Previously on Wings of Light:
"Five by fifteen, seventy-five! Three by ten!"
"Maddie, sweetheart, can you hear me?"
"I'm truly pleased, my love! Mommy is actually the beauty here and you're also doubtlessly beautiful, little sunshine!"
"Well, I used to be once a true bombshell! Now I'm just the butt of a joke, because the past can't be brought along with the faded beauty I once possessed,"
"There's a name of the book, imprinted on its cover. You sound peculiarly strange. It's indescribable what kind of tone you're using aimed to me."
"How funny, baby doll! What are you doing here in the early evening in the train station with a book in your hands?"
Within less than a minute, the ill-famed serial killer fled momentarily the train station as his elegantly cocksure gait illuminated his very nature and ghosting the cemented ground until his large-frame was out of the nobodies and Martha's sight, out of divinely bulking their optics into him and belittlement of his own daughter, Martha's roundish, pant-clad knees dawdled on the cemeneted ground, narrowing her smoky quartz bijous at the ocean of strangers who were just throwing quick glances at her humiliated self and then passed her as if nothing has happened.
Even though the brunette's indisputably potent strength armored in fragile identity dimly, unceasingly illuminating her very nature, she could no longer handle the mortification of the recent scenario of her father finding out about her incestual relationship she shared with her uncle whom she didn't have only platonic feelings like a niece and an uncle, but also crystalline, soarly translucent tears bubbled from her lower eyelids and straining her eyeballs. In the interval, the brunette manifested to fashion into balled fists her petite, ghostly milky hands whilst managing to grasp her knees and intensifying slowly but surely, ominously the remaining strength, coursing through her muscles and adrenaline pumping into her veins. The mortification's genuine notion and pronounciation bittersweetly laced the young woman's tongue and it couldn't be savoured cloyingly. It didn't have a positive notion which was truly meaningful and speaking emotions behind the scenario, situated on the train station a handful of minutes ago.
Despite the medical student's tremendous inkling of restricting her softer side to resurface and creamily, profusely powder her youthfully gorgeous, femininely dainty facial features, mirroring starkly her true identity and her recent humor, the tears weren't enough to obscure the heir of darkness populating her puffy, bruised facial skin. Severely icy shivers and nausea scorched straightforwardly her tissues, examining in a scrutiny the blurry surroundings as the relentless heavy rain of crystalline, stickily salty tears budded eagerly her lower eyelids and trickling down her well-carved, chubby cheeks. The reciprocal heart pulsations' acceleration frequency whammed into her brittle ribcage, attempting to sort neatly her mind.
Her father emphatically forsakened her for carrying his brother's child and the sheer bertrayal she surreptitiously villainous rewarded the infamous serial killer. Even though Cayden's tremendous care for his family and the only people that bestowed him with triumphiant support, unconditional love and murderous warmness, the separation in two different guilts was an inexorable phenomenon and despondently deplorable for the young lady. The only person whom she could take a bullet or whose shoulder she would bawl her off was namely her uncle Sebastian who was recently committed in the Vermont State Hospital.
The night lamp's vibrantly gilt rotund illumination partly obscured the heinously unholy darkness persevering to capture Martha's petite frame, layering as background her gigantic silhouette with its devilish horns and tail, representing her deadly sin's invicible lord reigning over her very character.
Profoundly versatile, stubborn stimulus to straighten her posture from the chilly ground exceedingly urged the medical student prop on the cement for awhile until lifting up her rear and upper body to squarely face the moon perpendicularly. It was never too late for anybody to give up even granting blandly ruthless their hopes even if it's remaining only one hope to continue their dynamic roller coaster of their life journey as well. The expansive world was far cry from its apocalyptic perdition, razing to the ground every living being and every artistic, outstanding creation crafted by humanoid bare hands. The end isn't near. After the apocalypse, there's always a chaotic new catharsis, promisingly raining onto each survivor.
"Just don't give up!" An inner voice's owner was distinctively feminine, dinging alarming tones into the brunette's mind when embarrassingly, sluggishly wobbling to the wooden bench to flump her rear onto the free space offering her benevolently its comfort and reclining her back onto the wooden material, securing gingerly, mellowly her spine and loins. "It's worthless to be miserable just because of a person trying to bring you down to the edges. You aren't even worth to bawl your eyes off because of that." The feminine inner voice's encouraging monologue sequel bestowed with perpetual myriad of boldness to the juvenile medical student to stiffle the inward, desperate sobs darkening her parchment, youthful complexion, whereas the heavy rain of resiliently silent tears beaded and strained remorseless her cheeks and lips.
"I-I'm not weak." Plummeting down abruptly the decibels into a resiliently encouraging murmur, solely distinctive for her petite, vulnerable ears the juvenile lady tried her best to survey in a scrutiny the slightly damaged thick book, manifesting to zip her naturally nude pink, plumpish lips into a pensive, poetic purse.
"Of course, you are not weak, Martha!" Invisible fiendish, eerily soothing twain of strong, leanly muscly arms snaked to apt to brace the brunette's upper back, whereas diabolical scarlet halo floating on her left side obliviously glimmered bolt from the blue its scintillating light, dazzling her peripherical vision. "You aren't all alone dealing with the person who is not only your father," A heavy sigh categorically gauged the young woman's remaining patience, coursing through her cells and tissues whilst lingering her gaze on the back of the medical book, clamping her front ivory teeth to nibble the raw spot of her lower plump lip. "But also the actual murderer of your mother Clementine. Don't ever forget who's trying to eliminate the family he thinks he wants to protect from his foes as he brought himself each trouble!"
"S-Satan!" Squinting up her cocoa brown embers at the much taller figure seating alongside her and snuggling platonically kindheartedly into the welcoming embrace as her head dropped onto his toned, muscular chest, bleating a blatant mumble, composed in a caught-off-guard stammer. "I'm surprised what I'm even doing with loving a parent who murdered brutally my own mom. Why I'm loving him when I'm presumed to despise him to the depths of my bones for," At the moment, a colossal, unhealthily veiny hand's fingertips managed to reach for her twin beefy tears' cataract trickling downward her lower eyelids restlessly and daubing its salty moisture of her unblemished complexion, stilling her low-spirited gaze at the invicinble representative of the deadliest sin wrath, blazing her ethereally lavish, coldblooded humor's reflection mirroring her young-looking, refreshingly fresh feminine facial attributes. "For punishing me to have only father instead like the other kids, you know, a loving mother and father next to them? Why my father punished my mother with the death, itself?"
"It's not your fault at all, Martha! The fault is only caged inside the person that retributed you with nothing than half orphan title."
"I don't care if my mother was a hooker, a famous politician or even an accountant,"
"You aren't certain her death scenario that's bone-chilling, dear!" Cradling gently, affectionately her head into his colossal, oddly secure hands, Satan registered to spear with his dark gape her smoky quartz bijous in no time, a weak, wicked smile tugged at his mouth.
"She was the best thing that has ever happened in my whole miserable life along with my uncle." A swan, mellow thumb sweetly, delicately traced her dainty jaw, peaking to her earlobe horizontally after following properly the sharp of its bone curve. "They're the only good people I've ever encountered along with Morgan Jill, my cousin."
"Your uncle knows the best how Cayden got away with the homicide of his immense, despicable jealousy that's responsible for his doubtless, timeless hatred." In the meanwhile, Martha's wet, strawberry-coloured tongue manipulated to twirl and whirl in central axis to lick greedily, invitingly her lower and upper lip, indicating her tongue's motion nimbleness momentarily.
"He's enough upset to be disturbed how his brother pushed my mother towards the train as a successful attempt of getting rid off her." Recurring apt to tandem the motion of her twirling berry-coloured tongue deliciously, wickedly greedy damping with her very saliva her upper lip, maneuvering a meek, despondently humble nod as the Lord of wrath's fingers featherly-soft, dotingly grappling and massaging her pale-roseate, soft earlobe. Explicitly vivid flashbacks of Clementine Grace's death scene clouded candidly scintillating her pools of abysmally expressive chocolate brown, opting to divinely reminiscence with her vivid imagination how Cayden pushed her towards the running train and the violently shrill of dead weight thudding the train front. The demise persevering the life which Clementine Grace would live and age to behold her own creation made of her own flesh and blood fully flourished as a young woman iron-willedly sedated her muscles from head to toes and thomping her bones with the last thing that contacts her tissues before wrenching shut her eyelids for eternity at last. The juvenile medical student's life would be much different if her biological mother was still alive. Nevertheless, the absolute reality was relentlessly objecting any kind form of dream scenarios to be parallel even connecting weakly with the contemporary years and the tribulations which the brunette was recently clashing on her own. "It won't calm him down after those orderlies have doped him with bunch of chemical medicines and crappy food to fill his guts to not leak anything about my father or mine past, because he will be too exhausted even to peel a word."
Long minutes passed at turtle's pace when the infamous serial killer of Hartford retired to the woods. Oddly, the Italian compatriot didn't get back at his dilapidating house to be out of the general population's sight, due to the fact, they would instantly detect his leaking outstanding features and they would daredevilly phone the authorities.
Instead his recent destination was wandering in the abysmally endless, sinisterly majestic woods. The iron-willedly humdrum whisper of his masculine footsteps, docilely stomping the brassly slumbering grass beneath his shoed feet objected his pure exhaustion and utmost intentions to obscure his own large-frame from anybody's sight. A long, nugatory amble in the depths of the nature's monumental masterpiece with ocean of grandiosely glamorous trees and wildly kinky, thick bushes wouldn't hurt him or get him in trouble at all.
The forest walks in the nighttime episode blood-curdlingly imperiled every uninvited guest due to the thick, rotund mantle of ebony darkness clouding their features to confront ethereally endless myriad of hair-rising darkness and the howls of aggressive, foreign fiercely hazardous animals populating certain inches of their exact home. He felt like a foreign, unwelcomed to explore the forest on his own when the night fiercely bled into its twilight and marking its dangerous hours of loners like him to roam around the spine-tingling sites where his existence wasn't dearly welcomed.
When the roaming journey smoothly, gradually advanced through the outskirts of the woods, a desolated teal retro payphone outstandingly divine embellished and flabbergastingly caught off guard the middle-aged gentleman, who was precisely certain and familiar with Hartford's locations. It was a sheer possibility for Cayden to keep in touch with his older brother even trade a couple of words though his potent, raw resentment of the incestual relationship Sebastian surreptitiously staged with Martha behind Cayden's back. Once approaching the teal payphone, shortly before snatching vehemently emphatic a coin from his slacks' profound pocket, consequently his mammoth, lukewarmly veiny hand slipped downward to his pair of slacks' other pocket to retrieve a lighter and a cigar length from the cigarette package by inserting its cancer stick between his naturally pale-pinkish, chapped lips and liting it up until he dumped back the lighter in its default pocket lastly, eventually curling his lip to plucker nonchalantly tepid by taking initial drag at the cancer stick, in order to blow its severe cloudy canescent dim permeating in the thin air.
His other hand's masculinely meaty, handy fingers manipulated to slip to rummaging for the tiny, remarkable coin and thereafter insert it into the payphone, whereas grappling its teal, unorthodoxly cruddy earpiece clinging to his vulnerable ear and drumming his fingertips forcefully to dial Vermont State Hospital manager's actual phone number as he recalled so far and allowing the resurface of candidly dim memories clouding his thoughts. As soon as the Vermont State Hospital's phone number was eventually dialed properly or at least equating to the original, a couple of seconds anticipation elapsed through eavesdropping restlessly the alarming tones of humdrum, furious pip rooming the eardrums and taking a second drag at his cigar length momentarily.
"You are currently talking with Vermont State Hospital's manager Dr. Catherine Gilfoil! W-Who's calling?" At the moment, the friendly, raspily rusty Scottish lilt of the young doctor punctured her formal professionalism contacting the stranger man whose heavy breathing barely inkled its brilliant detection behind his unknown persona.
"Sebastian Gray's younger brother!" The suddenness of the Italian compatriot's smoky quartz huge, roundish cabochons landing on his formal oxford shoes for a split second opt to aid him to recollect his thoughts and neatly sort his mind during the officially private phone colloquy he swapped with the Scottish lady.
"Mister Cayden Gray, right?" Her Scottish, beamingly rusty accent genuinely, prominently ruptured his caught-off-guard mannerism indicated in his incessant lustfully bloodthirst desire to smoke and another taken puff at the cigarette maneuvered exceedingly his lips to expel its detrimentally grizzly acute cloudy dim that shortly after vanished and no longer glimmered palishly past his optics that shifted its utter attention to the functioning handset.
"Absolutely!" A sharp exhale fastened his brittle lungs, fearlessly emphatic narrowing his coffee brown optics behind his bulky back for a split second, fathoming utterly individually the desired loneliness suffocating his very presence in the forest and making sure nobody accompanied him except the nocturnal gloomy murkiness comfortingly escorting him. "I would like to know about Sebastian's current condition. Do you have any news about him?"
"Well, he's diagnosed with bipolar affective disorder which is a mental illness associated with the extreme mood swings from high to low and vice versa, Mr. Gray!" Whilst the pristinely clean-gloved-clad fingers of the doctor apt to tandem its waltz around her silver earpiece and her elbow propping its functioning hand as its elbow cap motionlessly wobbled onto the cherry wood bureau, her solely free elvish, ungloved hand motionlessly battered to the wooden material affectionately, delicate fingertips tipping uneasily its dull drum. "I'm completely certain you are familiar what the difference is between high and low when it comes up to the mental illnesses, Mr. Gray!"
"I do! Isn't true there were three women that are responsible to contact your administration," Meekly, modestly bobbing his head in strong agreement, the ill-famed serial killer flicked up his peripherical gaze due to the unfamiliar, strangely arcane noise participating in the nocturnal ballad of the crickets' songs. "Is it?"
"They're actually as I'll keep their names anonymous, because I don't want anybody to harvest their woes for the sake of the institution and my reputation as a doctor!"
A frosty, interminable doldrum settled gingerly and evolved the phone conversation which Catherine and Cayden mutually portioned with each other that wasn't even enduring its aftermaths for more than a minute. A long minute sluggishly gaited haughtily at sunset's pace as the middle-aged gentleman whose cigarette embraced its epilogue with being tossed ruthlessly reckless on the ground and its cigarette butt squashed mercilessly, cold-heartedly by his oxford-clad feet in a jiffy.
The both rivalry sides that peculiarly divided Cayden's contempt dilemma to persistently fluctuant dominate between his older sibling and his old foe Madeleine who was in the company of Andrea and Cassandra to kick off Sebastian from the flowerstore for harassment and violence. The needness to participate in private colloquy with Sebastian and apt to aim to discuss each segment that was staged behind his back petered out his contempt for him due to only one condition. To behold his brother and gravely discuss each agitating topic that was against their will. Last but not least, his tremendous, bare abhorrence for the trio that is the crucial core for the middle-aged brother's imprisonment in a facility for lunatics megawattly spiraled.
The betrayal of Andrea to corporate with Jude and her inner circle apted to be parallel to the nefarious serial killer's loss of allies against his everlasting, toilsome rivalry with nobody else than the Howards and their mates at last.
"Mister Gray, is everything okay?" The juvenile doctor's spontaneous sufficiently rowdy enquiry hardly startled and nonplussed the psychopath whose solely free hand meaty, masculinely nimble fingers ushered to fix his dark top hat and adjusting its position to its elegantly default. The psycho's balefully bared teeth exposed the nicotine-stained enamel and malefical glint of brass yellowish hues darkening his teeth after smoking tobaccos.
"I guess I've to be okay, Dr. Catherine Gilfoil!"
"Oh!" A flabbergasted, nonplussed gasp hammered her tongue and flicking up her azure blue huge, radiantly abstract optics to encounter the partly shut blinds-clad window for a split second until flashing her stare back to the opulent untouched pile of files with recently committed lunatics. "I guess that silence we shared for a moment was quite troubling. I mean, I'm completely sure it's not easy for you that your brother is there." Heavy sigh measured the Scottish woman's bare, humongous patience. "Under the supervision of sanitarians and our staff members that are strictly observing everything! They're always in charge there, keep in mind!" The suddenness of the resiliently stealth footsteps etching away from the payphone as the middle-aged man retired back to his carelessly gleeful stroll in the woods whilst the earpiece's cord fortunately sluggish stabilized as the teal earpiece motioned flunctuantly backward and forward, swinging and swaying freely. "Hello? Mister Gray?" The only noise rooming the godforsaken earpiece was the nocturnaly spine-chilling mumble of unfamiliar masculine footsteps, interpreted with its humdrum, nevertheless, disappointingly spooky composition notioning the voiceless sound. "Are you interested in keeping in touch and keeping you updated about your brother?"
- A Half an Hour Later or So -
When the Howards fled their reserved hotel room and used the elevator, in order to not confront the face of the volatile accidents during their stroll journey in descending the stairs, thereafter they retreated to the restaurant as Judy ordered for herself a vegetarian salad, coupled prominently with glass of fresh lukewarm champagne and cinnamon pumpkin soup, whereas Timothy's order apt to equate to a glass of mineral water, slice of sweet potato pie and warm mushroom salad.
The range of anticipation for their ordered meals and beverages to be presentably served on their dining table was calculated no more than a quarter an hour.
First and foremost, the hotel's restaurant recent quantity of visitors was meager especially a handful of pairings that were either platonic like friends or just friendzoned or on the contrary married or illegitimate couples populating almost each inch of the facility. The romantically promising, bizarrely serene ambience graciously etched the Howards and waltizing mirthfully around them.
It's been more than a month since the former devotional members of the clergy have dedicated pearly their precious time to go out on a restaurant or other facility to entertain themselves. The Valentine's Day experience they candidly memorably swapped mutually such as going on a restaurant and afterwards in the bar due to the free Valentine's Day party even fleeing early the bar due to a woeful incident with Lydia Jane who was genuinely haunting with its mist fogginess Judy's memories and it couldn't be obscured by a thin veil of oblivion.
The alluringly mouth-watering, piquant fragrance of freshly cooked dishes and vanilla liquor inexorably imbued past the trio's flexible nostrils.
"I can't get no satisfaction, I can't get no satisfaction! 'Cause I try and I try and I try and I try! I can't get no, I can't get no! When I'm drivin' in my car, and the man come on the radio!" The speakers' refreshingly played Satisfaction by The Rolling Stones as the lead vocalist's indisputable honey-mouthed voice boldly emphasized the lyrics.
"The Rolling Stones!" At the moment, the former religious woman of the cloth's spidery delicate, gloved fingers maneuvered to grapple the silverware fork and subsequently pronging a mouthful of guiltlessly sufficient scale of her second bite of the vegetarian salad until the bite didn't perch on her wet, berry-coloured tongue by commencing munching warily, gracefully the mouthful quantity of salad, confined into her oral caverns. Even though the little boy protracted playfully joyous his satin, pudgy arms in the air and parting his cherub, baby pinkish lips into a huge, content grin, escorted soothingly by a complacently promising, welcoming boyish giggle as twain of orbs landed on him, spearing bountifully content with their gapes the youngster.
"Aren't you surprised they're not just occasionally playing on our first honeymoon dinner together?" The suddenness of the British aristocrat dropping down his colossal, creamily milky hand to perch onto their baby son's crispily feather-soft chestnut hair and consequently taking lead into persistently, gently combing its chestnut strands between his pristinely silken fingers that taunted Edward Ralph's frequency of the contagiously recurring boyish, childlike giggle to remarkably play on loop, bearing a semblance of eerily broken record in a desolated room.
"I'm just mentioning their name, darling!" Thereafter the older woman swigged the small horde of meal chunks after slipping from her tongue downward to her organs and manifesting to retrieve the glass of refreshingly insatiable champagne and gulping a handful of tiny, blamelessly vulnerable sips until her stable bracing-clad fingers around the glass material dumped the glass aloof on the table. "There's no particular offense in it! I just like them."
"If you're asking me, they're brilliant amazes! No wonder I'm a keen fan of them along with the Beatles!" As soon as the former holy priest's only free mammoth, pristinely mellow hand's fingers headstrongly, meekly braced the glass material with the humble, translucent liquid, throughout he lifted it up to sip of it and then leave it aside on the table as his pools of abysmally photogenic cocoa brown fixated on their little ray of sunshine, lingering the process of delicate strokes and fingering his dark, youthfully crispy strands tickling his digits and neatly trimmed small fingernails. "Isn't that right, little cherub prince?"
"Ya, dada!" Blatantly cooing its mellow ode of his approval with childlike, gleeful boldness, the youngster speared with his hazelish-brown optics the British aristocrat's.
"Yar into British shit!" Then the explicitly graphic vowels and syllables' clash to build its genesis of revelation to sail out of Judy's champagne-stained tongue tip, thus she managed to swat kindly, faintly her husband's broad, muscly shoulder.
"He's tellin' me more and more about some useless information! Supposed to fire my imagination! I can't get no, oh, no, no, no, hey, hey, hey! That's what I say!"
"It's not called shit." A dry, coldblooded lisp elaborated rawly the younger gentleman's retaliation, whereas Judy could no longer shroud balefully her menacingly contagious girlish, blatantly coy chuckle, raspily rusting its honey-mouthed tones and manipulating his mouth surreptitiously to reproduce repeatedly the recently eavesdropped lyrics, rooming his eardrums and ferociously firing his vivid imagination and passion for the Rolling Stones' music he genuinely enjoyed and liked from the bottom of his flimsy heart. "My sister Anna is seriously on fire about the Beatles."
"I was just kidding it's shit!" Stilling her curved plumpish, bright red lips into the radiantly amorous, sarcastic grin slitting open-mouthed the flawlessly ivory, fascinating enamel glittering past the male duo's embers, alight by her grin and very presence reassuringly, vibrantly swaddling them. "Good for Anna! She's pretty awesome person when I met her personally."
"She's for sure! No wonder why my father once said that she took after me some personality traits!"
"By the way she treated not only me, but also Edward was undeniably gracious of her! I can truly see for who she is as yar both fighting for whatever ya want and when yar with kids," The haphazardness of the uneasily ticklish, sympathetic hoarse chuckle clicking the roof of her mouth, the Bostonian dropped her gloved hand to trace with her brittle fingers her son's featherly-soft jaw line. "Yar like different people as if they're the most precious beings you've ever met along with the animals. I love that versatility ya both possess when it comes up to the treatment ya harvest from the others, no matter how dreadful or adequate is! It's as translucent as glass eventually and yar both granting the same, however, yar forgivable people!"
"It indeed depends of the person who truly deserves atonement from me!" In the interval, the Bostonian ushered her Ravish Me Red, deliciously plumpish lips to zip into a pensive, cautious purse, being all ears to Timothy's monologue and shooting a fleet glance at their baby son and tracing softly her fingers up to his pudgy, petite earlobe and kneading on circles nonetheless. "If I genuinely love them and I can see the deserved second chance they could have with me, regardless how much I've hurt them or they did to me," A sharp exhale waltzed its oxygen to course at his wee, vulnerable nostrils and constricting his toned, muscular chest promptly. "They're divinely blessed with my tolerance along with another chance to stay in my life! I'm not capable of contempt or giving somebody a cold shoulder!" Stiffling a medley of gasp and half-hearted, profoundly appealing chuckle to drip sloppily from his mouth, the former devotional holy man's front ivory, still firm teeth plonked to nip at the delicate skin of his lower lusciously plump lip. "Not everybody is capable of tossing the grudges out of themselves along with the contempt. Despite my mistakes and selfishness back then, anyway I once thought there's a second chance to be with you, although my selfish self would be otherwise on another opinion."
"Yar the wisest and the most patient man I've ever seen and even have the chance to share a word with even if we've somehow points to disagree on mutually!"
"I can't get no satisfaction, I can't get no satisfaction! 'Cause I try and I try and I try and I try! I can't get no, I can't get no! When I'm watchin' my TV and a man comes on and tells me!"
- Flashback -
- A Couple of Months Ago -
- 25th of December, 1965 -
The wee hours of the Christmas morning that bled into the pale silver light filtering freely, vibrantly the rooms and the platonic duo along with the little sweet ray of sunshine discovered their Christmas presents, subsequently their impending destination was the kitchen to share a diplomatically platonic breakfast together.
When the kettle pooled with transparent liquid and the saucepan with two eggs battered its steel surface which was under the care of the British aristocrat, the former nun pulled up to her shoulder her crimson red woolen sweater to expose her braless boson as one of her breasts' naturally plum, sore nipple was suckled by the three-month-old infant, whose pudgy, childishly elvish hands cradled the soft fat, wrenching shut leisurely his eyelids to relish his actual breakfast.
"Aren't ya peckish for breakfast, Timothy?" The luxurious medley of blatant suction of naturally perfectly healthy breast milk, aggressively howling frosty wind and the moderately healthy, meaningful breathing of the former sleazy jazz nightclub singer suckling on fresh scent of roasted eggs on the saucepan abruptly permeated the kitchen. The middle-aged lady's satin, woolen sweater-clad arm supported the infant's weight warily, dearly to not unintentionally, woefully drop him on the marbled tiled flooring.
"Not at all! I'm totally fine even if I starve." The suddenness of the rusty, dilapidating heart pulsations to thud rhythmically monotonous, vehemently into the former sister of the church's chest after earning the begged response from the younger man who was taking care of the coffee's brew and breakfast preparation, it monstrously unspeakable broke her heart even questioned Timothy's unhealthy habit to starve himself for breakfast even drinking the caffeine cocoa brown liquid on an empty stomach. They hadn't even swapped a romantic moment such as molting into inviting, lustfully desirable kisses and demanding snuggles that outlasted for a handful of hours due to an accidental naps they mutually traded with each other either on the king-sized bed or on the couch."It's okay, Jude! I've had such times when I haven't even thought of eating anything to fill my stomach." Sigh of relief quivered dexterously Timothy's frail lungs, subsequently rummaging the upper kitchen cabinet for two separate, untouched yet plain mugs and then shifting his attention to the counter's lowest drawer for an empty, ordinary plate shortly after yanking a silverware kitchen knife and fork onto the counter, motionlessly kipping.
"Haven't you kept in mind how unhealthy it is to torture yarself with an empty glass and skipping breakfast?"
"Come on, Jude! I'll be okay without breakfast." Even the mild bicker that almost peaked celestially to its unsacred heated debate about unhealthy, detrimental habits evolving the former aspiring Monsignor's daily schedule, he opted to peter out the passionately fiery adrenaline coursing through his veins and muscles, in spite of his vast tolerance to not erupt its unspeakably inexorable rage pulsating into his figure, whereas his chocolate brown big, rotund minerals shot back its friendly reminder conveying its meaningfully authentic message to maintain an eye contact with her and imply his calmness and diplomacy to reign on Christmas along with the positive vibes instead of doubtlessly toxically imperiling one another's physical and mental health with heated discussion and bestowing fiendishly heinous each other with bad vibes. "I know how much you despise me and it doesn't cease the fact you want me alive."
"Due to the fact, there are boiling feelings inside me, that doesn't cease what ya said as last words! There are always opportunities to work on everything and to harmonize everything if only we want it." Docilely humble, faint shake of the former licentious nightclub singer reaffirmed her façade's categorical position. Despite her mixed feelings about the British compatriot even scarcely standing him physically and mentally even fathoming the genuine notion of his presence for a relentless burden, at least she has never wished his demise or nemesis to be performed intentionally or unintentionally. "For example, there were patients that bugged me off to bones, but that doesn't change what the devil would want if it was living inside me. The evil would want me to be a shameless murderer, despite his strength to keep me against my will of innocence."
A few minutes passing at summer breeze's pace due to the ethereally timeless, logically complex colloquy the both former members of the church traded altruistically and Judy finished with breastfeeding Edward Ralph by dropping the humbly cheerful sweater's hem to flare across her lower abdomen lastly, the coffee was not only freshly brewed and poured profusely in the empty cups, further the plate's surface benevolently swaddled conveniently the twin, deliciously fat poached eggs until everything was warily served on the kitchen table.
"Just enjoy your breakfast and I don't want any bad vibes slipping from your tongue on Christmas!"A promiscuously villainous clash of vowels and syllables vibrated and collided into one another in his Adam's apple, rationally sly constructing his impending reassuring reminder to convey the older woman's message to overlook the negativity and held grudges by utterly focusing on the refreshingly warm, insatiably prepared breakfast. "It's Christmas time rather than have a cow day." Lowering rapidly the decibels transmuting his velvety British lilt's glowing, beamingly amiable suggestion into a mumble jingled angelic hymns as the blonde handed their little cherub angel to the former ambitious Monsignor to scoop him into his potent, masculinely muscly arms to cradle and bounce lightly the weight, warmly swaddled into his protectively, affectionate embrace. "Shh, shh, shh! It's high time for positive vibes." Succumbed by the silver-tonguedly honeyed lull tingling its angelic anthems into Judy and Edward Ralph's flexible ears, throughout the Bostonian manifested her spidery alabaster, handy fingers to snatch the fork and knife to cut on ocean of small pieces of the twin fat eggs, whilst the youngster registered to insert his pudgy thumb into his mouth and sponging mellowly its delicate, alabaster flesh. "Look at you, sweet ray of sunshine!"
"Dada!"
"I know, little cherub prince!" His other hand's virginally smooth, candidly amicable fingers traced gingerly, slowly his jaw up to his earlobe, admiring his youthful beauty and inheriting his parents' ethereally outstanding, extraordinary facial attributes. A benevolently broad, vibrantly merry smile slit thickly across the former clergyman's naturally pale-pinkish, brim lips, bleeding its chubby silken glossiness of mirth, highlighting remarkably presentable his attributes and darting his coffee brown minerals to Edward Ralph's chubby, full profile, alight by his babyish innocence and guiltlessly sympathetically radiant nature. "I'm clearly sure it's time to change the past with the present and living for today and tomorrow by rendering this year's Christmas memorable with family, despite the conflicts."
"Dada!"
"You have fairly agreed, sunshine!" Meantime, the British compatriot's a handful of virginally marbled, smooth fingers slipped to pinch mischievously teasing his son's button nose and thus immediately arousing his beamingly sunny chuckle saturating his babyish undertones spotlighting his pure euphoria as Timothy couldn't help, nevertheless participate daringly into the ode of chuckles.
Notwithstanding the Bostonian's iron-willed stubbornness to persuade her former lover to masticate anything even if it's in small quantity to fill his stomach like crackers or a fruit or a fresh vegetable, it wouldn't aid even lead to its helpfully significant alternative even the genesis of spending once on the holidays without holding grudges even demonstrating eagerly agitated their misery, ire or otherwise even worse. Amplifyingly bittersweet fury. The blonde didn't have any vicious intentions of ruining Christmas or any other holiday, in order to wickedly aggravate and diminish the celestially gilt chances of repairing her toxic relationship with the former man of the cloth. She wasn't very fond of beholding her former lover starving himself and sticking to the bad habits of drinking his morning coffee on empty stomach, interpreting truly the process of skipping one of the most important meals that may be ruefully responsible for his health condition in future if it's monotonously repeatable. Briefly the breakfast's exclusion from his daily schedule.
"What do ya suggest to do after breakfast and finishing our coffees, Timothy?" Shortly after pronging her very first bite and recurringly munching until it was eventually swigged and savored its scrumptiously welcoming, exquisite savor, lacing hospitably her oral caverns, pearl teeth and tongue lastly, the blonde manifested her egg-greased smeared cherub, chapped lips to craft the inquiry, begging for an immediate vouch.
"To bake Christmas sweets and cookies!" The suggestion that the younger gentleman cordially dropped promptly whilst teasingly, mischievously soft pinching incessantly his son's button nose and well-sculptured, ghostly pale cheek and then replacing the non-verbally gauzy, tender touch with pecks as his naturally baby-pinkish, cherub lips browsing the satinly alabaster, lavish facial skin. "Even if I'm not the big-shot in baking, at least that's something productive and I'm still learning."
"I really like that idea." A vague, frankly jovial smile etched ticklishly the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer's mouth shortly after munching fully her first bite from her breakfast dish. "It will bring us as family, ya know! And driving a hard bargain about everything ya just said. Because I'm also still learning just like you, howsoever, in different spheres!"
"Everybody does even if they nastily screw up." At the moment, the former pious holy man snatched with his solely free hand his plain oyster-white mug of caffeine liquid to sip hedonistically gracious of it and then leave it aloof on the kitchen table, consequently the coffee brown liquid set ablaze his energy and ebbing off its grogginess that once austerely, diabolically settled into his organs, muscles and bones.
The haphazardness of the rowdy hum of the front door tingled alarming tones into the trio's ears as the Bostonian almost choked on the second bite of the poached egg, swaddled warmly, cozily in her oral caverns and her humid tongue sponging its perpetually frittered meal chunks, whereas Timothy managed to bounce the young boy incessantly even rock him to peter out his chariness to the front door's ringing tones daringly infernal noise sending its verbal, skeptically troublous waves to dash into his eardrums momentarily.
Little did the small family know who was behind the front door and due to the worrisome message's convey and assimilated as cue by the British aristocrat who was utmost assertive, daredevil to open the front door in his own risk due to an uninvited guest rooming the porch for a handful of minutes.
Fortunately, Edward Ralph's huge, expressively rotund jewels didn't ignite its fiercely savage gilt flames of his forthcoming apocalyptical phenomenon. Namely bursting out bawling his eyes off like every baby that has confronted any uncomfortable or disquieting scenarios to glimmer past his vision and rail through its cells to dwell nonchalantly eerie into his train of thoughts with its austerely disquieting vagons, apt to tandem its choir.
Cherry hue darkened the former lovers' parchment complexions, whereas the middle-aged lady's heart pulsations rapidly rabid accelerated apt to tandem its waltz of violent scrunching in her ribcage.
"Whoa! That's spine-chillingly unexpected."In a long minute of sluggish munch of the unceasingly shattered egg chunks and then swigging greedily delightful, the former nun dumped the silver fork and knife in her plate and venturing her orthodoxly dainty, exquisitely paly fingers sternly firm grasping her sweater's smoothly woolen fabric to sense the true motion of her frequently vigorous heart beat, thudding against her palm after pawing silkenly her chest. "Hopefully there aren't cops or those kids to carol us!" Despite the fact the Bostonian didn't possess even modicum of hatred towards the children, in fact, she's genuinely down with the symptom of living a lie for a few decades to her infertility and barren emptiness and cordially coveting and rotting to have a new addition to her heritage and somebody to love even more than the love of her life even cherish its precious life and teach it altruistically wise, her recent humor was spending her first Christmas out of the nefariously old, dilapidating mental hospital instead of interacting with other living beings that weren't even part of her inner circle or at least she didn't feel a cordial closure with them as well.
"I better check who's on the door."
"Probably the mail guy or those annoying kids with the Christmas carols." Meanwhile, the former religious man of the cloth manifested to lift up his rear from the wooden chair and lingering its dotingly secure, paternally promising scoop of his son on his way to dash out of the kitchen and unlock in a single click the door until the vista of no uninvited visitor straightforwardly greeted the former holy priest.
"Huh?" When his chocolate brown optics landed on the sunflower yellow door rug, embroidering its letters elegantly 'Welcome', throughout an untouched, unfamiliar lily-white message motionlessly sitting on the porch drew his attention cheerfully urgent, whilst his little cherub angel lulled gracefully inward the series of coos and babbles, adorably, featherly-soft fanning his biological father's ear shell.
"Dada!" Absent-mindedly blatant, childlike stilling his mouth wrapped around his plugged pudgy thumb to savor its spongy dew, exuberantly ticklish his flesh once Timothy leaned down to pick up the unopened message and then set foot inside the two-story mansion's interior by shutting the door behind him without thinking twice even locking it up and unwrap the message whose sender's identity was sheerly oblivious for him, whilst wedging his plump lips into a thoughtful, careful purse to indicate his drastically aroused interest to discover not only the sender of its bolt from the blue sheet of paper, further analyze and assimilate each word, each sentence and each paragraph paged up on the blank with its ink glittering past his smoky quartz minerals.
Hello Timothy!
I was wondering how your life is going after not only being charge of that mental hospital in Boston under the name Briarcliff, but also resigning from the church and having a fresh start nowhere else than Hartford, Vermont.
I genuinely miss you as it's not the same to have such an extraordinary, dearly long friendship we had even partnership during your priesthood. I can genuinely recall how during our short break from the mass, we both went together in a retro cafeteria, bringing the good old 1958. We spent like an hour talking to each other even discussing crucially intriguing topics that were even evolving our contemporary world.
Even if it's not the same without you to partner up with other priests and nuns, I fairly respect your decision to be focused on your life and each joy involving your true felicity. I truly respect how you would rather alter your life from the priesthood to the parenthood and enjoy each spark of the life, because that's the essential purpose of every one of us, although I can still feel God calling me and seeking my advice and help to be part of the spiritual purification of each wretched soul.
If I had somebody I sincerely love from the bottom of my heart, no matter if it's a nun or just a mere woman that I've often interactions with even with her participation in the mass's audience, I'd leave everything for the life I'm being offered to spend the rest of my days. You're indeed lucky and that's why I genuinely admire you for anything that constructs your character.
Wishing you the best and prosperous future
From Kellan Teagan
As soon as the paged up pitch-black ink with its magnificently majestic manuscript enchase each letter, each word, each sentence and each paragraph shimmering uniquely after spending a few minutes perusing warily everything which Father Kellan has poured his entire heart to not only write for his old friend they knew one another since Timothy's arrival not only in Boston and finding the exact church to dedicate his vows and headstrongly continue his career as a clergyman, further, it's been several months since the both gentlemen have beheld one another. The last time when they had the humongously celestial opportunity to beheld each other was in St. Andrew's church as farewell when Kellan Teagan planned emphatically to flee Boston for Hartford.
Notwithstanding the bare, unconditional homesickness plaguing the British compatriot and overwhelmedness conveniently adapting to his hurricane of thoughts, freezing its lastly functioning cells, the sweet, alluring coes and babbling of the three-month-old infant emptily roomed his ears and tingling its majestically serene ode. Electrifyingly blowminding goosebumps bountifully marvelous perforated gradually his delicate epidermis beneath his cozy pyjamas outfit.
The former pious sister of the church gravely knows Timothy's old friend and they have bartered mutually galore of times for a handful of minutes prominently meaningful, logical even casual conversations at times.
A bizarrely sunny, radiantly buoyant smile adapted to the former holy man's mouth and flexing his attractively sharp jaw, whilst a heavy sight fiendishly tiresome conjugated his muscular, toned chest and pumping its fresh oxygen to course through his nostrils.
"Kellan Teagan! I miss you too, my dear friend!" Diligently modest, mellifluous whisper crawled daredevil of his naturally pale-pinkish, brim lips and retiring to ascend the stairway to the second floor as his notoriously resilient, stealthy footsteps muttered against the wooden material.
- End of Flashback -
- Four Hours Later or So -
When the train for Waterbury arrived abruptly on the train station, subsequently Martha spent a tiresome journey to the other part of Vermont, in order to behold her uncle and pay a visit to him in the Vermont State Hospital. During her almost three hour voyage to Waterbury, the medical student decided to kill her time in spending a half an hour reading her medical book and shortly after the boredom fogged her mind sinisterly unavoidable, unimaginable, thus Martha spent the rest of her train voyage in cat napping to collect sufficient nutrients and rest until the train stopped on its impending stop.
Once the train's impending stop unambiguously ventured on Waterbury's train station and the passengers along with Martha earned the utmost announcement about their dream destination's arrival at last, consequently the young woman fled the vehicle after gathering her luggage and opted to orientate via asking one of the strangers to aid her with orientating her to the ill-famed, old mental hospital as within less than a half an hour Martha found her own way to the facility, warily following her served instructions.
Midnight slowly bled into the eve of the new day and became a victim of the nocturnal doldrum's lullaby, the grandiosely wonderful architecture of the old asylum bewitched the brunette's cinnamon brown embers imbibing the overprotective shadows roaring through the façade's fascinating structure. The frequently dull long, ever-lasting choir of whispering footsteps against the ground even when Martha set food inside Vermont State Hospital's interior and the security guards gentlemanly allowed her to make her own way inside the façade without even halting her at the entrance.
"Thank you, gentlemen!" Manifesting a bob of her head to express her enormous, fashionable gratitude, she flashed them a prim, vaguely kindhearted smile.
A long minute of hesitancy to earn any instructions from one of the passing staff members in the lobby bitterly paradoxal spiked her bones to quiver and fidgeting her weathered, elvish hands when she approached one of the nurses that looked approximately a decade her seniors at least.
"Excuse me, ma'am!"
"Good evening, miss! It's already midnight and the patients are asleep." Sternly emotionless, lukewarm undertones remarkably memorable, cold-heartedly forged with its sea of vowels and syllables the middle-aged nurse's reprimand which begun with amiable politeness descending into authoritative reminder, conveying its authentically exceeding cue to the infamous serial killer's daughter the inmates have already drifted off asleep thoughtlessly. "What are you actually looking for?" The piercingly menacing glare acutely pronged the brunette's blamelessly glossy glint of harmless intentions, alight by her cinnamon brown optics.
"I would like to see my uncle. His name is Sebastian Gray." Opting to not demonstrate any wee, surreptitious inkles of demonically inescapable, tangy fear sketching her youthfully beautiful, dainty facial attributes, whilst licking greedily her cherub lips, a heavy, jadedly dry sigh flushed the other woman's chest due to her recent visitor's murderous mulishness and most of all, barely having any intentions of giving up and fleeing the madhouse's building until she didn't pay a visit to Sebastian for a handful of minutes nonetheless.
"Look what, miss! You can come here by tomorrow but the patients are sleeping and they wouldn't like to be disturbed especially your brother is collecting relevantly heinous narcosis," In the meanwhile, the juvenile lady's fidgety, weathered elvish hands fashioned deftly into balled fists and shot a quick, surreptitiously execrable glance at the lobby's outskirts, fathoming the lacking human presence seconds before ascending the stairway slyly to find on her own the ward and behold her childless uncle for a few minutes. "You don't have any idea how his mental illness is detrimentally imperiling the staff members with his moody attitude if you're still questioning why he's sedated."
"Such a nasty woman!" Charging to pummeling humdrum with her balled fists even bumping ferociously savage into the older woman's taller figure as she thumped and reclined against the payphone , reciting in murmur the hostile hiss, rolled into venom and sugarcoated prominently with heartlessness when the medical student dumped the injured staff member and dashed upstairs in no time and thoughtlessly as horde of security guards and orderlies exceedingly furious amplified to charge to catch the young lady and throw her out of the facility during their pathetically woeful attempts. "Shit! The freedom is more loved than shark love blood!"
"Catch her! You mustn't allow her to enter in the ward!" The multi-voiced symphony of security guards breathlessly darting to catch Martha, subsequently the urgent alarm tone hummed ear-splittingly as the enormous mass of asleep inmates came to their senses and commenced gathering into compact groups to storm off freely, carelessly the expansive room, whereas Sebastian registered his curled into balled fists hands to knead his groggy jewels.
The suddenness of the pushed double door of the ward caught off guard the middle-aged gentleman, attempting to readjust his posture and sluggishly protracting ruthlessly careless his bulky, muscular arm, whereas his dark minerals darted to the current visitor for his own surprise was his niece.
"M-Martha?"
"My goodness, uncle! What the hell they've done to you?" Shortly after scanning fleetly with her peripheral stare the whole room, thereafter the younger lady hunkered down to scoop in the palms of her hands the middle-aged man's well-carved, feeble cheeks and surveying in a scrutiny his parchment, elderly young-looking face whilst refraining the heavy rain of salty tears to bead timidly, coyly her lower eyelids and brushing with her brittle knuckles the generous layer of thick, wonderfully lustrous perspiration, veiling fabulously his forehead and nipping at the delicate skin of her bottom lip.
"They doped me and those little bitches are the reason why I'm rotting here," Leaning down to press an affectionately delicate peck on her uncle's cheek, the young lady was all ears to Sebastian's heartening revelation what the staff members' crude methods of treatment of the inmates, swallowing hard while the young woman tried her best to collect sufficient quantity of oxygen during her brief rest of her restless journey to rescue Cayden's older brother. "Where are these bruises coming from? Those bloody brats?" Protracting one of his feeble, meaty fingers to track the beginnings of bruises mapping the medical student's porcelain, unblemishedly refreshing complexion tore off Sebastian's heart on thousand of glassily invincible fragments and questioning yet who's the criminally bloodthirsty perpetrator of harming his niece.
"No! We don't have enough time to earn the answers we're looking."
"Stop right there!" At the moment, a horde of security guards entered inside the ward as a few of the patients who remained in the site either shrugged or glassily imbibed the entire scenario of the duo plotting their inevitable escape from the asylum as Martha aided her uncle to straighten his posture from the single bed by unwrapping its oyster-white, pristinely sheer duvet from his big-frame and scampering agitatedly towards the other part of the site's double door to flee the vicious claws of the staff members that were after them.
"It's time to go! The window is our last hope."
"If you're thinking the escape is possible, you will eat my hat!" When the duo ventured in the other part of the profoundly long, austere dark corridor of the second floor, the only true path to their escape was jumping out of the window with their entire stamina and strength, overlooking the bloody scars, scraps and bruises that will tint their garments and vulnerable skin.
"Waaaaah!" Once the pairing hopped out of the monumental window after their figures stubbornly bumped into the flimsy weight, thus the young lady's wet, strawberry-coloured tongue elaborated a hysterically victorious, notoriously screechy wail pitching the urban background.
Author's Note: That's eventually the 30th anniversary chapter of Wings of Light's existence not only being available for read, but also as a fandom!
What are your thoughts on Timothy and Kellan Teagan's friendship? Do you think Timothy hides any secrets from Jude about Kellan? What are your predictions for Martha and Sebastian's sudden escape from Vermont State Hospital?
I'd love to hear your thoughts as always and comment not only your favorite moments from this chapter, but also its book's development and your top favorite chapters and why they're actually your favorite. Don't be shy and I'm sick and tired of people of keeping their opinions for themselves! I hope you genuinely liked and enjoyed this chapter! :)