from stubbornly iron-willed to halt your cutthroat legion of the divinely euphoric peace you executed after eliminating your worst foe after all.

On your way to one of your initial destinations before the kitchen, the series of demurely mousy footsteps of your cozy slipper-clad footsteps glided creamily, leisurely towards the bathroom gauged your progress to step before the shut teal door. Oblivious to the blood-curdling delay of the British compatriot whilst dawdling his very presence inside the sufficiently expansive site, without a second thought you manifested to fashion into a balled fist your elvish, creamy hand to rap a few times politely, kindly to keep the holy priest's wits about your very presence standing beside the shut door dividing the both sites' linked together.

"Just a second, rare bird!" The twisted faucets moderating the liquid's temperature while the stormy blast of water splashed against the marble surface as the ambitious Monsignor peered childlikely inquisitive over the cosmetics and the bathing supplies, his cinnamon brown minerals shimmered out the brightest shade of the topaz that glassily drank his facial profile as his neatly trimmed stubble was thickly coated with countless translucently crystal watery beads to obscure any wee hints of spiderwebs mantling his façade. "Carpe diem the wee patience seething up your veins!" The low drone of the sink's humdrum symphony roomed your vulnerable ears.

The reassuringly eloquent British lilt of Timothy has never ceased to dumbfound you even if the dim, impulsively fierce pique accented his ballad of his anger or rather spleen. How a devotional member of the clergy whose homelands could be reckoned two can be the real definition of perfection? How a man serving devotionally the cloth of chastity could alter your worldview in general promptly? Whenever you faced his darker side donning up his larger frame in the unbreakable armor of the vices, the eyecandy aura artistically whiffled past you. Whenever his despondent humor drained each functioning, stable tissue of his, you were the light of his day. You were the God's Messenger that was sent from the paradise's ethereally gilt freedom of the justice and euphoria to bless every member of the inner circle that has captured your heart. You were the ray of sunshine that could alter even a single second of Timothy's breathing and living after a tough or a horrendous day full of tribulations and bad vibes.

You candidly cared about somebody that has sacrificed more for you rather than you for him. Notwithstanding the circumstances, you're the only person who granted him a shelter after the initial conjuration to heal his physical and mental wounds, in spite of the monotonous linger of the vile essence inside his frail skeleton.

It's been a handful of minutes since the older gentleman has occupied the bathroom for cleaning himself, brushing his teeth and sprinkling his face. Pretty casual activities that fueled his morning routine. Indeed harmless to be blamed even if his mild delay could get on somebody's nerves including yours.

What it was oblivious to you was what the spiritual possession's aftermaths could be and how abysmally sinister they could be interpreted eventually.

In the interval, the older man maneuvered his fingers to turn off the sink's faucets and examining in a scrutiny in the corner of his smoky quartz minerals each discreet detail of his pallid, young-looking complexion. Once again a weak, primly wicked smirk incised dexterously across his chapped, nude pink lips at the lukewarm complacence of masticating for breakfast a handful of tiny spiderwebs and spiders in the corners of the bathroom after eavesdropping the same old ode of the aggressive stomach's growl after evading to consume even modicum of food chunks to refill his abdomen. Revamping his uncommonly frigid, diabolical habits to lean to eating something different than the adequately accepted portion of meals or mini snacks were a sheer evanescence for you and his other relatives.

In a quarter a minute, the bathroom door popped broadly opened at the prospect of the leaving man of the cloth and the abrupt softening of his charming facial attributes as his prim wicked smirk was replaced with a sympathetically daredevil, mischievous smile permeated past his mouth and boring his smoky quartz minerals into yours.

"Morning, rare bird!"

"Morning, Timothy! I didn't know you're up slightly earlier than me." Returning the flavorfully radiant, profoundly warm smile tugging at the corner of your mouth, consequently you followed each motion of his body language and muscles' twitch and contraction even the numerous of crystalline beads wonderfully mapping his appealing stubble that spotlighted prominently his masculinity and neat looks. His short mop of tousled brown strands perkily bounced and bearing a semblance of a prey of the ferocious wind's howl and the spent hours in the bed sheets and brushing his head multiple times against the cotton fabric of the comfy pillows. "What a pleasant surprise!" At the moment, the possessed holy man approached timidly, meekly you and maintained an appropriately intimate proximity, scarcely inching your syncing heart pulses throbbing into your chests and the graceful warmness coursing through your delicate epidermis.

"You know, I needed to use urgently the bathroom!"

"I can see that."

"By the way, I'll make the breakfast." Moments before your temporal usage of the bathroom as you were on your current mission to step inside the site and your docile footsteps slithering sleekly the chilly tiled floor, the purely promising and scrumptious delicateness crafted the solemn oath the British aristocrat delivered out, devilishly deep and stubbornly benevolent.

--- *** ---

--- A Half an Hour Later or So ---

"What are your biggest regrets, Y/N?" It's been a couple of minutes since you and the older gentleman have seated against each other on the neatly, modestly embellished kitchen table that was accompanied by a mere teal tartan blanket underneath the flimsy plate of the mouth-watering French toast settled on top of the furniture, the floral vase with autumn flowers and two mugs of refreshingly streamy, hot caffeine beverages. A few guiltlessly hedonistic bites etched the breakfast dish as your sticky-greased, spidery fingers absent-mindedly danced around to fiddle clumsily the plate's material and flicking up your E/C embers to kindle an intesifyingly everlasting eye contact with the pious man of the cloth.

"Except my drug dealing business, what else I have to actually regret?"

"For example deeds or anything you may have brought a disappointment to your loved ones or demonstrating the self-hatred."

"You know!" Shortly before clearing gruffily your throat as your petite, frail hand muffled the dry, healthily throaty cough and waltzing leisurely your fingers circa the French toast to bring it close to your stickily-greased cherub, roseate lips, a pause stung the temporal doldrum that was outnumbered by the eloquently elating birdsongs and the hitched breathing of the British aristocrat. "There were times when I wish I learnt the self-love much earlier. Like in a New York minute." In the meantime, grazing softly another bite of the scrumptious French toast that built its perpetual hedonism inside your oral caverns, your pearly teeth frequently stubborn worked on grinding to shatter the bite on smaller scale of chunks and eventually swigging it.

"The self-love is truly worth to be taught and to be the first step that constructs your individuality." The suddenness of Timothy's villainous potentness articulating his nimbleness lifting with an ease his cup of caffeine liquid to boldly hydrate his inexorable insomnia and nirvanic nerves fogged your eyesight. Stark, ethereally timeless wisdom eminently canvassed his serene council. "You know, I have learnt it after knowing what I frankly want to become even if my family weren't very fond of my decision to join the church even when I earned the initial call from God. Sometimes I hated myself how I left my family to rot and they told me multiple times that I can be helpful in variety of ways even if I'm not serving the miserable cloth."

"Oh! But your family didn't even dare to respect your golden ambition to rise in the highest tiers of the church as I recall." The inevitable blast of vividly explicit memories of the one of the informal colloquys you both shared when he treated your shamelessly afflictive pale plum wounds and bruises mapping your frail skeleton blared fiercely your very memories.

"That's true! There are times when it just tears off your heart how you still love someone that doesn't even bother to disrespect your wishes or decisions."

In a long minute of uncommonly frosty silence asphyxiating the very walls of the kitchen and the vibrantly photogenic, scintillating sun rays pierced the widely opened curtains, dozens of diligently polite munches stung your wet, strawberry-coloured tongue and ivory teeth to grind recurring the bites until they filled the pit of your stomach and swapping with your friend ogles that spoke volumes. Ogles that were windows to your very souls. The very depths of your souls with myriad of paradoxal oasises and desolated deserts of your tantalizingly daredevil desires chasing you down. The silence spoke volumes, besides showing the true colours of the homely convenient ambience swaddling you warmly.

"I have spent my whole life fearless even if I was frightened of the destiny that rendered me to harvest its crops of woes. Crops of amusing surprises. Nineteen years I spent like that. Finding myself awake at three in the morning." Knitting your brows elegantly to cusp the bridge of your nose, consequently the British compatriot was all ears of your monologue when you daubed gently your greasy fingers in a separate handkerchief to remove its hideously unctuous layer coating your fingertips and digits. "But you know what?" The rhetorical question begging for an immediate attention pinched widely opened the devotional clergyman's chocolate brown bijous, licking thoughtfully his lips. "Ever since I moved there, I sleep just fine. And I came to realize it's that sleeplessness that's worst of it. That's the real enemy. So," A brief pause scorched balefully vindictive your tongue when the ambitious Monsignor's mammoth, amusingly warm hand insistingly pursued to grapple yours and his virginally velvet, slim fingers cradling your brittle knuckle on reflex, gracing you with plenty of consolation to diminish the uneven stammers bubbling up from your throat. "Get up, get out in a real world and you kick that bastard as hard as you can right in the teeth!"

"I'm really proud of you, Y/N! For everything you have achieved."

"You don't care I was a drug dealer once again?"

"Look what, little bird! That's water under the bridge." Ushering to raise an arch of his masculinely dark, thick eyebrow exquisitely to indicate his seriousness, your lips curved into the gravely pensive purse. "I'm certain you are capable of wiping the slate clean which you did an exquisite job of it!" Then the older gentleman brought your hand to his mouth and planting a featherly-soft, promising kiss on top of your fist, followed by a friendly squeeze. 

Author's Note: I know the chapters are escalating to intesify the chemistry between the reader and Timothy which is indisputably strong, howsoever, I'm lowkey proud of myself to write such a slowburn, besides somehow shooting a fleet glimpse at Frank and Jude even if they are just supporting characters.

It looks like our boy Timothy's new favorite meal is not just a French toast, it's spiderwebs and spiders. 

If you're wondering yet how weird it's, it's actually weird and I have inspired it a bit of the exorcism of the German girl under the name Annaliese. If you haven't watched the unsolved mystery about her exorcism with Shane and Ryan, go watch it. I'm just thrilled of it.

Likewise, don't forget to leave your feedback if you have genuinely enjoyed the chapter! :))