His Many Masks *The Boy fan fiction*

Chapter Twenty One

Disappointed in my lack of quote finding lol
                                                                                   -Ri

My eyes went unblinking towards his face which turned and faced me. He seemed troubled, as if he knew what I had found in the attic.

I fidgeted with my fingers, my eyes wide. What was he going to do to me?

"We aren't being completely honest with each other," he said, his voice low and cold.

I gulped, wetting my lips periodically as the silence between us settled in the room like a thick blanket.

I blinked rapidly before speaking, "what do you mean?"

Brahms stood up straighter and motioned his head towards me, "we're both hiding something."

He knew I had been in the attic. He had to know.

"That's insane," I barked out. Cold sweat began to form around my hair line. How was I going to make it out of this one?

Brahms slightly rolled his eyes, sighing loudly, "you're afraid of the police, so am I. I think it's obvious we have our reasons."

I let out a small breath, this was still about the police?

"It would help us both if we were honest with each other," Brahms offered, his eyes dark.

Reluctantly, I nodded. I couldn't lie, not now.

"So," Brahms continued, "what's your crime?"

I closed my eyes for a second. I had never told another human being about what had truly happened the night my parents died; that is, until Brahms.

"When I was little, my life was like any other normal child's. My father worked, my mother stayed home until I was in school, and I was happy," I paused, Brahms' eyes were glued to mine. He nodded for me to go on.

I took a deep breath and continued, "when I was ten, my father lost his job. It made him snap, turn into a monster and my mother and I were the targets. He was often drunk, and violent. My mother got most of the heat, but when she would be gone it was my turn. My mother tried to protect me for as long as she could, but when you live with someone as hateful and cruel as my father, it's hard for his actions to go unnoticed."

Brahms shifted in his stance, causing me to pause. I can't do this. I shouldn't do this.

"Continue. Please?" Brahms asked softly.

I clenched my fists and bit my lip. How was I going to finish?

"It's okay Kátalin, just breathe."

I began again, "one day, when I was fifteen, my father came home his drunkest and immediately started screaming at my mother. Being the calm and brave person she was, she told me to pack my things. She was done there.
When he heard us trying to leave, he beat my mother over the head with a golf club," I shuttered, the last part had never left my lips before. It felt and sounded foreign to my ears.

Shaking and numb, I finished the rest of the story, "It smashed her skull. She was dead almost instantly. He snapped out of his angry black out only long enough to notice he had killed her. I took the chance to make sure that was the last person he hurt. I hit him with the golf club so many times he looked unrecognizable when I finished. My aunt found me not long after and covered up the murder by cleaning the evidence and lying to the police. It didn't last long before the police drew the lines back to me and tried to take me in for questioning. My aunt gave me money, a train ticket, and a sack full of food and told me to never look back; now, I'm here," I stopped and stared at the ground. I sounded like a monster. I beat my father to death out of anger. I knew Brahms thought of me as untrustworthy.

"Kátalin," Brahms said softly.

I didn't look up, I couldn't face him. He now knew I was a murderer. He'd never want me.

The shuffle of footsteps broke me out of my thoughts, I soon felt his arms wrapped tightly around me.

I stayed still, I couldn't think of anything, my emotions heightened and my muscles tight and sore.

"You protected yourself. I would've done the same," he said, his chin resting on the top of my head.

"But I didn't protect myself. He wasn't coming after me when I killed him. I chose to get revenge," I said shakily.

Brahms shushed me and sighed, "odds are he would've have come after you next since you saw him kill your mother. The only fault you had was not being honest with your aunt and the police."

I closed my eyes and steadied my breathing, "but now I can't go back, I can't be honest because I've been running."

Brahms chuckled, "at least they know you exist, I've been dead for twenty years."

My breath hitched.

Brahms let go of me and backed up against the island, "when I was eight, I used to have a friend from the village come and play with me. We got along well, and my parents both liked her. Her name was Emily."

I shuddered at the name, that was the girl he killed.

Brahms saw my reaction and quirked a brow, "she was the only one who would play with me, and so I developed an obsession. I wouldn't like it when she played with other children and I'd always get jealous if she had to leave."

I knew where this was going, but I couldn't do more than just stand and listen.

"On my Birthday, we got into a fight. She called me names and told me she would never speak to me again, and I hit her in the head with a rock," Brahms stopped and looked down, almost in denial he had even said it out loud.

I stepped back nervously. He was eight when he killed someone. Eight years old. A child. How could a small child be so violent?

Brahms chuckled bitterly, "it's odd because I really don't remember hitting her. I remember the fight and then waking up in the woods next to her bloodied body, but I don't remember ever hitting her."

I bit my lip, I was confused. If Brahms killed someone and lived in the walls of his house for years, then what was wrong with his parents. They couldn't have been normal allowing their child to stay concealed like that without at least trying to give him therapy or some type of treatment.

"What did your parents do when they found out?" I asked.

"Tried to kill me. Then shoved me into a hole for twenty years."

My heart dropped. Living on the run was way better than living in the walls, devoid of company and life. Even though I was frightened, something about Brahms just didn't strike me as dangerous. I couldn't judge him when I was just as bad.

"Looks like we're two of the same then," I said staring at him with a blank expression.

"I guess so."
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So, Kátalin found out Brahms was a child criminal lol. I apologize for updating so late. The holidays really kept me on my toes so I haven't been able to write much. I finished writing out the plot, so expect the book done in about seven to eight chapters! As always thank you so so much for your kind comments and patience!! Thank you for reading,

- Ri