--- *** ---
--- Flashback ---
--- 2nd of May, 1966 ---
--- 6:30AM ---
The wee hours of the morning's perky cold zephyr swept across Hartford's crispy air, accompanying the weak rays of sunshine scintillated the juvenile undergraduate's mop of naturally chestnut brown strands, framing her palish face and her fingers maneuvering the wheelchair's wheels. A warm rosy-coloured blush tinted playfully her cheeks after leaving her brother's home to attend Father Kellan's local chapel.
First and foremost, she was strongly looking forward to this glorious day to volunteer behind those sacrilegious walls. As if it is an honor to redeem herself and close the chapter, bloated with inky black stains on the previous papers, indicating her grim past and involvement in supporting her father's clause. A childlike excitement contoured tenderly her youthful facial features, mildly etching the corners of her lips into a light-hearted smile.
The undergraduate sincerely hoped Father Kellan would take her seriously and not pay any heed to the potential rumors, circulating in Hartford.
The haphazard squeaky sound of pushing a gate, taunted Father Kellan's flinch of his muscles, turning to glimpse at the ajar door until it spread widely enough to reveal the surprisingly first visitor. The sight of Martha contoured abruptly hostility on Kellan's fresh complexion, whilst his pristine fingers toyed with his goblet of refreshingly cool water, covering the very depths.
"Good morning, Father." Despite overlooking his salty hostility, inked on his face, the childlike excitement also flooded her reproduced symphony of vowels and syllables as her hands worked on the wheels to stroll toward him.
"Good morning, Miss Gray." Oddly, shortly after nursing the goblet by raising it not high enough to indicate his particular annoyance at the brunette, his palish hand reached for the napkin to brush his moist berry-coloured lips. Pure numbness and graveness laced his greeting to her, insinuating that something had happened. "Do you have something to tell me?"
A half a minute of distressful silence loomed over the chapel's stiff air, while the only sound playing in the background, emanated from the chord of silver-tongued birds, chirping joyously outside. Little did the brunette know what went wrong in the last twenty-four-hour timeline, in order to distinguish the man of the cloth's demeanor from yesterday.
In the last two days by comparing the day before along today, flooded the tremendous pressure of uneasiness, surging through her veins like turbulent sea waves in the darkest hours of the day. On the contrary, his demeanor today veritably contrasts the vibrant and open-minded man of the cloth, who initially embraced her with open arms to secure the volunteer's position.
Today, he didn't seem to exude the slightest hints of bliss and radiant energy upon him.
"Speak, Miss!" Shortly before dumping the almost emptied goblet on top of the pew, he would perch his rear by rising up from his seat, a veritable blizzard of discomfort brewed and cooked inside her organs. She gulped the limp, stuck inside her feminine Adam apple, scrutinizing cautiously the older gentleman. "Now!" His strict demand forced her to quirk uncomfortably her thin eyebrow.
"I don't have anything to tell you, Father. Probably you have mistaken me for somebody else."
"I haven't mistaken you in the slightest." Fashioning his white-knuckled hand into a fist and slamming it on top of the well-lacquered pew, therefore, the infamous noise taunted the disabled lady to flinch, muttering unintelligible grunts under her own breath. They were hardly audible for Kellan. "Do not dare to behave foolishly arrogant, little girl!"
"I am so baffled," All of a sudden, her vagueness clouded her prejudices by formulating a potential theory as to why Father Kellan behaved brashly crudely with her as if she was nothing more than representing the deadliest sin, herself. Meanwhile, the black-haired man's mouth curled into a disappointed grit, strolling slowly but surely towards her to diminish not only the proximity with her but also cause a series of discomfort and embarrassment towards her. "I don't know what is going on."
"It is incredibly easy by your side to play games," Meanwhile, their proximity was sufficiently short that he leaned down his torso, whilst his complexion exchanged a handful of inches distance with hers. His once pair of lapis lazuli gems were bathed in a glitter of crystal innocence and benevolence until he had to confront the haughty juvenile lady. A pairing of brilliant flames glimmered upon his gems, highlighting his raw unfriendliness. "Let me tell you something."
Folding his amusingly muscular arms across his chest to hint at one more sign of his great frustration with her, the brunette sensed an awfully distrustful, mint-stained breath brushing against her plump cheeks. Little did she know that even the most authentically altruistic people, at first sight, could conclude in the disguise of anti-heroes and expose their true colours, when they become victims of wrath.
"It is a sin what you have done and you are just coming into my church to opt to hide this baby, who belongs not only to you but also to your deceased uncle." Although the collegian's numerous attempts to stay as cool as a cucumber and not scorn in any form the black-haired gentleman, her plump cheeks flushed, even fairer nuances of pink. "It doesn't help to cover this foul secret of yours to try to prove yourself as a redeeming soul."
"T-There is nothing wrong with loving a family member." Shaking her head in a solemn disagreement, rather aggravated the situation as if the giant wildfire started to not only blaze the nearby bushes and trees along the grass but also sheet other nooks of the forest. She had attempted to stand up for herself against the honorable member of the clergy, even though it led to a terrible fiasco.
"You didn't purely love him as a family. You loved him as more than family." Pure ire clicked her vowels and syllables, while the collegian surprisingly managed to an eye contact with the older gentleman.
What Father Kellan chipped on his shoulder more than anything was not only the sugarcoated lies, panned in a resistless layer of tiny sugar pebbles, embroidered on the exaggeration but also the incest. The family's platonic love was perfectly healthy and acceptable as much as it didn't involve any kind of foully sexual intentions.
The potent adrenaline to lecture the brunette about how extremely unhealthy and adverse the sexual interactions between family members such as an uncle and his niece, registered a gentle pat on top of his meaty brain. The neutrally silver cogs had begun their tandem propulsion, pushing forward as a sign of encouragement to formulate slowly but surely his thoughtful utterance before sloppily slipping it from his sleek lips.
"Weren't there any cases of incest in the Bible and any sacred children to emanate from," During her single-minded will of sleekly slipping the barely finished question she had planned to pose to the older man, his temptation to interrupt her was outweighing the scales of his once authentic patience. Father Kellan was incredibly patient and granted chances to other individuals to speak their minds, nevertheless, his respect for her plummeted down after acknowledging the raw truth behind her façade.
As if Martha's mask once painted with a bright watercolor brush of hope, ecstasy and determination, fell off from her face like a discarded weapon, symbolizing her failed attempts to defend herself against the man of the cloth. As if she was a disarmed soldier in a war with raised arms straightforwardly to the flawlessly eternal sky, as a result, indication of her surrender to be a devoted volunteer in the local chapel.
"Even if it is, do you think those beings are going to get away with it?" The black-haired gentleman's venomous hiss vibrated upon his oral caverns's flute strings, articulating his naked annoyance at the brunette. "Incest is causing not only physical but also mental anomalies to your child. Just imagine this wight of yours growing inside the wasp's nest,"
A tiresome lump was stuck in the middle of the brunette's feminine Adam's apple, accentuating her glassy glare onto the walking figure beside her. His presence was indubitably potent and intimidating. His words were as razor-edged as a deadly claymore. His once honeyed lilt that could chant even the most tranquil songs and lullabies, no longer tinged safe signals back and forward to the undergraduate's honed ears.
"And ending up resembling an awful abomination, belonging to a serial killer's daughter and his beloved dead brother, besides his peers and teachers commenting secretly anything wrong with him and his mother." The pristine mockery resumed the rest of Father Kellan's exclamation, looming over the chapel's interior, where his northern lilt was showering in a patchwork of scorn and abysmal abhorrence, addressed to the notorious serial killer's daughter.
"Does it look like I care what the others may think of me or my unborn child?" A vehement scorn abruptly sleeved her vowels and syllables' elaboration as soon as the man of the cloth attempted to alarm her about the aftermath as a sequence of poor decision-making.
"Of course, you mustn't care!" A series of brisk chuckles elaborated, accompanied by callow sarcasm the middle-aged man's exclamation, crossing his arms across his sturdy chest. The conversation grew even more tedious for him as if the cancer's stick shortened with every taken drag of his sheer enthusiasm to maintain the conversation. "Until they don't bring up how their mother had slept with her uncle because she can't find a boyfriend around her age with a much different bloodline."
"Huh?" A swift rise of her elegantly dainty eyebrow objected to her belief in his words, attempting to fossilize the remaining cues of steeliness and perseverance to not being tempted enough to articulate any kind of emotions. Especially uncovering her defeatist demeanor once a man wins the argument, while her emotions equate his wisdom, even outnumbered.
"And once this child of yours grows up to be close to his adulthood," Seconds before he reached the catharsis aspect, Father Kellan promenaded to the table to pour into his goblet once again from the translucently healthy liquid's bottle, ignoring the undergraduate's pair of quartz embers inflicting his turned back as a shield, when her gaze wasn't reciprocated.
Shortly after he poured in the goblet sufficiently transparent liquid almost to submerge the edges, thereafter, the dark-haired man lifted it to nurse a small sip before licking delightfully his lips to hydrate his oral caverns.
"He won't be delighted to acknowledge the truth and wouldn't bother with you anymore, even if you are his mother."
Haphazardly, the church's double-winged oak wood door spread widely opened at the prospect of orderlies, escorted by the policewoman Lydia Jane caught off guard by the party. Father Kellan and Timothy had arranged without Martha's knowledge to be seized and incarcerated in the infamous mental hospital Briarcliff Manor.
Little did the brunette know what was actually happening and how a party of a policewoman and two orderlies assembled! Her shamefully undraped oblivion had failed to cover her childlike inquisitiveness behind those motives and who would call the authorities to lock her down outside the state. Her only speculation, who had exposed her once promised little secret between her and the former Monsignor, insinuated potently that nobody else stood behind the exposure except him.
The powerless attempts of atonement and sought negotiations were nothing than an absolute fiasco, where she got caught red-handed for the incest that was considered a mental illness in the modern day to her own surprise. There was a particular reason why the asylum's staff members had arrived especially for her.
"Morning, gentlemen!" Once the orderlies in the humble party of the redhead' shooed feet registered a series of soft steps as if long-fingered hands pressed on the piano keys to fabricate a fresh melody, therefore, they were close enough to the collegian after joining the inconvenience scene. Their presence was potent enough to stifle collegian's chances to mumble anything unless it was in self-defense.
"Morning, Father!" A gloriously polite greeting pulled out of their mouths, maintained eye contact with the middle-aged man. Meanwhile, the brunette offered a hostile glare at both parties, while grotesque dissatisfaction and disappointment collided with her facial features as a tidal wave. "What is the emergency?"
"We have a problem there, gentlemen and Officer Morrison!" Arched an eyebrow in demonstration of gravitas, the young man of the cloth proffered a temporal simper that caressed his facial attributes until he cast his gaze on the disabled dame.
His once temporarily coy simper adorning his face cooled down in the blink of an eye and his authentic abhorrence of the brunette haunted him as if Kellan held an unforgettable grudge against somebody. Especially who was on the verge of razing to the ground his reputation, but also his chapel's once solace that collided into the interior and exterior's very walls as a tidal wave. Per se, the solace that had been found as a refuge by pious and not very pious individuals to wreathe their fingers in tandem into both hands, bobbed down their heads with slit-shut eyelids in a prayer.
"Miss Gray has been nothing than a disgrace not only for the church but also for the society! She is a danger for every one of us." Father Kellan crossed his arms across his sturdy chest, his body language excellently penciled his salient sternness that was rather unnatural for his discreetly benevolent nature. He scowled whilst the brunette cast a glare at both parties, scanning their body language and frowns that shone upon their frames.
They were more than ready to incarcerate her from the ability to see the light of day of the outside world, where the general population had secured its respective place, unlike the mentally unstable individuals.
"She needs a lot of time to heal and reflect on those anomalies that have conquered her mindset and decisions." All of a sudden, the surprising ripple of calmness and solemnity crashed upon his vowels and syllables' medley of words they had formulated at last.
"No, please, don't!" Despite the desperately knife-like pleas rippled through her fragile lungs, Martha was seized from her wheelchair whilst her wrists were cuffed by the staff members' knuckled hands, tightening the everlasting prison of agony and pain. She was dragged like a helplessly lifeless doll as her paralyzed feet apprehensively contacted the gloriously scarlet red shag. In the interim, the redhead's brittle hands worked on the wheelchair's push handles and maintained sufficiently moderate speed as a balance to catch up with the sanitars.
"Don't even let her escape!" A genuine, morbid grin curled up in the corner of his pink mouth, contemplated in potent admiration the perspective of a sinner being dragged out of God's house. He dodged a bullet in the blink of an eye, thanks to his buddy who gave him cues about the brunette and her whimsical past along with notoriety.
"Somebody help me, please!" While she had attempted to plot any kind of a concept to fight back the unmatchable sanitary masculine thick skins armoring their bones, in the interim, she ducked down to her left and opened her mouth with sufficiently healthy, and stable teeth to nip the older sanitarian's wrist. Her pristine resolution of self-defense was her only choice, in order to achieve freedom or at least harvest, even more wrath from the men.
A humble blanket of redness skimmed his wrist's epidermis, amalgamated with the bitter flavor of epidermal pinch that taunted his beehive of nerves and blood.
"Ouch! What a nasty bitch!" When they were dozens of centimeters away from God's house gate, therefore, an unrestrained yielp surged from the victim of the nip and registered his glare below his wrist. The uncontrollably potential patient of Briarcliff Manor. "You must be taught a lesson, foolish lady!" By that time, he halted for a split-second to blow a rough slap across her, whereas his colleague assisted him with lingering his tightened grip on her right wrist.
In spite of the quick blow with the meaty, still amusingly rigid palm she tolerated, firmly gritted a whole package of teeth to diminish the predictably boring and strong slap, it contacted the milky epidermis of her left cheek. On her facial canvas, a small reddish pattern emerged on the left cheek as a sequence of swift slap. It was amusingly less painful than expected.
Little did the two parties know the delicate secret, or rather the art of diminishing the pain as a woman anticipating the physical retaliation of a man! Oddly, she didn't register a single motion of her muscles, nor vomited a shriek in agony and ache.
Since her young childhood, when Martha's uncle was still alive, one of the most remarkable lessons she had ever learned from his, was the art of condoning the pain. Especially plummeting down the hazardously high levels of pain and following properly the physical and mental formula for discipline and practice. It was one of the most remarkable lessons Martha had ever learned in her entire life, carving the roof of her discipline and mindset.
Without it, she would emit a series of shrieks to express vocally her symphony of morbid affliction, eventually passing out and waking up in an unfamiliar place within elapsing hours.
Lastly, when the sanitarians resumed their short trip as a two-way ticket to the chapel and backward to the vehicle, consequently, the police officer pushed violently the double wing door gifting a tad of space for the two parties to reenter the exterior.
In the meanwhile, a couple of fame-hungry and childlike inquisitive journalists braced with a couple of meters proximity as a flower crown's floral girdle, their fingers lingered on the microphones, wrapped them in tight knots. Their eagerness to interview the undergraduate, accompanied by asylum staff members and police officer, outweighed their sheer enthusiasm.
"Ms. Morrison, do you wish to give an interview?" Without hesitation, a juvenile woman in her late twenties with a short bob of black hair framed her pristinely feminine facial features, exposing her youthful beauty to the rest of the world as an uncurtained window to allow the daylight's endless light penetrate meekly the translucent glass. Her trembling long-fingered hand aimed at the policewoman, in spite of her faked high confidence to indicate her sheer professionalism and determination, was blatantly ignored.
"Officer Morrison, what are your thoughts on incest?" A second journalist, this time as a senior man in his middle sixties and a pair of eyeglasses pecked the bridge of his nose, attempted to draw her attention with his thought-provokingly philosophical, complex question the policewoman.
"For how long Miss Gray is going to be institutionalized in Briarcliff Manor?" Haphazardly, the only photographer, who was part of the temporal chord outside God's house, aimed his Polaroid camera, accentuating the scenario of sanitarians' tough grasp on brunette's fragile wrists. The dazzling lunar beam of camera bloomed behind their turned backs as if ghosts opted to pat them to reciprocate the paranoia and apprehension of being watched and not all alone.
The leery silenced bloomed upon the God's house exterior, designating the lukewarmness in the journalists' questions, darted to Lydia Jane and the orderlies that had escorted her to pick up Martha. Alas, the heedlessness of professional journalists to scout a potential place of interest with an opulently refreshing story to forge for the journal and television screen, didn't discourage them from their multiple times' tries to catch anybody else's attention.
"For first and last time," Abruptly, the policewoman turned to the journalists, while she had darted her dark embers to the knowledge-hungry covey of journalists, whose curiosity drained every ounce of their remaining energy and patience. Lydia Jane's vowels and syllables congealed her vague frustration, hinted in her dramatic vouch. "Miss Gray is going to be institutionalized until she fully has been cured."
Afterward, another snap of the photographer's stilled fingers to support the camera's weight whilst aiming to snap another photograph led to a continuous sequence of a bright, dazzling light temporarily flickering Lydia Jane and the orderlies' car and the police vehicle that encompassed the individuals' figures.
--- *** ---
--- End of Flashback ---
--- Later the Following Morning ---
Shortly after Timothy had spent a tad of his morning routine in the potent and consoling presence of his small family, subsequently, his determination to visit Frank's workplace weighed as much as his insatiable need to rescue one more soul from the wretched mental hospital. The microcephalic woman Pepper.
Initially, Timothy believed shortly after his official resignation from the church to open a fresh chapter in his life to start a devoted and small, but still united family with his wife Judy, that the mental hospital's staff's professionalism and authentic care would be supplied for Pepper and the rest of the institution's inmates. Out of everything, one of his most desirable wishes was not only to start a family of his own, even at a slightly progressed age unlike the majority of the younger general population, but also to veil the asylum and his clerical duties as a previous chapter in his book of life.
Until he watched a modicum of Briarcliff Manor's documentary broadcasted a handful of hours ago, his initial thoughts that resurfaced as purely stubborn icebergs in the frigidly frozen ocean, conveyed a bright contrast of the asylum's overall prospect, compared to a year ago. Unlike a year ago, it was much worse as according to what he had seen in the documentary, the majority of the mentally unstable inmates wandered freely the hallways and any nook of the mental hospital without any strict security.
Especially a strict security to restrict them from their ultimate freedom, in fact, their very essences haunted each nook and corner of the façade and their hankering for pristinely sweet revenge coursed through their phantoms' veins. As invisible witnesses, they could contemplate through the wicked prospect of lunatics' once-zipped mouths, betrayed their vow of silence once they used be incarcerated, as a result, to articulate their victorious and uncontrollable screams and maniacal guffaws. Their unlimited access to strictly forbidden rooms that were accessible only if they were called urgently, was a sign of their victorious freedom to conquer them with their presence.
In the meantime, the former police officer sat leniently on his spinning chair while his sturdy shooed feet stilled on the cherry wooden desk as a settled nest of birds inside his miniature cabin. One of his hands was busy enough to grasp a soft chocolate-coated donut to fill his empty stomach under his cotton crimson red short-sleeved shirt that churned shortly after he came to work, in order to monitor the parking lot and require his clients to pay him for a ticket until they had decided to flee.
The early morning's bird chirps tingled eloquent soundtracks into his honed ears, brightly contrasting the tediously monotonous symphony of a car engine's disturbing pur. A couple of cars had reserved their parking spaces, regardless of their purposes. To halt as a nearby destination for a while to visit a convenience store, pay the bills or otherwise go to work, due to the circumstance that their workplace is somewhere nigh.
Confident sunlight bathed the modestly sized cabin as the last hope of bestowing a vibrant brightness in the miniature space was only one window, especially above the cherry wooden desk. An unplugged radio to save a modicum of electricity, due to the lack of wish Frank to listen to something different than news and specific songs, sat motionlessly on the bureau, accompanied by an almost emptied mug of coffee as the translucent brown liquid almost submerged to the ground level of sludge.
His glassy, still drowsy-drowned azure embers scanned his surroundings, whilst his ears were honed enough to catch and monitor the soundtracks of sounds and human speeches wafted outside.
Within a minute, he finished the rest of his modest breakfast and brushed stubbornly his chocolate-stained fingers and palms, whereas Frank's fleshy tongue bolted out of his oral caverns to lick joyfully his upper and lower lip, blanketed docilely in a light chocolate blemish, smeared across his full lips' profile. Despite the inefficiency of his brushed hands against each other, consequently, he lifted both hands' fingertips to diminish the distance with his refreshingly clean lips as he moderately unfolded them to expose his tongue that brushed the contrasting flesh with the sweet brown smear and afterward, inserted them inside his mouth every finger to be entirely neat.
Out of the blue, a series of meek, still confident door knobs shifted his attention to the unknown visitor, concealed behind and anticipated the host to welcome him.
An initial distrust splashed over the last remains of his trust, solidified with concrete over the skeleton's structure, whilst a chunk of lump lingered on his Adam's apple. The very prompt of exclaiming who could be behind the cabin's door spiraled into his whirlwind of thoughts. Everybody could be behind this door and eventually take advantage of Frank's unfamiliarity with his surroundings to raid not only his workplace, but also erode his physical and mental capacity.
Certain people were as vicious as ferociously impulsive and bloodthirsty predatory animals, anticipating in great eagerness their victim to be lured or being caught all alone with their defense stripped off to be targeted. They were also unpredictable or at least playing mind games, in order to deceive their own prey into the lethal limbo, where their screams and pleas for help would be never heard, even by a phantom.
"Who is it?" The middle-aged gentleman inquired instinctively, whereas his fingers pounced to the nape of his neck to scratch the itchy skin of his haircut's length peak.
"Timothy here."
"Ah!" Shortly after the tips of the former policeman's fingers scratched the nape of the neck's skin, thereafter, one of his hands reached for the doorknob to snap broadly open. A joyous, perky flame waltzed delightfully upon his crystal cerulean gemstones whilst the edges of his mouth hitched into a genuine smile, embracing warmly and tightly his fresh facial features. "Hi, Tim! It is great to see ya again, friend!" A sheepish with nuances of vibrancy caressed the former Monsignor's marble complexion.
"Hi, Frank! How are you so far?"
"I'm good. Just the ordinary morning at work to monitor the people that had parked their cars and trucks there, besides taking care of their tickets." A guttural chuckle illuminated Frank's light-spirited nature. "How are ya too, fellow ex Monsignor?"
"Having mixed feelings." In the meanwhile, both men gulped the persistent chunk, saddled in their Adam's apple, maintaining intense eye contact, even if it was a friendly reminder that the former Monsignor wasn't ultimately mirthful. His once vibrant, childlike smile refrigerated with replaced a dejected frown, caressing his seamless dimples. A fat layer of numbness laced his posh British lilt.
"Oh, why is that, friend? Do ya feel comfortable enough to share with me?"
"I watched that documentary earlier this morning." An insinuation of a solemn medley of misery, regret and anger cooked and brewed the cauldron of infernal liquid, suppressing the empty bottom. The unexplainable medley of those intense emotions carried a giant weight and hampered his breathing at the very thought of Pepper being a forgotten wretched soul in the mental hospital without proper care and aid as an institutionalized patient. She deserved far much better than this kind of treatment she received.
Scarce meals to sustain her weight and brittle anatomy's condition. Scarce proper care she deserved as every patient, even if she was completely innocent compared to the rest of the lunatics. A monstrous peril she was caged behind the lifelessly dull, gray walls of the asylum, especially with lurking lunatics in every nook as if it was a zombie apocalypse and the rest of mankind were contaminated with an unknown infection that transformed them into brain-hungry, mindless zombies.
"What it was about? I can see yar distress in yar eyes and voice." Bobbed down head as the younger man's chocolate brown embers scrutinized the gray ash carpet blanketing the floor and an occasional glimpse of the security guard's black and white sneakers complimented his visual perspective. Little did Timothy know what kind of horrors he had to encounter on the television as the past had been reborn gloriously from the ruins to come back for the former employees.
"As much as we have moved on with Judy and you with the past," Abruptly, the British compatriot bobbed up his head, his gaze momentarily impaled the Irish security guard's cerulean nuances of his irises, he strongly looked forward to his friend's explanation behind his immense distress. "There is something we had forgotten."
A minute of tensely eerie silence settled unwelcomingly between the small party of men, as a result, the numbing silence's invisible fingers pulled forward their lips in painful purses, zipping the upcoming tempest of vowels and syllables to elaborate their polyphony. They couldn't put a finger on, it due to the fact that Frank's quietness spoke volumes, synchronized ideally with his violently rampant heart throbs in his rib cage.
Even though Pepper wasn't a keen fan of Timothy back in his priesthood while Frank was polite enough to her to not develop mutual negative impressions and frequent barks, still, they still shared the principle that not a single innocent soul deserved such a godforsaken fate to chase them down.
"P-Pepper," Being all ears to the response, Frank rubbed the bridge of his nose, meanwhile, a powerless stammer strolled out of his mouth. "Correct?"
"Unfortunately," A pristine crystal sparkle of affliction and regret glittered upon his chocolate brown coals, as a result of escorted a docile nod to register his confirmation on Pepper's wretched fate she had served in the last a handful of years since Timothy's resignation. "Yes."
"So, Briarcliff Manor's staff seems to go really downhill since ya aren't there to save the day with Judy." Abruptly, the older gentleman lifted up his rear from his chair as one of his long-fingered hands reached for the handset's piece to retrieve, and clung it to his ear. His determination to phone his boss and to take a day or two off from work, in order to escort his buddy on a mission to return back to Boston to rescue Pepper, was beyond tempting.
But also he had been positioned in a mental dilemma whether to sacrifice a modicum of his work time to save a precious soul from the lackadaisical silver asylum walls and eventually his salary to be decreased, or otherwise let Timothy deal all alone with every hardship without any companion. Still, his salary would still in terms of quantity, even eventually skyrocket with dozens of dollars to plaster a satisfied smile on his face and to be capable of affording a modicum of extra additions to his life, especially under the material category.
As much as the former police officer did like his own job as a security guard on a parking lot, his authentically noble side of his nature maneuvered his will to lean more to sacrifice his worktime for the sake of not only ensuring the British compatriot with safety but also save the microcephalic lady.
In the meantime, he squinted back momentarily at Timothy as if the brittle, still pungent onion layers after secession to be chopped with a kitchen knife, the infectiously strong onion gas had been summoned to gouge his eyeballs to plummet the openness under the form of slits.
"It is beyond unbelievable what they are exactly prioritizing except the money they would be served at the end of the month."
"Sadly, like the majority of the people, they are striving to survive by working, even the least pleasant work in exchange for a lot of money." A heavy sigh heaved from the top of the British aristocrat's delicate lungs while the older gentleman's index and middle fingers prioritized the retro phone's numbers to plug and draw them to dial his manager's phone number.
"Correct, Tim! Let me call my boss to inform him to have a temporary replacement until we are back in Hartford again." All of a sudden, Frank's pair of cerulean coals was immersed into the scintillating sunrays whose invisible, still soft hand caressed gently his olive-tanned complexion. The series of monotonous, still jubilant sounds of dialing a phone number elaborated a tuneful soundtrack into their ears until Frank finished pulling off the entire code to initiate a phone call.
Author's Note:
I'm sincerely apologizing for those tremendously delayed updates as they emanate from real life and author's block, besides my hesitation whether to publish full versions of chapters or otherwise to post them partially since Wings of Light's chapters have been a hassle for some readers, therefore, I have decided to meet their needs. Especially to shorten them by not making them excessively long. I have decided from now on to publish such tremendously long chapters on a handful of parts, depending on their word count.
Furthermore, it is the first part of Chapter 39: Gateway To Madness, where we are going to delve, even deeper what are Timothy's intentions behind his adventure to Briarcliff with his friend Frank.
Questions directed to the reader: Do you think Timothy and Frank are going to survive in Briarcliff, while attempting to search for Pepper?
Is Judy going to feel safe with the baby, while Timothy is absent?
Feel free to spill your own thoughts in the comment section.