The Boy Movie Brahms Heelshire x reader FanFic

Karma - Part 43

It's snowing harder now.   Thick flakes turning the night to white.  Melinda's squeals are turned to moans.   She's no longer fighting; just dangling there, twisting slowly on her rope of hair.  Your breath frosts in dragon plumes in the minus temperature of the room.  It's even colder outside.   You tear your gaze away from Brahms, fighting to do what's right.   This girl is just another bad thing about the world.   Human nature at its worst.   But she's young and foolish and we all make mistakes...don't we?

You close your eyes and shake your head.  "We can't do this."

You look over at Brahms again, and he's staring back, his face emotionless.   You whisper, "I think she's had a bad enough fright never to bother us again."   Slowly, he nods, then with hardly any strain, lifts Melinda upwards.   You watch him lift her carefully over the broken glass of the window frame.  She tumbles into the room and to the floor, weeping and shivering.  

" Tom, Will you go get Melinda something to cover herself?"

He nods again and does your bidding, padding silently from the room.  When he's gone, you say, "Melinda.  Look at me."   

At first you think she'll ignore you, but tentatively, Melinda cranks her head round to gaze up at you.   Her eyes are black, smudged and swollen, one false eyelash dangling from her left lid like  a squashed moth.    You're not surprised to see she's glaring at you.   But you're not quite prepared for the level of malice in those arctic eyes.   They glitter balefully in the dim light so full of hatred you marvel at her spirit.  

"How many lives have you ruined?" you ask softly.  "How many more will you destroy?"

Melinda gives a sardonic laugh.  "Is this what this is all about?   You teaching me some morals?"

"No.  You thought you could manipulate us and betray me."

"You can have your money back.   Take the car..."

"It's not about the money."

"It's always about the fucking money!"

You squat down next to her.     "I see who you are, Melinda.   You think a good body and a pretty face will always get you what you want in life?  It won't.  One day you'll do this to the wrong person.  One day your looks will be gone.  What then?" 

Melinda gives a sniff, swiping at her nose with the back of her hand.   "Fuck off!"

Brahms enters the room carrying Melinda's case.   He throws it onto the bed.    She shoots him a venomous look, hissing, "Don't think you can get away with this, you bloody maniac!"

You give a soft snort then shake your head.   Melinda levels her eyes at you like a duellist focusing on an opponent.  "I'm going to the law.   I'll have you both arrested for assault."

"Really?   With all the evidence we have against you for fraud and embezzlement?"

Melinda pulls a face and snarls, "Give me my clothes!"

You walk to the bed and open her case, pulling out a long sweater.  Resisting the urge to chuck it at her, you walk back and offer it with as much politeness as you can muster.   She snatches it, holding it against her breasts, glaring from you to Brahms and back again.  "How about some bloody privacy!"

You look over at Brahms, who shrugs and leaves the room.   He shuts the door after him.   Trying to keep your voice level, you say, "I know you'd rather it was me outside, but tough shit.   You were on a non-starter with him.  That was your biggest mistake."

Melinda says nothing as she pulls the sweater over her head.   It's cerulean blue and comes down to mid thigh.  She's on her feet now, clutching both elbows, her hair a blonde explosion.  Snow flutters through the casement to speckle, glittering, around her feet.   She shuffles from foot to foot.  "Let me get dressed."

"You're not in a position to demand diddly squat from me right now."

"What?  You're going to call that monster back in here to dangle me out the window again?  Perhaps you want to watch him rape me!"

You scowl at her.   "I told you, you're not his type."

"Are you keeping me prisoner here?   Kidnapping on top of  sexual assault and rape?  I think those two trump fraud any day of the week.   I might get a few months for what I've done.   But he'll get years...and you too."

"You're bluffing!"

You watch her eyes narrow spitefully.  Realisation comes, and with it a surge of protection for Brahms so powerful you feel like punching this woman into next week.   All you can do is stare at her as she gives one of the those ugly yelping laughs.   In a daze, you watch her reach to pick up a slim silver ornament, a rose vase, from the bedside table.   The base is narrow, no thicker than two fingers because it's designed to hold a single bloom.  Melinda's scarlet nails run the length of the vase in a horribly licentious way but still your brain refuses to acknowledge what your instincts are screaming.

Then she's suddenly throwing herself against the sharp edge of the window frame; so hard you hear the crack of her skull and take an involuntary step forwards, both arms outstretched in a gesture of appeal.   

She repeats the manoeuvre, this time to the back of her head.   You hear her gasp in pain, and through the pain she continues with that hateful gurgling laugh.  Now, there's blood running down her face.   With a vicious arcing movement, she swings the vase into her own face, splitting the skin above her right eye.  More blood.  She takes a bite at her own arm.

You watch her drop to her knees and bring the vase between her legs.   She pauses for just a second, as though building up the courage to do the unspeakable.    You watch her stab at herself.   A  memory flashes into your head.   Linda Blair.  The Exorcist.  The Crucifix scene.   That's when you scream.  

Melinda staggers to her feet, blood coursing down her thighs just as Brahms bursts into the room.  He towers in the doorway just as aghast as you at this bleeding, beat up apparition.   You hear him mutter,  "The fuck?"

 "Look what you've done to me, Tom," Melinda whines.  "And she let you.   She watched while you hurt me."

You finally find your voice.  "You've done this before."

"Only the once," she answers.   "And guess what?   It worked a fucking treat.   Now... I'm walking out of here and you're going to let me.  Not only that, but you're going to transfer another fifty  grand into my account.   That's the price of my silence and your freedom."

You watch her smirk.   Slowly, you turn to stare at Brahms.   Silhouetted against the doorway, you can't see his expression but you feel his approval.   You know his eyes are pinned to you.   Melinda doesn't exist for him.  She never has.

You turn once more to the younger woman.  She's waiting for you to step aside.   The silver vase is still clasped in her right hand, streaked with scarlet.   Time seems to stand still.   Melinda's blue eyes look almost white in the gloom.    She's breathing heavily, those perfect breasts rising and falling beneath cerulean wool.   She grins at you, and there's blood on her teeth.  "Get out of my fucking way."

You don't move.  You can't, because something hot and murderous has percolated into your soul.  Melinda screeches again.   "Do it, bitch!"

So you do.  Two steps.   One to reach her.  Another to connect   She staggers back as both your palms shove her through the casement, too shocked to cry out, her mouth an 'O' of horror and surprise.   The window ledge is old and low, and jagged glass surrounds it like a shark's teeth, ripping the back of her thighs as she teeters on the edge fighting for balance.    Then she slips away silent as a wraith, swallowed in snowflakes, demolished on stone.