Your POV:

Did he just exit through my closet? I ask myself.

It was a big mansion after all. So many rooms, hallways, and staircases I've still never even seen yet. I ponder on how many more of those secret passages there probably were. Even with just the two of us in this gigantic house, I still couldn't get any privacy.

My legs dangled above the floor as I took a seat on my irregularly high bed. My body faced towards the closet as I try to remember what Brahms had said to me before he left. He wanted to show me something. My mind jumbled with thoughts about what he would possibly want to show me.

Brahms was a so-called "killer". A soulless, psychopathic murderer. At least that's what all the headlines said. A part of me believed this man couldn't be capable of doing such a thing. Of course there was the incident where he tackled me and tied me up but, I did trespass into his home. He was probably just as frightened as I was. I remember the doll and a piece of paper that I had ripped to shreds without even looking at it. I wonder what was on it that made him so angry. I've only been here a few days but, I feel his intention wasn't to kill me. Otherwise he would've done it by now...

*hours later*

I wake up, the room appearing darker than before. I had fallen asleep unknowingly. I slid off the bed and stood up, my body no longer aching. A rest was definitely what my body needed. I reached over to grab for my phone on top of the nightstand. Still no service. As I set my phone down, I brought my gaze straight ahead to where the closet door is. Without hesitation, I walk closer completely forgetting about the whole prisoner thing. It was like there was a magnetic force pulling me in. With the twist of the door knob, it opens. I don't let myself in fully because with the light absent, it's pitch black. I raise an arm and start gasping the air hoping to find something. My fingers feel upon a string for a lightbulb, and I pull. Light fills the closet, it's empty and quite spacious. At the bottom right, I see what looks like a panel on the wall. There isn't a handle present so I try to pry it open with my nails. It doesn't budge and I end up breaking a nail. Out of frustration, I kick the wall which ends up sending the whole panel to the ground. It's an opening that leads to somewhere, but it's dark. Cautiously and curiously, I step inside. I take small steps, allowing my feet to feel the ground first. Am I entering into the walls right now?

My foot hovers around and I feel nothing below me. It goes straight down but, how far? I'm thinking I'll have to jump and hope I don't break my legs but luckily, my eyes spot something shiny. A metal ladder. I sigh in relief and head down. As I reach the floor, my hands stretch out to feel along the walls. I continue further and start to see light. It's weak, but enough for me to see now. I squirm at the thoughts of mice and spiders as the webs I've been walking through are now visible to me. Gradually, the light becomes stronger as I proceed down the tight pathway. My nose starts to pick up this sweet scent. Is that lavender?

As I finally reach the end, there seems to be a room. The door was wide open so I let myself in, walking slowly. On my left was a sink, toilet, and shower. After that, a counter with another sink, a stove, and a fridge along with a microwave atop. What the hell, there's a room inside the walls? Was this room some sort of hideout—or a man cave perhaps?

I probably shouldn't be here right now but I walk further in. To the right, a desk. Sitting on top was that porcelain doll. A little Brahmsie. Before I could bring my hand to touch it, somewhere in the room behind me, I hear a shuffle.

Oh shit.

My heart beat goes faster and I try to steady my breath knowing Brahms is somewhere in this room with me, where I probably was not wanted. The fear in me kept rising, taking over my whole body in seconds. I stood, paralyzed for what felt like forever but, nothing happens.

I turn and search around the room. My eyes look to where the noise came from and I tiptoe closer until I approach a bed. On it, Brahms was lying on his side, legs extended straight with an arm stretched up beyond his head, asleep.