"Boy, why are you crying?"

― J M Barrie, Peter Pan

Dawn was just breaking when Laurie finally woke. She'd slept a dreamless sleep. The night's events settled around her like a dark, depressing caul, and she sat with her knees drawn up, her head in her hands.

He killed Joel...

"Oh, Brahms," she moaned softly. "What have we done?" Yes, I'm just as much to blame. I screamed out for him to help me...so he did.

Would Joel have killed her? No, she couldn't believe that. But he would have done some serious damage. "And he killed our child," she murmured. "My baby. And he wasn't even sorry..."

The logical part of her knew Brahms's attack was wrong. The emotional part felt Joel deserved all he got. And here she sat...torn between the two. And Brahms? This man child who'd been isolated from society for so long he probably couldn't function normally anymore? What of him? She could run from here and leave him to his fate, but her compassion wouldn't allow it. He needed help, but to do that she'd have to earn his trust first. That meant putting herself at risk. She knew that. She accepted it. Perhaps this was the reason she was here. Some deep part of herself wanted to believe in fate; that things happened for a reason. Was she meant to be here? Was she his salvation? Or is he my nemesis?

Laurie showered and cleaned her teeth. Her nose hurt where Joel had bashed it, and she had bruising to her cheeks and lips. She dressed herself in black jeans and a black shirt, it didn't seem appropriate to wear colours, and hurried downstairs. She found the kitchen deserted and the room where Joel had died empty. The floor had been scrubbed clean of blood and there was no sign of the shattered doll or any piece of it.

Laurie perked some coffee and set the table for breakfast. She felt dazed, and functioned purely on automatic; as this had been her routine for weeks. She set two places then sat down and stared at the chair the doll had always occupied.

The sun was up now, streaming into the kitchen. It was 7am exactly when Brahms appeared. He stood in the kitchen doorway, blood on his singlet and mask. Laurie resisted the urge to recoil at the sight of him. Instead, she mustered a smile. "Good morning."

Brahms remained immobile in the doorway.

"Coffee is ready," she told him. "Or would you prefer tea?" She looked at him but he merely stared back. "Um...coffee, Brahms?" She held up a cup. He shook his head. "Tea it is!" She bustled about forcing herself to smile. When she was done she sat down with a theatrical sigh, then looked up at him. She could feel the tension building inside but fought to control her patience.

"Sit down, Brahms, for God's sake!"

He did, in the chair next to hers. She slid the cup toward him, then watched as he picked up the milk jug and poured himself a drink. Thank Christ, she mused silently. How would I cope if I had to cut up his steak too?

"Would you like something to eat? Bacon. Eggs. Toast?"

He shook his head and stared down at his teacup. Laurie sipped her coffee and stared out of the kitchen window, wondering how the devil he was going to drink that tea through the mask. At last she said, "Brahms, I know you're shy, and we don't know each other that well yet. I know you can't eat or drink with that mask on..." She swallowed, trying to choose her words carefully but deciding she'd better start off as she meant to go on. "And I know you have scars from your burns."

Brahms might have been made from stone.

"You can take the mask off, you know. It won't bother me. It won't put me off...I mean, it doesn't matter...about your scars. What I'm trying to say is that you don't need to hide away anymore. Not from me."

For the first time she noticed something clutched in his hand; a piece of paper, folded into three. A letter?

"I can leave the room if you like," she continued. "You don't have to live behind the walls anymore and..." Someone was knocking on the front door. Brahms's head snapped up and his eyes met hers. "It's ok,"she assured him. "I'll deal with it. You finish your tea." She left the kitchen, closing the door behind her.

~

Laurie opened the door to find a police officer and a middle aged man in a grey suit standing on the front steps.

"Can I help you?"

"Miss Laurie Davis?" The policeman asked.

"Yes."

"May we come in?"

She led them into the library and closed the door.

"May we sit down?"

They all sat.

"I'm Police Officer Wells and this the Heelshire's solicitor, Mr Francis."

Laurie shook her head impatiently. "Mr and Mrs Heelshire are not here. They're on holiday but due back any day."

"Miss Davis, Margaret and Richard Heelshire committed suicide a week ago."

Laurie shook her head uncomprehendingly. "There must be a mistake. They're devoted to--"

Francis, the solicitor, eyed her keenly. "We know they had a son who went missing as a child. They claimed he'd died in a house fire but there was no body. The police searched for months but it was as though he'd vanished from the face of the earth. At the inquest, it was deemed a missing persons case. Perhaps the same person who killed Emily Cribbs took Brahms as well. The case was closed five years later."

Laurie stared so hard at Francis that his features began to swim and blur. She watched him shuffle through some papers. "The Heelshire's had no other issue, and no other close family--"

"But there's a grave," Laurie blurted. "Brahms has a grave."

Francis gave her a lingering stare. "People do what they need to in order to cope in times of grief and...duress. I've known the family for years, Miss Davis. Margaret Heelshire was an overprotective woman, fussy and domineering by all accounts. It sounds harsh, I know, speaking ill of the dead but...well, Brahms was a late child and when he disappeared it clearly turned her mind. Richard was the type to support her in everything, and that was a mistake too.

"Miss Davis...Margaret Heelshire was diagnosed with incurable cancer six months ago. We suspect this may have been the deciding factor in the suicide. They simply couldn't live without each other." He picked up a document and gently handed it to her. "They left a Will. Recently altered. To which you are the sole benefactress."

A ball of pain began to form in Laurie's throat. She tried to speak but all that came out was a strangled exhalation.

"There will be an inquest but the family doctor is prepared to identify the bodies and register the deaths. You'll be spared that," Wells told her gently.

Laurie found her voice at last. "How did they do it?"

"Drowned themselves."

"Dear God..."

"They left everything to you, Miss Davis," Francis told her. "The Heelshire's came from old money...a long heritage of wealth and property. There are properties and land rents in the Borough of Westminster, London. It's all managed of course. You need do very little except sign some papers."

"What about the funeral?" she intoned.

"I'm afraid that will be in your hands. The Heelshire's have stated in the Will that they wanted no mourners at the funeral so perhaps a quiet affair would be best." At her vacant expression, Francis said gently, "I'll leave you the details of the local funeral director, they will handle everything. I just need you to take these papers and read them thoroughly then sign and send back to us."

"Yes, of course."

"We'll take our leave of you," Wells said getting up. "Will you be ok?"

Laurie nodded. "Yes, thank you."

After they were gone she stared down at the sheaf of papers, sick to her heart. They left it all to me. Me? This house. Their wealth. It means I won't ever have to worry about money again. It means I have freedom. No more crap jobs. No more trying to make ends meet.

Torn between guilt and relief, she ran her fingers through her hair and exhaled. This was their son's inheritance. How could she take it from him? In her heart she knew the answer. Just as the Heelshire's had known. "God, help me..." she murmured.

~

There was no sign of Brahms in the kitchen but his tea cup was drained and she noticed he'd made himself some toast and marmalade. Laurie thumped onto a chair, leaned her elbows on the waxed pine table and held her head in her hands. What in thundering fuck am I going to tell Brahms?

The truth. You tell him the truth.

She saw he'd left the piece of folded paper next to his cup. Laurie only wondered for a fleeting moment if she was invading his privacy, figuring he wouldn't have left it there in full view if he hadn't wanted her to read it. Slowly, she unfolded the expensive champagne paper to reveal delicate copperplate in Mrs Heelshire's hand.

Our Dearest Son,

Words cannot describe our love for you and how we must leave you now.

We will not be back. It's time for you to be all grown up now, and we can't live with what we have allowed you to become.

The girl will help you. She is yours to love and care for.

May God forgive us all.

Love always,

Mummy and Daddy x

Then Brahms was there, standing before her, statuesque and masked. She gazed up at him. "We need to talk, Brahms."

He nodded then sat down opposite her, stiff backed and silent. Laurie held up the letter. "Do you understand what this means?"

Behind the mask his eyes shifted to the letter then back up to her. He nodded.

"I have some bad news, Brahms. Those people at the door?" She baulked. "Were you listening?"

He shook his head.

"They were a police officer and your parents' solicitor. Brahms...your parents have passed away. They took their own lives. I'm so sorry, Brahms."

He didn't move an inch. She pushed the letter over to him and saw his eyes drop to stare down at it.

Do sociopaths have any concept of how we perceive love? She thought. Just the primal emotions for them ...anger...fear...lust...

Then she saw the tears. They dripped unobtrusively from beneath the mask onto the table top. When he swallowed convulsively, Laurie slowly rose and went to him. He gripped her with both arms around her waist, his head tucked beneath her breasts. Unlike her, he didn't sob or shake...his grief was deep and silent. She ran her fingers through that thick, curling hair, feeling his scalp, his ears, the strong column of his neck. She could smell him; a mix of stale sweat, male muskiness and pheromones. He's not cared for himself since he got that letter...

Slowly, she knelt before him taking both his hands in hers. "Look at me, Brahms."

This close up she saw that his right eye was damaged, most likely by the fire. It was bloodshot around the cornea, the pupil dilated. His eyes were the mottled green of oakmoss.

"I'm here now and I'm going to look after you. But we need a new rule. Do you think you could agree to one?" Laurie licked her lips, then continued. "It's a very important rule. One that you must take responsibility for. We have to keep you clean. It's not healthy to live this way...do you understand?"

He nodded, staring down at her hands.

"Good. Come with me."

Fern Deane had many rooms but Brahms's room was one of the few without an en suite. So Laurie took him to the main bathroom with its large walk in shower. She took towels from the cupboard and shampoo from the shelf. "I'll leave you to it," she told him. "Use this robe when you're done and we'll see what other clothes you have..." At the sound of running water she turned, then gasped. Brahms was in the shower fully clothed.

"No, no! You can't get washed with this lot on. Don't you know how to shower? How to keep yourself clean?"

He was soaked now, the old cardigan dripping, the stained white singlet clinging to his torso. "Jesus, Brahms..." She wore a skinny tank top beneath her shirt so stripped off the shirt and stepped into the shower cubicle trying to avoid the spray. "Take this off!" She pulled the singlet over his head trying not to disturb his mask. The old woollen pants he wore didn't fit, were too big in the waist and too short in the leg. She guessed they'd belonged to his father. She wagged the bottle of shampoo at him. "Give me your hands." He complied and she stared up at him in exasperation. The white mask remained expressionless but his eyes looked different. Is he grinning under that? Is he teasing me? Frowning, she poured a generous dollop of Head and Shoulders into his palms. "Now, wash your hair. Come on, Brahms, we don't have all day. Don't tell me your mom had to do this for you too--"

She could have bitten her tongue at the way he hung his head. "I'm sorry, Brahms. That was thoughtless, please forgive me." Feeling bad for him she poured some shampoo into her hands and massaged it into his bowed head. "You have to look after yourself or you won't stay healthy. You need to shower at least once a day. There..see? Doesn't this smell good and feel good?"

The suds fell in thick clots onto his shoulders, meandering through the black hair on his chest. Laurie tried to keep her eyes off his body but found she couldn't. A large patch of keloid scarring marred his right shoulder and his right forearm and wrist had suffered the same fate. The rest of his body was untouched. She wondered how that chest was so muscular, the pectorals well defined, his upper arms well developed but not overly so. She guessed his height at six two or three. He radiated such a strong masculine energy she could almost taste it. She gazed up into his eyes.

What do you look like beneath that mask?

Laurie found her hands had strayed from his hair down to that chest, slippery with lather. Her fingers brushed his nipples and she felt them harden. God in heaven, what am I doing!

She broke eye contact and blundered out of the shower, blushing furiously. "I'll leave you to it." When Brahms started unbuttoning his pants, she fled.