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It wasn't morning yet. Not at all. It was still the dead of night, where only crickets and frogs could be heard around this countryside manor.
She was watching him with wide eyes, her back up against the iron gates as she contemplated about really leaving. Her eyes shined with horror, with a moisture that he honestly hated to see. It meant she was upset, visibly so to where her pretty lips trembled. She wanted Malcolm, that much was for sure. She didn't want him to die and, so, here she was, watching him stay away by twenty feet at maximum.
Greta Evans was a beautiful woman. She had compassionate eyes that could pierce through him. Her voice was so sweet and kind, looking for a boy to hold onto, one that she had almost had if Cole hadn't committed such violence against her and her unborn child. She already knew Brahms fairly well. He was aware that she wasn't quite thinking rationally, but he trusted that she would keep her head on her shoulders instead of in the clouds, wishing for that grocery boy to come wheeling around to save her. But the only savior for the young nanny was the very boy she had soothed each night, tucked into bed and woken up for morning breakfast. The very boy she had read stories to, played music for-
He loved her and she did not return his feelings. But he could not do anything yet, for she loved another.
Brahms Heelshire stood still as stone before her, feet cold against the bare ground and his chest heaving. A sheen of sweat had made its way along his neck and what could be seen from the top of his white tanktop. Despite having lived in the walls for literal years, he was able to clearly hold his own weight and had muscles of constantly building or making something. The boy probably even exercised regularly, given the fact that there wasn't that much to do in the manor. Even Greta got bored.
And speaking of her... she was staring at him.
"It's me you want, isn't it?" she asked, her throat dry and voice cracking.
He couldn't answer her directly with a "yes" or a "no." Of course he wanted her, but not in the way she thought. She was terrified of him, terrified that he would do to her exactly what he did to Cole. So he didn't answer her, causing her to clearly feel distress by the way she pinched her lips.
"Well, if you want me... Come and get me."
Oh?
"Come and get me. Leave Malcolm alone. Do you understand me?" Her commanding tone fueled his obedient side for a moment and he fought against it with as level of a head as possible. And then he nodded, deciding that if he caught her, then he would just do that. He wanted to hold her, to tell her that it was okay.
Why did she have to feel so unsafe?
As scared as a cornered mouse, Greta pulled herself up off of the iron gates and began to make her way around the large lot, nearly tripping over several bushes and plant shrubbery that kept the manor in even bigger secrecy. If it weren't for the iron gates, it would be impossible to find save for the peaks of the manor's attic.
Olive eyes locked on blue. He could see the calculations beginning to form behind her eyes, settling itself so deeply that she started moving her mouth just slightly around the corners. After having watched her sleeping and concentrated face for so long, he knew that she was thinking hard on what to do, how to avoid him as he turned to face her, staying in place. Patiently, the boy waited for a signal from her small hands, her small body, watching her nearly stumble over one of the many garden angels.
Then, she sprinted across the clean gravel. He didn't wait for her any longer as he followed suit, racing after her with bare feet spitting up decorative rocks behind him as he charged ahead as fast as he could.
It was easy to hear her running around outside, trying to find a way in that wasn't the front doors. Windows, old doorways covered by boards and she even scattered to hide in the gardens. As he turned around the cobblestone walkway, he could see the moonlit gardens. Statues wept nearby or prayed to the gods above. Flowers hid the woman's natural musk, but none of them were nightblooming pieces. They wouldn't mask anything for very long, especially if she happened to get too frightened to keep quiet when he walked by.
Outside... He wasn't supposed to be outside. It was cold, wet, and beautiful. He would get lost outside and trek too far off by himself. Yet, it was so inviting to smell the dew, the pine of the woods surrounding the estate and the soft, slight scent of the roses that had long since been closed up.
Pretty... he thought, running dirty fingers under one of the closed roses.
A branch breaking caught his attention and his head whipped around. Greta had tried to sneak through a small barricade of untrimmed garden hedges and then immediately began to take off, having noticed that she caught his attention.
Only a heartbeat had passed, but he had already closed more than half of the distance between them. If she looked back behind her or even stumbled, he would have happened upon her in a heartbeat.
And she did just that; casting a terrified look over her shoulder. He didn't know how he looked aside from terrifying, with his 6'3 height, blood on his hands and his mask sitting on his face. It kept him expressionless, just like the little doll that had been shattered like a glass vase due to Cole's filthy fingers. She didn't know what he was thinking when she should have. Fear taught her to run and he would just have to teach her that she didn't need to run away from him. He knew he had hurt her heart by hurting Malcolm and ruthlessly murdering Cole, but he needed to teach her that she was not his target of hate.
She didn't scream when he snagged her wrist. She yelled and prepared herself to completely fight back with a swing of her hand that he hadn't caught yet.
Thick fingers wrapped easily over her hands, keeping them almost immobile as she struggled to dig her heels into the wet dirt and force his grip to loosen. Brahms didn't dare let her go and, instead, tightened his grip to drag her to him.
"Brahms," she hissed, still tugging, "you're hurting me!"
I-
He let go after minimal thought, his brain only processing that he had been hurting her.
Greta fell backwards, however, landing flat on her backside and nearly entirely on her back. He took the chance to immediately pin her down, sitting on his knees and completely on top of her in the dirt. She didn't scream but her hands darted up to try and shove his heavier bodyweight off as best as she could, her teeth gritted and her hands trying to claw at his exposed collarbones. He flinched as her long nails raked down over his skin but resisted against her, catching her wrists again with another firm grip, but he made sure that he wasn't tightening his hold to where she was whimpering.
She struggled still until he forced them against the dirt.
"Greta," he muttered, his voice rising up into the tone of a boy's, "you're hurting me."
Her mouth opened and closed as she gasped, trying to figure out how to use her tongue as she struggled for air. She still tried to fight him, but it was getting worse and worse. She was tired and he could see her eyes welling up with tears.
No. No, no, no, please-
He couldn't risk letting go of her wrists, for fear that she would scratch out his eyes. Instead, he pressed his forehead against hers, his eyes searching for her own, trying to catch her full attention somehow.
Brahms whimpered, hoping to catch her attention like that. He succeeded and she glared upwards at him, trying to keep a brave front.
He finally let go, going slowly so she could understand that he wasn't going to snap them to her neck and strangle the life from her. Tender fingers, dirtied with blood and dirt, softly brushed against her face. He pulled back a bit to watch, trying to get her to calm down. He could see she was fighting an inner turmoil, watching him with sharp eyes- the sharpest eyes that always looked at him in such a way that it took his breath away from his chest.
"Brahms?" She whispered the syllables of his name and he visibly shuddered. It didn't take an eagle eye to catch it either and he didn't know if he was going to regret it or not. Then she did it again. "Brahms?" She was testing him. Regardless, she had stolen the breath from his chest to where he couldn't speak. He wasn't going to anyway, but if he had wanted to-
Yes?
His head tipped to one side. He was listening.
Gentle, soft fingers came up to the sides of his face and he stopped breathing entirely. He had forgotten how to as she gingerly pushed her thumbs around his beard, along the ceramic edge and then just behind the mask-
Brahms flinched back with a gasp, sitting on his knees now and pulling up off of her. She, however, didn't crawl back. She was sitting up on her elbows, looking at him with an intense set of eyes that were trying to read him. He could feel himself almost curling into himself and a familiar feeling was beginning to drip down through his abdomen.
"You're attracted to me. Is that it?"
Oh no.
He licked his lips.
"My dress, my hair and my jewelry is on that doll you had. In your room." It was clear she wanted answers. "Brahms, what do you want from me? Do you really want my care or do you really want just me?"
He couldn't answer that directly, but he knew he wanted both. He knew it was both, and surely she knew it too.
"Both," he whispered. "Both."
Greta finally pulled herself back on her heels and moved to stand up, breathing unsteadily from exertion, exhaustion and anxiety. "I'm sorry, Brahms. I can't give you... I can't give you me."
Brahms sharply stood up, hooking a finger into one of the loops of her pants that would've held a belt if she had had one. She tried to jump back but he pulled her back to him, to where he could easily smell her floral shampoo and conditioner.
"Then... just... care." It was hard to keep his voice steady and childish all at once. "Like always." Green eyes looked into hers and she looked back, her lips pinched and her eyes still wet. "Please? Pretty Greta?"
She shivered in front of him, moving to rub her shoulders. Only then did he let go of her. She didn't move back and it filled his chest with some happiness. It wasn't the best outcome, the one that he wanted, but it was one where she didn't immediately run from him.
An idea struck him and he tugged on the hem of her shirt to get her attention. "You said... for me to come and get you. So I did." He tried to hide his playful smile from his voice but she seemed to catch it as she sighed and finally looked him up and down, taking in the fact that he really was the child she was supposed to be taking care of. He watched her run a hand through her hair, mussing up the pretty locks that cupped her face.
"Okay, Brahms. Take me to Malcolm. Then you go to bed. Got it?"
He nodded, pinching a bit more at the hem of her shirt.
Her gaze drifted down to his white fingers, seeing how hard he was trying to hold onto her. He watched her inhale deeply, then sigh before she walked up and pressed her lips to his masked cheek, sending a hot flash through his body.
"Come on. Let's go."
He numbly led her inside, his heart hammering in his chest.
I will be a good boy. But he wouldn't stop his observational habits. That much was for certain to make sure Greta didn't leave for America immediately.
And if she did, he would follow her. And he would find her.