Brahms Heelshire - Lamb to the slaughter

Part Five - Voices in the walls

Something is pulled over my eyes. Before I can go to remove whatever it is blocking my view, my arms are pulled and pinned behind my back. The candle that has been with me since I entered has fallen out of my hand. But maybe loosing my grip on the candle isn't such a bad thing. Now, I have two hands to try and get away from whoever is behind me, instead of just one.

I begin to try to squirm and pull my arms out of the iron grip of the stranger holding onto me, but fail to free myself, no matter how hard I try. When it becomes obvious whoever else is here isn't going to just release me, I begin to hyperventilate. I don't know how long it is before I begin to slowly stop squirming.

I feel something soft, gentle and fuzzy being placed upon my shoulder.

"Harmony?" It's the same childish voice that I heard over the phone and up within Brahms' room.

"Why did you have to come into the walls again?"

I don't say anything, not only because I don't know how to respond to that, but due to the fact that I am scared out of my mind. Even if I knew what to say, I don't think I would be able to say it.

"I'll be good, I will... Please stay out of the walls, pretty Harmony."

But after a while, something does come to mind. "Will you come out of the walls with me if I do stay out?"

I might as well try and get this stranger out of the walls so I can see who it is I am up against. Even though I can't see the expression of whoever is holding on to me, I can tell that he is somewhat alarmed. I can feel whatever was placed upon my shoulder has pulled away, as if he is contemplating what I am saying.

"I already scared off Mummy and Daddy... I do not wish to scare you away too."

That simple statement is what makes me realise who this is. But... It can't be. Malcom said that the real Brahms died in that house fire, two decades back.

If this is the real Brahms, how much does Malcom really know? Most importantly, what where the Heelshires trying to hide when saying Brahms died the day that part of the house went up in flames?

"Well, you can't stay within the walls all the time, it's not right or fair for either of us. I do not know if your parents make you stay behind these corridors and rooms, but I'm not your parents. I want to see you, the real you, not that porcelain child. Please, Brahms, come out with me so I don't have a reason to want to come in here again."

There's another silence between us before Brahms goes to speak again. "Fine. Just don't take off that blindfold until I say. I'm not all that comforting to see, especially when there's next to no light."

There's something that I've begun to think about while he is talking. Its about his voice. If this is the real Brahms Heelshire, than he would be a twenty eight year old man by now; But yet, he is talking like he is still a little child. Is he capable of an adult voice? Apart from his voice, what else has his mother and father delayed in his mental development?

This isn't the time for me to confront him though. I'll save that for later. I promise him that I'll only take the blindfold off when we get out of the walls and he thanks me. I hear some extremely quiet moving around before I feel Brahms' hands on one of my arms again.

I turn to roughly where the door is and begin to walk forwards slowly before Brahms walks in front of me, his hand slipping down my arm and into my own. His long fingers curl around the back of my hand, our palms connecting, as we start to make our way down the long series of corridors.

I wonder how well Brahms knows the layout of the inside of the walls. Maybe he knows it like the back of his hand, due to how long he has been here, most likely forced to hide when his parents don't wish for him to be seen.