December arrived with an arctic blast that brought snow and a killing frost to the Welsh countryside. The weather was exceptional for Britain, Laurie learned, and a white Christmas was predicted. As none of the fireplaces were usable, they kept the central heating on day and night. The old Aga cooker in the kitchen kept that room toasty warm all the time and Laurie ordered extra groceries from Thomas.

One late afternoon it began to snow in earnest and Laurie engineered it so that she might introduce Brahms to the fun of a snowball fight. Great thick flat flakes fell from the sky as they trudged through the knee deep snow to inspect the traps. They were all empty.

"Well, we've either wiped out the rat population round here at last, or rodents hate the cold," she remarked.

Brahms, wrapped in one of his father's old overcoats, pulled a face. "It's freezing. Let's go in."

Laurie lunged at him, tapped his arm and said, "You're It!" She scampered off a few feet then turned to grin at him. Brahms exhaled through his nose, creating two twin plumes of vapour.

"Well, come on, Brahms! You gotta tag me now, then I'm It."

He scowled at her.

"Jeez, I thought you were in touch with your inner child," she scolded. She bent down and scooped up a handful of snow, moulding it into a ball. Brahms stood immobile. He was an easy target. The snowball hit him square in the forehead. Laurie burst out laughing. His facial hair, brows, and eyelashes were so frosted with white he looked as though someone had shoved a great big cream pie in his face.

"Your fucking face!" she gurgled. "Oh, Brahms..."

She watched him take off his gloves and overcoat. He didn't look angry. In fact, his face was studiously blank. Laurie lifted her arms then slapped them on her thighs. "It's a joke, Brahms!"

He broke into a run and she yelped and fled. Running through shin deep snow in Wellington boots wasn't a thing Laurie did well. She could hear him panting behind her and wasn't entirely sure if he was joining in the fun or angry with her. Holy shit, she thought. What if I've pissed him off again...

He took her with a rugby tackle that saw them both rolling around on the ground. Laurie squealed and tried to wriggle free, but Brahms grabbed her from behind, yanked her jacket up, then ripped up her sweater and rubbed a handful of icy snow on her naked belly. At her shriek of laughter, he burst out laughing himself. Laurie rolled over to watch him. He knelt in the snow, his head thrown back and the gesture transformed him.

It was the first time she'd ever seen him laugh.

~

Laurie woke with a raging thirst. She glanced at the luminous dial on her watch. 5.30am. For a moment she stared at the empty pillow next to hers. Only hours before, Brahms had lay with her while she fell asleep in his arms. She pressed her face to the pillowcase. She could smell his scent, a fragrance unique to him. She smiled in the darkness remembering their lovemaking.

Laurie pulled on a robe and padded past Brahms's room, but he wasn't there. She guessed he was in his little cot bed in the lair. All those years of sleeping there couldn't be altered overnight. But they were getting there.

In the kitchen, she didn't put the light on. It was a full moon outside and the snow looked magical. The great branches of the Cedars of Lebanon were loaded so heavily they almost touched the ground and the shrubs and bushes were mounds of icing sugar. She drank a tumbler of water staring out at the twinkling blue white expanse of the lawns. It would be Christmas in a week. What on earth could she buy Brahms? Smiling to herself, she turned.

The blow was so hard it whiplashed her head back and she dropped the tumbler into the sink where it smashed against the stainless steel. Dazed, she tried to gather her senses but another blow came, twice as ferocious. Deep in her subconscious she recognised its signature but her first thought was... Brahms?

She banged her ribs heavy on the sink edge, then gave a gasp of agony. Hands in her hair. Fetid stale boozy breath. His voice, spoken through clenched teeth, came down the years to her.

"Now, Laurie. Be nice to me."

In the pallid glow of the snow reflected moonlight, Joel's face looked like a Kabuki mask, his narrowed eyes slitted, his mouth drawn down in a rictus bow. He held her face between both hands as though he wanted to crush her skull. Laurie froze.

"Where is he?"

"Who?"

"Don't mess with me or I'll break your pretty neck."

"Upstairs."

Joel's hairline slid forwards as he grinned. "We got two choices here. Either you come with me, nice and easy, or we go upstairs and I kill that deformed freak you're fuckin'."

Joel grinned wider. "I never took you for a free loader, Laurie. Does he own all this? Gonna share it with you, huh? Lady of the fuckin' manor?"

She writhed in his implacable grip. "You piece of shit!"

"That's right, sweetheart. But I'm your piece of shit. I always was and always will be."

"He'll kill you, Joel. I swear to God!"

He gave her head a yank, pressing his lips to her cheek. His breath felt scorching and vile and she cringed. "Upstairs, you say?" He dragged her from the kitchen.

At the first floor landing, she baulked as they passed Brahms's room, but a quick glance told her he still wasn't there. Her bedroom door was wide open and in darkness, just as she'd left it.

Joel shoved her into the room. "Is this where it all happens? " he sneered. "What's he like? All twisted down there like his face!"

Laurie folded her arms across her breasts wishing she had the courage to spit in his eye.

"Get your things together. We're leavin'," he commanded.

Slowly, she moved to obey him, her mind working furiously. She knew Brahms had an uncanny knack of knowing who was in the house and where; that the network of pipes behind the walls carried sound as effectively as sonar under water. If he was awake, he'd surely hear. But he was most likely sound asleep. He had no reason to be on his guard.

"Get a fuckin' move on!"

She pulled on a pair of jeans beneath her robe, then turned her back on Joel as she slipped on a sweatshirt. She could feel his eyes watching her in the dark, and it felt loathsome. As slowly as she dared she laced her feet into trainers. The thought of being taken by Joel felt unendurable. Laurie closed her eyes in mental agony at the comparison between him and Brahms. "I can't do this," she said at last.

Joel's eyes gleamed in the semi dark; black marbles and just as lifeless. He'd put weight on and his face looked bloated and puffy. He was drinking heavily again. "Don't make me come over there," he warned her. "Don't do it, Laurie."

She cast a glance over at her closet. Joel positioned himself at the bedroom doorway then took something out of his pocket; it gleamed dully in the moonlight.

"Do you know how easy it was to buy this? Nearly as easy as in the States. So much for Great Britain not havin' a gun culture."

Laurie stared at the weapon. "Joel..."

"Get READY!" He was shouting now, almost agitated. She watched him pace back and forth in the doorway. "I won't let you go. I can't let you go. You're MINE!"

...to love and care for...

"You son of a bitch," Laurie mouthed. "Go ahead, shoot me. I'd rather die than leave here with you."

She stood glaring at him but when he raised the gun to her face she didn't flinch. "I'm glad I never had your child," she hissed. "I'd rather it died than turn out like you."

He took two steps forwards until the muzzle was inches from her forehead. "Don't push me, Laurie..."

"Go on!" she screamed. "My blood'll be well spent if it saves some other poor bitch from carrying your seed. You'll rot away in prison for the rest of your life, you dumb fuck!"

Laurie glowered at Joel, feeling Brahms before he even entered the room. From the corner of her eye she caught the wink of wood in moonlight as he emerged silently from the closet. She held Joel's gaze resolutely, knowing that one glance would give the game away.

"You lame, sorry ass excuse for a man," she goaded. "Shoot me and have done with it."

Joel didn't know what hit him. The gun flew from his hand and skittered across the floor. Laurie lunged after it, then held it in front of her with both hands. She was trembling.

Brahms had Joel in a headlock, and was dragging him towards the window. The casement was large, both windows only a foot from the floor. Mesmerised, she watched Brahms kick both glass panels out. Frigid air rushed into the room. Joel struggled like a hooked fish, gasping impotently, his hands clawing. Inexorably, Brahms dragged the other man to the broken windows. Joel glanced desperately at the black gaping maw and struggled anew.

Brahms now had one foot on the casement ledge, dragging and hitching Joel onto the ledge with him. Even from across the room, Laurie could see Joel's face suffusing as he suffocated. He'll pass out soon, she thought with the certainty of experience. But Brahms wasn't letting him pass out. He kept just enough pressure to keep Joel semiconscious. He was halfway out of the window now, his beautiful strong body silhouetted by the moon, the dark curls bobbing like a black halo.

"Brahms? What are you doing?"

He looked across at her but his face was in shadow. "I can't let you be a part of this, Laurie."

She stood dumbly shaking her head. "What are you talking about?"

She watched in horror as Brahms shifted his weight. Joel, sensing what Brahms was about to do got a second wind and scrabbled wildly for the casement edge. His fingers tore to shreds on the broken glass and if he could have screamed he would.

"He'll never let you go, Laurie," Brahms said gently. "This is the only way to keep you safe."

"Brahms, there's something you need to know! Something I haven't--"

"My lovely, Laurie."

Then he fell backwards through the shattered window, dragging Joel with him.

~

Laurie stormed down to the garden, to the heartless York stone flags; to the blood and the broken. Brahms lay on top of Joel, who was dead. Kneeling in the snow, she cradled Brahms's head, holding his face to hers. Blood seeped from his mouth even as tears coursed down her cheeks.

"Brahms! Oh, Brahms, please don't die."

She knew she should run to the phone to call an ambulance but Brahms reached out and gripped her hand as though it were a lifeline. "Stay with me."

"I'm here," she soothed. "I'll always be here."

His breathing became laboured and he was shivering. He gazed up at her. "I have to let you go," he whispered. "You can't be with someone like me."

"Brahms...stay with me. You're strong. You're going to live. You have to live. I'm pregnant, Brahms. I'm going to have your baby."

Brahms gave the ghost of a smile. And Laurie watched in dismay as his pupils began to dilate. "No!" She breathed. "No, no, no..."

"I love you, Laurie."

Snow began to fall. And as it fell, it filled his eyes.

~

There could be no other ending to this, as I see it. Brahms's story was always going to be a tragic one, and I didn't want to depict him as a one dimensional psycho/sociopath. His ultimate sacrifice speaks volumes about his self awareness, his desire to change and his capacity to love. He acknowledges his psychological damage and knows too that Laurie would always be at risk from him. To kill the person bent on destroying Laurie is just logical to Brahms. For him to get rid of himself, another potential source of danger to her, comes from that place we call the human soul.

But...OK. I wrote an alternative ending.