--- *** ---
--- A Few Weeks Later or So ---
--- 10th of February, 1965 ---

With the advancing time Kit living with two ladies under the roof wasn't child's play at all for him. Two women with huge age gap and gut-wrenching worldviews and philosophy, besides sharing different backgrounds. Despite the series of discords between the young adults and the middle-aged lady, however, they relied on each other and gave each other second chances.

Especially Kit and Grace to Jude after agonizing them with the bloodthirsty canes, welting and scarring their rears. Last but not least, the young couple and the blonde were doubtlessly agitated for the unborn child that was living inside the French compatriot's belly.

The young couple were spending more time outside on snowy hikes in the woods, whilst the former holy woman preferred to stay at home with her vortex of thoughts and cleaning even doing housework in the one-story property which was the sole home she inhabited recently.

The wee hours of the afternoon were dimming the small city of Massachusetts's atmosphere with a rich snowfall, pelting down and conveniently, delightfully blanketing with chilly snow blanketing the overall surroundings and swarm of stark as newborns trees' branches. Silver light filtered through the living room's window.

Again, the former devotional member of the clergy couldn't escape from the madness of her impure thoughts and maniacal obsession over the man of the cloth though Grace and Kit weren't very fond of him, despite his long-time friendship with their roommate.

What questioned the former woman of the cloth was if Timothy was pondering profoundly and swimming through his ocean of thoughts about her and having impure thoughts of her yet.

Did he truly love her? Was Timothy dwelling out of the crude reality's realm and dwelling in the profound, heavenly depths of his reverie for modicum time at least? Was she part of his reverie? Was Judy the protagonist in his blizzard of thoughts? Was she the crucial reason why he mourned and putrefy physically and mentally?

The mellow swishing of the blizzard outside tingled angelic hymns into the former licentious jazz nightclub singer's sensitive, petite ears and fathoming almost every person's guilty person with a smugly shameless smile, spreading across her roseate cherub lips and wearing a thousand patterns of glee.

Reclining on seatable furniture, composing her posture, nonchalance and lethargy contoured her facial features with bright colors, whereas the storm was dancing and chanting its soundtrack in a deep resonance. Warmness, comfortable coziness and indulgence clung to her and reeked of snugness.

The housework was already done. No longer dust and chunks' remnants such as food and random' leftovers were clobbering the flooring of each room. The freshly ventilated air was wafting inside the property. It was a genuine paradise.

It was high time for the former nun to relax and give herself some time to take care of her physical condition with a mere nap on the sofa and her muscles and bones to be stiff, scarcely encumbering themselves with any kind of pressure.

After readjusting her position and her petite feet perched motionlessly on the arm panel, softness battering her ankles, subsequently, her back cocked back on the arm panel, seconds before fluttering shut her eyelids to dwell out of the reality's realm and inhabiting consciously and mentally reverie's outskirts.

Nothing could halt her except the haphazard background noises and sounds, snapping her out of her daydreaming as if a mother was interrupting her child's daydreaming and waking him up for school after storming off in his room and pulling off the curtains to allow the scintillating sun dazzle his vision.

--- *** ---

--- Dream ---

Everything seemed pitch-black darkness behind the dull, lifeless walls of the notorious asylum. The patients are even more despondent. Their chances of survival diminished with almost every advancing day. Everything was just pointless even monotonous in their daily lives.

From the tranquilizing medicament that the despondent inmates were accepting even pretending to swallow some of them and fathoming the barbarous sequence of their mind's irrational, uneven functioning up to the babbles and anticipating slowly but surely their destined demise inside the mental institution.

Judy's life hasn't been always easy at all. After joining the church to release the reins off from her sleazy, hectic lifestyle of boozing, getting laid with strangers for one night only and the hit-and-run prey on her way home in the ebony darkness was one of the toughest decisions ever made in her life.

Disinfecting her soul from the sins and vices, cast as shadows and demons from her grim past and haunting her in the corners of the ebony obscurity.

The reek of urine, poor hygiene, bleach, death and heavy medicaments were wafting across each staff member and lunatic's nostrils.

First and foremost, the facility has already chosen a new head nun from another Monsignor's side and ruling together with an iron fist the remnants that they're gradually leaving behind themselves.

Jude and Timothy were stripped of their clerical possessions due to Dr. Arden and the recent head nun who were the top staff members of Briarcliff. Moreover, they were renamed as Judy's current name was Betty Drake, whereas the British compatriot's new name was eventually Owen Manson.

They have plotted a couple of scenarios to flee the mental institution without hesitance and being caught. Notwithstanding the plotted scenarios, they are still awaiting the ideal moment to escape from the old, infamous asylum without turning their backs ever again and have a fresh start.

Within the approaching morning and the elapsing time which was slower than an uneven bead of soaked lion mane, strangely, the former holy woman hadn't seen the British compatriot in the common room, nor anywhere else.

Little did she know what had happened to him and most of all, what was the reason behind his abrupt disappearance. An abundance of questions twirled and whirled in her train of thought.

After discreetly fleeing the common room without being caught by any orderlies, or the security guards, the blonde's impending destination was up to the men's wing, surreptitiously sneaking as a spectral, leisurely wandering inside an old, dilapidating façade's remnants.

The background sounds of shrilling, despondent wails traced into wide waves, colliding into the lifeless, hoary walls. The wails spoke emotions to the surroundings. The opulent, surrealistic cauldron of sorrow, misery, death and severe agony was brewing and cooking.

Once the middle-aged lady snuck up inside the men's wing and glanced back and forward's directions, making sure the space was readily clean and safe for her to set foot, thereafter, blanketed the corpse on a patient bed with sheerly rigid cotton, oyster-white blanket swaddling the unrecognizable masculine corpse, motionlessly reclined on its sanctuary of demise.

A sheerly oyster-white blanket shielding the feeble, pallid corpse from the common icy climate. The winter was already agonizing and plaguing with frostbite the wretched souls.

Despite the loneliness, blanketing lukewarmly the Bostonian, she tiptoed to the fully blanketed dead body. What she could remind herself was that it was just another inmate, finding his death approximately sooner than later.

Or rather, the last, fatal breath was inhaled and exhaled just a while ago.

Her childlike acute inquisitiveness commanded her impulse and instincts to unwrap the blanket and discover the dead body's identity and to whom belonged eventually.

Within the swiftly resilient surreptitious scud up to the ambulance bed to convey the impending prey of the demise, the blonde's jaw chattered timidly, her lower chapped plumpish lip quivered after struggling to discover the bizarrely recognizable attributes beneath the blanket.

Maintaining petering out the proximity with the ambulance bed of the deceased inmate, whose dead body is going to be conveyed in the morgue, her trembling petite, weathered hand reached for the cloth until her fingers and palm manipulated to unwind the coverlet, peeling off from the younger man's motionless, expressionless face.

"No, no!" At the moment, Judy's jaw clattered recurringly, landing her apprehensive caramel brown embers on her former lover's emotionless, pallid face, chewing on her lower lip to stifle the desperate, uncontrollable hollers, dancing in her throat in a bittersweet lump. "This isn't supposed to be real."

Meanwhile, her childlike inquisitiveness convinced her to unfold the rest of the coverlet as the instruction potently maneuvered her fingers' muscles, whereas her only free hand muffled the quiet sniffles. Vigorously translucent tears glimmered on her lower eyelids, thus rolling on her cheeks everlastingly.

Her entire complexion was blanched in mortification and her heart sunk, unable to recover from Timothy's death.

Timothy's corpse was lying peacefully, inertly and his feeble bones were in a patient outfit-clad. The muscularity of his arms and legs hasn't vanished even through the low-quality food he's being provided like Jude. His mammoth, pallid hands were barely brushing his support.

"No! That's quite surreal to be real." The middle-aged woman bent against the bed and pressed a hardening longer kiss on his berry-coloured, chapped lips, managing to cup his cheeks and the raw coldness trounced her palms and fingers.

Although the common coldness, encountered in the corpses and feeble wretched souls, it didn't prevent the former woman of the cloth's intentions to cease them from functioning and play out. Even when the former priest was ill or as chilly as the farthest poles in the world, it didn't stop Judy from having physical contact with the love of her life who was nothing more than a carcass.

"No, Timothy! Do not leave me!"

What the Bostonian feared more than anything was losing a beloved person and Timothy was the last ever beloved person she's lost.

Due to the cutthroat, ruthless mental institution's conditions, measured in the heavy medicines which were doped with the wretched souls, the poor-quality and paltry food with which they were ensured to have twice-a-day meals. The electroshock therapies for the least obedient patients and the lacking quantity of staff members to look after the lunatics.

--- *** ---

--- End of Dream ---

"Judy, we are home!" All of a sudden, the front door swung open after the young couple had a small journey outside, bleating the croak to keep the older woman's wits about their arrival at home.

"Dammit!" Meantime, a vague headache tormented Jude after coming to her senses, her spider palish fingers managed to reach for her temple, manipulating her fingertips to rub the temple's groins restlessly, gently until the twain of young adults' meek, monotonous footsteps echoed against the corridor's flooring after peeling off the winter pantalets from their frail

skeletons.

Subsequently, hanging them on the coat hanger and hopping up in fuzzy, convenient slippers.

"Hi! Kit and Grace!"

Jude seated on the couch, peering over her shoulder to acknowledge Kit and Grace's presence as they were strolling up to the couch to take a seat alongside her.

"Hi, Jude!" The stoicism sketching the former devotional member of the clergy's attributes startled the young couple as the French woman was by Judy's right side, whereas Kit was by her left side on the contrary. "You okay?" The young man's posed question slightly embarrassed the former holy woman, gritting her teeth to stifle the series of yelps due to the vicious migraine after kneading steadily her forehead.

A fresh cerise, vibrant blush tinged the older lady's cheeks at the posed question and opted to clash the migraine with sorting her mind, constructing with the proper words a straightforward utterance.

"A slight migraine but everything is okay! Don't worry about me at all, kiddos!" The steadiness of her honeyed, Boston lilt accentuated her vouch, shifting her attention to Kit with a vague, benevolent smile, blossoming upon her roseate, cherub lips.

To refrain and prevail the physical discomfort due to the megrim, aching partly her mind barbarically.

"Spill the tea about yar hike in the woods!"

"It was fantastic." After a heavy sigh flushed the French woman's chest, earning a pair of dark irises transfixed on her, the brunette returned the middle-aged woman's smile.

Especially with radiantly merry, glinting across her porcelain youthful complexion and wearing a thousand patterns of merriness whilst holding the gaze with Kit and Jude.

"Truthfully, the experience outside with somebody you love truly is much different compared to the solo walks,"

A swarm of husky chuckles clicked the roof of their mouths, consequently synchronizing verbally tuneful a symphony of the jubilance and chuckles in the living room.

"You know, Judy! The cold can't stop us."

"I absolutely agree with ya, Grace! The walks with somebody ya sincerely love are one of the most magical, the best experiences you will ever have."

"Needless to say that there weren't any people, walking in the snowy forests. It just reminded me of the first-ever date we had with Kit." In the meanwhile, the brunette's gaze darted to the young man, her French lilt puncturing her pure, breathless exultation. "Honey, isn't it like that?"

"Exactly, my love!" The young man's mouth opened in a soft, complacent grin while ogling at his girlfriend with sheer warmness, love, and desire. Optimism and mirth were adorning their attributes, sheening smoothly vibrant texture. Rigid felicity, indicated in their alight embers and vibrant, blissful smiles, even series of chuckles and snickers. "I remember how we brought the Polaroid camera to take a couple of goofy and memorable photos!"

"Indeed! What about you, Jude? How did you spend your time at home?"

"It was alright and exhausting as I was doing a bunch of housework by cleaning and so forth, ya know! It is nothing special and after that, I am here." Her nostrils snorted the freshly ventilated air of coziness and the sense of the genuine notion of home with her roommates. "On the couch!" Halfheartedly hoarse snickers slipped from their tongues in unison.

"The old same story about the house's housekeeper!"

--- *** ---

More than a month or so was one of the toughest episodes of Timothy's life as a devotional clergyman. After Judy's arranged release with Kit, Lana and Grace and the love of his life is staying with the young couple in their household, the British compatriot's life changed retrograded.

Sleepless nights, the inescapably orthodox symptoms of the sinister, stark insomnia and overwhelming thoughts, rotting over the former pious woman of the cloth's absence were commonly encountered in the British aristocrat's hectic daily life.

He hasn't shared with anybody even acknowledged any single soul over his angst over the blonde's absence and how much he suffered with each advancing day even an elapsed second physically and mentally. Little did he know how he was still on his feet and kept visiting hallowed places wherever the Cardinal sent him and most of all, having a mere, professional contact with Sister Bernadette.

Despite Timothy's great deal of efforts to evade any skeptical speculations behind his back not only from staff members but also from Sister Bernadette, furthermore, his recent business partner noted cynical odds in his demeanor in the past weeks and days.

The sleepless nights the insane quantity of boozed caffeine beverages and the starvation for a few days except with a handful of smoked daily cigarettes even the dubious dark circles, dancing and shadowing his lower eyelids were mortifying even commencing to resuscitate the worries in the senior woman of the cloth.

The despondency, punctured in his English lilt was inevitably spotted and spotlighted even questioned by Sister Bernadette. Last but not least, the British compatriot opted to obscure his melancholy.

Whilst sitting in his own austere office, the aspiring Monsignor's colossal, veiny and weathered hand grasped an old, Polaroid photograph, photographed by a professional photographer of him with Jude after delivering a speech in the church.

The once beamingly charming smiles, embellishing their parchment, still young-looking complexion saddened even more Timothy. Crystally salty tears rimmed his chocolate brown orbs as weathered fingertips tipped the Bostonian's shining smile.

Their mirthful pools were darted to the camera. Genuine felicity was spreading like a plague, even melancholy and the traces of memories scarring with low spirits and nostalgia, tearing off the man of the cloth's heart on a thousand flimsy glassy pieces, shattered and swamping a frail lake of misty heartache and somberness. His flexible nostrils snorted a sniffle, ducking his head and his tongue almost struggling to forge the impending exclamation with weaker timbre.

"My rare bird! I sincerely miss you!" The lowered, velvety whisper dripped from his mouth until the abruptly swung opened office door caught him off guard at the sight of the merciless sister of the church, accompanied by Dr. Arden with their grimaced faces, dipped in glaring ocean. "You haven't even knocked on the door! Don't you remember what the rules are before even daring to open the door?"

"Monsignor, you are officially stripped off from your clerical possessions!"

✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞ ✞ ✞ ✞ ✞ ✞ ✞ ✞ ✞ ✞ ✞ ✞ ✞ ✞ ✞ ✞

✞ What are your thoughts on Jude's dream, during her catnap? ✞

✞Is the dream foreshadowing anything, emulating ultimately to an easter egg? ✞

✞ Whose team are you eagerly being a fan? Team Timothy or Team Bernadette and Dr. Arden? ✞

✞ Don't forget to leave a honest feedback with your initial impressions, if you have genuinely enjoyed and liked the chapter. :)) ✞