Chapter Text
For a moment there was only the small sound of irritated tapping of the pen on the tabletop. If this hadn't happened several times already, you would have thought you had lost the call, but a moment later, just like the others, a harsh voice answered,
“What are you playing at?”
A click and then the tone. They had disconnected. With a sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl, you hung up the phone and forcefully scratched out the next number on the list. Only three more, and if they didn't respond you would have to widen your net. Considerably. You shook your head at the list, not really in the mood to try again just yet, and instead turned to the next page of the notebook, where another list had begun to form over the past day or so. Your eyes flicked over each item, considering what all you had written until you reached the first blank line then paused, thought for a moment, and added:
-Extremely curious.
A light creak of a floorboard behind you had you continuing with
-No sense of other people's privacy.
Another creak, a little louder, a little closer this time. The distraction hadn't kept him for long, so it was just as well that you hadn't started the next call. You closed the notebook and shoved it into the black folder nearby, calling out,
“What is it?”
A small voice whined out in response,
“It's Monday.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” you sighed, standing up from the table. “I was just finishing something up, but I'm heading out now, okay?”
You turned and found him hiding halfway behind the door frame of the kitchen, a looming figure who would have seemed imposing if it weren't for the fact that he was so clearly trying to look small and nonthreatening. He watched you with a steady gaze and followed you as you walked past him and down the hall to the front door, slipping on your shoes and collecting your bag and coat. All pieces in place, you turned to face him again, a soft, reassuring smile on your face.
“It's Monday,” you began and he nodded. “Which means it's grocery day. It'll take me about twenty minutes to get to the store, thirty minutes to shop, and another twenty minutes to get back. That's a little more than an hour. Do you understand?” Another nod. “Good. Remember, it's possible I'll be a little longer than that if my car has trouble or if I can't find something, but I'll be back as soon as I can, okay?” A third nod. “Okay. Be good. If you behave, I'll give you some of that candy I bought last week, alright? I'll see you soon, Brahms.”
If it weren't for the fact that he was obviously a grown man of little more than six foot, one would think it was a child staring you down with such intense worry; his hands clasped each other over his stomach, wringing a knot into the pale blue sweater you bought him last month, and his eyes shone wide through the holes of his mask, limbs held closely together and shoulders squeezed in.
“See you... soon.” He echoed in his small voice as you walked out and closed the front door behind you. No need to lock it. What was inside was more dangerous than most anything that might try to get in.
-
It had been a good idea to add that cushion of estimated time back when you both had formed The Schedule. In truth, it took all of ten minutes to reach the store and twenty to grab groceries for the week, which left you with roughly forty minutes before you needed to be back- at the least. The grocery bags loaded into the car, you took a minute to glance over the list you had been making, grabbing a pen out and scribbling in: Strict adherence to schedule.
You started to close the notebook but paused on the first page- the list of therapists with all but the last three scratched off. A quick glance over the remaining doctors brought forth an interesting detail: one of them was nearby. Really, it would only take a few minutes to get there, and even if things went well and the visit took a little longer than you might have liked, you wouldn't be late enough to cause him real distress. It was worth a shot, at least.
The car started easily, happy to run smoothly in the recent good weather, and you pulled out of the parking lot with your plan running through your head again and again. Finding a willing therapist was the first step. It was also the easiest step, by far.
-
He waited until their car had disappeared from view to peel himself away from the window, muttering to himself “An hour... little more than an hour... it's just an hour...” as he turned to face the mansion. The empty house and absolute silence pressed in.
Hands shaking, he took a few quick steps into the small study nearby and dove for the bottom drawer of the desk. It opened easily and inside, hidden under a large dictionary, was his collection. One of them, at least. This one they hadn't found yet, a fact he was thrilled by as he drew out a long scarf and wrapped it around his neck and the bottom of his mask and breathed deeply. They hadn't noticed it was gone yet, and he hoped it stayed that way for a while longer. He sat back on his heels and breathed in again, eyes closing. It smelled like them. His hands slowly began to stop shaking, the anxiety easing out of his bones until he felt quite calm. His eyes opened again. He stood and walked back into the hall. The house was still empty, still quiet, but not quite so overwhelming.
With his mind momentarily clear of worry, he was free to think about other things. Fun things. Like how to punish them for talking about him to strangers on the phone. It didn't need to be anything big, just a small punishment to let them know that he wasn't happy about what they were doing- whatever it was.
There were the candies they had mentioned. They had hid them, but he was fairly confident he could find where their stash was. He was much better at hiding things.
Sure enough, it only took a few minutes of rummaging around the cabinets and refrigerator to discover the small bag of sweets. They had tucked them behind the bag of carrots, which they knew full well was one of his least favorite vegetables. He smiled as he grabbed his prize. They were getting better at this.
He looked thoughtfully around the kitchen as he chewed on his third treat, trying to decide what else to do. He demolished half the bag before pulling himself back, tucking a few into his pocket for later and hiding the rest in one of his own secret hiding spots. He arranged the wrappers in the middle of the table and slunk out of the kitchen.
It wasn't enough, though. There had to be something else. Something in their room, perhaps?
They had left the door open a crack, knowing it was pointless to lock it since he could get in through the walls anyway, and he stood in the middle of their room gazing about with interest and a calculating look. There wasn't much to work with that would really get the point across. There was just...
He peeked cautiously out the door, holding his breath, listening for any sounds.
Nothing.
He turned his attention back to the room and, in particular, the chest at the end of the bed. It wasn't a great secret what was in there: some personal things of theirs, some papers, a few portfolios for work. The point was, it was where they put anything they didn't want him to get a hold of. A large padlock they had found in the attic held it closed and his fingers worried over the keyhole. He could probably break it. Somehow. If nothing else, he could probably smash the top in.
He froze, remembering the last time he had gotten into their more personal items. It had ended in them shouting at him through the walls and then not speaking to him for weeks.
Or... maybe it had only been two days.
Regardless, digging through the chest was perhaps not the best idea. He started to pull back from it but paused as a thought crept in with a smile.
Who said he had to 'open' the chest?
-
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” you said with a smile, taking the seat the doctor had just offered. “I'll try not to take up too much of your time.”
“Not at all.” The doctor, an older woman with curling salt-and-pepper hair, smiled in return. “I have to say, you definitely caught my attention with what you told the receptionist.” She shifted in her seat to pull one leg over the other and rest a pad of paper on her knee. “But maybe you can start from the beginning. What kind of help are you looking for?”
“Oh, it's... it's not for me. I have a, uh...” The plan, the whole script you had planned out in your head, vanished for a moment. You took a deep breath and tried again. “I live with a... a man. We're not related, not really in a relationship, exactly, but we're kind of... taking care of each other? But he's... he's not well. I don't think he ever has been, to be honest, but no one's ever helped him before and I'd... like to try.”
The doctor looked slightly disappointed and said, “Well, if you make an appointment up front, I'll see him as soon as I can.”
“No, see, that's the problem. He won't leave the house.”
“I don't usually make house calls, but we might be able to work something out-”
“No, no, that won't work either. He doesn't let strangers in. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. He can't come to you and you can't go to him, so it's up to me to deal with all of this and I was... I guess I was hoping you could, I don't know... teach me how?”
The doctor stared, her interest clearly caught again. She tapped her pen against her lip.
“Teach you...? What, how to be a psychiatrist?”
“A... therapist? Psychiatrist? I don't know...” You hung your head and covered your face with your hands. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. The plan fell to pieces in your head. “He's thirty-five years old and I don't think anyone's ever taught him how to really... BE. I just... I want to help him learn... how to live? How to be okay? How to be an adult, and deal with his problems in constructive ways and not lash out at people and-”
“It's alright, I think I understand.” The doctor held up a hand to stop you and smiled reassuringly. “This is definitely an interesting situation. If you really want to be an intermediary, I would be willing to work with you. It will... well, let's be honest. It sounds like it will be difficult. It might not actually work, you understand?”
You nodded slowly. The thought had crossed your mind more than once, although it wasn't something you liked to think about.
“Now, you said that he 'lashes out at people'? Has he ever attacked you or anyone else?”
You froze and for a split-second a little girl named Emily flooded your memory.
“If there's a real danger to lives here, I would urge you to have him sent away where he can be watched and receive more focused and personal help without risk to anyone else,” the doctor continued. “Please understand, I'm not telling you that I won't help you, but if there is some possibility that you or someone else could be hurt, there are other options that might serve you better in the long run. Might serve him better, as well.”
You cleared your head with a small shake and smiled at the doctor.
“No. He won't hurt me.”
The doctor gave you another long stare, then nodded.
“Alright. Then, I suppose we should get started. Tell me... what is he like?”
-
The house was as quiet as usual when you opened the door again. You were later than you had told him you would be, but only by ten minutes or so. You shut the door behind you, throwing your coat and bag aside and kicking off your shoes.
“Hello!” You called up the staircase. No answer. “I'm back!”
“You're late.”
You jumped and spun around. There hadn't been the usual creaks and groans of the walls that typically followed him moving about, yet he stood a few yards away, hiding in the shadow of another doorway.
“I know. I told you I might be a little late. I just-”
He disappeared fully into the other room. A 'thud' sounded, followed by a few rumbles and a flickering light near the top of the stairs, then silence.
You sighed, shoulders drooping. Certainly not the worst reaction he'd had to you running a little behind schedule, but it was also decidedly not as nice as the greeting you got when you came back on time. You could certainly have used one of those hugs right about then. The meeting with the doctor had gone well enough, but she had sent you back with plenty of “homework” now sitting in your black folder, and just the prospect of all that lay before you now that you had put your plan into motion had sapped most of your energy.
You trudged to the kitchen with the grocery bags, thinking about caffeine and sugar and curling up in bed.
The bags dropped.
“Oh,” you breathed out, staring at the pile of candy wrappers arranged in a mocking grin on the table. With the last little bit of energy you had been saving for putting the groceries away, you ran to the pantry, found the bag of candy to be gone as expected, and darted into each room of the house, looking for anything else gone amiss, stopping only when you had reached your room.
It was clear at once what was gone. The chest at the foot of your bed had been replaced with a single piece of paper. You picked it up, reading, in fine handwriting,
'Don't talk about me to strangers.'
So he had heard you on the phone. You sighed, energy sapped well and good, and let the paper fall to the floor as you fell onto the bed.
Was he really angry, then? Did he have something else planned for you? Was this just the first move?
Was it a mistake to set your plan into motion?
With a lack of energy comes a lack of control over one's thoughts, and yours ran wild as you lay prone on the covers. The doctor's words, in particular, echoed in your ears.
Has he attacked anyone?
You let out a short laugh but it caught in your throat and came out as more of a cough.
Had he hurt anyone?
Absolutely.
He had destroyed at least two lives, that you knew of. There was always that possibility of more, but you didn't ask. Were afraid to. The more you dig, the more likely you are to find some skeletons, and there were an awful lot of closets in the mansion hiding all manor of bones from someone's disturbing past.
In the day-to-day life, it was easy to forget just whom you were sharing a home with.
A murderer.
The floorboards creaked. You didn't have to crane your head around much to see the dark figure nearby. A looming figure that would have been threatening if it weren't for the fact that it said your name in such a soft and sweetly concerned way. If it didn't get on its knees next to the bed. Didn't place its porcelain face inches from your own and rest the fingertips of one hand so softly to your cheek that you barely felt them.
“Are you okay?”
His usual child's voice had begun to slip, coming out halfway to the depth of a man's.
“I'm...” You sniffled, really wanting to not cry right then. Wanting nothing more than to just spill the whole story outright. The truth.
That you had done bad things, too; had felt the thick drip of blood running off of your hands as a bloody mistake lay at your feet.
That now you felt sorry for him. Protective of him.
That he terrified you. That he made you feel safe.
That you wanted to help him learn how to live, even if that meant living alone.
Without you.
“I'm just tired.” You smiled weakly. “That's all.”
The bed shifted, a depression forming that nearly had you rolling into him as he pulled himself up onto the bed next to you. A wall of solid warmth settled itself against your side, and he wrapped himself around you like he could shield you from everything, even if he didn't understand what it all was.
You breathed in and relaxed a little, feeling some of the strain melt away at the scent of the soap you had bought him a week ago, which he had made you believe had been thrown away out of spite for trying to teach him better hygiene.
“I'm sorry.” He whispered into your ear, his voice strange and muffled through the mask, and creeping all the time just a little closer to what should have been his natural deep tone. “I didn't mean to upset you. I didn't mean to.”
At the back of your head you made a mental note to add to the list both 'genuinely affectionate' and 'shows remorse'.
Albeit, at times it's just to get what he wants, but sometimes he means it, you thought.
“I'm sorry, too,” you murmured into his collar, and he nestled his face into your shoulder.
A murderer, yes. But your murderer. Your person. Damned if you weren't going to try to make things better for him.