Author's Note: This chapter is long so be prepared for a roller coaster of explicit content such as strong language, gore and attempted rape.
"Come on, Edward! You're supposed to be already asleep." The suddeness of the high-pitched infant cry as it collided like radioactive wave through the four wall children's room tested his patience, once he opened askew the notoriously creaky door. A stern, wise caution zinged his berry-coloured, luscious lips. His footsteps hardly echoed as they were tracing up to the exquisitely lacquered crib, where the infant's high-pitched cries swam in the background, keeping his father's wits about his insomnia.
"Mama!"The young boy felt powerless, factly, he was home alone with his father solely and most of all, the final moments before kipping, the agonizing thoughts of his mother's absence kept him awake for longer than the usual. Pair of mammoth, affectionate hands lifted him up from his crib, consequently scooping him in a warm, loving embrace.
"Shu, shu, shu, little sweet Edward Ralph! Mommy is on a date and she should be back soon." The former holy man attempted to alleviate his crying as his shrilling whines subdued abruptly, resulting his presence and compensation of Jude's absence to ultimate success. The tip of his nose nuzzled his baby son's button, wee nose, giggling quietly, jubilantly as he stretched his tiny, pudgy arms in the air. Even when Timothy tried his best to keep it cool on outside at the thought of his former lover's first date with his dislike, nonetheless the notion of humongous fury and disquietude were already sensed sensorially. Electrifying paroxysm sedated his body muscles and bones at the thought of what's capable of Cayden especially when it comes up to hosting his love interest at his old, dilapidating home. "Don't you want a bedtime story at least? Or to sing a lullaby, honey? Huh?" He rocked him in his scooped hug as a benevolent, doting smile bloomed upon his parchment, creamy as velvet complexion.
Even as a five-month-old infant only, Edward Ralph, perfectly even oddly comprehended the aversion that his mother was having of her former lover, besides it unconditionally frustrated him. What her had a yen for was their marriage or being entirely united as a couple, regardless how many times they held grudges, allowing their bile rising up in their throats, the inflammatory squabbles what's the right or what's the wrong, due to the fact, the British compatriot was exceedingly jealous when Judy was socializing with other representatives of the opposite sex even showing wee or rather breezily hints of liking. Even when they had disagreements, he had overthought how it would be better if he was a stranger man and they never knew one another and he was either in Cayden's shoes or another gentleman, who was not only honeyingly talking to her, moreover smiling genially to her and childish, joyous giggles zinged her rosy-coloured lips as a timeless, translucent soul dwelling off a mortal's corpse.
Instead of replying with another notoriously screechy whine or a squeal, he crinkled his button nose, motioning his baby pinkish lips when the little ray of sunshine was being swing in his father's hug, cooing and babbling joyfully even when cues of sorrow oozed of him.
First and foremost, the British aristocrat has decided to wait a half an hour more until the wee hours of midnight loom on the horizon, subsequently calendar the day after. If a half an hour elapses sooner or later, his murderous, gruesome concern for his rara avis would escalate and lead to even try his best to find the bastard's address, where is taking its place the first date and snatch Judy from his grip, no matter what kind of intentions the Italian compatriot had as they concealed criminally morbid hazards, menacing her and her life in general. If on the contrary Timothy didn't find the source for Cayden's personal information, otherwise he would phone Madeleine as his last hope friend, questioning her over the former sister of the church's disappearance and then go together in the police station as they knew the suspicious man's name solely unlike his address and so forth.
"Dada!" The young boy mumbled softly, lovingly as his tiny, warmly smooth hands pawed the former member of the church's plump, milky as ghost cheeks as his fingers greased the facial skin, cherishing the paternal love and spending time with his father.
"Aww, Edward! I bet you would like a lullaby or a bedtime story. Which one?" In the meanwhile, the infant gestured with a thumb his official choice. A lullaby won't hurt him at all. It would rather heavenly sooth him and enforcing him ultimately to fall asleep, suppressing the insomnia and its shadowy demons, dissipating him from slumbering regularly. "So you'd like a lullaby, right?" A humble bobbing of his head in agreement finally persuaded the former aspiring Monsignor, setting free a merry, inward chuckle, dancing on his tongue and throat. "Good! You got it, my little angel!"
As soon as the former holy man took a deep breath then clearing his throat reluctantly, the little boy anticipated eagerly for his bedtime lullaby to jingle its genuine nuances in its vocals into his ears.
"Twinkle twinkle little star how I wonder what you are up above the world so high like a diamond in the sky! When the blazing sun is gone! When he nothing shines upon!" At the moment, the middle-aged man cradling gingerly, dotingly his baby son, whereas lulling to him, walking around the children's room, tiptoeing merely the slippers scarcely clicked against the floor. Meantime, his warm chocolate brown pools, fueled with sheer love, innocence and concern were transfixed on Edward's face, contemplating and admiring his ethereal beauty, highlighted in his inherited facial features from his both parents. He could see a part of him. His creation partly masked into his father's identity especially physically. "Then you show your little light! Twinkle, twinkle all the nightthen the traveler in the dark! Thanks you for your tiny spark, he could not see which way togoIf you did not twinkle so." Suddenly the infant's eyelids ounce was cementing, throughout his body betraying, as a result of the soothing lullaby that rung its angelic, hallowed anthems into his ears and finding himself quickly falling asleep, being spellbind by its power and energy, accentuating its lyrics. His fragile eyelids were gradually blinking until they utterly fluttered shut in slits form.
It has been a half an hour since the former devotional woman of the cloth was senseless even has passed out, during dinner time with Cayden.
All of a sudden, a mild headache was agonizing her as she laid on something inescapably, unarguably heavier. It didn't feel like she was lying on an ordinary floor. Something like steel or iron was contacting her frail skeleton. The stiff air flared her nostrils as the reek of mold and blood interweaved, causing her to nausea since she loathed the reek of gore and that was the reason why she fainted after defending herself against the murderous Santa Claus.
Little did Judy know about her current location until she came to her senses, opening her eyelids, misty blurriness clouded her vision as somber pigments tinted. Groans escaped her lips as prisoners from their prison cell, thus shaking her head to amend her vision promptly and without an ado.
In the meantime, her lion mane of glossy old Hollywood aureate tresses was ruffled on the ground, shaping the gilt sun that brightly contrasted the partly pitch-black attic.
"Where the hell am I?" Another groan lingered on her tongue as her vision was clearer, capable of surveying her surroundings as a television was past the cage, playing on a late-night television program with an interview about the atheism and possible Antichrists in the 60s. Perhaps an old, mold oak wood dresser was in the left wall's corner of the attic as its drawers were untouched. Paintings with gore and horror ones, painted by artists in the previous decades and centuries hung on the wall. Or perhaps, they weren't exactly painted by the old school artists.
The middle-aged mother didn't know Cayden, probably her kidnapper was an extraordinarily talented artist. She hardly knew anything about his early life including his hobbies. He was like the Pandora's box. Full of paradoxes. Full of surprises. Full of mysteries. Full of prejudices. Full of shadows. Full of demons.
Once the blonde got from the iron ground, she sighed in ginormous disappointment and panic when she discovered she was imprisoned in a large, iron cage. Her heart raced when the Bostonian felt her feet contacting the cool, iron flooring and it was glacially cold in the attic, itself. Even the interviewer's voice was giving her chills, rendering the atmosphere eerier. All alone in the loft. All alone in the darkness. All alone with the murderously eerie television program.
Once her caramel brown irises lowered to discover if there are possible items to aid her to escape the iron cage, the vigorous heart beats that hammered in her chest incessantly as her eyes widened rapidly at the sight of her town off dress as the flesh of her bosom and round, small belly with its naturally inked stretch marks on its abdomen were exposed. They were as exposed as widely opened book pages. Electrifying, flustering heat crawled underneath her stark skin as goosebumps smeared every inch of her milky as satin and vanilla flesh.
"How is this possible? Did I accidentally torn off my dress?" The former sister of the church muttered rhetorically herself, stretching widely her brittle arms in the air, chewing her bottom, plumpish, smeared lip as she shrieked. Dark blood splattered the cage's floor.
When her elvish, frail hands fiddled all over the cage until a hole in the upper part of the cage hinted her to rip it off and subsequently climb over the cage's fence. As soon as the blonde escaped from the locked cell, she stepped on the infamously creaky wood planked flooring, researching every drawer for something useful to gather it in her limited inventory.
All of a sudden, she found in a flashlight in one of the drawers, consequently turning it on as it gleamed at the door.
When the former saintly nun tiptoed up to the paintings, scrutinizing them with a simple eyeing within a quarter a minute per a picture, suddenly she could hear heavy footsteps, emanating from the profound, ebony hallway. At the moment, she wedged her lips in a purse, rolling her eyes at each corner as the television's volume was the sole sound that was muting any further sound along with the succumbing silence. The frequency of the heart beats accelerated briskly, throbbing violently in her ribs cage which was the heart's armor.
"Phew! That was so close."
Afterwards she tiptoed up to the nearest door as her petite, trembling hand met the rusty doorknob until she twisted it, opening it ajar, eyeing through the gap as the flashlight's scintillating light illuminated the direct spot of its target. When Judy escaped the loft, her forthcoming destination was the abysmal, almost endless hallway and illuminating with the flashlight every corner of it as spiderwebs encompassed her with dust and the pungent stench of blood and flayed corpses' flesh. The wooden walls were blood-tainted which doubled the Bostonian's chills.
When she explored the corridor, she found a door, leading to a room with a woman's mannequin, a cherry wood bureau with a couple of newspapers, baptized in blood, an antique clock, ticking and ticking frequently. Another collection of bloody pictures, painted by the Italian compatriot, were adorning the walls. It was poorly embellished the room, itself.
Once she snuck up to the desk without making a distracting sound, in case, if Cayden has any intentions of checking her, she read them within less than a minute per a newspaper article about kidnaps of ladies as their age range was between 16 and 50 and something.
An ideal example for one of the newspaper articles the leery man was collecting, caught the former holy woman's eye, perusing attentively each phrase as if she wasn't reading a best-seller thriller.
Missing 2 young women, due to a mysterious kidnap
13th of October, 1962
2 young women, between the age range 19 and 34, were viciously kidnapped by the notorious kidnapper and serial killer in the middle of the night. It takes its place in one of the most desolated parks in Vermont. What is known for the both disappeared women was they were lovers for a year and the perpetrator's name is actually Cayden Gray, known as the molester, murderer and malicious kidnapper.
At last but not least, the police is still looking for Cayden Gray, despite the lack of evidence for the found bodies.
As soon as the former member of the clergy was already informed about the Italian compatriot and his discreetly vicious crimes he has committed via the newspaper articles, subsequently she couldn't suppress the whirlpool of obnoxious disgust, disappointment and ire whirled each cell, each bone and every muscle of her body. Contagious shivers and paroxysm consumed her identity as she could no longer behold behind Cayden's mask the gentleman he claimed and behaved fell off his face at last. Eventually his genuine identity was exposed which no longer was concealed or an unholy mystery for her. Galore questions were already answered as its answers were assimilated in a handful of piece of evidences, alluding her. The newspaper articles. The place where she was conveyed after Jude fainted and being sedated. The relentless shed gore, expanded in each corner of the loft. The bloody paintings.
Even a mere note was found behind the antique, constantly tick-tocking in the numbing silence. A handful of blood stains were puddling the sheet of paper. Once Jude found her pair of hazelish-brown pools eyeing the note far away from her with feet proximity at least, she tiptoed up to the next destination, in order to read it.
"Probably that's one of the victim's final notes!" That's what the inner voice was echoing softly to her as a reminder, motivating her to not give up until she accomplishes what she exactly wants.
Meantime, the middle-aged woman snatched the note from the antique, howsoever, unique clock, scanning its text which was scribbled by one of Cayden's victims who even mentions her own name.
If you're reading this, you should be warned right away if you're next. The man who kidnapped me is a vicious serial killer, known for women's slaughter, skinning their corpses even using their skin to craft furniture or some other stuff, besides eating their nubile, sweet flesh. Let's not forget he stores their blood in jar and he uses for his paintings and painting roses, if he is about to invite a lady on a date.
It's my third, last day and I tried and I tried to find any possible way out of the attic, however, I think my days are already reckoned. This man has no mercy. He's twisted. Even if it's just a two-story house he has got, it doesn't look like it's as small as my imagination could keep it in mind at first.
At last but not least, don't forget to be careful as much as possible! He can hear anything that lurks around his dilapidating house. The slightest sound can taunt him and make him to come to the source that has produced it. Be wise in your choice! Be wisely quiet in what are you able to do, in order to achieve your freedom!
Good luck
Nora
When Judy found lost herself in plough through the final note of Nora, one of the Italian compatriot's preys, who was slaughtered before her death immensely loathsome disgust and begetting rancor, in fact, Cayden was involved in such unspokenly malign crimes such as kidnapping, torturing and killing innocent ladies, regardless what kind of people they're actually. Notwithstanding with that he may molested them in each way. Little did the former holy woman know about his preys' number and she guessed there are survivors, who have successfully escaped from him and his home sweet home territory.
Then the former licentious nightclub singer tossed the note, consequently sneaking out of the room and finding the way for the second floor as she hasn't been spotted by him yet.
As the time progressed, it didn't favorably affect him at all. Even his promised patience to wait a half an hour more until his former lover's arrival at home gave him false hopes. Of course, Timothy spent the entire time contemplating the halfly dark cell in the middle of his king-sized bed, pondering his train of thoughts about Judy and what might have happened to her. A couple of questions snapped him out of sidetracking from not doing anything.
First and foremost, is it absolutely certain Judy is in Cayden's house? If yes or no, has he done anything detrimental to her? And last but not least, is his right hand still alive?
Thereafter when premonition corrupted the cells of his functioning whirlpool of thoughts, the last hope he relied on especially a friend of his and Judy is Madeleine.
When he got from the bed, stretching his arms, he ambled up to the dresser, dialing the juvenile blonde's phone number until he clung with his colossal, veiny hand the earpiece, eagerly anticipating her answer within seconds or a few minutes.
All of a sudden, a feminine, young voice snapped him out of his train of thoughts, his chocolate brown orbs glancing at every angle and corner of the bedroom.
"H-Hello?" The Michiganian's tipsy voice echoed which didn't make the older man to giggle, due to the fact his rare bird's welfare was concerning him more than her protégé's tipsiness.
"Hi Maddie! Are you still awake?" The British aristocrat resumed their phone conversation as his lips curled, wearing a grotesque frown, swaying across his berry-coloured lips.
"Yes, I'm. Why, Tim?" The young woman enquired plainly, subsequently sipping her glass of fresh, cool water to reassure the half a glass of whiskey she has already consumed as it laced her tongue and searing corners of her mouth, besides the alcohol defiled her blood and muscles. "Is everything alr-" As she verged to carry on with her rhetorical question, suddenly the former Monsignor cut her off curtly, taking a deep breath before responding her directly.
"Not actually. Judy has been absent since the early evening, in fact, she is on a first date with Cayden!"
"Hold on a sec," In the interval, the young lady cautioned as her older brother, Roman. "I'm sorry, Roman. What were you saying? Oh yeah, I'm speaking to Tim, my colleague's boyfriend."
"Wasn't that your brother?"
"Yes, it's him. He just asked me who I was talking to and yeah."
"But you told him I'm something like Jude's boyfriend."
"Well, isn't that true?"
"I wish it was but her consent says otherwise." All of a sudden, the former man of the cloth ducked his head, eyeing glassily his shuffled feet as he nibbled on the silken skin of his bottom, plumpish lip. His heart sunk, factly, Madeleine deemed them as a couple, regardless Judy hasn't approved the beginning of their romantic relationship they formerly had until the remorseful betrayal.
"It's okay. I'm trying my best to tell her Cayden is the wrong dude for her, whilst ya and she are just made for each other. I can tell by judging that ya have yar baby and the toxicity in yar relationship." Afterwards the Michiganian exhaled abruptly then inhaled quietly until she realized they were discussing Judy and her disappearance for hours. "So we're talking about Jude's disappearance from home if I'm not mistaking anything?"
"Absolutely!" The older man confirmed it.
"So I bet this asshat has done anything to her or has touched her at least." Madeleine confessed as their faces flushed. Sweltering heat crawled beneath Timothy's facial skin of his cheeks, tinging them in ruddy hues. The hottest ruddy hue that might be eye-catching just like the red for the bulls. What was brewing and cooking inside them was sheer spleen and abhorrence. Spleen that the serial killer may has already harmed the elder blonde and allowing her to die slowly in pain as a prisoner of the interminably baleful fate. The former holy woman was actually a prisoner of her childish naivety to permit the Italian compatriot to hide even the deepest secrets about him and scarcely mention anything about himself. Abhorrence, the tireless consequences of Judy's eventual kidnap might result galore scenarios what she is being through.
"For sure but let's hope or believe Jude is still alive. I'd profoundly regret if it's too late." A sorrowful sigh was heaved from top of his lungs at the thought what Cayden is capable of.
"Do ya know where he lives?"
"No! I wish I did know."
"Me neither! Why don't we go in the police station and ask them about the suspicious man's address?"
"That'd be great. But I've a problem."
"Spill the tea, Tim!"
"I have a baby, who is younger than a half a year and somebody should look after it until we get back at home."
"Oh, I knew it for what were ya talking about. It's okay, buddy! Roman can take care of Edward while we're after Judy's tracks to find her."
"Good evening, Miss and Mister? It's detective McShane." The detective was seating on his hardwood desk against his both visitors as they were the sole visitors in the wee hours of midnight, grimacing his face as he sipped his mug of hot caffeine beverage since he was working double shifts. "What brings you here?"
Before the commencement of the former pious member of the church's monologue, he cleared his throat begrudgingly, eyeing sternly, gravely the older man's midnight black eyes.
"Well, we're here for one thing which might take no more than a minute as well."
"What exactly do you mean with this, Mr. Howard?" The detective's baby pinkish lips curled, posing the question coldly, whilst Madeleine's twitchy, quivering fingers were kneading her knees, gawking blankly the older man without peeling a single word. "Is there any problem in your neighbourhood or something else?"
"Not exactly! I'm here to find Cayden Gray's real address of his current residence. It's very urgent!" The younger man insisted persistently, unable to rest for a single second at the thought of Cayden and Judy, shadowing his mind.
"Cayden Gray? Right?" The detective questioned in leery manner as his thick, sparse eyebrows furrowed, snatching the grandiose, thick file with the addresses of Vermont's population, searching for the Italian's recent address, indicating with a fore finger, murmuring every name.
"Mhm!" The both juvenile adults nodded modestly their heads, affirming entirely his rhetorical question.
A handful of minutes later the detective found in bold manuscript the name of the psychopath, buzzing the first initials of his name as a bee.
"Ca-Ca-Cayden Gray! Here is his address, sir and ma'am!" He showed instantly to the both visitors Jude's kidnapper address as the blonde started jotting in her compact notebook Cayden's address at last, whilst Timothy managed up to scratch his head.
"Thanks! But for our whole relief, can it be sent police to the same address to make sure if the things are definitely fine?" The flower store seller inquired politely, licking her lips before the beginning of her inquiry.
"Of course, ma'am! I want to give you a wee piece of information if you want to know a bit about Mr. Gray at least." At the moment, the both younger adults bobbed their heads, attentively listening to the detective. "Mr. Gray is a serial killer, known for killing and skinning ladies, besides kidnapping them, torturing them and using their blood and organs even storing them in jars. But also he eats women's skins."
"I knew it! I knew it, he would be that suspicious."
As the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer explored the second floor, she found in Cayden's bedroom painted bloodily couple of flowers, marking the amount of women victims due to his violence. Moreover, a jar of an azure blue iris submerged in the jar stood on the left night stand, guarding his double bed where the psychopath might have violated even corpses.
When she found a retro, obsidian phone, standing on the right night stand, unfortunately there wasn't a door to shut and lock it so that to prevent from his endangering, lethal presence to acknowledge her escape from the loft. That was like a bear trap for her or much worse. Her worst nightmare.
As she approached the right night stand, grabbing the handset and dialing the police's number, suddenly it was pipping and she felt a larger, callous hand clamping her mouth, whereas his other hand gently maneuvered her petite, smooth hand to adjust the earpiece, shushing in front of her.
"Shu, shu, shu, bad girl! Ya can't phone anybody, in order to come here and investigate each fragment of my property." Shivers were sent down her body and spine of disgust and apprehension. It was too late. Cayden already knows about her escape from the attic. They both knew it with exception of Timothy and Madeleine, who were on their way to the demolishing property.
"What are ya doing here?" She turned to him as he pushed her violently, throughout flumping backward on the double bed, casting a piercing glare, in order to conceal any pigments and inklings of fear. Her heart raced as it wasn't capable of beating regularly, moderately.
"What do ya think I'm doing here, pretty?" All of a sudden, the former sister of the Roman Catholic church bared her ivory, yet firm teeth as a smug, insolent smirk honed up in the corner of his damp lips as gore drops were drenching his upper lip. His chocolate brown pools' genuine nuances were exposed as celestial lust and eerie dominance plagued them. "I'm here to look after the bad girl, who made her own way out of the attic."
"Don't ya ever dare to call me pretty or whatever comes to yar mind, psycho!" He was slowly approaching her, in fact, to chill her to the marrow without any purity in its mercy. The older lady swallowed a solid lump, formed in her throat when their proximity was diminishing gradually. "I know everything about ya. Yar a peculiar monster, who has no mercy for killing and kidnapping innocent women even storing their remains in jars! Aren't ya some kind of Frankenstein? Huh?"
"Don't play it the brave, Judy!" His deep, hoarse voice was nothing, howsoever, a requiem for her, alluding her final moments of her life. "Because there were some brave women, who spat on my face that I'm a monster. But guess what happened to them."
"So ya fricking murdered them?"
"Some of them, yes, but the others no." The Italian compatriot's warm, wine-stained breath was tickling her facial, mossy skin like a summer breeze as the Bostonian snarled ferociously, incapable of bearing to look at him even for a split second.
"What about them? Did ya leave them alone?"
"Try again! I want yar rationality to spark before ya know what happens to ya like the rest of them." A wicked, mischievous titter danced on his tongue.
"I guess they escaped and ya didn't find them anymore!"
"That's correct! I knew it you're a smart lady, Judy!" Honored nodding motioned his head as his both hands squeezed her shoulders, earning her gaze in no time. "I knew it since the beginning you're unique and that's why I've exactly chosen you. Your intellect. Your class. Your beauty. You age finely like a wine as I can tell probably you used to be a bimbo but now look at ya, Judy!" Salty, crystal tears were welling into her brittle eyelids, pooling them with dew of moistness as they verged to gush down her cheeks. "No, no, no, don't cry! But now I can say you're just a fucking bombshell. Oh Gosh! I wonder how many men have been exploded by ya and they have tasted yar cupcake." In the meantime, he wiped with a thumb the tears that built in her eyelids as his fingers massaged gently, thus roughly her shoulders, admiring her petite, slender frame. "Nevertheless, that's another question! So my story is in that I used to be an outsider. Literally an outsider! The child, who nobody dares to be interacted by his peers. I was considered as some kind of a weirdo." Guttural, half-hearted chuckle surged out of his oral caverns. "I used to be married after I finished military school at age 18. I used to be a happy man with a brilliant woman and an adorable ray of sunshine into our hands. But guess what! 5 years of marriage, one day my ex-wife was in a maniacal depression after the loss of her mother and instead of supporting her, I slapped her for being a crybaby as I told her directly. Then she phoned the police and threatened me for divorcing me, due to the fact, I didn't support her when she was fighting with great depression over the loss of her mother. Moreover, she threatened me to take away our son Andy and not seeing him anymore as his father as I'm a completely stranger for both of them."
"Y-Yar insane! She deserved the support for mourning over her mother's death. That's what every loyal family member or a friend is supposed to do." The former woman of the cloth stuttered, struggling to spell the syllables due to the odium of his backstory as being a core of his character development, evaluating in the years. "The women aren't crybabies so as the men aren't too. Every person has got the right to cry sometimes not because they're weak. They just have been through too painful or abundance experience that changed downward their lives for a certain period of time."
"Ya don't utterly understand what I genuinely mean, Judy! That's not even the end of my song." The psychopath nagged at his guest, glaring at her, wrangling him and defending his ex-wife. "The women or any kind of a human being mustn't cry. It's a sign of their weakness but do ya know what else, Judy Martin? I liked it very much once I smacked a slap across her face. It didn't bring me the typical shame and guilty conscience, besides remorses. I felt like a new man or more powerful. She divorced me, of course! But after the divorce, something awfully good happened to her. Her skeleton is part of my Halloween decoration annually." In the last sentences of his monologue, sarcasm was vomited, in order to spook his recent prey.
Meanwhile, she felt a gloved hand poking her upper back behind her as she turned to the uninvited guest in the bedroom. The angel of death. Or rather, Shachath. The somber angel, dressed up in ebony, elegantly goth attires clothed her supernatural identity. Her bloody red lips were curled in the most affable, innocent smile which she has ever offered. Her sapphire blue irises were fixed on Judy, who was being visited by Shachath once at least.
"W-What are ya doing here?" The blonde enquired through tearful voice, sobbing as the dark angel's thumb wiped off the tumbling crystal, bitter tears as her other hand cupped her cheek. "I didn't even summon ya."
"You summoned me somehow, Jude! I'm not here to take your life, I promise." The velvety voice was rather beneficially, oddly alleviating the middle-aged mother. "I guess you know who Cayden is, right?"
"Yes, I do!" Humble, faint bobbing of her head affirmed her honesty what she knew exactly about the serial killer.
"The police are coming for him in a few minutes as there are 2 special people, who are going to rescue you. Whether kick him in the groins or on the contrary, use any object in self-defense. Do not lose faith in yourself to defeat the monster!"
Shortly after Shachath's advice, she spontaneously vanished in the thin air as Judy turned to the predator, who was about to tear off the rest of her attires to pieces until the police sirens swam outside's background, using her ultimate opportunity to kick him in the groins with her bare feet.
"Ooooh! That was unexpected. The ladies aren't even supposed to fight for," When the middle-aged gentleman was about to finish his utterance, stammering, he couldn't as the groans were antagonizing his unfinished sentence, while Judy got from the double bed, kicked Cayden in the spine to utterly pitch forward, abiding unconscious for a few minutes.
"The police are coming for ya, ya foul bastard! I hope ya rot in hell, sicko!" In the interim, the former member of the church walked away from the living room, speeding up as she was descending the stairs and gathering her stuff such as her purse, putting on the boots and the winter coat as she heard heavy footsteps stomping the threshold, keeping her relieved wits about the police. "Who's there?"
"It's FBI. We're looking for Cayden Gray. Are you Ms. Martin, right?" One of the cops enquired, rapping on the door, whilst Timothy and Madeleine got out from the former priest's cab, scurring up to the threshold, joining the horde of police officers.
"Yes, I'm! W-Why?" She unlocked the front door as she was met with the authorities shortly after buttoning her paletot, concealing the partly torn off dress, panting insecurely.
"2 people from your inner circle sent us urgently to inspect Mr. Gray's property, besides you have disappeared for hours as it was unusually a lot for them to handle their anxiety."
"Oh!" She cried out, scratching uneasily her head, stepping aside to allow the policemen to step inside the house and research for the notorious criminal.
"Jude! Judy!" The both younger adults stretched their arms in the air to scoop the elder blonde in a tight, warm hug, squealing ecstatically her name as they were glad to see her finally.
"Maddie! Timothy!" The middle-aged lady cried out loud, capturing both of them in an embrace, burying her tear-stained face in the crook of her former lover's neck, incapable of resisting the alluring, soothing scent that laced his neck, inhaling it inwardly. "Oh God! I've missed both of ya very much! I'm so sorry for everything." Shortly after they broke off the embrace, they took their time to admire one another's facial features, patting amiably, lightly their shoulders.
"Don't regret! Everything is alright now. The police have got the asshole, whilst you're still alive which is relieving me, Judy!" The Michiganian replied softly, unable to rest for a split second as she was in seventh heaven after beholding her mentor yet alive.
"Did he do anything atrocious to you?" The British aristocrat asked as he undid the coat's buttons until his eyes widened at the sight of partly ripped attire underneath the coat. "Oh sweet Jesus! He put efforts in humiliating you which is disgusting me to bones."
"Me either." Madeleine glimpsed at Timothy as her their complexions blanched.
"I know. He did! He told me his abominable story about his childhood and that he used to be a married man with a wife and a son until he smacked a slap across his wife's face one day on the 5th year of their marriage, in fact, she was grieving over her mother's death and Cayden didn't support her. Furthermore, he even liked it and shortly after the divorce, his ex-wife's skeleton is being used for Halloween decoration." At the moment, they were ambling up to the vehicle back, in order to get back at home at last.
"Son of the bitches, I will find a way to get away with the murders I committed! And fuck you, Judy! Fuck you for spitting on me like garbage when I opened in front of ya and I told ya my story." In the meanwhile, the serial killer was under arrest as 2 police officers were escorting him up to the police car with the briskly shrilling sirens as his hands were handcuffed, jerking.
"Ignore him!" Madeleine muttered as she was seating alongside the former Monsignor, whereas Judy laid down on her back on the passenger backseat, relaxing from everything that took its place tonight. "The law is going to teach him a damn lesson after those vicious homicides, besides the experimental baloney he used to do."
- An Hour Later -
As soon as the former godly members of the church got back at home lastly, Judy took a lukewarm, fresh shower and hopped up in the nightgown which she received on Christmas from her former lover. Meantime, Timothy stayed awake to make tea and cucumber with tuna and carrots sandwich for his rara avis to relax.
When the blonde crawled in the king-sized bed, she turned to the window's side, contemplating it glassily with her fatigued caramel brown eyes as the lamps on the night stands were lit up, partly gleaming the partly pitch-ebon room.
Further, the former sister of the church told to her friends every petty detail behind the happened and the eventual kidnap. The newspaper articles and the note of Nora, Cayden's former prey who's already deceased.
Once the notoriously squeaky door opened, the former holy man arrived with a platter of sandwich and mug of hot black tea, setting it on the night stand on Jude's side, earning her attention promptly.
"What a surprise!"
"Not exactly! I bet you're dehydrated and hungry." The younger man offered her a sympathetic, platonically loving smile, kissing his lips as she sat on the bed, sipping her black tea and then masticating a few bites from the sandwich.
"So as yar instincts are exquisitely special to convince ya. Yar deadly concerned about me! Thank ya for the rescue and the sandwich and the tea!"
"Anything for you, rare bird!"
A quarter a minute after munching her third bite of the sandwich, the middle-aged woman took regretfully a deep breath, lowering her stare for a split second until she met her former lover's one.
"I'd like to apologize for being a stubborn whore. I was just naïve and I wanted a fresh beginning of my life but it looks like Cayden wasn't the exact man for me."
"Judy, don't ever call yourself a whore! You aren't a whore! You were just naïve and vulnerable. I was completely comprehending the beginning of this fresh life after Briarcliff and what you have been through before, but I'm glad," Meanwhile, Timothy sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, cupping the Bostonian's cheeks in the palms of his warm, creamy as baby skin hands, reassuring her as she melted, catching her off guard momentarily. "I'm glad you're still alive and you make it up to now without whining and giving up as it wasn't worth at all. I'd deeply regret so as Maddie would too if that bastard, who doesn't even deserves his name to be mentioned to cook you and being part of his meal."
A half a minute silence arched between the both adults as the older lady molted at the sudden kiss on her cheek as Timothy's berry-coloured, luscious lips greased her cheek's milky as snow facial skin.
"I hate to be pitied as usually but this situation and the psycho shit was extreme. Ya and Maddie were certainly right. He was suspicious and tremendously dangerous man. Probably I understood ya why ya were so jealous of me."
"Because I'm scared to death to lose you and seeing you hurt again." After she finished with drinking her tea, her head collapsed back on the pillow, allowing her body muscles to ultimately relax. "It will cost me bunch of antidepressants for you and Edward! You're the most important people to me in this world. Screw the rest of the world!"
A kindhearted, serene smile flashed upon her porcelain, pale as ghost complexion.
"Are you scared? Do you fear of sleeping on your own?"
"Mhm." Whisper escaped her lips as she wedged her lips in a purse as he stroke delicately her ruffled, wild halo ringlet of aureate, silky tresses, piled up on the pillow. Another kiss was planted on her temple.
"Don't worry! I'll be there in a jiff."
A couple of minutes later after Timothy gathered the platter along with the already emptied mug, he washed the mug and brushed his teeth, subsequently towering the stairway to the second floor, crawling in the at last as he snuggled with the middle-aged mother, dangling his strong, muscular, secure arms around her shoulders once the lamps on the night stands were turned off.
Eventually that's going to be among the nights which Judy is never going to forget or neglect as a roller coaster of painful experience and peace she has accomplished. From the attempted rape and kidnap up to cuddling with her love interest was contrasting her expectancies. From tonight, she has changed drastically her opinion on the man, she has always hankered to be always next to her and he formerly wore the title of the frenemy or rather the foe, himself. Additionally, her feelings for him were inebriating her and casting a spell on her even him.
Bonus: Since Judy is already rescued from Cayden, do you think there's a possibility Judy and Timothy to reunite as not just a platonic bond, however, as a romantic couple? Do you think she started to being less hostile towards Timothy without any intensifying feelings or on the contrary, having deeper, more complex feelings?