The Boy Movie Brahms Heelshire x reader FanFic

Part 27 - Ghosts

Brahms sits you down on one of two tall stools set against the worktop.  You glance at the  taxidermy tools he uses when the mood takes him.  Though in fairness, he hasn't once killed or stuffed any creatures since you arrived.  You tell yourself that all kinds of people have taxidermy as a hobby...then stare dumbly at bottles of  formaldehyde, huge curved needles and jars of beady glass eyes.   Uncomfortably, you wait, both hands clasped in your lap.

Brahms reaches up into the shadows and brings down a creature with soft fur, its body rigid yet shaped into natural curves.   The eyes shine like marbles but the rest of it might have been living, breathing flesh.  It's a black cat with four white paws.

Brahms's face, dimly lit, has an expression that's hard to read.    You watch him tenderly stroke the long dead whiskers, his fingers tracing one pointed ear.  The cat is crouched down, both paws tucked beneath its body, its long shining tail curved around it so realistically you half expect the tip to twitch.

At last he speaks...so softly it's almost a whisper.   "Her name was Willow."

When you don't answer, he glances up.  "She was my seventh birthday present."

"She looks...alive," you murmur.

He smiles.  "The man who preserved her was an expert in his field.  He died shortly afterwards, all his skills lost forever."

You watch Brahms gaze at his dead pet, itching to know how she died but not daring to ask.   Not knowing quite what to say, you reach out.  "May I stroke her?"

"Of course."

The moment you touch it, the magic is broken.The fur doesn't feel as soft as it looks.   You can feel the solid armature beneath.   Too quickly you pull your hand away.

"I know," Brahms concedes.   "It's just a facsimile of life."

He looks up  at you again.  The light from the single anglepoise lamp on the shelf beside him cuts through the lens of his right eye.  It glows red and green.  "She got run over by the lakeside.   When Dad found her, she was still alive.  He tried to hide her from me but I'd followed him down through the meadow.  She had blood coming out of her eyes and mouth.

"It was my  first experience of death.   I remember I had trouble understanding the finality of it.  My mother tried to drag me away but I would have none of it.  I begged my dad to save her; to take it all away; to make it better."

You watch his thick lashes lower as he stares down at the animal.

"I snatched Willow from my father's arms and ran off with her.  I thought I could cuddle away her pain like Dad did when I had a fall, or grazed my knees.  I ran and ran while her blood dripped all over me.   She was gone  by the time Dad found me.   I remember I didn't cry. I couldn't.   I just felt this incredible anger; this betrayal.  Inside I raged at the unfairness of it all.   It took me months to get over it.  I must have been a nightmare for my parents."

He stares across at you, his face expressionless.

"From that day to this, I refused to have anything to do with animals.  Except dead ones that I could reconstruct and give some modicum of life to."

"Brahms, I'm so sorry..."

"I killed Joel because he hurt you; because he would always have hurt you.  He wouldn't have stopped.  So I had to stop him."

You gaze at him as you remember your ex boyfriend.  Joel was brutal with a vengeful, unforgiving nature.  You nod slowly.  "I know, Brahms."

"I was an insular child, Y/N.  You know about my childhood. It wasn't normal.  I know I'm not...like others.  But I've never killed or hurt any creature that was helpless.  All the preserved animals in this house were either road kill or died naturally."  

You know he's not lying.   

"Perhaps the taxidermy is your way of trying to give life back to those dead things.   A kind of absolution for..."  You nod towards the cat.  "....Willow?"

"Maybe."

He stands slowly, towering above you.   "Don't be afraid of me, Y/N.    I know you are sometimes.  I see it in you.  I feel it.  But there's no need.  I'd never hurt you.  I'd  die first."

You shake your head, as though to reassure him; as though  trying to deny the truth laid before you.   Tears prick your eyes because you've never met anyone who could see into your soul as completely as Brahms does.   In an effort to hide your emotion, you reach out again to touch Willow.  But the touch of this dead thing just makes you even more sad.

"It's OK, Y/N," he whispers.  "I'm more afraid than you'll ever be."

He bends forwards to take your face in his hands, and his kisses feel so vulnerable you suddenly jump up and hold him tight.  Your arms enfold his broad shoulders, one hand at the nape of his neck. "I won't let you go, Brahms.  I promise.   It's me holding you this time."