A Change in Thought
Greta couldn't breathe. Brahms strength was unmeasurable to her already weakened body. How he could hold her up off the ground and attempt to strangle her while being injured terrified her. She didn't think she could have been even more scared after seeing him murder Cole, attack Malcolm and realize that he had been living in the walls and watching her the entire time she had been at the Heelshire mansion.
She saw her time here at his home the clearest as her most memorable moments came to mind. She recalled her friend and her son with the most fondness, being estranged from her family as it was. And there was Cole, but he wasn't someone she thought positively about. She knew, though she would never say so out loud, that she was actually relieved to have him out of her life.
Her life… It might not have been anything worth reliving, but it was hers. She didn't want to die. She wanted to live. She wanted to spend more time alone as she had been, with what she had thought was a ghost of a boy trapped in the home he grew up in. She wanted the serenity of peace and safety she had gained during her stay, the comfort in the understanding that Brahms would always be there in the way no one had ever been before. He would protect her, going as far to help scare out Cole so she wouldn't have to leave.
She wanted that back.
In a flash of panic, Greta found herself back in the walls, her backside to the metal door that was about to give. Her breath was fast in terror and she was trembling as she came back from her mind's panicked flash of a possible route in her future. Maybe she would die. Maybe she wouldn't. But Greta wasn't strong enough to give that a chance. Not with the sight of Malcolm knocked out cold – possibly dead- right behind the crouched murderer that faced her.
"I promise I'll be good," Brahms continued, "I will." His voice was quickly fluctuating between adult and child and Greta realized in that moment that he was fighting to keep up the child façade he adapted to keep her in comfort and under the illusion of a dead Brahms that resided in his doll form.
Greta's breath stuttered and she took in a deep breath. No, she didn't want to chance dying that way, with Brahms choking the life out of her. Maybe, if she was lucky, she could make it out of this alive.
Please God, let her make it out of this alive.
"Y-you promise?" she asked, voice cracking.
He nodded in a rush, his ceramic mask catching reflections of light. "I do. Stay, Pretty Greta."
Her body was cramping and the adrenalin alone was causing her to shake uncontrollably. She needed to move, but outside was no longer an option. "O-okay. Okay," she repeated, trying to seem calm. "I- Brahms, I need you to back up."
His head tilted and his eyes narrowed. He made to move closer and she immediately huddled in on herself. "Please!" she cried, not taking her eyes off him. "I just need a minute. I need… Please Brahms. I'm not leaving, I swear. I just really need to move, but… I need you to back up." She watched him assess her, judging the truth of her statement.
"If you leave, I'll kill him," he told her, voice deeper in a form of desperation. "Just like all the others."
So Malcolm wasn't dead then. At least if she was to believe a murderer who mascaraed as a dead child.
She shuddered, but nodded. "I won't leave," she whispered.
After a moment of hesitation, Brahms backed up, though he moved very slowly, wanting to stay close enough to try and reach for her if she made another move to open the door to the outside.
Greta, deciding to help, as it were, moved with him, a tad slower, encouraging his movements by moving with him. She straightened up bit by bit, moving away from the door and turning her body around. When he finally stopped, he was still too close, but it was enough to move out of the dead end and crawl back through the space she had entered.
Swallowing, she turned her gaze to the fallen form of Malcolm. She would have to crawl over him and then stand to join Brahms. Glancing between them, she addressed the man who held her life at the moment. "You won't kill him, will you?"
Brahms breathed in and out shallowly. His breath was loud in the tense silence for a long time until he answered. "Not if you come back." He no longer had the child voice, though he didn't have a voice that was as deep as she believed a man of his size would have at his age. Probably from having spoken like a child his entire life Greta guessed.
She took a moment to try and grip her courage. "I will. I am," she added quickly, but then stopped. Greta met his eyes. "What about me? Will you kill me?" Her tone was weak and her words soft.
Brahms shook his head. "Never," he answered, his voice taking in a breathless quality. Whether that was because he finally believed she was coming back or because he seemed to 'care' about her so much that the thought alone was crazy, she didn't know. She desperately hoped it was the second.
Greta continued her path, crawling towards them. The moment she was out of the small space, her gripped her arm and hauled her up with the strength she hallucinated he obtained.
She screamed in surprise and no little amount of fear, but nothing happened after that and she opened the eyes she hadn't acknowledged she closed.
She looked up at Brahms, actually taking in his height and size now that she was facing him rather than running. How she had thought she and Malcolm could have survived was beyond her.
Brahms was breathing as he was before, closer to her than any other person had ever been aside from past partners. He was quite literally in her personal space, his mask brushing against her forehead as he inhaled her smell. At least, that's what it seemed like.
She hadn't stopped shivering. Now that he had her, what would he do?
But he did nothing more than hold her like he was.
Greta couldn't guess what he would do at this point. She knew nothing about crazed men who could kill her with only a bit of pressure. Then again, that wasn't true, was it? She had lived with Cole, hadn't she? And she had survived, hadn't she? Of course, he hadn't killed anyone – except their unborn child she suddenly recalled.
Still, she wasn't sure how to act and what this man's next move was. At least with her ex, she had known his pattern. Brahms Heelshire had spent was seemed like the last twenty some years in the walls of his own home, treated like a child by his own parents, yet given leeway to kill people. He had access to the entire home and was obviously mentally deranged. He was probably clinically insane and there was nothing to go on.
Except, perhaps, his desire for her?
Greta didn't like the idea of him 'loving and caring' for her, as if this was what he called it, but if he felt so, maybe she could rely on it so he wouldn't hurt her.
"Brahms," she quietly spoke to gain his attention. He didn't answer beyond the flexing of his fingers where they were pressed into her arm. "Please let go of me," she softly pleaded.
He tightened his hold and she winced. "Please," she tried again. "You're hurting me."
It was a moment in time but he did indeed let her go. He stared down at her without moving away though.
"We should…." Greta trailed off. They should what? Get rid of Cole's dead body? Leave the walls? Take Malcolm with them? Yeah, all of the above. But how to say that?
She bit her lip but met his eyes. "Help me with Malcolm." His eyes narrowed immediately at that but she cut him off. "We can't leave him here, Brahms," she attempted to reason with him. "We need him to wake up out of this space and I need to convince him not to go to the police and tell them about you."
She leaned down to begin to lift him, but after a moment, when Brahms joined in on her task, he easily lifted Malcolm off the floor and turned to head down the path he must know so well. He stopped immediately however, and Greta correctly guessed that he wanted her in front of him to keep an eye on her.
Greta didn't feel comfortable with that at all. Instead, she reached for Brahms dirty blue sweater jacket and gripped the grimy material so he would feel her trailing behind.
He stared at her for a moment, Malcolm's arm thrown over his shoulders. Eventually he moved, having accepted the change.
Greta felt hope for the first time that night. Hope that she would survive and get to live her life after all. She would just have to see.