Brahms Heelshire - Lamb to the slaughter

Part Fourteen - Fortress of Mystery

I'm sitting on the corner of the Heelshire's bed, reading the articles multiple times over, as if that would make sense of it all. Emily Cribbs and her 'unsolved' death, along with the house fire that 'killed' Brahms and injured his father... I wonder if he is really guilty of murder.

Part of me thinks he couldn't be. I doubt that she was able to put up much of a fight against him, even at such a young age. Then again she wouldn't have had to fight off all that much. At that age, he wouldn't have been as strong as he is today. But if it couldn't have been him, then who would it have been? Apart from Brahms, there's no other suspects.

But if, somehow, he isn't as innocent as I think he could be, it is something that should be thought about if I manage to come near him again in the future. That's if he ever comes out of the walls. I don't fancy going back in to pull him out, especially after the way he was last time. He may not be so... calm after a second intrusion.

Throwing the clippings onto the mattress, I wonder what I do now. Standing up and wondering out into the corridor, I look into the bedroom of a little boy that doesn't exist anymore. Has Brahms always acted like that with his parents? So... Viciously?

If so, they should have done something, even if he only got help before the fire. But would things have been different if they had? The doll version of Brahms is sitting abandoned upon the bed. Had it been a real child, it would be unusual to see him there. Was Brahms happy here before the death of his childhood friend?

A knock comes from the front door. Has it really been a week since Malcom's last delivery? It almost feels a little early. I make my way downstairs and answer the door. With multiple bags and a small wooden box within his hands, stands the grocery man.

I stand aside to let him in. He shuffles past and heads for the kitchen, placing the groceries upon the table. "I found them. The newspaprer clippings you told me about." He turns arounds and raises an eyebrow at me, as if telling me to continue talking.

"I don't think he did it. He was too young to have been capable of murdering someone the same age of him. If she was younger and smaller, then maybe it would be more believable. What about you? Do you think he's guilty?"

It's a few seconds before he gives me a response. "I'm not really sure, to be honest. But apart from Brahms, who else could it be? If it was someone else, they sure as hell made sure that there was no reason for them to be suspected."

We end up changing the subject. While Malcom is talking, I notice how he is slightly calmer when he talks. He's talking smoother and his position is in a more neutral stance. I decide not to say anything about it.

The thought of the adult Brahms comes to mind. How he practically has only one outfit, how he has not had any outside contact with the outside world... But then I remember wanting to get him more clothes. I ask Malcom to go shopping for me. He grabs a loose sheet of paper from a clipboard and a pen from within the box and hands it to me.

I write down a list of clothes big enough to fit Brahms. Handing it back, I walk Malcom to the door and close it after him. Deciding to sort through the groceries before I forget about them, I make my way back.

Entering the kitchen, I instantly see what has changed between now and about twenty seconds ago when I left. Brahms has left his doll at the kitchen table. Has he been listening? Is he here now?

It only takes me about five minutes to put away what Malcom has brought me before I turn my attention back to the doll. Even though I could just avoid the rules set for Brahms, I know that they should be kept to. Looking after him the way they want me to is what I'm getting paid for, after all.

Picking up the small porcelain boy, I bring him to the living area and place him in his little chair. I flick through the multiple vinyls that Brahms owns, rhetorically questioning the doll what we should listen to. No answer comes from Brahms, fake child or real man.

I decide on one of them and keep the volume up in case my company within the walls desires to stick around to listen. Making myself comfortable in a chair next to the window, I wonder how Brahms will look in his new clothes.

It's not long before I notice the decrease in volume. The vinyl must have come to an end. My head snaps round when I hear the quiet flipping of the cases being looked through. Brahms is searching for one. The thought of Emily's death and how much Brahms was involved comes to mind. There's always a chance that he wasn't involved, right? Even if he's the only known suspect, he wasn't actually proven to be the killer.

"I'm sorry, Mummy. Don't be cross with me."

He finds what he's looking for, shuffles the old vinyl carefully back into its case and replaces it with his own choice. Setting the needle and now making his way over to me, he makes the grabbing hands a toddler would make when they want someone to pick them up.

I allow him pull me up but he sits down in my seat after. Brahms looks up at me. "Do you want me in your lap, baby?" He nods before offering his hands for me. I turn around and grab onto them as I take a seat on him. "You think I'm innocent, Mummy?"

"Yes, sweatpea. I do think there is a chance you are." I lean back on his chest and he rests his head on my shoulder. I pull his arms around me, enjoying this quiet and gentle side. He huffs and shifts slightly.

"Is there something you're wanting, Brahmsy?" He pushes up the mask slightly and leaves a kiss at the base of my neck.

"Just to give you kisses all over, if you want them." I bury my fingers in his hair. "If you are comfortable giving them, I'll take them."