"Brahms?" she managed to say out loud. She could not make up the dark figure just outside the front door but she was certain it was the man she had been waiting for. The figure had not moved and Sam hadn't either.
She really should not have drunk that wine before the bath. Movies she's watched in the past never really showed that drinking in lavish bathrooms while bathing had bad consequences.
A moment later, the shadow swiftly moved out of Sam's sight.
"Hey! Wait!" she exclaimed as she ran down the porch stairs. "Is that you, Brahms?"
There was no reply from the figure she was chasing but she kept running towards the dark that led back to the woods, hoping that she would catch him.
But the thought suddenly stopped her from running. She had lost track of him anyway.
What is he so afraid of?
Standing in the middle of the woods alone, Sam shouted, "You know what? Fine! If you don't want to see me, then don't show up ever again."The tears welled up in her eyes. Suddenly, Sam was on her knees, crying.
She sobbed at the thought of being alone, screaming at no one. Perhaps she never really saw a figure and was hallucinating all along. Damned wine. She had a low tolerance for alcohol as she had never really drunk vino before.
Her vision began to blur, both because of her tears and drunkness. She continued to sob, "I just want to talk to someone," her voice broke.
Even at that point, Brahms did not move from the bushes. Not when she fell on her knees just three steps away from where he was hiding. Not when she whispered that she wanted someone to talk to.
It has been so long since Brahms have felt his heart skip a beat—not the kind caused by malicious intent, but the kind that he had felt when he was left alone once again in the Heelshire mansion. He knew loneliness and so did she.
At that very moment, it was as if he knew her for years.
"Just say something," she whispered under shaky breath, her head almost dipping in the mud.
Brahms couldn't keep quiet anymore. "Sam?" His voice was soft but not too bright. If only he spoke more, Sam would've sobered up a bit more and stayed awake. But she fainted while trying to see through her blurred vision while looking up at Brahms, who's looking down at her, his head inches apart from Sam's.
Swiftly, Brahms catches her head just before her forehead falls into the mud. The dirt gets on the back of Brahms' hand instead, but it doesn't bother him.
What he worried about was the girl passed out in front of him.
If Brahms had to deal with Sam back in the day, He would have taken her back to his room within the walls or killed her for the satisfaction of it.
But he couldn't do that to Sam.
Instead, Brahms carried her all the way back to her front porch. He couldn't come into her house as a thought flashed in his head: if he brought her back and left her alone, she would come back for him after remembering that he finally was so close to speaking to her.
So he carried her over his shoulder once more and brought her home.
The thought of tying her up to his bed—his real bed—crossed his mind. But for some reason, he had a feeling she wouldn't go ballistic just yet if she woke up in an abandoned mansion. Perhaps he could try the doll.
Sam awoke to an eerie silence. In the Heelshire mansion, nothing really made noise except for the whistling kettle, rumbling of the heater, the melody played on the piano, or the song blasting through the vinyl player.
She fluttered her eyes open and had not moved, trying to figure out where she was and if she was dreaming. Slowly, Sam sat up while her hands touched the soft and dusty blanket around her. As she turned to her left, her heart jumped as well as her whole body when she saw a pale boy doll sitting on top of a bench nearby.
Someone tucked her in bed and it couldn't be that doll.
"Brahms," she whispered.
Hearing her say his name was music to Brahms ears, especially when she uttered it in his own room. Well, the room of his doll form.
It was as if he was really there with her.
"B-Brahms?" she called out, hoping the man would finally introduce himself properly to her. She didn't get a good look at him and only remembered his brown curls. Sam even thought that was a hallucination.
But it couldn't be, especially if she was brought to safety in a house.
"Brahms, are you there?" she managed to stand up, and suddenly, the place was slightly spinning again. She spotted a glass of water on the bedside table and took it.
She didn't notice the list of rules tucked just under the doll on the other side.
Sam was busy chugging down the glass of water and immediately regretted having to taste rusty water. But somehow, she felt a bit refreshed. Holding on to the bedpost, Sam tried to keep her balance while hoping that Brahms would come in at any moment.
Brahms really wanted to. But he didn't know what to say.
Sam walked out of the bedroom, her eyes looking all over the place, wondering where the hell she was. The creaking floor freaked her out more than the fact that the place seemed abandoned.
"Hello?" she called out again, hoping for a reply. She really wished she had her phone with her. But she had to trust her wristwatch instead—the watch she always forgot to set in London's timezone.
If her calculations served her right, it's already 12 noon.
He's probably out getting lunch? She reasoned mentally. Maybe that's why he isn't here.
By the time she reached the stairs, she saw a huge painting of a family. The young boy resembled the doll inside the room. She shivered at the thought.
Sam turned around and descended the stairs. Then she heard faint footsteps hurrying somewhere. Somehow, she felt relieved that someone was home. But when she called out again after reaching the front door, no one answered.
She didn't want to leave without saying thank you, however. She looked around, searching for a pen and paper. Luckily, she found one on a console.
As she picked up the pen, she noticed the engraving on the body that said, "Heelshire".
She was inside the mansion. Now, she was sure that it was the curly-haired Brahms that brought her there. The thought made her smile.
Brahms remembered the engraving on the pen and immediately realised she was smiling at the sight of it before watching her write on a piece of paper.
After a while, she put the pen down and walked towards the front door. She didn't leave right away. Brahms could sense hesitation, mostly because she kept her hand at the knob for several seconds.
But she still turned it and left the house.
Brahms, in his dirty, old cardigan, rushed outside the walls to read the message on the paper:
"I guess we're back to writing letters. But in all seriousness, thank you for helping me last night."
Brahms folded the paper and noticed something else was written behind it. He immediately turned it over and read, "PS, I like your curly hair."
Slowly, his hand reached for his hair. And behind the porcelain mask was a smiling young man who wanted his neighbour more than ever.
