Sister Jude's Demons

A Drink

She, like everyone else she had ever come across, had had her fair share of demons. Weak moments in her life that had forced her to unravel, forced her to discover her Achilles' Heel. Unfortunately for Sister Jude, her weak spots were not only known about by everyone around her, but they had driven her to such guilt, she had ran from them, left all traces of the life she had built for herself and became a nun in the hope of finding peace. She had always felt God somewhere in the background of her busy, distracted mind, but other than the odd, selfish, whimsical desire, had never asked anything from Him. As a nun, she looked towards God for guidance and strength, and praised His love and patience when she managed to avoid those temptations and resist the urge to lose herself in a stiff drink. Similarly, she inwardly blamed God for His lack of interest in her, when the sting of cognac diving down her throat and coating the seriousness of her thoughts, was all that could fix the messes she had in front of her, or more troubling still, the messes that plagued her complex mind.

While running an insane asylum might not have been how she dreamed her life would turn out, she was deeply grateful for the second chance God had offered her, in His house and under His care. But seeing God in every brick that made up the very building she resided in, day after day, year after year, did nothing but make her wary of herself. There was nowhere she could go where she could be her true, honest self and not be judged for her weaknesses and desires to sin. No matter how many years she confined herself to her tasks and responsibilities at Briarcliff, she would never forget the deep satisfaction of the sweet burn of alcohol, or the mess it had lead her to.

She glanced down to the desk where she spent her days, the usual paraphernalia piled next to the statue of Christ that resided on the corner. She absent-mindedly flicked her eyes to meet His and felt something warm momentarily ran through her soul. She then continued her glance to the rest of the desk, but stopped in her tracks. She managed to catch her breath as she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand, as though a ghost had walked right through to her now cooling soul, and reached deep to capture a memory from her past, to make it a thing of the present. She slowly reached a slightly worn, shaking hand to a pair of small, cracked glasses, and groaned in horror into the room at the invisible monster that had left them there. She blinked at the tears that formed, subconsciously, and bubbled from her eyes. She blinked harder, testing her reality, but the glasses remained a solid form in her hand. She brought a hand to her head, as she swallowed, pushing back the next wave of tears. Flashbacks of music and perfume invaded her senses. Cigarettes and bourbon laced her tongue and her heart jumped, the same way it had done almost a decade before, at the crash of car bonnet against bones; the crash of Judy's happiness against the guilt that would be clung to her for the rest of her days. She reached her hand back out to the desk, and placed the tiny glasses lightly on the table, exactly where she had found them. Controlling the heavy breathing that made her habit dance against her moving chest, she slid her fingers across the desk to the communion wine that sat, tempting her. With soft actions, like those of a mother's delicate stroke against the cheek of her new-born, Jude caressed the bottle knowing the power and bliss it held inside. She closed her eyes to avoid the judging glares of God, and sighed at her own weaknesses as she wiped her tears, brought the bottle to her coral lips and drank.

The storm outside brewed viciously, circling the isolated asylum. As promised, Frank had gathered the patients who waited, confused, in the common room for Sister Jude's introduction to her distraction from the war outside. But with each lightning bolt, crash of thunder and whirl of wind that battered the old building and sent eerie whispers though its windows, the patients locked inside began to get restless and afraid. Frank stood strongly at the door making sure no one left, but that didn't stop them from hiding under tables or standing on top of chairs, preaching about the coming apocalypse. The Monsignor entered the common room to witness the chaos. "What is happening in here?" he asked Frank, horrified at the energy that pulsed through the patients' veins.