Brian stepped out of the shadows and into the foyer of the hell hole he once called a home. He had sworn to himself that he would never set foot back into the Kramer mansion, but tonight he had no choice.
He could see Carla's eyes watching him as he walked. She tensed, let out a whimper. She had already lost so much blood. Her skin was starting to take on a grey hue. Her hair was matted in the cooling, red liquid.
He held his good hand, his whole hand, to his lips and made a gentle shooshing noise. He knew that the very sight was something less than pleasent, and after what Moira had done to her... he didn't want to imagine what Carla thought of him.
"No." Her voice was weak. She tried to turn, to crawl away from him. She didn't have the strength.
"Carla, I won't hurt you." He gently laid his good hand on her arm.
She looked back at him, and he could see that she recognized him now. His face had been damaged, and then later replaced with molded silver. The mask, although he could never take it off, covered the right side of his face, stopping just above his jaw. The mask's maker had gotten creative, mangling what was supposed to be his image into that of a monsters, with high arched eyebrows, and a deep set eye socket.
Still, underneath the monsterous face he was forced to wear, Carla could see him.
"Does it hurt?" His voice was soft.
She nodded, letting out a faint whimper. She had become to weak to speak.
Brian pulled her close, cradeling her.
She coughed a few times, and then she went still.
"I'm so sorry." He leaned down, gently kissing her forehead before picking her up, lying her on the bottom stair.
Moira would pay. He would make sure of that.
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