"Brahms Heelshire. Where to begin exactly with that one." He said aloud.
"Reckless with others, there was no doubt about that, he would likely prefer himself to be alone if he could but he'd be incapable of preferring the simplest tasks of living on his own and managing daily habits.
Perhaps that's why a nanny was always in order. Even if some weren't to his particular interest, whether it'd be physically, or attractive, or maybe even perhaps he just longed for companionship. Twenty-eight years of solitude due to a mental illness- he did not ask for, mind you.
Can certainly have a major toll on any human being to become even more completely ragged. We do not condemn him to hell, nor does heaven seemed to be a suitable accommodation either for his hided crimes.
Reckless and unstable behavior yes, utterly ruthless, in the kidnapping of a woman he knew longer than all of us and was determined to have returned to him in one piece to make him feel even the slightest bit of human again. Was it the right thing to do, no, absolutely not? It was entirely wrong, for his own selfish reasons too, but also... good.
I know I shouldn't say this after everything's that's happened sadly, but I do, truly, believe that Brahms was capable of becoming... a man. Not a normal, per say, but one who can learn to cope with the fundamentals of being human again and try to understand the importance do and nots, from what's wrong, to right." He sat back down in his seat as he faced the jury.
"Thank you for that a Mr. Malcom Hughes."
.
Day after day, night after night the dreams had emanated his contentedness, but never for very long. Perhaps it was misfortune of his many losses, and gains he didn't wish to accommodate. A man can keep his thoughts on the inside without saying a word on what he truly feels, and Brahms had been kept it inside for many years.
The lack of recognition on his acts was never heeded from the start at the youngest of ages. Isolation many be for some people, but for all. He'd always watched her and her everyday routines following the precious list like the holiest of the ten commandments. Even though he still felt alone, even if he saw her everyday walking about throughout his manor. Daring to even miss the simplest of days when she hadn't the slightest clue, but he still knew it wouldn't last for long. One way or another the trust will always find its way to slither through the shattered cracks of profound lies.
The halls were dim with layers of thick and dense air that felt harder to breath in, rather than deadly pollution. Clammy craftsman hands clenched so tight on her feeble wrists. An abyss just waited patiently for her body to meet its unforgiving wooden floors. She breathed in and out deeply, fear shot through her without any hope of escaping Brahms's intense grasp. To say what shocked and scared her even more was the repulsive request he laid out so plainly.
She couldn't, she wouldn't, nor does she even know what he meant entirely. He thought a like child, but also like a grown man, that certainly didn't help her case of course but it was a no all in all. Greta had looked about her own surroundings just to simply grab a hold of anything, but sadly nothing was in arm's length reach.
Dark shadowed eyes bore into her own wide ones. A game they played as it goes round and round, sadly never seeming to find an end point. She'd do anything to get it all to just completely stop the mad crisis. Greta's own stress was starting to get to her as he held her tightly in place. She wouldn't succumb to this ill-bred and unstable man who held her in these chains.
"As I said it before, and I'll gladly say it again." She dripped the words painfully slow. "Either you'll kill me, or I'll kill you." With such boldness her eyes locked with his not daring to break the link.
"Take your pick." She spat through her teeth like rejecting a deadly sin. He didn't move for the longest second. Perhaps he was thinking on it or maybe he was just lost for words, even if he didn't have any to begin with. His hold tightened on her fragile wrist a little more. She could hear everything emanating from his whole being inside and out.
He struggled for the longest moment and suddenly heard a displeased grunt beneath his masked face. He heard the voices consuming him once more with a fiery rage of lust and hurt. He had her in his grasp clenched and aching presenting only white knuckles ready to spilt through the skin.
Abruptly, Brahms had released his hold on her. Whether it was in fear of hurting her or the betray he still felt lingered deep within him. She calmed slightly rubbing her now sore wrists watching his back up slightly. The hate still festered, as he watched her.
His hidden singed brows as her visible ones both furrowed downwards at one another.
So be it.
Without another dramatic incident to occur between the two hotheads Brahms turned way in an instant. His body language only showed ferocious aggressiveness as he stormed off. Scared, of what might've happened if he didn't leave in that very moment.
Greta's eyes closed with relief as she thanked God he decided to go away. She leaned against the railing profoundly tired from simply everything. She wished someone knew she was here, trapped in a dark place, its owner was an unstable man.
Perhaps after this is all over, or... if it ever will be, then maybe she'd finally be able to sleep for one night without a nightmarish dream.
.
"He's getting older." He said desperately. "Don't you see Helen he's getting older and the numbers are not getting easier." Mr. Heelshire pleaded for his wife to understand.
They sat in the dead gardens that hadn't been attended to in years, dark weeds and crunchy fall leaves with festering poison ivy running along its trees. They had what was once a grand walk way to enjoy their fine scenery, but now a scene with a less then pleasant view was bestowed. They'd come to speak on about Brahms, outside and away from any prying ears that may lean against the wall.
"Why must we always come back to this dreadful conversation John?" She said with a wave of her hand. "Also, why must we be out here in the cold when we have perfectly good chairs waiting inside."
Mr. Heelshire just took a sigh at his babbling on wife about furniture now.
"You know why. Don't ask stupid questions you already know the question to." Mr. Heelshire rubbed his face.
"My dear husband, do not tell a grown woman what she can and cannot ask, even if it is unjust." She gave him a rather annoyed look.
"Helen, our boy is a monster." Mr. Heelshire said simply.
"Shhh! You have no right to say such a thing about him." She spoke aloud.
"I have every right to turn him in!" He suddenly yelled. His own body tensed with stress and tiredness. Mrs. Heelshire eyes wide with shook at the suddenly outburst towards there only son. Seeing the hurt in his wife's eyes only made him feel more guilty now.
"I-I'm not... going to turn him in." He breathed a deep sigh. "But don't you see my dear. Are you that incapable of understanding the dire situation we have on our hands, or are you just in constant in denial?"
"We have nothing in our hands just as Brahms has nothing on his hand-"
"Blood! We have blood on ALL of our hands." He said emphasizing the word 'all'. "I didn't think it would go this far though, never would I had thought-" He struggled to continue on with his speech.
"I know, John. I may be getting weary on the outside but my eyes work just fine, and I do see everything." She breathed. "Even the most disturbing parts of our son. It is not a topic I would enjoy picking, if there were any other option, I'd take it."
"We are both, getting old." He looked at his wife. "We must do something."
"We will not do anything. We will see it through. That is, once I think this passes and I believe he'll stop his unholy ways." She started up again that subject.
"Don't you understand, he is not going to change. He incapable of change, he's set in his ways, and he can't help it!" Mr. Heelshire stood looking away from his naïve dreaming wife.
"You don't know that for certain though my dear, one day he might wake up and find that one brief moment of redemption."
"Redemption?!" He laughed. "I wish my mind was as opened as yours Helen." He shook his head in disbelief. "I just witnessed three human beings laid deader on my floors than a deer's head on my wall."
"Don't fraught on it dear you'll hurt yourself." She stood with him now, as she continued.
"And I'll remind you Mr. Heelshire that our son saved our belonging even my most beloved jewelry from a bunch of low life thieves. If you don't call that bravely or a savor in the highest rejoice, then I can't say much more to convince you then now, can I?"
They kept silent for the longest moment.
"If you are convincing me that he found the light of some type by brutally maiming three individuals in my own house as an act of courageousness." He looked at her saddened with deep disappointment. "Then you are gravely mistaken, my dear.
"I cannot see, what you see, it is impossible. I cannot blindly go by the day as if nothing has happened in this house hold, as if we are, happy. I am not happy, and I haven't been, for the longest time. I am broken Helen, and we cannot mend broken glass like do our clothes, once it shatters you may try to pick up the pieces one by one, with patience you can put it back together, it may be stable for a while, but the cracks will always show what it truly looks like beneath all its endless lies. And I cannot help my only son because I cannot even manage to help myself at this point." Mr. Heelshire held back his sorrow like he's done in the past, the tired old man that is, he felt utterly weak to the bone as he ached for some type of relief.
Mrs. Heelshire listened to her husband's strong words, she understood completely, but at the same time she wished she hadn't the slightest clue. Walking towards her desperate husband, as she took him into a hug that he gladly excepted. Why God had chosen this family to only have the misfortune of tragic events with a mad child was beyond them.
Mr. Heelshire let his sorrow fall into his wife as they hold one another. His body shook unstably as he wept softly, but still wished he had the strength to conceal it all.
He starred down at his parents, why they were weeping was beyond him. For who the tears were for Brahms just couldn't quite place it on the correct spot. Perhaps, they were mad at him, he thought deep down, but why? Brahms was utterly convinced by himself that he'd done something good. Bad people came into his home, unwelcome at the highest regards he saw fit of what he had done was right. Deep down he thought for just a brief moment they'd be proud of there... nuisance of a son, he supposed. He wasn't completely naïve on what his parents truly thought of him, he knew better then to succumb to only falser pretenses.
Brahms decided to turn away from the window not baring to take another glimpse at his parents. He'd only grow angrier seeing them in such a position. He knew they'd call on him eventually, most likely to pester him with none stop lecturing on the morals of his own character.
He'd been returning to his sanctuary. Where he'd always be able to hide and feel a little safer but alone nonetheless. He walked down between his wall with heavy steps, he breathed heavy through his mask.
Suddenly ceasing all moments, he felt the inanimate presence of the light return to him. He wanted it to be real, so badly, to touch her, but at the same time he didn't even know this light deep down. Brahms turned ever so slowly looking out at the spirit. She come to visit once again, from his own mind, from his own desire, he just wanted to her to back to him. The only problem was, he could never see her face, almost as if she was never given one. If he'd come across her in real life of true flesh and blood he'd never truly know.
"I see you've done it again." She said softly. "They're very upset, but I'm sure you know."
Brahms looked down slightly, out of guilt, anger? At the reminder of his sadden and disheartened mother and father caressing one another in his gardens over their son. Why should he be sorry, he thought almost defensively to himself, who was anyone to question his own methods on the circumstances that occurred.
"You couldn't have just simply called for help. Perhaps even telephone for the police."
He did nothing as he looked away from her. Utterly displeased, Brahms always revolt against others on how they thought of him and his methods. He hated to hear it aloud.
"Did you really not have a choice?"
Brahms slowly looked at her almost menacingly, and shook his head conforming he absolutely did not have a choice in that point of time.
"There always a choice Brahms. Always. You still seem to lack the strength to do the right things."
Her sweet voice had always sounded so young and full of life even if nothing was truly there across from him. It was only for his eyes and his eyes alone.
"I know, I'm just a cracked memory with multiple voices you've heard from your past and I contain a loss of yours that could never come back but I'm here to help. If you'll have me."
Brahms just glanced at her nonexistent face with pure white draped over her. She looked like she had a hidden bride's veil lay over her face. He didn't want to think of such things though.
"Brahms, you were doing so good, what happened?" She asked concerned.
He studied her question he'd already known the answer for many years now. It was the same thing that always transpired over and over in his mind. Pain, blood, the scary pleasure of taking one's life and having no remorse, guilt, nor regret on his heinous actions. Sadly, to Brahms's mind he saw no wrong in his crimes. Still, on the other hand the things that didn't transpire as much as it should of, Brahms did know love, he was intelligent, and nice when it reciprocated both ways. In his own odd ways, he could show it, but it was constantly being restrained by his own demons.
The angel before him only sighed. "I know we've been on this same road before, but you must see through on your actions. Brahms you must control your temper, I know you have detested and bitter resentment in you towards your own parents."
Brahms only kept quiet, and let the light speak, he didn't have anything to say on the matter.
"Your parents love you Brahms, don't forget that. They do this because they are protecting you from something that you haven't the slightly clue of what might've happened if they had found out the truth."
Brahms glanced over the bright light slightly as his shoulders tense a bit, he didn't want to hear any more of this, he was pissed off enough as it is for the day. Giving her a downcast glare before turning away completely heading back to his dungeon of a room.
Alone and away from the silent man that disappeared into the gloominess halls. The light only seemed to fade away slowly, leaving behind glimmering faint little stars.
"Happy Birthday, Brahms." She whispered, and vanished without a trace.
.
"God damn it, I'm so sick of this crack." She muttered aloud to herself. Greta had been in her room going through her clothes in her briefcase that Brahms had so graciously collected for her. He in fact intended on her staying there for quite some time, she thought bitterly.
"Where are my bras?" She muttered to herself annoyed. This wasn't going too well for her; Greta took a huff kicking the case on the floor as she fell next to it on purpose. Blowing her hair out her face annoyed she rubbed her face tiredly.
It has been quite some time now since Brahms little tantrum had irrupted. Greta hadn't seen him since, which she was thankful for a least. Perhaps, he wasn't going to show himself for the rest of the night. It was getting late indeed though; she wouldn't want to stay wake much longer anyways. Greta was tired from the constant screams, the feeling of fear, and the none stop fighting. Wow, her plan was really working out she thought unimpressed with herself.
Trust was definitely a skill for gaining patience along with it, wasn't any easy task for Greta. She almost wished for the simpler days of taking care of a stupid doll.
Every life decision she'd even constructed had led her to this very moment right here. Perhaps, this was where she was supposed to be in the end, was she truly never meant to have freedom or did she have to earn it like a little pet. Unbelievable, she thought irritated.
Well, there was no use in continuing to dwell over on the current situation she was in, what matters now is that she was going escape, and Brahms was her key. Trust, is what held everything together, and by God she needed to succeed, or she was going to die here, alone.
She'd rest for now, what more can she do at the moment, because crying was no longer an option.
.
Midnight had come and went; time had always found its way to be a nuisance. It was still very dark out in the murky woods as they rustled with heavy winds. It seemed the closer we got to the mansion the quieter it became. Some would've mistaken it for being abandon at this point, a loss of all hope, or completely forgotten of its very existence.
Everything in the manor laid lifeless, no creaks or cracks could be made out by any ears, nor was anything living in sight. The manor was dingy in the night, faint light was caught from the moons shining life as it seeped through the stain glass windows.
Greta had fallen asleep hours ago as she laid peacefully. Her eyes shut tight and her body held close together as she seemed to coddled herself even in deep sleep. Everything was bliss at that very moment and written in complete solitude. What many seem nice at the moment, didn't last for long in this dark place.
Abruptly and violently Greta's door was shoved opened. Greta had awakened instantaneously from fright and now astounding fear. He stood there menacingly at her door way. Greta couldn't find herself to move from her spot on the bed, too afraid to move a muscle or even a limb. It was the middle of the night, why had the man charged into her room like an animal, she thought only in horror now.
"Brah-" Before she could even whisper his name aloud, he'd already be walking towards her rather quickly to her side of the bed. Greta panicked as he tried to grab her wrists and arms. She hollered and screamed at him in a frenzy.
"Brahms stop please!" She hollered trying to escape his grasp. Seeing as Brahms wasn't trying to get in the bed, but rather get her out of the bed. Hearing his grunts of annoyance, his anger only grew more and more.
Suddenly, Brahms with a heavy huff he dragged her by the leg with one swift pull. Greta squeaked as she fell with the thick blankets and the pillows bounced to the floor.
"Brahms!" She tried to kick as she screamed. With such strength he dragged her with one arm on the floor. Greta tried to grab anything she could to help her, but failed miserably as she was moving too fast by his aggressive pulls. What was happening, she thought, what's he going to do to me, terror set in as images strike their way through her brain running a mile a minute.
Kicking and breathing heavy as her heart pounded terribly fast, she thought she might've died from having a heart attack first before he could get to her. Brahms had dragged her out the door and into the hallway. Coming to a rather quite stop he released her leg, only to grab handle of her arm firmly lifting Greta up instantly. With wobbly feet she stood unsteadily by his forceful moments on directing her body every which way for the millionth time today.
With fear and fury combining themselves together inside Greta and her own mind state which didn't help in the slightest. She'd been dragged out of bed and for what, she hadn't the slightly clue, the man was unpredicted most of the time. Finding the courage to speak was a tough one, but pushed through it in the end.
"What are do-" Her mouth was covered by his large hand. The feeling of clammy hands stuck to her face like an adhesive, instantly Greta's eyes had widened in terror. His masked face made this even more unsettling along with his quiet and unpredictable conduct.
She could hear his deep breathing entering in and out. His arms revealed pulsing veins. He obviously didn't want to speak at the moment for whatever he was originally intending on doing he needed absolute silence. Standing tall over her was uncomforting, she feared if she moved, he'd only get more riled up by her own stupid actions. Greta told her self over and over to remain completely calm.
With strong eye contact they gave one another, no one dared to break it. Greta felt Brahms hand slowly detached from her smooth skin. He lowered his hand to his side now. Greta knew not to say a word, no more how scared she really was and Greta couldn't do a thing about it.
She wished she could calm him, put him at some type of ease. She was completely and utterly stuck in this horrific situation she so desperately wanted to depart from at once.
Brahms eyes appeared merciless, with his body tensed with his ragged clothes laying over him. The acts he presented all came down to one word, hurt.
Watching Greta closely, Brahms arm moved slowly to behind his back. Noticing this, Greta's own body seemed to become strained. Revealing a scary, and yet very familiar tool she had acquired not long ago.
The screw driver that Greta had found in one of the Heelshire's drawers. She stabbed him with it in means of escaping originally, it had been a dirty fight but Greta succeeded towards the end. Suddenly the peculiar thought had partaken in her head as she peered at the tool. Why on Earth would he keep it?
Brahms held it straight upwards to the side of her face, giving her a clean view of it. Seeing the reaction, he intended on getting from her was a victory. So, she did remember this little one number, he thought, but can't seem to remember anything else.
His fury was somehow managing to stay restrained, but the hurt he felt still lingered. Greta stiffed body stared at the tool but quickly looked back over to Brahms fearfully. She tried to hide it as best as she could, she hoped it was working.
Brahms suddenly held the handle of the tool with a firm grasp. It was being placed lower, more and more, Greta swallowed as she followed its painfully slow movements directed by its host. He seemed to be taunting her, she thought, perhaps even recreating last times evens that'd taken place that very daring and dysfunctional night. Was it her turn now, to feel the searing mind numbing pain of guilt and betrayal that he'd been holding on to? Perhaps he wanted to show her what he felt.
Greta tried desperately to conceal her panic, she did not want to bow down and break before him like a scared little girl ready to cry.
The tip of the metal was inches away from her stomach. She took slow breathes, quickly meeting his over powering glare.
"Why do you have this Brahms?" She asked ever so quietly. He didn't answer her question as he tilted his head slightly to the side. The man was either teasing or mocking her for her past decisions that took a rather deadly toll on him. Brahms wasn't happy, he was hurt, hurt from her, the woman standing before him, he couldn't stand the feeling of not being loved in return.
"You said, you wanted to kill me." He whispered with a sinister low voice. "Do it." He turned away the sharp end, handing her the screwdriver that she originally stabbed him with.
Brahms waited for her to except it. What's happening she thought, was this a test, a game, was Brahms being strangely genuine. Greta couldn't find the will to move her body. She didn't take it.
Brahms grew impatient, he grabbed her wrist viciously as she tried to pull away be there was no use it doing so now. Shoving the screwdriver in her hand, in doing so Brahms tighten Greta's grip with his hand squeezing over hers. Now completely closing her fingers tightly around the handle. Might as well do the rest of the work, he moved the tip of the screwdriver to the same place she stabbed him in the first place.
"Do it." His voice was shaky as the irate intensified. It sounded almost desperate. Greta couldn't breathe, she thought she might pass out. Why was he doing this? She couldn't kill him, she just couldn't, she wasn't like him. She had a conscience. Yes, she might've stated she'd 'Kill Him' but it was supposed to keep him away and not trying anything too rash or perhaps even trying to hurt her.
His breathing was heavy behind the mask, she could hear the echo bounce off the porcelain. Greta looked down at the screwdriver that was ready to impale him as soon as she gave the queue. His hand squeeze tightly around her on the handle, he was waiting with blood shot wide eyes.
"DO IT!" He shouted as he towered over her.
"NO BRAHMS! STOP NOW!" She screamed back looking up at him with harsh tears in her eyes.
His eye twitched vigorously and he grunted with detest. She called on threats that meant nothing but pure phony ridicules. She'd killed him once, why not go again. She'd broken him more now than ever before. He was such an utter heartbroken fool.
He frantically yanked the screwdriver out of her hand. With such force Brahms threw it at the wall with such powerful force, causing it to break in two. Greta stumbles back a bit in fright. His hairy chest was heaving up and down violently. He hadn't looked at her yet, he was facing the wall breathing very heavy. Greta didn't know what to do as she stared at him. He was angry, wounded, treachery was written all over him.
All from the one named Greta, she didn't ask for any of this nor being here now, she was stumped. How was she to get this mad man to trust her now. She was utter lost at the moment; he was still struggling inside and out. Wishing she could perhaps say or do something to make everything that's happened completely forgotten in time, but the memories make it that much harder for both of them.
"Brahms." She whispered softly. "I... I'm-" He stormed off before she could even get a word in. What could've she have said though anyways, she thought slightly defeated, what had happened, happened, and its done? She couldn't change that, nor would she truly apologize for wanting to be able to live again. At the same time though, she didn't know what he was going through, he may be unstable on many levels but he was still intelligent enough to show some type of emotion even if he couldn't handle it properly.
She only sighed in sorrow quietly. Perhaps he needed to vent and be alone, and she certainly needed it too as well.
Brahms was back in his walls pacing himself quickly as he huffed our wet air. His face started to sweat more than usual. He started feeling uneasy for a moment. Everything was becoming quite dizzy, blurry even, it wasn't pleasant. His wound expelled of antagonizing pain. He'd felt this pain before, and as the days went on it'd seemed to of gotten worse and worse now.
Brahms ceased his frantic moments as his head slammed against one of the beams. He clings to the walls next to him on both sides with shaky hands. His body hurt as it fell lower and lower. Brahms body had given out as he land hard on the grimy floor. Banging his head, a second time knocking him into darkness.