Previously on Wings of Light:

"I didn't murder him. I just woke up and I found out my uncle committed suicide with hanging out with my scarf."

"I genuinely understand how upset you're, Miss Gray! I can call your cousin and brother to pick you up in a few minutes and before that to have a glass of water or to help you with using the en-suite bathroom, Miss!"

"Phew! That was frankly close!"

"Indeed! Even if there are small cities like Adams that have nothing to offer with galore of landmarks to inspire tourists or civilians like them, at least, there's something unique about any place that leaves a constant scar of memories to spawn in yar mind. It's sprawling out its explicit vividness of the memories you've collected even from such teeny-weeny cities like Adams. The ambience is beyond peaceful. The community of people equate to friendly. We are being surrounded by the nature. It's pleasantly balmy the weather that dance around us."

"It reminds me of a school trip my elementary school teacher organized to City of Ripon when I was approximately eight years old. I remember so far that the weather was quite soggy, howsoever... howsoever, I and a few of my elementary school classmates had such a glamorous time. It's just unforgettable how a few words I emitted are worth a thousand golden memories."

"Judy Martin used to be my love interest and you came very close to be her friend."

"Excuse me?"

"Why thank ya, Tim! I think there are ladies that are privileged with such stunning attributes which accent their outstanding character as well. Some might have the shiniest hair. Some might have the plumpest lips. Everybody possesses something that will knock your socks off. Their privilege costs an arm and a leg for most of us that aren't equipped with it."

"There's nothing wrong with not having it, because your happiness will be under no circumstances! Be over the moon for something that's part of your one of a kind character."

"But she doesn't have the fucking right to put her nose in somebody's business that isn't worth even her attention to have her nose in the air. I'd rather advice her to keep her nose clean."

"Maddie, everything will be okay! She can do something really meaningful for us even if it's just only one. Only one thing to compensate that hatred over something we're solely consuming ourselves. The hatred can be replaced with something more meaningful. More,"

- Flashback -

- 3 Years Ago -

- 20th of June, 1963 -

"How fucking dare you?" In the meanwhile, the Michiganian's fierce lividness prominently puncturing her rhetorical enquiry as she manifested to fashion into balled fists her elvish, marbled hands, whereas her ostensible boyfriend Nathan crooked his youthfully strong, muscly arm to secure the foreign girl whose physique seemed quite different accompanying him on their way to the exit of the brightly illuminated cinema salon. The ferociously fiery, antagonistic growl of the Michiganian sloppily foamed her pink mouth as her honey brown huge, roundish cabochons belliregently brass fizzed haughtily her glare casted on the pairing whose attention shifted utterly to the desperately livid blonde and maintaining a fairly appropriate proximity gauging a couple of inches solely and cortoring its huge mass of cinema enthusiasts dashing out of the cinema salon recklessly blunt to flee the grandiose façade."H-How dare you to be a dog and pony show right into my foaming with lividness eyes, you compulsive cheater?" Villaniously baring her pearly-white teeth, luminous with passionate resentment and nauseous abhorrence of the prospect of her cheating alleged boyfriend in the company of the other girl that seemed far cry from graciously promising into the juvenile blonde's honey brown depths.

"She's just a friend of mine." Struggling to elaborate a sardonically prim, vindictive smirk across his pale-pinkish, thin lips, the young man knitted his light, thick eyebrows to the bridge of his nose while the slightly older lady casted her ocean blue huge, roundish depths spearing innocuous nonplussed the furious juvenile blonde's parchment, femininely youthful complexion and the profusion of unhealthily uneven, bloodthirstily abysmal rubicund blush flustering her well-sculptured cheeks and the sheer manipulation of her narrowed eyebrows, unable to stifle the vehemently bone-chilling fury pulsating into her petite frame and the fiery adrenaline coursing through her very veins. "Maddie, you aren't presupposed to see red!" A sardonically prim, deeply surreptitious giggle clicked the roof of Nathan's mouth, lingering his crooked muscular, potent arm to support his company's middle.

Nathan was eventually a young man approximately Madeleine's age whose skin tone was ghostly pale, nevertheless, midst the fewest healthy nuances of the ghostly pale highlighting his physique. His pools of profoundly emotionless, boyishly sarcastic cocoa brown inscribed its roundish curves of his eyelids and mirroring its manipulated reflection of the absolute reality that shimmered past his eyesight. Further, a short mop of dirty blond hideously greasy strands plastered above his full, round profile bonded. The young gentleman's colour preference could fluctuate between garnet red and rasin purple even though his common every day outfits paired the pale shades of green and the darker variant of red. His actual roots are a great blend of Welsh and a tad Scottish by judging his ancestors such as his parents and grandparents even though he's the only child in his family. His height was approximately gauged no more than 5'9 and his anatomy's construction emulating to a full average as well. Last but not least, he's studying in the same school with his almost ex-girlfriend and his group of friends was doubtlessly luxurious as the quantity of his friends could outnumber on the fingers on his both bare hands. His full name was eventually Nathan Harrison Akeroyd.

Unlike his recent companion, the slightly older lassie who spent a handful of hours in the camaraderie and the luxuriously ticklish, diabolically entertaining laughters, smiles and conversations of her love interest, Desdemona Irma Forbis was a young woman who was with a handful of years the Michiganian and Welsh compatriot's seniors. First and foremost, she towered the Michiganian with a couple of inches that approximated four, subsequently gauging her 5'6 eventually. Her body structure was mildly chubby. Notwithstanding her taller plump figure, Desdemona Irma's natural skin tone was actually mildly tanned due to the graciously sunny days of the northern state even though the chillier early summer days embracing its huge mass of audience that was sufficiently bold to flee their homes to treasure pearly each advancing second of their life and their feet daubing tenderly the ground. Furthermore, the brunette started college a year ago and she has never been fond of the younger girl. Her halo ringlet of heavenly flossy brown locks cascaded her mid-back even though the collegian rather preferred tying her hair usually in casual, humble ponytails and high buns, dumping a fistful of sinisterly unruly locks bouncing with each perky, unpredictable motion and framing elegantly her square profile. Her ocean blue huge, rotund embers, fiercely alight with childlike innocence and wry nonchalance embellished exquisitely her facial attributes paired with her naturally nude pink, heart-shaped lips and her naturally dark, fashionably thin eyebrows. Last but not least, a floral oyster-white dress with scoop neckline leaking partly her lusciously delicate and brittle collarbones, coupled with short bell sleeves embroidering her dainty shoulder blades contoured its overall anatomy of her tissues paired with nude comfy pumps shoeing her large feet and silver bracelets binding her brittle wrists.

"Nat, we better be on our way to leave!" Meanwhile, the collegian channelized her petite, pleasantly tanned hand to claw delicately, yet emboldeningly tempting the blond's broad shoulder blade, darting her azure blue embers to glaze his as he ducked his head to pursue for her stare, whereas the high schooler stifled a blatant whimper to bubble up from her feminine Adam's apple during her persistently wrathful attempts to resist the urge to chant the ode of her fierce adrenaline pumping into her muscles and building its sweltering heat and clamminess coating thickly, invincibly her palms and digits. "It doesn't seem the best timing to clash with another intruder eagerly willing to spoil our company."

"I was thinking it's better to listen to your version instead of keep ignoring me and soiling yourself by switching abruptly your partners like in a New York minute." All of a sudden, the juvenile blonde malleably tailed the young pairing, scarcely having any intentions to give up with an ease just shortly after realizing that she is no longer the love interest even the extraordinarily majestic one of a kind girlfriend of her classmate who was currently focused utterly on dating a slightly older lady. Even though it's Madeleine's first serious boyfriend who has bewitchingly enchanted her heart and tinging the heart-shaped box in the most vivid shades of rosy and spent the entire weekends in discussing from Classic Literature to Franz Kafka and challenging themselves to write short stories inspired on opulence of genres, now the heart-shaped box no longer managed to functioning ordinarily smooth and ebbing off its high-spirited shades.

"First and foremost, you're incredibly overreacting which aided me to see through your showed true colors, Maddie! I knew so far that," The collegian manifested her stark neutrality between the fighting exes and maneuvering to fold her satin plump arms across her bulky chest, while the trio halted a couple of inches past the front door of the grandiose façade. Baleful tone loomed abysmally unpardonable tinging remarkably the blond's rational exegis emulating entirely to his stark symptoms of resenting his ex-girlfriend and leaking unceasingly his position on the pretty controversial posed question. "That you wouldn't be capable of breaking my heart with your Drama Queen persona that I have perpetually studied during this time we've been together. Anyway the damage has already being done to me."

"You're saying that you can't stand her guts just because," Desdemona Irma's bottom rosy-coloured lip curled at the timidly uninviting whisper bubbling up from her throat momentarily, shooting a quick glance at the younger woman and then pursuing agitatedly for the Welsh compatriot's cocoa brown big, round gems draining each translucently crystal glint twinkling mischievously into his iris and indiscernible pitch-black pupil as Nathan maintained an adequately promising, piercing eye contact with her. "She takes the things a little bit more gravely than it supposed to be?" The younger woman's blood seethed wickedly vindictive and lingering her bared pearly-white teeth in the egregious grimace twisted across her healthily porcelain, childlikely young-looking complexion.

"Who gave you the right to speak, you bitch?" At the moment, the blonde registered to approach the romantic duo and sealing the tiny gap they exchanged just moments ago, licking pensively remorseless her roseate mouth for a split second, narrowing her amber brown gems at the brunette's parchment profile, her tea-stained breathing fiendishly faint fanning her unblemished facial skin and hitch asphyxiated her lungs' reproduction. Fierce lividness vibrated through the young man's frail skeleton once his smoky quartz cabochons caught a glimpse of his ex-girlfriend cutting off curtly, coarsely her enquiry that was escorted meekly by series of stutters. "And Nat, you are dropping a bombshell on the wrong person that isn't supposed to be fucked up with doing it right behind my back," Barely giving any opportunity to either of her opponents to cut her off as her serpentine venomous tongue conjugated chaotically its diversity of vowels and syllables in her caution begging for its an immediate release from its grate and retaliating fiercely the nobodies that truly deserved to eavesdropping the aftermaths of the stealthy conspiracies that were once organized behind her back to damage their relationship. A woefully sarcastic smirk darkened the Michiganian's facial features and drifting one of her petite hands' forefinger to daub gingerly her chest, gesticulating herself during the heated debate. "You think you can outsmart somebody with the most rueful excuse I've ever heard in my life? Don't be so confident in yourself, because if I were you, Nat, I would eat my hat. Just have the guts to tell me what do you want right now and I'll fully respect your decision." Dim shivers paradoxally twitched the romantic duo's very muscles and bones whilst eavesdropping attentively the Michiganian's caution that spoke volumes and spoke emotions. It leaked the genuine incarnation of the infidelity if you are asking anybody.

"Moreover, you ain't a Saint so that to be worth any ounce of respect!"

"But the question is who isn't mature enough to take responsibility which should be finely taken seriously and you deem it as an overreaction?" At the moment, the college's frail lungs propelled persistently a heavy, jaded sigh due to the cold-bloodedly dramatic scenario she's recently designed to attest entirely in the corner of her lapis lazuli eye. Even though she didn't have anything against the pupil except somehow the dozens of meowed extravagantly garish quarrel between her and her ex-boyfriend whose relationship usually metamorphosed into spectacularly stable and frankly aflutter due to their lacking experience beneath the barriers of the crudely cold world that was overcrowded with opulence of hazardous moments and humanoid mobs that were against their will to accomplish fully their gaga ambitions. "Just keep one advice to lighten your perspective before I vanish from your life. Never deem something as an overreaction when somebody truly cares about you or you are taking certain things genuinely seriously!" In the meantime, the Michiganian darted her glaring amber brown cabochons at the pairing for a split second, in order to catch a glimpse of their exceedingly convincing attentions in the form of gazes fixated on her, alight by her brutal honesty and efficient puissance.

"You're mad as a hatter!" The haphazardness of the young man's half-hearted, tacitly stealthy imitating an acrimoniously bittersweet grunt sloppily dripping from his mouth foamed with fantastically crystal disgruntlement to drizzling up his youthfully think stubble, whereas the colleger registered to lug the larger frame towards her, in order to flee the building promptly as Desdemona Irma's azure blue gems no longer twinkled the brilliant glossiness, ablaze with angelically inebriating patience to be a witness to the inevitably blood-curdling.

"Nat, sweetheart, we better leave! That's the best for us." The Welsh compatriot's relentlessly bare Lethe to his recent girlfriend's sweet, inviting coo to dash out of the site in a jiff scarcely designed its musical tones of her pleasantly deep lilt to winnow sharply into his vulnerable ears, pursuing agitatedly for her boyfriend's glare that glazed at Madeleine's porcelain, young-looking profile and surveying her in a scrutiny studiously to scan her charming facial attributes at each angle and each curve etching its tender skin.

"Go to hell and don't come back to me ever again!"

"I'm not even begging for your pardon even when you are failing to show me respect that could cost you an ounce of decency." Suddenly Madeleine's powerlessness frostily pitilessly hackled recklessly the frozen blood that meagerly surged through her very veins and stilling her pools of abysmally venomous, glassy hazel tunelessly, colourlessly tippling every motion and shudder shimmering brightly past her sight that illustrated vividly realistic, bleak prospect of the young love dashing out of the site promptly without turning their backs ever again. Without turning their back to contemplate through the face of the past that it was so untouchable, so abysmal, so mystic, so violent and so unappeasable. A vast ocean of nobodies outnumbered Nathan and Desdemona once they no longer populated the cinema's façade.

- End of Flashback -

- Back to Nowadays -

- 9th of April, 1966 -

"W-What I have done?" The enquiry almost died on the security guard's wet, berry-coloured tongue whilst boring his lapis lazuli huge, rotund gems into Lydia's amber brown. Thickness abruptly hypodermically relentless seethed his Adam's apple and elaborating its conveying the friendly reminder for an expeditious release. The heart pulses' amplification fiercely forceful pumping his ribcage and the unevenly vehement, dull thumps' rhythmically humdrum sync into his ears at the unexpected uninvited guest in the cabin in the middle of the night.

"It's not the question what you have done," At the moment, the younger woman slowly but surely subconscious ducked her revolver promptly, managing to maintain an adequately formal eye contact with the widower who was recently in charge of the parking' very welfare during the midnight hours. The pleasant Florida lilt graciously authentic punctured the Floridian's wryly sarcastic accent emerging from her naturally rosy-coloured, angelically cherubic lips. "But you seem a big, ferocious trouble by judging that you really resemble somebody from the Grays without shadow of a doubt." The inexorably cheerful crinkle of the Floridian's light-heavy wrinkles inscribing deeply her graciously tanned facial tone, whilst fixating her gaze on the widower's and meagerly tilting her head. In the interval, the younger woman's blood boiled ferociously savage at the very thought of the Grays and their leader of the small guild Cayden leading his family members to participate indubitably agitated in the crimes' subtle performance against the rest of the world. Even though Lydia Jane scarcely knew anything about Frank's grisly past as employee behind the dully lifeless, grayish walls of the nefariously old and dilapidating mental hospital of Boston, besides riding the dynamical roller coaster of the drastically grisly events of his post-widower phase shortly after the hideously melancholic loss of his wife in a car crash years ago, nevertheless, yet the middle-aged lady' ominously iron-willed attempts to guess his identity and shooting a glimpse at his associations with the notorious Grays of Hartford roused the life of galore of questions. "Before hopping up forward, wouldn't you mind to show me your I.D card in case?"

The suddenness of the former policeman's masculinely strong, long fingers managing to reach for his leather jet-black jacket's pocket, fiddling clumsily the flimsy compact entity for proving to the authorities and the institutions obligating him to demonstrate promptly its document for his individual identity, in case, if certain awkward scenarios where he's being mistaken for somebody else, didn't cease to dumbfound Lydia Jane shortly after the sheerly dexterous manipulation of his fingers to snatch the compact entity from the pocket glittering its pure brilliance past her eyesight.

"When I woke up this morning! You were on my mi-i-i-ind and
you were on my mind! I got troubles, whoa-oh!" The radio's music postponed to forgo the pairing's conversation they channelized to maintain appropriately, soberly even though the female vocalist's silver-tongued tone to outnumber their outstandingly authentic lilts puncturing their utterances, chanting their own ballad.

"Here we go, ma'am!" When the older gentleman managed to demonstrate the I.D card as the plastic miniature entity was partly scraped softly with a handful of meaty fingers poising stable to tilt exquisitely to abrade the scanning gaze of Lydia Jane. The real identity of Frank such as his full name, birthday, birth city and many other factors determining unremittingly his persona were paged up on each tiny inch of the card as each letter etching the prominent key words shimmered upon her pools of profoundly studious honey brown.

"Oh God!" Then the homosexual registered to claw meekly her chest with her elvish, soothingly creamy hand, narrowing her hazelish-brown depths to scan in a scrutiny the essential data about Frank's individual identity, parting her lips in a temptingly prim, lukewarmly soft O shortly after fathoming utterly and assimilating the whole situation that the widower didn't have any associations with the nefariously spine-chilling Grays. The realization severely adamant rumbled up through the homosexual's very veins and fathoming the genuine exemplar of the widower's stark ingenuousness illustrating vibrantly his persona in general. "You are innocent and you aren't actually even having the last name Gray." Meantime, the awkward manipulation of grinding his pearly-white teeth to nibble the inside of the older man's cheek, stilling the transfixed azure blue embers on the middle-aged lady could formulate his ordinary wont, accommodating heinously headstrong to his one of a kind character even when the awkwardness yet contagiously aggressive grumbled its zephyrs to sarcastically suffocate its preys of the spontaneously chilling doldrum.

"I didn't mean to bring it up, howsoever, are ya actually Andrea's friend?" Suddenly the middle-aged gentleman's Adam apple churned vigorously to elaborate its pouching immediately the inevitably soar lump waltzing relentlessly refreshing beneath its hypodermically fleshy walls, whereas his thickly strong northern lilt lanced his stammer foaming his nude mouth.

"How do you know that I am a friend of Andrea?"

"I am keeping in touch with her regularly and she is a really close friend of mine." A beamingly reassuring, optimistically vain smirk tugged at the corner of the former police officer's nude mouth, whereas Lydia Jane manipulated to worry her bottom rosy-coloured lip ethereally timeless between her front milky teeth. Notwithstanding the circumstances, due to a couple of chats the platonic duo the former prostitute and the former police office have exchanged, the name of the middle-aged lady Lydia Jane was a phenomenally unavoidable process to hem their utterances even though he hasn't had the brilliantly divine opportunity to encounter her except acknowledging facts about her via her old buddies. "It is under no circumstances if I haven't even heard of ya and barely knew about yar very existence." At the moment, the redhead registered to step inside the cabin and slamming the door behind her shut instantaneously as Frank's rear perched back on his seat and reclining comfortably, relishing the precious moment to have the celestially delightful opportunity to interact with one of the former prostitute's close friends in person instead of lingering its eavesdropping mission facts behind her back which was much easier and raw method as well. Healthily raspy, guttural chuckle gurgled vehemently from his lips, consequently putting back his ID card in his jacket's pocket, whereas his elbows nonchalantly inundated the armrests.

"That's pretty intriguing!" Lulling her strawberry-coloured tongue to lick greedily her upper and lower lip pensively shortly after nipping at the raw spot of her bottom lip, Lydia Jane manifested to fold her leanly silken arms across her chest, lingering her piercing, yet haughtily amiable gawk pronging the security guard's sapphire blue cabochons magnetically. The arrantly crystal, glamorous splendor of haughtiness dancing its richly original dance of the mere stares that were commonly pronging every interaction with Lydia Jane's caramel brown cabochons, it didn't cease the inescapable circumstance of her other persona that emerged from her very frail skeleton's outstanding anatomy like a fading dream and a dimly alabaster spectral sauntering with its resiliently surreptitious footsteps ghosting the very background, escorting its meekly supernatural, gruesome trance. "Tell me more about it!" The childishly vibrant, sunny inquisitiveness rousing the very lives of the wighty dozens of questions the ginger had about the preciously stable, down-to-earth friendship the former hooker and the widower traded one another melted her heart, throughout unfolding her silken arms as she seated on top of the bureau conveniently, reclining against the graciously chilly wall offering her a comfy shelter for her spine after another tough day and the opulence of tribulations the days as a cop have inundated her to dip in its mistily abysmal waters of its sable ocean of the challenging absolute reality. "Huh?" Channelizing to cross her sternly panted-clad leg to perch on top of the fleshy, velvet thigh, the palms of her flabbergastingly lukewarm hands clawed vainly the bureau's edge, whilst Frank raised an arch of his dark, thick eyebrow at the prospect.

"I got worries, whoa-oh, I got wounds to bind and I got a feelin' down in my sho-oo-oo-oes, said!"

"I am seeing her like once a week and whenever she needed my advice, I delivered it out, of course!"

"She is a genuinely as cool as a cucumber!"

"No shit!" In the meantime, the security guard shot a fleetly subconscious glimpse at the window's realistically gloomy, desolated landscape embracing his pools of raptly ocean blue of the outdoor site and the only immobile car, thus abrading stubbornly his eyes to the policewoman's amber brown. "I didn't give a damn about her former occupation as well even though her name is soiled," Oblivious to the mysterious vehicle's driver stealthily nimbleness tossing out a miniature entity roosting on the rigidly uncomfortable asphalt emulating fully to its bare nature, subsequently the leery gentleman whose meaty, masculinely potent fingers cradled the car's key shortly after slamming shut the door on his left worked on turning the car's engine as the dully unimpressive, strenuously earthy drone tingled alarming tones into his vulnerable ears and drifting his mammoth, marbled hands to waltz the steering wheel, whereas his orthodoxy oxford-clad feet's toes obdurately forceful grinded on the treadle and pulling off the cab to its impending destination. The rabidly rapid tiresome noise of the accelerated cab's speed to flee the site in a jiffy meagerly caught off guard Lydia Jane and Frank who were currently drowning in the hazily intoxicating, abysmal sea of their logically rational conversations and the monumental waves plashing vehemently playful, inviting the platonic duo, drenching with its intriguing points they emphasized.

"What the hell was that?" The suddenness of the ginger struggled to buff a greatly bewildered straight line flattening her mouth's very curves whilst the duo maneuvered to dart their jewels to the gruesomely empty parking, impaling balefully the very window of the cabin once the cryptical ebony vehicle no longer friendly accompanied the compact façade, enclosing in its vast beehive of grandiose blossoming trees, bearing a semblance of tall shadowy fingers summoning the wights of tremendously frigid uncomfort to assault its preys of solitude eventually.

Whenever a cab parked on one of the free parking lots, the site's richness of eeriness managed to vanish into the thin air and be bleared lastly as if the sacredly celestial wings flipped vigorously and unfurling the darker nuances of the melancholic sentiments suffusing infectiously to assailing its victims that set foot. Even either a single living being wandered its very presence to ghost the asphalt or on the contrary the artificially scintillating illumination filtered the cabin's space bestowing the security guard to properly supervise the situation strictly, nevertheless, it couldn't replace the dozens of immobile vehicles that outnumbered the small building.

Regardless the circumstances and the lonely nights during his night shift, Frank perseveres to find opulence of imaginative alternatives to dodge the sloppy trails of the arduously strong-willed boredom to asphyxiate the time's eventual progress that couldn't be eluded artistically. Either surveying in a scrutiny the recently aired out newspaper articles as fleet distraction instead of incessantly infectious boring his gape into the outdoors' magnificently isolated prospect or otherwise curling his nude lips into the sheer manipulation of chanting joyously certain songs' lyrics and swaying his hips rhythmically restless, bluntly radiant each twitching muscle syncing its rabidly perky acceleration of his heart pulses' hammers into his ribcage.

"That cryptical car, tho!" Mewling a breathy grunt under her breath, throughout the homosexual manifested to slip her royal blue manicured fingernails to graze tenderly, thoughtfully uneasy her scalp, whereas lingering the straight line decorating her façade and manipulating her rear to lift from the furniture abruptly shortly after scratching her head at last. "I'm still surprised sometimes those black cars are like shot across the bow out of the blue." Thereafter the pairing gravely thoughtless dashed out of the cabin shortly after catching a swift glimpse of the forsaken miniature entity dumped in the middle of the outdoor area without an ado.

Little did they know what they might discover embroidered on its Polaroid lucid photograph whose owner yet aroused abundance of questions before even landing their pair of cabochons to imbibe each discrete detail illustrated authentically extraordinary on its one of a kind masterpiece. Little did they know who might be the photographer behind its mystic Polaroid picture. One item could be the mystery of the decade or the whole time in the entire history since its celestially outstanding existence. So little to no evidence and vague brief history behind its unique item.

Everything possess even modicum of history beyond its upon mystic identity and segments constructing its real anatomy. Regardless its grand cloud of mysteries hazing every ounce of the unsolved puzzle, it was never too late its adventurously curious enthusiasts to dig persistently its hole until the treasure was utterly discovered and they could wear proudly the title of the first people solving the troubling puzzle as well.

"Do ya a flashlight with ya, Lydia?" Meantime, the middle-aged pairing ambled up towards the forsaken picture, whilst the widower registered to lick greedily demanding his nude, chapped lips and his childishly immense excitement to investigate the small entity somehow spellbinded its enthrallingly bewitching hex of the heart pulses' acceleration violently humdrum thumping into his torso.

"Of course, I do!" On their mission to approach the Polaroid photograph, therefore one of the free petite, smooth hands of the cop retrieved a flashlight from her trousers' pocket and her orthodoxy feather-soft fingers working on fiddle clumsily the switcher instantaneously to cast its brightly golden illumination spotlighting prominently the center of their current attention. "It's fucking unbelievable there are such bastards that can bamboozle you in variety of alternatives to snatch you in their own traps by blindly trusting the abandoned shit that is part of their plan." A low hum accompanying the weak spring breeze tickling and fanning freely, mischievously the widower and the homosexual's attires and hairs emitted dully from the younger woman's pursed lips until the middle-aged gentleman hunkered down past the Polaroid picture and examining it in a scrutiny as his fingertips grasped gingerly the flimsy tissue.

"Sweet Jesus of God!" Reciting in a mumble the sharp reprimand at the diabolically flagrant photograph of a middle-aged lady whose delicate facial attributes charmingly extraordinary accented the light-heavy wrinkles adorning her silken complexion, bonded with her sparkling, prim smile tugging at the corner of her lip as she posed to the ill-famed member of KKK that resembled as if his age was with a couple of the blonde lady's seniors as well. "I didn't see that coming, Lydia!" Then his lapis lazuli huge, roundish jewels landed on the redhead who channelized to hunker down along with the older man, maintaining an appropriately intimate, platonic proximity even if it was barely an inch and pursuing agitatedly uneasy for her stare in approval. The thousand patterns of glee no longer embellished their faces and recently replaced with infernally faddish pouts curving upon their mouths, illustrating their remarkable resentment to the KKK member and the presumable lady on the photo by judging her age.

"Who could drop a cryptic photograph of a KKK member posing with a normal civilian like her?" At the moment, they flipped the picture, in order to acknowledge further facts beyond the mystery of the entity, besides opting to fuel their speculations and crude questions without any absolute answers that could emulate to the truth. The partly haggard ink ornamenting the frail paper on the back of the Polaroid picture etched each letter and the mystic manuscript chronicling briefly the entity's birth date, place and so forth in general. "That's the raisin at the end of the hotdog. Even the most vicious criminal wouldn't even drop an ounce of his prominent paraphernalia on his mission to play his cards right."

20th of June, 1905

Maureen Loren Martin

"M-Martin?" The haphazardness of the series of stutters reproduced by the vowels and syllables clashing for domination to build the last name of the former nun's deceased grandmother almost died on the platonic duo's berry-coloured tongues, transfixing their childlike inquisitive gawks pronging the shocking landscape of the back of the picture and then flipping on the main side to scan once again the photo's discreet, controversial details circumscribing one of Jude's family members that has any associations with the ominously notorious organization. Little did they know beyond the photograph's ultimate history to judge more except superficially its sleekly apparent details painted grisly. Pinching widely opened their embers and kindling its amenably fierce flares to leak its pale illumination of their recent humors breaking their facial expressions promptly as if the flimsiest, the most extravagant glass of a cool beverage has no longer settled on its new home the table and instead being nudged bluntly ruthless, aiming to its own apocalyptic quietus with an ambiguous end in final cases even if the sequel couldn't be less worse than its original exemplar, itself.

"That's impossible!"

"I can't believe whoever it could be even one of the unholy messengers of the evil," Baring balefully his pearly-white, firm teeth at the very photo even when his gaze petered out its fresh glossiness adorning his indiscernible jet-black pupils, the widower's blood boiled vindictively, hardly knowing who could be behind the tossed photo out of the vehicle to soil the name of his friend even if he knew the back story and almost each segment of her family that had any associations and encounters with the wickedness. "Or God opting to soil the freaking name of my friend's grandmother is capable of," Almost petering out his vocal stings to function adequately due to the dazzlingly peculiar nonplus and loss of words, the older man registered to smack a weak slap across his forehead even if it was heeded by Lydia Jane's leery gaze, studiously inspecting every discreetly controversial detail beyond the compact entity's heinous vista. "Damn! I am at loss of words."

"What the hell Judy's grandmother has to do with the fucking KKK?" Obvious lividness foamed slowly but surely Lydia Jane's Florida lilt, ferociously puncturing her reprimanding inquiry and manipulating to knit her eyebrows to the bridge of her delicate eyebrows graciously sardonic, yet attempting to obscure her wrath due to the fact that the woman whom she had an accident with a few months ago, one of her family members that is no longer midst the mortal living beings has a grisly past and its wee piece of evidence. "Did this blonde have completely lost her mind?"

"Lydia, look!" During his villainously iron-willed attempts to bubble the redhead's attention to engulf into his nonchalantly rational utterance, roaring its authoritative wisdom to defend his old, loyal friend, in spite of her grandmother's gloomy past and interactions with the vindictively ill-famed organization. Manifesting to paw amicably, lightly the redhead's shoulder blade, meanwhile, the former cop abraded headstrongly his piercing, brutally honest azure blue gemstones to maintain its stable eye contact with the twain of smoky quartz.

"Why I have to fucking listen to you since you are friends with somebody that has associations with that organization that is responsible for the deaths of thousands of Afro-Americans?"

"Hush! Jude's grandmother has never supported their fugly agenda." Hitch encumbered Frank's uneven breathing, whereas the megawatt tension of his monologue intensified starkly sinister and flushing a heavy sigh. "Never! She didn't have other choice even when Maureen had fought for herself."

- A Handful of Days Later -

- 11th of April, 1966 -

Just a handful of days after the phenomenally homesick, refreshingly delightful return of the Howards back in Hartford as they fled their romantic destination that bestowed them with galore of fashionably enticing, remarkable memories to inundate their vortex of thoughts, thus they couldn't be any longer patient to gather with their small circle of close friends momentarily. Due to their one week romantic destination to one of the small cities of Tennessee, the wed couple have unceasingly stockpiled its luxuriously luster cataract of memories and breathtakingly unspeakable moments, besides being struck by the enthrallingly unique nature they were palisaded.

The extraordinarily majestic luster of its incessantly stream of the chromatic cataract glittered its own prominent memories confine and ominously docile paddling against the very nature of the wavelets perkily waltzing in the valley of memories. The one of a kind serenely inward, reassuring drone of the series of conjugated plashes of the wavelets against the gigantic rocks bordering the beauteously enticing natural landscape of the waterfall and its flock of riffles escorting heinously humble.

The memories and its vividly explicit flash inexorably beset every functioning thought in its prey of the reminiscence abruptly. They were as swift as lighting bolts. They were as majestically eye-catching as forbidden fruit's insatiably coveted temptation. They were as inevitably poetic as a brief poem, learnt by heart to be recited vibrantly emotional, speaking volumes beyond its one of a kind masterpiece.

Nothing can powder with its cloying flavor of the bittersweetness the very memories the former members of the clergy rode its dynamic roller coaster, coveting to bring back the time and rewind back in the past when their honeymoon dawdled its bewitchingly relaxing waltz. The pure disappointment couldn't even daredevil dare to sweeten their tongue tips whenever they savored even modicum of their outstandingly memorable honeymoon in Adams. The reminiscence's inebriating medicament danced on their tongues once they demonically straightforward broached the very topic about their one of a kind honeymoon for a week somewhere different. Much different site for the wed couples could even spend a handful of days. Discovering its esthetically graceful other side of the romance even if it was mildly darker. More uncommon. There were somewhat rare cases of married pairings who were spending their honeymoon hazardously nowhere else than in smaller cities or rather fiendishly haunted. They couldn't be exactly interpreted in certain cases haunted in first place. They might be just articulated as one of the children of the bloodthirstily hair-rising, unthinkable notoriety soiling their very names shortly after its prying passionate enthusiasts hankered the symphony of its complex, cardinal history and getting to know the darker side, or on the contrary the true nature of the city, itself.

Within their return back in Hartford, Vermont, the Howards eavesdropped to ocean of breaking news during their very absence and acknowledging the fact that Frank has interacted with the Floridian, besides he was the only one who obscured from anybody else the controversially ill-famed photograph of Jude's deceased grandmother Maureen with a member of KKK. Even though the initial reactions from Jude and Timothy were more than megawatt panic breaking their facial expressions and cracking their hearts with its inescapable ethereally insecure heart pulses throbbing into their chests, they spent modicum of their leisure to discuss the grisly topic as Jude solemnly explained to her husband about the back story of the photograph.

Little did they know who might be truly responsible for tossing its photograph out of the pitch-black vehicle that was parked on one of the free parking lots a few nights ago during the widower's nightshift and his friendly interaction with the policewoman, according to his words. Even though their speculations that the higher chances of Cayden to be beyond the conspiracy aroused their passionate ardor to ruin him and their exuberant rage pulsated into their frail skeletons accompanying the vehement simmer of their bloods pumping into their very veins and heating swelteringly uneven their delicate epidermis.

As soon as Madeleine and the former pious sister of the church finished their day shift in the flower store, afterwards they were on their way to home. Little did they know what might anticipate them eagerly behind the very walls of the two-story mansion after a long, dynamic day vending a rich diversity of flowers and plants in the company of the former prostitute and her daughter. Solely the delightfully bewitching, unique illustration of reuniting ominously headstrong with her family and beholding their beamingly gorgeous faces adorned with silken and glossy smiles, shimmering past their eyesight that were underneath its tiresome domino's rigid texture of fatigue obscuring their exquisite facial attributes.

A quarter an hour ago, the former aspiring Monsignor accepted the prying journalist to be hosted in the privately owned property, whilst Edward Ralph was sitting in his high chair, participating in the company of the platonic duo even if he played its eminent role of a third wheel at times.

In the meanwhile, the journalist has childlikely mousy seated on the kitchen table, maintaining an appropriately kindhearted eye contact with the former aspiring Monsignor whose larger frame meagerly inched the counter, whereas his bare patience seamlessly fumed as the translucent liquid partly swamping the kettle for the tea hasn't emitted a single humdrum, peculiar noise yet to pitch the background. The early evening spring's promiscuously spellbinding sunset celestially vibrant hues pullulated extremely fervent through the shut window and authentically wonderful curtained the brunette and the British compatriot's charming facial attributes. The four-month-old kitten was recently standing beside his cat bowl and maneuvering his tiny, white teeth to grind frequently to scatter its wee food chunks of cat food lingering its presence on his strawberry-coloured tongue nonetheless. Tremendously razor-edged focus on enduring the dozens of channelized bluntly restless grinds of teeth to gnaw to pieces each food chunk with its marvelously mouth-watering flavor sweetening his tongue tip.

The crickets' songs composed its own recklessly honey-mouthed, refreshingly beguiling ode coupled with the serenely comforting birdsongs harrowing the two-story mansion's monumental yard. The genuine notion of the tranquility asphyxiated the tensely uncomfortable, disquieting doldrum with an ease even the grandiose trees that towered like wonderfully enormous mountains joining in its fantastically eye-catching fairy tale illustration.

"How has being your current life out of Briarcliff?" At the moment, the former devotional man of the cloth managed to paw gently, modestly the countertop, whereas his smoky quartz big, roundish gemstones imbibed the brunette's porcelain, youthful complexion and then shooting a quick glance at his son and Stephen for a split second as he struggled to buff a radiantly benevolent, altruistically weak smile flourishing upon his nude mouth. "What about Jude's?" The middle-aged woman's orthodoxy petite, brittle hands gingerly pawed the kitchen table and the unnervingly dull drum of her fingertips against the furniture's carpet swathing pleasantly seamless, brushing featherly-soft its tender fabric frequently on reflex.

"We're doing good. We can't even complain about our lives." The haphazardness of the British aristocrat's deftness of the fat of his tongue shortly after the blood-curdlingly obdurate ordeal to construct his impending utterance through chaotically webbed vowels and syllables etching his graciously velvety, breathtaking British lilt's sharp accent tingled angelic anthems into the reporter's amenable ears. At the moment, the reporter's sheer oblivion rumbling to her peripheral eye and marvelously sly instincts and intuition to detect anything occurring in a different angle and segment of the kitchen rippled her overall arms and legs with rich crop of horripilation underneath her convenient garments. "We have had our fights and ordeals in our best and our worst as well."

"That's pretty interesting!" Twitching her lower angelically cherubic, rosy-coloured lip at the utterance, a consolingly sympathetic smile embellished her façade, barely averting her gaze from Timothy's. A starkly relentless, vindictively inauspicious blush darkened sympathetically the former holy priest's parchment, freshly youthful façade and spotlighting magnificently his handsome facial features, accompanying the ruthlessly mirthful crinkles of his light-heavy wrinkles and elegant dimples inscribed their own individual inescapable curves mapping meagerly his facial skin. Sweltering heat hypodermically crept beneath his fleshy, well-sculptured cheeks while the platonic pairing escorted the six-month-old baby's gutturally hoarse, merry chuckles bubbling up from their throats. "I bet you have had your worst times when you couldn't even look at each other."

"It's true." Suddenly the British compatriot channelized to retrieve two brilliantly empty, clean mugs from the kitchen cabinet and settling them cozily on top of the counter as his fleshy toes curled into his pair of comfy slippers. A heavy, jaded sigh seethed the homosexual's torso and coursing its gruffily crude snort through her tiny, flexible nostrils, sensing a twain of huge, round gemstones whose owner couldn't be even older than a half a year old youngster inquisitively surveyed her in a scrutiny and glinting its fantastically crystal diamonds of mild skepticism past his indistinctive black pupils. "There are times when the fights are even worth just to intensify its outstanding chemistry you possess and working on the problems you are rumbling up to." A soar lump at the very thought of the gloomy past the former members of the clergy have confronted a couple of weeks ago even longer struggled to convey its friendly reminder to immediately release its burden hypodermically simmering his Adam's apple brassly iron-willed. "Tell me more about your current life when the fame is your golden star to pursue."

"Well, I'm having my own fresh start with new ambience even if it's not the same as well!" The suddenness of the sea of tiny bubbles cheerfully chanting its inwardly monotonous chanson followed by hackling the liquid's seamless blanket engulfed the British aristocrat's attention in no time, whereas the austerely lugubriousness vastly vomited into her revelation and draining every healthy palette of glossy, satin paleness canvassing her full, oval profile. "I lost my girlfriend due to that psychiatrist that was initially appointed for Kit's treatment. Many things happened in a New York minute!"

"I'm sincerely sorry about your girlfriend's loss!"

"You don't have to! I'm having mixed feelings about her."

"I don't want to be attacking Jude and so forth, but you didn't truly deserve to suffer after all. After everything that happened." Shortly before his cocoa brown big, roundish gems glided to examine in a scrutiny the process of the simmering translucent liquid, he registered to shake a couple of times slowly but surely, somberly his head at the thought of his contemporary wife blackmailing Lana's deceased girlfriend to be the crucial motive behind Lana's imprisonment against her will inside the nefariously villainous, bone-chilling mental hospital for criminally insane. "She mustn't had blackmailed your girlfriend just to put you through the hell you the least deserved."

"You are always full of surprises, Timothy!"

"Dada!" All of a sudden, the youngster's baby-pinkish, cherub lips channelized to craft a sweet coo drawing the adults' attentions promptly, whilst protracting his pudgy, satin arms into the thin air.

"Aww, he's immensely adorable a little ray pitch of sunshine!" Optimistically sunny, poetically bright grins curved upon the brunette and the former ambitious Monsignor's oral slits momentarily at the sweet babyish coo, whereas she managed to cup in the palm of her amusingly warm, petite hand Edward Ralph's well-carved, chubby cheek. "Thanks to you and Jude I'm no longer gliding through the miserable remnants of that hellhole!"

Meantime, the front door whined heinously notorious at the prospect of the Michiganian and the Bostonian setting foot inside the corridor of the façade eventually after their tough, long day in the flower store, catching off guard the trio.

"That's Jude and her the best of friends!"

Author's Note: I'm candidly apologizing for the slow updates, due to a few reasons I am genuinely blaming myself for not pleasing its regular Wings of Light readers:

1. I was somewhat desperately running out of ideas and motivation even though my solemn vows to keep this story freshly updated a week at least.

2. School can be a genuine chaos sometimes. I mean even if I'm trying my best to separate some time to write and please my active readers, nevertheless, it doesn't work at all.

Moreover, what ar

e your thoughts on the first scene or rather the flashback with younger Madeleine where she confronts her ex along with his new girlfriend? Did I kill your expectancies with the previous chapter's cliffhanger when eventually the main topic Andrea bonded Frank and Lydia Jane? Do you think Lydia Jane and Frank would make great friends, in spite of the circumstances?

If you have sincerely enjoyed this chapter, don't forget to leave a feedback! I'd like to hear your honest thoughts. :))