The next morning

22nd of March, 1962

The morning hours flew as quickly as a summer breeze for Jude and Timothy. They were more than determined to return in Boston and pay a visit to the nuthouse, in order to rescue their love child as soon as possible before it was too late, in fact, the staff of the mental hospital are capable of everything to mute their echoes and pleas and most of all their mourn over their daughter. Briarcliff's orderlies, security guards, nuns even Father McKenzie were capable of doping the young woman with dozens of medicaments which engenders her criminal insanity and losing rational control over her actions and words. Even more by performing electroshock therapy on her to erase her memories, regardless if they are wondersome or otherwise melancholic.

Nonetheless the weather in Vermont wasn't as pleasant as the day before. It was rather rainy with sea of clouds, clouding the scintillating sun in the sky and darkening the atmosphere in general.

As soon as the wee hours of the morning dawned on the horizon, Timothy woke up mildly earlier than his wife, factly, to make a breakfast for themselves and thereafter prepare themselves for their journey to Boston especially Briarcliff.

Miraculously, a couple of minutes later Jude woke up and descended the stairs as she aimed up to the kitchen for her morning coffee and breakfast with Timothy as they ate, drank and talked. Afterwards they washed their plates and cups by changing themselves from their pyjamas into more formal garments until they concluded as the former nun dressed up herself in a cotton white shirt with long sleeves as she left a few buttons undone, followed by pair of leather black trousers, outlining her marvelously shaped legs for her midlife age; black floral scarf, scarfing her neck as she combined it with chestnut brown leather boots and black leather jacket.

While the former man of the cloth had on himself gray long sleeves top with round neckline, navy blue slacks and black sneakers.

Once they were ready for their destination to the small city of Massachusetts, the slightly older woman gathered a flashlight, a cigarette pack with a lighter, pocket knife and a couple of important items in her rucksack which might be beneficial if they encounter a bid, blocking their way.

As soon as they locked the mansion, they headed towards Timothy's pale blue cab by hopping up and taking their seats, buckling themselves as he turned on the music's radio to listen some enetertaining, merry music on their way to Massachusetts.

In the meantime, the song What's in the Worlds come over you played inside the vehicle, jingling jubilant tunes in the married couple's ears:

"What in the world's come over you? Seems we never get along. Ooh, ah, ah, ah! Every night, I reminisce dreaming of your tender kisses. What in the world's come over you?"

While the former holy man was focused on the driving process as one of his hands was turning the car steering wheel, his other mammoth, smooth hand was resting on her knee as the blonde was thrumming, imitating the song's instrumental for herself, chanting inwardly for herself which melted Timothy's heart.

"It's expecting us a couple of hours of driving until we are in Boston at last." The former sister of the church commented frustrated by heaving a sigh as she placed on top of his hand her petite, milky one, pouting her plumpish, rosy-coloured lips.

"Unfortunately, yeah!" He lightly patted her round, well-defined knee with the palm of his hand as she couldn't contain a mischievous chuckle, escaping her throat as a vile grin crawled on her porcelain, palish complexion. "At least, she isn't in Florida and it won't take forever until we find her eventually."

"Definitely! We have greater chance of seeing her almost 19 years after these nuns seperated her from us." She furthered with her utterance, chewing her bottom lip as Timothy abruptly stopped on the red light as he turned to her, facing her. Meantime their eyes met, locking up her stare by admiring her ethereal, natural beauty.

"Exactly! I hope they don't try to kill her or perform even worse therapies on her, as a result of having an amnesia when it comes up to her memories."

"Wah, wah, ooh! Could you ever change your mind? Ah, ah, ah! If you do, I'll still be here, dear
Waiting, longing for you! Ah, ah, ah!" Jack Scott still sung in the background eloquently.

"I am indeed sure they will try to kill her or denounce her to death by faking her death certificate just to fool us."

"We aren't the vulnerable fools they consider us at all."

In the wee hours of the morning in the old asylum, the rest of the patients were already released from their wards as Odette was either, who must have a breakfast minutes before her appointment with Dr. Azarova, who was the new psychiatric though she has worked in hospital. Nevertheless, she was doted on her job to work with mentally ill patients, who are being housed in a nuthouse and destined to rot for the rest of their somber days as they were already reckoned.

After Odette and the other inmates had already eaten their poor quality breakfast, thereafter she paced up in the profound, dim lit hallway of the institution as they were bathed in a tad daylight, as a result of the spring sun with its bright sunrays.

The young brunette hasn't made any friends with the patients yet, due to the fact she had limited time to finish her breakfast and the appontiment with the female doctor who she should consultate with detests it when the patients show hints of irresponsibility and lack of maturity, leading to her bile raising up in her throat.

When she reached for the middle-aged doctor's office, the singer knocked a handful of times on the wooden door until the older brunette cried out loud her response, permitting her recent patient to set a foot in her office.

"Good morning, !" Odette heaved a sigh as soon as she entered inside the brunette's office, shutting the door immediately, whilst Velika was sitting on her desk as her pair of eyeglasses sat motionlessly on the bridge of her elegant, beautiful nose.

"Good morning, Odette! They've told me we have an appointment for today 10 o'clock in the morning." Velika made sure to check her silver wrist watch once again by scanning studiously what time it was, reading it properly exactly "10:00AM" which relieved her Odette wasn't late, nor arriving slightly earlier than the arranged time. A welcoming, benevolent smile danced across the older woman's rosewood-coloured lips, ushering her patient to sit against her.

"They falsely accused me! You don't understand, doctor!" The young lady shrugged her shoulders, retorted by pursing her lips. "They don't even know my story to judge me." Then she popped her dry, plump berry-coloured lips up as if dynamite exploded. The both women's fragrances brightly contrasted. The aroma of roses which once emanated from her mane of chestnut tresses diminished as they left no longer tracks of her refined, neat looks. Even the exquisite perfumes. They were already lost in the limbo. Whilst Velika smelled of cinnamon and coffee which didn't leave the younger woman's tender nostrils forgetting its alluring, sweet fragrance.

"Calm down, girl! That's why I'm here to help you." Velika snapped with mild irritation in her voice, opting to have self-control over her emotions and feelings. Chocolate brown orbs met hazelish-brown, locking up Odette's eyes. "You don't need to explain yourself for millionth time who you are."

The truth was the older brunette was prone to recognize something perfectly normal in the younger one which isn't associated with mental illness. Moreover, she hasn't suspected anything leery behind the mask of the cold-blooded, strong-willed singer who was just an ordinary patient.

Silence arched between them as Velika took her time to scrutinize, surveying the love child during the awkward hush. In the meanwhile, Odette felt somewhat embarrassed, due to the fact, neither of them hasn't broken the ice yet since the silence hasn't died yet. Her youthful heart still hammered vehemently, frequently as if she has heard light footsteps behind her.

"What's wrong with me, Doctor Azarova?" It was Odette who broke the ice, arching eyebrow gamely by trying to taunt the doctor to not keep herself as quiet as seconds ago. "Tell me if I have any symptoms of mental illness." She insisted to hear the ugliest truth though the wicked smirk which distorted across the middle-aged lady's lips was unavoidable, staggering her even more.

"You don't have any signs of mental sickness, Miss Martin Howard!" All of a sudden, the singer was peculiarly surprised the broken ice by her worked and affected their conversation as well. Then she removed her black framed eyeglasses from her face in a swift yank, grasping one of the frames with her forefinger and thumb. "You seem perfectly healthy and normal, although," The Russian lady cackled half-heartedly. "They aren't prone to believe both of us especially you since you are committed here."

"I'm confused, Dr. Azarova! I don't understand this since," The younger brunette crossed her arms by pouting her lips as she was cut off in the middle of her utterance.

"Don't worry, dear! You aren't obligated to call me officially. You seem harmless though I need to make sure by asking you a couple of questions that have to do with the happened and inspect once again your condition."

"So you want me to address you Velika instead Dr. Azarova, won't ya?" Suddenly Velika picked up one more cigarette from her cigarette pack, in order to offer her patient with a cigarette, extending it by offering it directly without hesitancy. She accepted it without rejecting her offer by putting the cigarette in her mouth as its length gapped between her lips as she bended, giving an access to Velika to light her cigarette with a lighter. Afterwards she rose up by reclining on the chair, taking a puff of its nicotine length. "Thank you!"

"That's I would like to. I feel comfortable in your company." Hence, the elder brunette light her cigarette up by taking a drag of it, blowing severe dim which diffused in her austere, tidied, mere-looking office. "Now let's start with the questions, Odette Beatrix!" She promptly left the cigarette in the glass ashtray.

In spite of the dreary, monotonous, nonetheless sinister rules which were part of the madhouse's policy, Velika liked her patient in platonic way and allowed her to be addressed informally since she felt comfortable in her company, besides the elder brunette hasn't suspected anything doubtful in her young patient at all.

What it overwhelmed the recently committed inmate was the doctor's bounteousness and unarguable serene nature, embodying her imperturbality! Even more so to earn a tad quantity of her trust which can be difficult won, depending on the people as well.

"Elsa, what do you mean you're going to Boston tomorrow?" One of Elsa's colleagues posed the question in jaded, grave manner as they both were alone in the dresisng room, taking a break before they start with their repetition with practicing a song.

"I really need to go in Boston, Leah! I am deadly serious I can't leave my secondary daughter to rot in this shit hole." The middle-aged woman replied in wry way as she was sipping of her scotch glass of whiskey that burned the abysmal caverns of her mouth, licking greedily her lips. She casted a serious stare on the younger redhead without averting her stare. "She's a special kiddo!"

"I understand you how important is this girl but don't you care about your career at least?"

Leah was actually one of the lead singers, who sang duets with the former Freak show owner since the last night after Odette's arrest and disappearance in Boston.

She was actually a young woman and approximately the love child's age with medium ringlet of silken old Hollywood red curls, hanging past her shoulders. She had fair skin tone with pale green eyes, freckles veiling her cheeks. Further, Leah wasn't tall young lady at all. She was rather around 5'5 with slender body build.

Even more the Irish girl has never got along with the former pious members of the church's daughter.

"Of course, I care, Leah! I just love her a bit too much." The German emigrant rejoindered wisely without raising her voice by sipping her alcoholic beverage. Her firm, decent German accent accentuated on her utterance.

"Ugh! She's a daughter of damn whore and a toy boy. Don't you understand how damaging is your decision to go anywhere else?" The redhead heaved a dramatic, cocky sigh, emitted from the top of her lungs.

"You haven't got the right to belittle and underestimate this genius, Leah." All of a sudden, the menacing hissing of Elsa horrified her colleague. She loathed it whenever somebody underestimates or talks behind the brunette's back without any reason.

An hour later after the young woman's appointment with finished smoothly, afterwards she stormed off to the common room, where the other patients, who shared as the same fate as hers are destined to being housed in a nuthouse for the rest of their days, she scanned the common room in no time.

What the young lady witnessed was the grotesque scenery of lunatics, who banged their heads idly, recklessly in the old, brick walls, while others were participating in small, petty clashs with each other or otherwise they were doing something else rather than banging their heads into the walls or attacking other inmates. Nobody seemed gleeful at all. They were off-puttingly wretched with incessant, crestfallen frowns, dancing around their dry, filthy lips which have already contacted its tawdry dishes and have been guzzled, regardless how disgusting is it eventually. Odette wore a grimaced face, incarnating her irrefutable repugnance of an unholy place like this.

Her honey brown pools wandered west and east, surveying the inmates, biting her bottom lip as she had a bias of not being assaulted with punches, kicks even slaps by them.

Once the love child sat on the tattered sofa, she reclined by contemplating blankly, emotionlessly in her direction. Hazel orbs glistened with grayish, humdrum sparks. Her naturally rosy-coloured lips pouted as she had inherited her own mother's frown especially when the brunette pouts her lips.

Gramophone's disk music currently played in the common room, causing her petite, sensitive ears to bleed as soon as its pesky, constant song played in the background, forcing her to break it in within seconds, carelessly evading the hazards that may block her path. The aloud wails of the patients weren't actually avoidable. They were a common phenomenon in the asylum especially for the staff and the other patients, themselves.

To be continued...