Chapter 5

*Author's note: I want to say thank you to my readers. I apologize for not updating in forever, but life got in the way. I'm humbled that my little fic has made it into some of your favorites list. *

Malcolm sat on the damp floor, his back pressed against the wall. His fists clentched as the sound of Greta's moans and screams echoed through the house. Malcom's blood boiled and he felt sick at the thought of Greta giving herself to that lunatic. "No, this can't be true. Greta's just playing along to save herself and me. She can't possibly want someone like him." Malcolm whispered aloud to himself. Trying desperatly to forget her words earlier. "I have to get the fuck out of here. I have to get Greta out of here." Malcolm declared.

We laid together for a while after our passionate session. Both of us clinging to each other as our heartbeats slowed to a normal pace. Brahms was stroking my hair, as my fingers explored the muscles of his abdomen. "Brahms?" I called softly. "Yes, my pretty Greta?" Was his reply. "I'm going to take a quick shower and then why don't we have tea on the balcony?" It was late afternoon and I still had some time before I had to get started making dinner. "I don't want to go outside." Brahms stated flatly. "Alright, we don't have to go outside, we'll sit in the den and listen to some records. Does that sound better?" I asked.

"Yes, much better." Brahms replied. I still didn't feel comfortable pushing Brahms to do things he didn't want to. His temper was too unpredictable. Slowly, I will get him to step outside his own box. In time, but not yet. I arose from the bed and grabbed my robe off the chair in my room. I glanced at Brahms, who was watching me with interest. I smiled coyly and slipped out of the room. The hot shower relaxed me, the water washing away my tension. Though, my mind drifted back to Malcolm. What was I going to do about him?

Such an impossible situation it seemed. I care about him and don't want Brahms to kill him. But if he leaves, he'll expose Brahms. I can't let that happen either. I sighed heavily as I turned the water off. I dressed quickly and left the bathroom. As I made my way back to my bedroom, I heard music playing from downstairs. I smiled and went to meet Brahms in the den, deciding to forgo making the tea. Brahms was standing with his back to the entrance of the room, in front of the record player. He had selected a waltz. I slowly walked towards him and he turned to me. I was again, greeted with the expressionless porcelain mask. He extended his hand to me and as I took it, he pulled me closer to him. He put his arm around my waist and began to move with the music. I followed his lead, which was a bit clumsy and soon we were slowly dancing together. "Where did you learn to dance, Brahms?" I asked. "My parents." Brahms replied flatly. "I used to watch them dance through the walls." His voice barely a whisper. "I remember asking my mother to teach me. I wanted her to hold me again. Instead, she danced with that doll. She didn't want to touch me." His voice was so pained. He tightened his grip around me and rested his forehead on my shoulder.

"Oh Brahms, I am so sorry." I said as I stroked the back of his head lovingly. "It doesn't matter anymore Greta. She's gone and you're here with me now. Now and forever, right?" Brahms asked as he lifted his head to look into my eyes. "Yes Brahms, that's right." I reached up slowly and put my hands on his cheeks. I slid the mask off gently and placed it on the small desk. His cheeks were tear stained, but he was so handsome. "You don't need to wear this anymore, Brahms. " I told him. "It's just us, and I always want to see your handsome face." I said as Brahms look away sheepishly. "If that's what you prefer, my Greta." Brahms replied. His voice sounded different when it was not muffled by the mask, so deep and rich.

I lifted my hand to stroke his cheek as he lowered his lips to mine. His tongue gently seeking entrance into my mouth. I parted my lips and let him deepen our kiss. Brahms broke the kiss first and lifted my chin to meet his gaze. "I love you, Greta." I stood there in shock, my eyes never leaving his. "I love you too, Brahms." I whispered back. Too afraid to give any other reply. He smiled broadly and hugged me tightly to him. I care for Brahms deeply, but is it love? We stood that way until the chime of the grandfather clock snapped us out of our trance. I gazed up and Brahms and spoke, "Time for me to get dinner started. Would you like to help?" A soft "Yes." Was all his reply. We made our way to the kitchen, and my mind once again wandered to Malcolm. I decided that I would ask Brahms to let Malcolm shower and get a change of clothes after dinner. Brahms sat at the kitchen table watching me intently while I cut vegetables for the stew. I handed Brahms a few small potatoes and asked him to peel them for me. I stood at the stove, cooking the onions and meat, when Brahms placed the peeled potatoes down on the counter next to me. He did a good job, only missing a few spots. "Thank you Brahms, you did great." I told him. He gave me a small grin and went to sit back down. I added the potatoes to the pot and went to sit at the table next to him.

He stared down at the table and I reached out to take his hand. "Brahms?" I asked. He lifted his eyes to mine and waited for me to speak again. "We need to talk about Malcolm." His eyes darkened and he released my hand. "Why?" He snapped at me. "Because he's sitting in his own filth in that disgusting basement, Brahms. He needs a shower and a change of clothes, not just food." Brahms didn't answer, just continued to glare at me. I reached out for his hand again. "Please, Brahms. Malcolm hasn't done anything wrong. It's not right to keep him chained up." Brahms suddenly stood and shouted, "He's NOT leaving this house Greta! He'll try to take you away!" His voice had that familiar panic.

"Brahms, please sit back down." I asked gently. He stared at me for a moment, before he relented and sat back at the head of the table. "I told you, I'm not leaving you Brahms. All I'm asking is for him to be allowed to clean himself properly for now. He deserves that much at least. Please, don't forget he wanted to protect me too." I said calmly. He stared at the table for a moment, before he spoke. "Fine Greta, If it makes you happy. I'll take him to get cleaned up." Brahms said with a hint of disdain. "Thank you Brahms, that is very good of you. Please, promise me you'll be nice to him." I replied. "I promise." Brahms whispered back. I smiled and stood up to check on dinner, as I was giving the stew a final stir. I asked Brahms to set the table. He stood without word to gather the bowls and silverware. I brought the serving dish full of hot stew to the table, along with the salad and bread. I ladled a big portion into his bowl and he began eating hurriedly. I smiled knowing that he rarely, if ever, got the chance to eat food when it was fresh. Having to sustain himself on reheated leftovers. I served myself and ate in silence. Occasionally glancing at Brahms enjoying himself. When we both were finished, Brahms brought the dishes to the sink.

I got the serving tray and began putting Malcolm's dinner together. "Brahms, let's take Malcolm his dinner." I said. Brahms walked next to me and took the tray from me. "I will take him his dinner, you stay here." Brahms said sternly. "But Brahms-" "I said stay here Greta!" Brahms nearly shouted. I stood silent as he turned as walked out of the kitchen. Not knowing what else to do, and not daring to follow Brahms. I began washing the dishes and putting the food away. "Please Brahms, be good to him." I whispered aloud.

Brahms made his way through the dusty passageways he knew by heart. He hated having Greta out of his sight, but he knew he had to start trusting her. As Brahms entered the room, he saw Malcolm laying on the floor, with his back to him. The smell in the room was terrible. Greta was right. "Malcolm, dinner." Brahms called out. Malcolm sat up quickly and turned to look at Brahms. Malcolm's eyes grew wide as he stared at Brahms's damaged face. Suddenly, Brahms remembered he had not replaced the mask after Greta removed it in the den. His blood began to run hot as Malcolm continued to stare. "Do not stare at me, Malcolm. Eat quickly. Then I'll take you to a shower." Brahms stated harshly. Malcolm gave Brahms a surprised look before he averted his eyes and pulled the tray closer. He was very hungry, so he ate as quickly as he could.

Malcolm was sorry that he couldn't take the time to savor every bite of Greta's delicious cooking. As soon as Malcolm sopped up the last bit of stew with the bread, Brahms walk over and grabbed the tray. "Stand up." Brahms commanded. Malcolm did as he was told and Brahms freed Malcolm's wrists from the chain. "Brahms, is Greta all right?" Malcolm asked. "Of course she is! I would never harm her! I love her and she loves me! Now move." Brahms snapped as he shoved Malcolm forward. Malcolm's heart sank deeper with every step, as Brahms directed him though the passageways. "This can't be. Brahms is lying. Greta couldn't love him." Malcolm thought.

Brahms led Malcolm to his hidden bedroom to retrieve some clean clothes. "Don't move." Brahms barked at Malcolm. Brahms quickly grabbed a clean shirt and a pair trousers and underwear from his dresser. Malcolm stood once more in the room that gave him the most chills. Upon the bed, was the crude doll that once had Greta's stolen dress on it. Brahms caught Malcolm staring. Brahms eyes darkened. "Let's go." Brahms said. As they were about to leave the room, Brahms also grabbed his bottle of shampoo and soap.

Soon, they emerged into a narrow hallway. Brahms led Malcolm to a small room with an attached bathroom. Most likely an old servants quarter. The room had a thin layer of dust, and a bed with a rolled up mattress, and no windows. Obviously unused for years. "Shower and change quickly" Brahms said as he shoved the clothes and soap into Malcolm's hands. Wordlessly, Malcolm complied and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He turned the water on and the pipes creaked and groaned. A brown liquid emerged from the faucet momentarily before turning clear. Quickly, Malcolm stepped in the tepid water. The shower felt heavenly as the filth washed off his body.

Malcolm began scrubbing and trying to think how he was going to get away from Brahms. He finished his shower and began to dress in the borrowed clothes. "Hurry up Malcolm!" Brahms shouted through the closed door. Malcolm finished dressing and opened the bathroom door. "Let's go." Brahms said as he grabbed Malcolm's upper arm to lead him through the door. "Thank you Brahms." Malcolm said. "You're welcome.' Brahms replied flatly. Malcolm stopped walking and turned to look at Brahms. He tried hard not to stare at the damaged side of Brahms's face. "Can I please see Greta? I need to make sure she's okay."

Brahms growled slightly at the request. "No. I told you she's fine." Brahms stated. "I know, but she's my friend and just want to see for myself." Brahms felt the anger rising up inside him. Why didn't Malcolm believe him? Why would Malcolm think he would hurt pretty Greta? Brahms felt the urge to hit Malcolm, he balled his fists at his sides. Then the promise he made to Greta flooded back into his mind. Brahms promised to be nice to Malcolm, and he didn't want to break his promise and make Greta sad. Brahms wanted to make Greta happy, and Greta would be happy seeing him be nice to Malcolm, like she asked.

"Come on Malcolm, I'll let you see Greta."