𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞 & 𝐂𝐥𝐲𝐝𝐞〚BRAHMS HEELSHIRE〛✅

𝓗𝓮'𝓼 𝓙𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓐 𝓑𝓸𝔂

𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 35

Greta quickly put her finger to her lips – shh.

The two of them sit there, in the narrow passageway, waiting, listening. It's too quiet, nothing is happening and it's only confusing Malcolm more. No longer having the patient, he spoke, "I don't hear any—" WHAM!

The blade of Brahms's knife slams through the wall, stopping just short of Malcolm's mouth. Greta immediately screamed out as she yelled for Malcolm to run quickly. The sound of Evelyn's laughter in the background could be heard.

In a flash, Greta and Malcolm are back on their feet. Stumbling through the passage, the pictures, the scribblings. The madman decorations blur their view as they race through the walls until they come to a fork in the path. It's been split into two different directions.

A CREAK somewhere outside the of the walls.

The two snap their head behind them, they can't stay here long. "Which way?" / "I don't know..." More CREAKING and it's getting louder. Unlike them, Brahms and Evelyn seem to take their awfully time. But it's emotionally taunting the two as they fight for their survival.

There another creak was obvious. The unmistakable sounds of steps coming from the right direction. The decision is made for Greta, she quickly directs them to the left side.

But the disappointment hits fast.

They reach the end of the hallway. Greta stops, nothing but black down the hall. A dead end. "We have to go back..." Malcolm tries to pull her to get moving, they can't stand a second delay here. But Greta doesn't move, she's still looking at the wall. She knows that there must be something in this path. It can't be that useless.

And she was right. There's something about it that's not quite right. Just a second in you can see something moves. Swaying gently, just a tiny bit. She moves towards it, ignoring Malcolm's cry to go now. Greta reaches up and touches the wall. It gave her touch: a thick black curtain it was. "A curtain?" Malcolm questions.

Greta pushes it aside. Another black curtain behind it too. And then another one behind that. She pushes her way through them – layer after layer – She pushes through a final curtain and walks right into Brahms's room.

The true Brahms's bedroom.

Everything you could need. A sink. A shower. A toilet. A microwave and even a fridge. Some canned food. Various Tupperware, although mostly empty. It's lit dimly with Christmas lights illuminating various stacks of porn magazines and a few porn pictures hung from the walls. Along with various pages from a coloring book. Toys line the shelves.

It's almost: part of a jail cell and part demented dorm room.

"Jesus..." Malcolm was in shock. The pair spread out to investigate the room. "Brahms. He's been living here. In this room. For 30 years." His eyes wide, almost amazed at the scene before he wonders, "And Evelyn knew all along?" He reaches up and touches the walls – they're covered in some kind of textured foam. "He soundproofed everything."

However, Greta wasn't listening. She found a letter. It's from Mrs. Heelshire.

♡ ⚀ ♧ ⚁ ♢ ⚂ ♤ ⚃ ♡ ⚄ ♧ ⚅ ♢

ᴡᴇ ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ʙᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ. ᴡᴇ'ᴠᴇ ɢᴏɴᴇ ᴏɴ ɴᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀᴠᴇɴ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴅᴀʏ ᴡᴇ'ʟʟ ᴀʟʟ ʙᴇ ʀᴇᴜɴɪᴛᴇᴅ. ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ ʙᴏʏ, ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴇᴠᴇʟʏɴ ꜱɪɴᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴇᴛ. ʙᴜᴛ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ, ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ. ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ꜱʜᴇ ɪꜱɴ'ᴛ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ. ꜱʜᴇ ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴇʀʀɪʙʟᴇ, ʙʀᴀʜᴍꜱ. ɪ ᴛʀɪᴇᴅ ᴍʏ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴘᴀʀᴀᴛᴇ ʏᴏᴜ. ᴡᴇ ᴅɪᴅ ᴀʟʟ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ. ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ʜᴏʟᴅ ʟᴏɴɢ.

ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴ ᴏᴜʀ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ʜᴏᴘᴇ, ᴡᴇ ʙʀɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ɢʀᴇᴛᴀ ᴇᴠᴀɴꜱ. ᴀ ꜰɪɴᴀʟ ɢɪꜰᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪꜱʜᴇꜱ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴜꜱ. ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʟʟ. ʟᴇᴛ ʜᴇʀ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪꜰᴜʟ, ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʙᴏʏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ꜱᴏ ᴠᴇʀʏ, ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ. ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ'ꜱ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴇᴠᴇʟʏɴ ᴄᴀɴ...

♡ ⚀ ♧ ⚁ ♢ ⚂ ♤ ⚃ ♡ ⚄ ♧ ⚅ ♢

Greta lowers the letter. A dazed look on her face as she pieces the puzzles.

Looking around the room, she notices a new light to it. The bedroom looked lonely now. It is like the person who lives in this room is desperate for attention and has just been guided on the wrong path. Her eyes fell on an old worn book, that almost seemed to be burned and torn up in pieces. But there are a few things she could gather from it.

It was Mr. Heelshire's dairy.

"Today I asked Brahms. And our deepest fear has appeared... Everything he do, everything he says was for Evelyn's attention... He's in –"

"... I took a peak. It wasn't intentionally. But I got curious... Brahms came running with something in his hand to the treehouse... A dead bird as he proudly presented to her. Evelyn, again. She rewarded him with a kiss..."

"We have forbidden Brahms from ever seeing Evelyn Houston..."

"They only met twice. How can a boy love someone so much to this intensively? ... We found Emily dead... Brahms hands were dirty... No remorse, when I asked why... 'Evelyn this,'... 'Evelyn that,'"

"He says he'll be a good boy if we bring Evelyn back to him..."

"... We hired Greta Evans as his new and finally nanny... We couldn't trusty him alone with Evelyn... Greta Evans, if you ever read this. You are our last hope to save our boy."

Malcolm steps beside Greta. He's gathered supplies. A flashlight. Two kitchen knives. But Greta can't take her eyes off the dairy. "He's just a boy... A lost boy." Greta mumbles, feeling pity for Brahms. She has once since him as her child, doll or not. And this feeling worsens more at the Heelshire's words.

Malcolm doesn't hear her as he holds a knife out to Greta, "I think I found the way downstairs." Noticing now how Greta hasn't moved or reacted to his words, he calls for her once more: "We can't stay here any longer."

"I can save him. He's been wronged his whole life. No one understood him. The Heelshire planned the whole thing. They knew what would happen." Silence. Malcolm didn't know how to respond. His emotions went everywhere, confused and almost judging her but now wasn't the time. He took the knife and placed it on Greta's hand, squeezing her fist around it.

"We have to keep going."