Nightmare on Fleet Street (Part 7)
Chapter 24
Time once had a great hold over Nellie’s life. There were rigid schedules to be kept and beats that could not be missed. After Benjamin had been shipped off, time had become strangely less constricting, or perhaps she had simply forgotten to keep track of it. James brought her back on track for a while, but after things fell through with him time had once more become an impossible thing. When Benjamin returned to her as Sweeney Todd time had once again snapped back into a strict perspective. Even her daydreams couldn’t fully pull her away from the heavy rhythm of his pacing above her. Unlike before this continued stretch of rigid time didn’t bother her. Each moment was to a beat she enjoyed.
It seemed time could not overcome a plague that turned men into monsters.
Nellie’s entire day had been thrown off-beat by it. Or, it felt like it had been the entire day. The early dinner crowd was where it all started. That day’s dinner. It already felt like months in those few hours of fighting for her life, and her companion’s. Every moment of being afraid had stretched out time, especially without the reassuring tred of the barber’s footsteps near her.
Inside of the Turpin’s home time had stopped, and after reuniting with Sweeney it seemed to speed ahead before jerking to another halt.
Being knocked unconscious was not an entirely new experience to Mrs. Lovett, life had never truly been kind to her, but this time, when time itself was already imperceptible to her, she was more wary than before about wondering in how long she had been out.
The feeling of wakefulness was dizzying, as her last cogent memory was that one of falling. Falling, at the time, it seemed to an unyielding inevitable. Death. Her open, seeing, eyes contradicted that assumption.
Before Nellie’s reality was fully in focus, her lips parted and a whisper of ‘Mr. T?’ slipped out. If she didn’t remember the collapsed stairwell Nellie would have thought he was worse off that her, though he still could have been. He was seated right next to her head, making it difficult for her to see anything below his chest. His pale skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat, and his parted lips drew in short raspy breaths. Despite the softness of her voice his eyes slid open and looked down into hers. For a moment he almost looked relieved, but then his eyes left hers and became inexplicably sad.
“Sweeney?” She prompted, panic seeping into her voice. Nellie suddenly remembered the barber wasn’t supposed to be up, and she quickly worried that he had been moved for her sake. “Ya need to be lyin’ down, I-” Her body was slow to respond to her brain’s command, so her muscles hadn’t even twitched when one of the barber’s hand came up to forestall her.
“Calm down.” Sweeney’s lips twitched, as if he wanted to smile.
“But you shouldn’t be up. ‘Ere I am, taking up all the space-”
“Nellie- you’re on a counter, not the table.”
The fact he used her first name was all that kept her still. “Than why the hell aren’t ya lyin’ down?”
For a moment she was positive he was going to burst into laughter. The barest trace of a smile on his face and in his eyes was all she got. “I wanted to be near you, so that when you woke up…” As if suddenly aware of what he was saying Sweeney’s words died in his mouth, lips still parted to continue his sentence.
“Luv?” Nellie asked, hoping that if she didn’t bring attention to his kind behavior he wouldn’t stop.
“I needed to know you were going to wake up.” Sweeney’s eyes went down, but he didn’t look at her. “Needed to know…” The second time was little more than a mumble.
Sweeney’s insistence on just seeing her wake up caused panic to flare through the baker. Even though she had been conscious for some time, her body felt distant from her and the one thing she could really feel was that she was lying down. She had no idea what the extent of her injuries were.
“Sweeney, what…I-”
Her panic seemed to be affecting him for his eyes went wide with shock. Another thought struck the baker, nearly stopping her already erratic breathing.
“Where, where is every-?”
“Breath!” Sweeney commanded, almost for his own benefit as well as his. “Just breath.” He brought his hands up, but an internal debate with what to do left them hanging awkwardly in the air.
Ignoring his dilemma, the baker attempted to regain control of her breathing. Her hands jerked into the air from where they had been resting on her chest, and she stared at them confused.
“Your, I-”
“I have them.” Given the opportunity, Sweeney let his hands take hers. “You shouldn’t have gone after them in the first place.”
She ignored his last remark, still trying to get her lungs to fully expand and accept the air she needed. His hands on hers reassured Nellie more than she realized. “Anthony. Where.. Where is everyone?”
The silence he gave her was not at all reassuring.
“Sweeney?!”
“They’re out looking.” He deadpanned.
“Looking?”
Sweeney’s hands tightened around hers, and his eyes begged for something she didn‘t understand. “For Toby.” Begging her not to panic.
“Toby…?”
“He disappeared after Anthony brought you back.”
--
James had been particularly reluctant to leave the judge’s home in search of Toby. The honest part of him confessed he could care less for the boy’s well being, but everything else in him screamed he needed to do it for Eleanor. How would she feel, waking up and finding the boy gone?
Another honest part of him simply wanted to see the state the city was in. Even in the poor light of a smoke covered moon it was easy to see the destruction. It made him feel proud, in a sick, twisted sort of way.
Had he really been the cause of all of this?
Anthony and Johanna were investigating an abandoned house, leaving James alone on the street. The smell of corpses and smoke clogged his nose, it oddly registered in his mind as the smell of victory. Ever since he stepped outside he had been overcome with the urge to tilt back his head and just laugh, but the bodies of disemboweled Londoners kept him quiet. The blood of the countless dead that stained his hands overcame his sick pride.
Lifting his hands, he slowly turned them in examination, half expecting to see the blood. It wasn’t there, but some part of him desperately wanted it to be. After all, just moments ago Eleanor’s blood hand been covering his hands. It stained his clothes though, just like Sweeney’s. Of all people to save that day, it had been two murderers.
A soft chuckle slipped out of him then.
God, he needed to see her. He needed to know she was still alive.
“Sir?”
His head jerked in the direction of the voice, surprised Johanna had snuck up on him. Not caring to hear her news, he dropped his hands and looked away. “I’m going back.”
“Why?”
Was that Eleanor’s stubbornness seeping through the girl? “I need to make sure the two there are still alive.”
“What about Toby?”
For having very little contact with the child she was rather insistent in finding him. “You and Anthony will do fine without me.” He was two steps away when she stopped him.
“Wait! I’ve been thinking…” Her hesitation lasted long enough for her to draw a deep breath. “You made them go after Mrs. Lovett, but not hurt her. Can’t you make them go after Toby?”
James tightened his hands into fists, feeling a strange rush of irritation. “I can try.”
--
It was reassuring to know they were out looking, but it was terrifying to know that Toby was out there. Eleanor had since calmed down after Sweeney told her the news, though after she realized he was holding her hands she refused to let go. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem to mind, which suited her just fine. Sweeney’s eyes had left her the moment her panic ceased, however, and now the baker was determined to learn what he was thinking. Frowning up at him seemed to have caught his notice though, and soon after a twitch of his lips his eyes were back on her.
“What?” His tone was a great deal more snappish than she expected, especially since his hands were comfortably encircling hers.
“I was just…” Deciding she didn’t want to say staring the baker quickly lied. “wonderin’.”
The barber’s face seemed to slowly pass into one of concern. “About what?”
“You.” She offered tentatively, openly talking to him was a new privilege, and one she didn’t want to lose.
Sweeney grimaced, as if she had just said something unappealing.
Deciding she didn’t particularly like that, she pushed forward. “We’re alone ‘ere, ain’t we?”
He frowned, “I suppose.”
Remembering there were maids in the household, and concluding they wouldn’t go out and risk themselves for an unknown child, she decided to let that answer slide. Of course, there was also the two unconscious men. “We’re alone ‘ere.” Even knowing that bringing up the judge could very well take his attention away from her, Eleanor wanted to know. “Why aren’t ya at the judge?”
His posture stiffened, and she could see his jaw clench. A rather malicious glint appeared in his eye, but his face remained passive.
Sweeney seemed to chose his words carefully when he finally decided to speak. “I have waited long enough.” It also seemed he was speaking to himself. “He is completely at my mercy…”
Eleanor had found comfort in his hands, but their grip was soon becoming painful. In fact, he only loosened his grip when she let out a whimper of pain. For a moment he looked slightly guilty.
“I’ll be back soon.”
Before he could release her hands and push himself to his feet, the baker took him in her own iron grip.
“I’m comin’.”
He didn’t even try to hide the shock on his face. “What?”
“I’m comin’ with you.”
“Why?” Suspicion slowly crept onto his face.
“I need ta see it end.”
“You need to see it end?”
“What e’s done is as much a part of my life as it is to yours.”
“You’re in no condition to get up,” he snapped.
“Neither are you.” She retorted.
Before he managed to pull himself away and stand, Sweeney stiffly nodded his head. “Fine.” Once on his feet he turned slowly to help her up.
Despite her own mental determination Eleanor let out a choked gasp when she sat up. The barber’s hands had been at her back and side trying to help her, and she trapped them once more in her own. “God Sweeney! ‘Ow the bloody ‘ell are you walking around?”
“Bending will be the worst with your side stitched,” he sighed. “Come on pet, I wont have you slowing me down.”
Pressing her lips together she nodded her head, ready to turn so her feet could dangle off the edge of the counter. Turning was a great deal less painful, but she also had her attention focused on the feel of his hands rather than the searing twinge of her own skin.
“Ready?”
For a moment the baker felt extremely nauseous at the notion of having to stand on her own two feet. She didn’t even realize her breathing had become ragged until one of Sweeney’s hands was on her face, and his crisp tone demanded her to ‘breath, woman!’. Her head was towards the floor but she made herself nod, gripping his biceps to reassure herself he was still there. When Eleanor finally managed to pushed herself off the edge, it seemed for a moment that she was suspended in the air, but the ground quickly took care of her fantasy of floating. Her knees buckled but Sweeney kept her up despite his own grunt of pain.
Eleanor buried her face in the crook of his neck and bit her lip until blood dripped on the barber’s shoulder.
Silence prevailed until Sweeney cut it short with, “I said you weren’t going to slow me down.”
Keeping herself steady by clutching his arm tightly, Eleanor slowly made it to steady feet. “Sorry,” she muttered, slowly relinquishing her grip to wipe the blood from her face. When her downcast eyes finally made their way back up, the baker thought they were playing tricks on her. Blood was oozing from the side of Sweeney’s mouth, and though her pain blurred vision told Eleanor it was hers, she knew it wasn’t.
“Love, we shouldn’t be doing this.” She slowly reached out to wipe the blood from his face.
“You’re the one who brought it up.” The barber snapped.
Even though she has just absent-mindedly wiped her own blood on her dress, Sweeney’s blood on her finger tips somehow felt more real.
“Nellie?” The man prodded, a little surprised she hadn’t commented on what he said.
“If we ain’t lying down we might as well go for a walk.” She mumbled, eyes still fixed on her bloody fingers.
“Need to make up your bloody mind,” the barber growled. He turned towards the door but kept one hand on Eleanor, lest she waver again.
“I believe ya have enough resolve for the both of us, dear.” The baker took a hesitant step after him, only gaining confidence when she didn’t immediately tumble to the ground.
“I said make up your mind, not gain resolve.” With her in tow and unlikely of falling, Sweeney set a steady pace for the parlor.
Eleanor looped her arm in his, as if they really were a proper gentleman and lady going for a walk. “Ya’ve been so talkative lately, luv.”
As if to reprimand her, he grunted in response. The baker smiled, knowing that laughing would hurt too much.
--
Chapter 25
Knowing what was at the end made the journey that much slower. Knowing what was at the end of the hallway made Sweeney all that more willing to go there, even though his muscles seemed to struggle with each step. He had done his best to keep his and Mrs. Lovett’s weights balanced against one another, but ever few steps one of them was always leaning just a little farther over. Sweeney’s excitement had done wonders in stifling his pain, and he wondered if she was just as eager, or just very good at putting on a brave face. Her insistence on coming had surprised him, she had never watched him kill before, though she did deal with the end product. Not that he was just going to get the Beadle’s and Turpin’s death over with. They were fully at his mercy, and he was going to do damn well what he wanted with them before he let them die.
A part of Sweeney wanted to question if Nellie could handle that, though no part of him said she couldn‘t.
His eyes drifted over her face, curious as to what she had meant when she said Turpin had affected her life as much as his. He had never really thought about the ripple affect of what had happened to him. Sweeney had never really considered the world being so connected before, and realizing someone so close to him had been significantly affected made him wonder about the smaller things. He didn’t even know how many people had heard of his and Lucy’s story, he had always figured his business was his own. The full extent of his naïveté began to irk him.
“Are ya ready luv?”
Sweeney blinked, suddenly seeing the door in front of him. He didn’t respond to Nellie, and instead reached out to push the door open, his blood seemed to turn to fire in his veins.
The room was very much in the same condition he had last seen it in, though he really hadn‘t spent that much time looking. Sweeney’s eyes darted around hungrily, searching for his quarry, but before he could make a full search of the room, Nellie tugged at his sleeve.
“’Elp me ta a chair, would ya?”
He gave an impatient grunt in response and practically dragged her to the nearest armchair. Sweeney was patient enough to let her slowly slide away from him and onto the chair, but he quickly and eagerly turned away from her, desperate for his prey.
After so long…
When his eyes found what he was looking for he was almost disappointed. The judge and the Beadle were unconscious and sprawled on the floor, their hands and feet bound together with curtain cord. Sweeney’s lip curled in distaste at the sight of them, and all he did was stare for a moment. His feet took it upon themselves to get him to his targets, and his knees took much longer in lowering him to their level.
The edges of his vision blurred slightly, his chest also gave a fierce ache, demanding that it’s pain be heard. A snarl fixed on his face, the barber pushed aside the painful sensations to reach out and grab the Beadle’s throat. He would start with him, the judge he would savor last.
Having been knocked on the head quite a while ago, the Beadle was easily awoken when he felt the steel grip of fingers on his windpipe. His beady eyes popped open and he let out a strangled gasp as his nerves became fully aware.
“Such a strange place I find you in.”
He squinted his eyes, trying to see the man who was speaking to him. Who was choking him.
“And even when I see how pathetic you are, I feel no pity for you.”
His lips parted slightly as he attempted to work his jaw and tongue to make an answer. He certainly wasn’t going to die without trying to talk his way out of it first.
“No last words for you Bamford. Your last act on this earth will be to scream.”
The man finally came into focus in the Beadle’s eyes, and he almost wished his vision had stayed blurred. It seemed Death itself was staring at him with its cold, black eyes. The man’s pale flesh and gaunt appearance fueled his delirium. Even when the hand was removed from his throat he was too petrified to speak. A tiny sigh escaped him when his assailant seemed to just be content to stare at him, but the breath quickly turned to a gasp when his jaw was grabbed with icy fingers.
“And to make sure of that, my dear Beadle, I will need your tongue before we proceed.”
Sweeney had never been a man of many words, at least not around Eleanor. Benjamin had always had a rather cultured way of speaking which, and in the beginning, the baker had taken to comparing it against the blunt rasp of Mr. Todd. She was suddenly very glad he had never taken up Benjamin’s eloquence back into his speech. As of right now, his words sounded beautiful, but the poisonous hatred now oozing through them seemed to be coaxing all of the fear out of the man being addressed. Eleanor felt a coldness creep down her spine as Sweeney calmly opened the Beadle’s mouth while reaching for the razor in his pocket. Despite her own growing fears of the truly devilish side of the barber she watched without blinking as he slowly brought his razor across the other man’s tongue.
Was this the revenge the man had long dreamed about, or was he acting on impulses?
The Beadle was doing well by enacting what Sweeney had planned for him, a throaty squeal was coming from the man as he watched cross-eyed as his tongue was slowly sawed away. His tear-filled eyes searched the face of his soon-to-be killer for any sign of hesitation, and a fearful moan slipped out of him when he saw none. He wanted to beg, plead and reason for his life, but when he tried to make himself speak blood and spittle simply flew from his mouth. The barber frowned at the mess being made on his already dirty bandages.
“You were just a messenger- perhaps I shouldn’t carry this on too long.”
Eleanor got the distinct feeling Sweeney was enjoying his one-sided banter. A part of her was glad to see him happy, another part was terrified of his bloodlust-dementia.
The barber propped the trembling man up against the wall and watched the blood run down his chin for a moment, as if lost in thought. “A prisoner tried to escape once, the warden shot him in the leg to prevent him from getting too far. The warden succeeded, though not in the way he originally hoped. Whatever the bullet had hit in his leg he bled out in under a minute.”
Confusion crept onto the pain pinched face of the Beadle as he tried to understand the story.
“I’m not sure where to cut, but I’m sure I’ll find that artery.” Sweeney slapped the flat end of his razor against the man’s cheek. “I hope that when you burn in hell the name ‘Benjamin Barker’ will ring in your skull for eternity,” with a quick flash of silver the razor took its first bite out of Bamford’s thigh.
A loud, blood-muffled scream filled the room, and the baker felt herself shiver. With every second Sweeney’s wicked playfulness seemed to grow, and the twisted notion of revenge that had festered in him for so long was finally and fully making itself known. Eleanor doubted even the Devil himself could have watched the man’s delight in the carnage as calmly as she did, for aside from a few quick trembles she sat still and stared.
Blood splattered against the wall, furniture and Sweeney until the sound of it striking against various surfaces seemed to drown out the man’s screams. The tortured cries did not last long, as the barber quickly turned the other man’s thigh into mince-meat, effectively spilling enough blood to make him pass out and cutting the artery he had been digging for.
Silence suddenly gripped the room, only broken by Sweeney’s ragged breathing.
A choking sound made Eleanor and Sweeney move their focus to Turpin- who had been dragged into consciousness by the sounds of the Beadle dieing. He seemed unable to form words as his eyes took in his new bloody reality.
Sweeney’s blood spattered lips cracked open into a demented smile when the judge’s eyes landed on him.
“Wha… what… who…?” He seemed incapable of properly speaking, the smell and sight of the Beadle’s blood assailing his nose and eyes.
At first the barber felt a sudden surge of irritation as the man spoke, and considered cutting out his tongue too, but as the Beadle‘s screams and been pleasing, Sweeney knew the judge‘s cries for mercy would be better. The demented torturer turned fully towards his second victim, silently hoping the name Benjamin Barker hadn’t been heard by him, hoping to keep it as a surprise for later.
Instead of panicking as Sweeney’s attention was more focused on him, Turpin lowered his head and started to cough, saliva slowly dripped from his mouth as his stomach attempted to empty itself.
“You shouldn’t ruin the carpet.” The barber reached out with his razor, which seemed to be bleeding of it’s own accord. He placed the instrument against the judge’s chin and made to slowly lift it up, the man would have to lift his chin or let himself get cut. “I assume it’s expensive.”
Turpin didn’t follow well with the razor, and jerked his head up just after it touched his chin. “Who are you.. to..to,” despite his best efforts to throw something in his tormentors face, perhaps even anger, all that surfaced was fear. “I…. I know you.”
Sweeney’s face twisted into one of unhappiness. Was he made? If he was, the rest of what he planned for the judge would be wholly unsatisfying.
“The barber! From…from…”
An ‘oh’ of delight formed on the barber’s face before it returned to a smirk. He slapped the side of his razor against the man’s cheek like he had done with the Beadle’, only this man visibly flinched. His demented happiness only increased at the sight. “You’ll wish you died that day.”
“My God! Why…how long…?”
“God?” Sweeney snarled, his previous elation easily replaced by anger. “Do you truly believe you do his work when you send men to die?” His little secret was fast on the approach of becoming known, and at the moment he considered it to be best. Would Turpin scream louder when he learned that someone from his past had finally come back to deal real justice?
“Who are you?” Even on the verge of death his mind managed to work.
The razor did a quick lick across the judge’s forehead, leaving behind a thin trail of blood. “I want you to remember!” Sweeney snarled, bringing the razor back to cut across the man’s cheek.
As if suddenly realizing he was on the brink of life and death Turpin attempted to crawl away, but only ended up with a wall against his back. “How-how can-” Panic finally settled in, and his chest heaved while his eyes darted around the room. Blood from his forehead slowly began to drip into his eyes, causing him to blink as well.
“Remember Johanna! Her mother!” Sweeney’s hands came out, the razor still clutched in one of them, and he wrapped his fingers around the judge’s neck. Perhaps slowly strangling him would be the better route. “Her father!”
The madman’s fingers were already bruising Turpin’s neck, and the razor’s bite was causing blood to flow between them, but the choking man still managed to gasp out, “Benjamin…?”
“Benjamin Barker!” Sweeney screamed in confirmation- his hate clouding his previous plans of a slow death for the man before him. Though in a quick moment he seemed to deem strangulation as the wrong option, and his hands left his adversary’s neck. Instead, the hand clutching his silver friend was driven fast towards the judge’s chest. Whether in his mania he had managed to calculate it or not, the barber managed to drive the blade inbetween two ribs.
Turpin gave a quick gasp, too stunned to even scream. His eyes founds Sweeney’s and his look of panic and confusion lasted until his body seemed to finally realize it was done in, and his head slumped against his chest. Hand still wrapped around the razor, the barber stared.
Was that…it?
Had those fifteen years of his life just been avenged? He blinked several times, as if expecting the world to change, or something to announce the confirmation of his victory. Instead of happiness, a sort of depressed confusion settled over him. He forced himself to ignore the immediate question of ‘what now?’. Shouldn’t he have the time to at least enjoy his victory? Why did his triumphant moment have to be so…. Hollow?
“Luv?”
Sweeney jerked away from his victim in surprise, hand finally leaving behind his razor. He turned his head to look up at Mrs. Lovett. Wondering how she had managed to stand from the chair, he watched as she slowly came down to her knees to be level with him.
Had he been on the ground the entire time?
One of Eleanor’s hands came up to rest against him bloodied cheek, her eyes locked steadily with his. “Are ya done?” She asked.
That was it! That was what he wanted to know. Was he done with his revenge? There was blood on his hands, but that wasn’t new. The judge’s corpse slumped behind him though…that was new. His hands and person weren’t touching his razors, his friends, his weapons. That counted for something, didn’t it?
His lips parted to say something, but she stopped him from thinking by laying her thumb across them. “Are ya done?” She repeated.
Taking that as a cue, Sweeney pulled Eleanor’s body closer and kissed her.
--
He had been a little panicked when he discovered his lab empty. Two seriously wounded people did not just vanish, but a lot of things were off and peculiar that day. Still, James had quickly dashed into every room to try and find them. Finding them was not much of a victory.
James had seen some truly horrific and disturbing things before, but what he saw in the parlor really hit him.
Blood streaked one of the walls, had formed in small pools on the carpet, and was splashed upon several pieces of furniture. Mangled bodies of those who now painted the room was not particularly pleasant either. Yet, almost worst of all in James’ mind- were the two blood stained people clinging to one another in the mess.
Instead of entering the room he fled back down the hallway.
Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5/ Part 6/Part 7/ Part 8
Time once had a great hold over Nellie’s life. There were rigid schedules to be kept and beats that could not be missed. After Benjamin had been shipped off, time had become strangely less constricting, or perhaps she had simply forgotten to keep track of it. James brought her back on track for a while, but after things fell through with him time had once more become an impossible thing. When Benjamin returned to her as Sweeney Todd time had once again snapped back into a strict perspective. Even her daydreams couldn’t fully pull her away from the heavy rhythm of his pacing above her. Unlike before this continued stretch of rigid time didn’t bother her. Each moment was to a beat she enjoyed.
It seemed time could not overcome a plague that turned men into monsters.
Nellie’s entire day had been thrown off-beat by it. Or, it felt like it had been the entire day. The early dinner crowd was where it all started. That day’s dinner. It already felt like months in those few hours of fighting for her life, and her companion’s. Every moment of being afraid had stretched out time, especially without the reassuring tred of the barber’s footsteps near her.
Inside of the Turpin’s home time had stopped, and after reuniting with Sweeney it seemed to speed ahead before jerking to another halt.
Being knocked unconscious was not an entirely new experience to Mrs. Lovett, life had never truly been kind to her, but this time, when time itself was already imperceptible to her, she was more wary than before about wondering in how long she had been out.
The feeling of wakefulness was dizzying, as her last cogent memory was that one of falling. Falling, at the time, it seemed to an unyielding inevitable. Death. Her open, seeing, eyes contradicted that assumption.
Before Nellie’s reality was fully in focus, her lips parted and a whisper of ‘Mr. T?’ slipped out. If she didn’t remember the collapsed stairwell Nellie would have thought he was worse off that her, though he still could have been. He was seated right next to her head, making it difficult for her to see anything below his chest. His pale skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat, and his parted lips drew in short raspy breaths. Despite the softness of her voice his eyes slid open and looked down into hers. For a moment he almost looked relieved, but then his eyes left hers and became inexplicably sad.
“Sweeney?” She prompted, panic seeping into her voice. Nellie suddenly remembered the barber wasn’t supposed to be up, and she quickly worried that he had been moved for her sake. “Ya need to be lyin’ down, I-” Her body was slow to respond to her brain’s command, so her muscles hadn’t even twitched when one of the barber’s hand came up to forestall her.
“Calm down.” Sweeney’s lips twitched, as if he wanted to smile.
“But you shouldn’t be up. ‘Ere I am, taking up all the space-”
“Nellie- you’re on a counter, not the table.”
The fact he used her first name was all that kept her still. “Than why the hell aren’t ya lyin’ down?”
For a moment she was positive he was going to burst into laughter. The barest trace of a smile on his face and in his eyes was all she got. “I wanted to be near you, so that when you woke up…” As if suddenly aware of what he was saying Sweeney’s words died in his mouth, lips still parted to continue his sentence.
“Luv?” Nellie asked, hoping that if she didn’t bring attention to his kind behavior he wouldn’t stop.
“I needed to know you were going to wake up.” Sweeney’s eyes went down, but he didn’t look at her. “Needed to know…” The second time was little more than a mumble.
Sweeney’s insistence on just seeing her wake up caused panic to flare through the baker. Even though she had been conscious for some time, her body felt distant from her and the one thing she could really feel was that she was lying down. She had no idea what the extent of her injuries were.
“Sweeney, what…I-”
Her panic seemed to be affecting him for his eyes went wide with shock. Another thought struck the baker, nearly stopping her already erratic breathing.
“Where, where is every-?”
“Breath!” Sweeney commanded, almost for his own benefit as well as his. “Just breath.” He brought his hands up, but an internal debate with what to do left them hanging awkwardly in the air.
Ignoring his dilemma, the baker attempted to regain control of her breathing. Her hands jerked into the air from where they had been resting on her chest, and she stared at them confused.
“Your, I-”
“I have them.” Given the opportunity, Sweeney let his hands take hers. “You shouldn’t have gone after them in the first place.”
She ignored his last remark, still trying to get her lungs to fully expand and accept the air she needed. His hands on hers reassured Nellie more than she realized. “Anthony. Where.. Where is everyone?”
The silence he gave her was not at all reassuring.
“Sweeney?!”
“They’re out looking.” He deadpanned.
“Looking?”
Sweeney’s hands tightened around hers, and his eyes begged for something she didn‘t understand. “For Toby.” Begging her not to panic.
“Toby…?”
“He disappeared after Anthony brought you back.”
--
James had been particularly reluctant to leave the judge’s home in search of Toby. The honest part of him confessed he could care less for the boy’s well being, but everything else in him screamed he needed to do it for Eleanor. How would she feel, waking up and finding the boy gone?
Another honest part of him simply wanted to see the state the city was in. Even in the poor light of a smoke covered moon it was easy to see the destruction. It made him feel proud, in a sick, twisted sort of way.
Had he really been the cause of all of this?
Anthony and Johanna were investigating an abandoned house, leaving James alone on the street. The smell of corpses and smoke clogged his nose, it oddly registered in his mind as the smell of victory. Ever since he stepped outside he had been overcome with the urge to tilt back his head and just laugh, but the bodies of disemboweled Londoners kept him quiet. The blood of the countless dead that stained his hands overcame his sick pride.
Lifting his hands, he slowly turned them in examination, half expecting to see the blood. It wasn’t there, but some part of him desperately wanted it to be. After all, just moments ago Eleanor’s blood hand been covering his hands. It stained his clothes though, just like Sweeney’s. Of all people to save that day, it had been two murderers.
A soft chuckle slipped out of him then.
God, he needed to see her. He needed to know she was still alive.
“Sir?”
His head jerked in the direction of the voice, surprised Johanna had snuck up on him. Not caring to hear her news, he dropped his hands and looked away. “I’m going back.”
“Why?”
Was that Eleanor’s stubbornness seeping through the girl? “I need to make sure the two there are still alive.”
“What about Toby?”
For having very little contact with the child she was rather insistent in finding him. “You and Anthony will do fine without me.” He was two steps away when she stopped him.
“Wait! I’ve been thinking…” Her hesitation lasted long enough for her to draw a deep breath. “You made them go after Mrs. Lovett, but not hurt her. Can’t you make them go after Toby?”
James tightened his hands into fists, feeling a strange rush of irritation. “I can try.”
--
It was reassuring to know they were out looking, but it was terrifying to know that Toby was out there. Eleanor had since calmed down after Sweeney told her the news, though after she realized he was holding her hands she refused to let go. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem to mind, which suited her just fine. Sweeney’s eyes had left her the moment her panic ceased, however, and now the baker was determined to learn what he was thinking. Frowning up at him seemed to have caught his notice though, and soon after a twitch of his lips his eyes were back on her.
“What?” His tone was a great deal more snappish than she expected, especially since his hands were comfortably encircling hers.
“I was just…” Deciding she didn’t want to say staring the baker quickly lied. “wonderin’.”
The barber’s face seemed to slowly pass into one of concern. “About what?”
“You.” She offered tentatively, openly talking to him was a new privilege, and one she didn’t want to lose.
Sweeney grimaced, as if she had just said something unappealing.
Deciding she didn’t particularly like that, she pushed forward. “We’re alone ‘ere, ain’t we?”
He frowned, “I suppose.”
Remembering there were maids in the household, and concluding they wouldn’t go out and risk themselves for an unknown child, she decided to let that answer slide. Of course, there was also the two unconscious men. “We’re alone ‘ere.” Even knowing that bringing up the judge could very well take his attention away from her, Eleanor wanted to know. “Why aren’t ya at the judge?”
His posture stiffened, and she could see his jaw clench. A rather malicious glint appeared in his eye, but his face remained passive.
Sweeney seemed to chose his words carefully when he finally decided to speak. “I have waited long enough.” It also seemed he was speaking to himself. “He is completely at my mercy…”
Eleanor had found comfort in his hands, but their grip was soon becoming painful. In fact, he only loosened his grip when she let out a whimper of pain. For a moment he looked slightly guilty.
“I’ll be back soon.”
Before he could release her hands and push himself to his feet, the baker took him in her own iron grip.
“I’m comin’.”
He didn’t even try to hide the shock on his face. “What?”
“I’m comin’ with you.”
“Why?” Suspicion slowly crept onto his face.
“I need ta see it end.”
“You need to see it end?”
“What e’s done is as much a part of my life as it is to yours.”
“You’re in no condition to get up,” he snapped.
“Neither are you.” She retorted.
Before he managed to pull himself away and stand, Sweeney stiffly nodded his head. “Fine.” Once on his feet he turned slowly to help her up.
Despite her own mental determination Eleanor let out a choked gasp when she sat up. The barber’s hands had been at her back and side trying to help her, and she trapped them once more in her own. “God Sweeney! ‘Ow the bloody ‘ell are you walking around?”
“Bending will be the worst with your side stitched,” he sighed. “Come on pet, I wont have you slowing me down.”
Pressing her lips together she nodded her head, ready to turn so her feet could dangle off the edge of the counter. Turning was a great deal less painful, but she also had her attention focused on the feel of his hands rather than the searing twinge of her own skin.
“Ready?”
For a moment the baker felt extremely nauseous at the notion of having to stand on her own two feet. She didn’t even realize her breathing had become ragged until one of Sweeney’s hands was on her face, and his crisp tone demanded her to ‘breath, woman!’. Her head was towards the floor but she made herself nod, gripping his biceps to reassure herself he was still there. When Eleanor finally managed to pushed herself off the edge, it seemed for a moment that she was suspended in the air, but the ground quickly took care of her fantasy of floating. Her knees buckled but Sweeney kept her up despite his own grunt of pain.
Eleanor buried her face in the crook of his neck and bit her lip until blood dripped on the barber’s shoulder.
Silence prevailed until Sweeney cut it short with, “I said you weren’t going to slow me down.”
Keeping herself steady by clutching his arm tightly, Eleanor slowly made it to steady feet. “Sorry,” she muttered, slowly relinquishing her grip to wipe the blood from her face. When her downcast eyes finally made their way back up, the baker thought they were playing tricks on her. Blood was oozing from the side of Sweeney’s mouth, and though her pain blurred vision told Eleanor it was hers, she knew it wasn’t.
“Love, we shouldn’t be doing this.” She slowly reached out to wipe the blood from his face.
“You’re the one who brought it up.” The barber snapped.
Even though she has just absent-mindedly wiped her own blood on her dress, Sweeney’s blood on her finger tips somehow felt more real.
“Nellie?” The man prodded, a little surprised she hadn’t commented on what he said.
“If we ain’t lying down we might as well go for a walk.” She mumbled, eyes still fixed on her bloody fingers.
“Need to make up your bloody mind,” the barber growled. He turned towards the door but kept one hand on Eleanor, lest she waver again.
“I believe ya have enough resolve for the both of us, dear.” The baker took a hesitant step after him, only gaining confidence when she didn’t immediately tumble to the ground.
“I said make up your mind, not gain resolve.” With her in tow and unlikely of falling, Sweeney set a steady pace for the parlor.
Eleanor looped her arm in his, as if they really were a proper gentleman and lady going for a walk. “Ya’ve been so talkative lately, luv.”
As if to reprimand her, he grunted in response. The baker smiled, knowing that laughing would hurt too much.
--
Chapter 25
Knowing what was at the end made the journey that much slower. Knowing what was at the end of the hallway made Sweeney all that more willing to go there, even though his muscles seemed to struggle with each step. He had done his best to keep his and Mrs. Lovett’s weights balanced against one another, but ever few steps one of them was always leaning just a little farther over. Sweeney’s excitement had done wonders in stifling his pain, and he wondered if she was just as eager, or just very good at putting on a brave face. Her insistence on coming had surprised him, she had never watched him kill before, though she did deal with the end product. Not that he was just going to get the Beadle’s and Turpin’s death over with. They were fully at his mercy, and he was going to do damn well what he wanted with them before he let them die.
A part of Sweeney wanted to question if Nellie could handle that, though no part of him said she couldn‘t.
His eyes drifted over her face, curious as to what she had meant when she said Turpin had affected her life as much as his. He had never really thought about the ripple affect of what had happened to him. Sweeney had never really considered the world being so connected before, and realizing someone so close to him had been significantly affected made him wonder about the smaller things. He didn’t even know how many people had heard of his and Lucy’s story, he had always figured his business was his own. The full extent of his naïveté began to irk him.
“Are ya ready luv?”
Sweeney blinked, suddenly seeing the door in front of him. He didn’t respond to Nellie, and instead reached out to push the door open, his blood seemed to turn to fire in his veins.
The room was very much in the same condition he had last seen it in, though he really hadn‘t spent that much time looking. Sweeney’s eyes darted around hungrily, searching for his quarry, but before he could make a full search of the room, Nellie tugged at his sleeve.
“’Elp me ta a chair, would ya?”
He gave an impatient grunt in response and practically dragged her to the nearest armchair. Sweeney was patient enough to let her slowly slide away from him and onto the chair, but he quickly and eagerly turned away from her, desperate for his prey.
After so long…
When his eyes found what he was looking for he was almost disappointed. The judge and the Beadle were unconscious and sprawled on the floor, their hands and feet bound together with curtain cord. Sweeney’s lip curled in distaste at the sight of them, and all he did was stare for a moment. His feet took it upon themselves to get him to his targets, and his knees took much longer in lowering him to their level.
The edges of his vision blurred slightly, his chest also gave a fierce ache, demanding that it’s pain be heard. A snarl fixed on his face, the barber pushed aside the painful sensations to reach out and grab the Beadle’s throat. He would start with him, the judge he would savor last.
Having been knocked on the head quite a while ago, the Beadle was easily awoken when he felt the steel grip of fingers on his windpipe. His beady eyes popped open and he let out a strangled gasp as his nerves became fully aware.
“Such a strange place I find you in.”
He squinted his eyes, trying to see the man who was speaking to him. Who was choking him.
“And even when I see how pathetic you are, I feel no pity for you.”
His lips parted slightly as he attempted to work his jaw and tongue to make an answer. He certainly wasn’t going to die without trying to talk his way out of it first.
“No last words for you Bamford. Your last act on this earth will be to scream.”
The man finally came into focus in the Beadle’s eyes, and he almost wished his vision had stayed blurred. It seemed Death itself was staring at him with its cold, black eyes. The man’s pale flesh and gaunt appearance fueled his delirium. Even when the hand was removed from his throat he was too petrified to speak. A tiny sigh escaped him when his assailant seemed to just be content to stare at him, but the breath quickly turned to a gasp when his jaw was grabbed with icy fingers.
“And to make sure of that, my dear Beadle, I will need your tongue before we proceed.”
Sweeney had never been a man of many words, at least not around Eleanor. Benjamin had always had a rather cultured way of speaking which, and in the beginning, the baker had taken to comparing it against the blunt rasp of Mr. Todd. She was suddenly very glad he had never taken up Benjamin’s eloquence back into his speech. As of right now, his words sounded beautiful, but the poisonous hatred now oozing through them seemed to be coaxing all of the fear out of the man being addressed. Eleanor felt a coldness creep down her spine as Sweeney calmly opened the Beadle’s mouth while reaching for the razor in his pocket. Despite her own growing fears of the truly devilish side of the barber she watched without blinking as he slowly brought his razor across the other man’s tongue.
Was this the revenge the man had long dreamed about, or was he acting on impulses?
The Beadle was doing well by enacting what Sweeney had planned for him, a throaty squeal was coming from the man as he watched cross-eyed as his tongue was slowly sawed away. His tear-filled eyes searched the face of his soon-to-be killer for any sign of hesitation, and a fearful moan slipped out of him when he saw none. He wanted to beg, plead and reason for his life, but when he tried to make himself speak blood and spittle simply flew from his mouth. The barber frowned at the mess being made on his already dirty bandages.
“You were just a messenger- perhaps I shouldn’t carry this on too long.”
Eleanor got the distinct feeling Sweeney was enjoying his one-sided banter. A part of her was glad to see him happy, another part was terrified of his bloodlust-dementia.
The barber propped the trembling man up against the wall and watched the blood run down his chin for a moment, as if lost in thought. “A prisoner tried to escape once, the warden shot him in the leg to prevent him from getting too far. The warden succeeded, though not in the way he originally hoped. Whatever the bullet had hit in his leg he bled out in under a minute.”
Confusion crept onto the pain pinched face of the Beadle as he tried to understand the story.
“I’m not sure where to cut, but I’m sure I’ll find that artery.” Sweeney slapped the flat end of his razor against the man’s cheek. “I hope that when you burn in hell the name ‘Benjamin Barker’ will ring in your skull for eternity,” with a quick flash of silver the razor took its first bite out of Bamford’s thigh.
A loud, blood-muffled scream filled the room, and the baker felt herself shiver. With every second Sweeney’s wicked playfulness seemed to grow, and the twisted notion of revenge that had festered in him for so long was finally and fully making itself known. Eleanor doubted even the Devil himself could have watched the man’s delight in the carnage as calmly as she did, for aside from a few quick trembles she sat still and stared.
Blood splattered against the wall, furniture and Sweeney until the sound of it striking against various surfaces seemed to drown out the man’s screams. The tortured cries did not last long, as the barber quickly turned the other man’s thigh into mince-meat, effectively spilling enough blood to make him pass out and cutting the artery he had been digging for.
Silence suddenly gripped the room, only broken by Sweeney’s ragged breathing.
A choking sound made Eleanor and Sweeney move their focus to Turpin- who had been dragged into consciousness by the sounds of the Beadle dieing. He seemed unable to form words as his eyes took in his new bloody reality.
Sweeney’s blood spattered lips cracked open into a demented smile when the judge’s eyes landed on him.
“Wha… what… who…?” He seemed incapable of properly speaking, the smell and sight of the Beadle’s blood assailing his nose and eyes.
At first the barber felt a sudden surge of irritation as the man spoke, and considered cutting out his tongue too, but as the Beadle‘s screams and been pleasing, Sweeney knew the judge‘s cries for mercy would be better. The demented torturer turned fully towards his second victim, silently hoping the name Benjamin Barker hadn’t been heard by him, hoping to keep it as a surprise for later.
Instead of panicking as Sweeney’s attention was more focused on him, Turpin lowered his head and started to cough, saliva slowly dripped from his mouth as his stomach attempted to empty itself.
“You shouldn’t ruin the carpet.” The barber reached out with his razor, which seemed to be bleeding of it’s own accord. He placed the instrument against the judge’s chin and made to slowly lift it up, the man would have to lift his chin or let himself get cut. “I assume it’s expensive.”
Turpin didn’t follow well with the razor, and jerked his head up just after it touched his chin. “Who are you.. to..to,” despite his best efforts to throw something in his tormentors face, perhaps even anger, all that surfaced was fear. “I…. I know you.”
Sweeney’s face twisted into one of unhappiness. Was he made? If he was, the rest of what he planned for the judge would be wholly unsatisfying.
“The barber! From…from…”
An ‘oh’ of delight formed on the barber’s face before it returned to a smirk. He slapped the side of his razor against the man’s cheek like he had done with the Beadle’, only this man visibly flinched. His demented happiness only increased at the sight. “You’ll wish you died that day.”
“My God! Why…how long…?”
“God?” Sweeney snarled, his previous elation easily replaced by anger. “Do you truly believe you do his work when you send men to die?” His little secret was fast on the approach of becoming known, and at the moment he considered it to be best. Would Turpin scream louder when he learned that someone from his past had finally come back to deal real justice?
“Who are you?” Even on the verge of death his mind managed to work.
The razor did a quick lick across the judge’s forehead, leaving behind a thin trail of blood. “I want you to remember!” Sweeney snarled, bringing the razor back to cut across the man’s cheek.
As if suddenly realizing he was on the brink of life and death Turpin attempted to crawl away, but only ended up with a wall against his back. “How-how can-” Panic finally settled in, and his chest heaved while his eyes darted around the room. Blood from his forehead slowly began to drip into his eyes, causing him to blink as well.
“Remember Johanna! Her mother!” Sweeney’s hands came out, the razor still clutched in one of them, and he wrapped his fingers around the judge’s neck. Perhaps slowly strangling him would be the better route. “Her father!”
The madman’s fingers were already bruising Turpin’s neck, and the razor’s bite was causing blood to flow between them, but the choking man still managed to gasp out, “Benjamin…?”
“Benjamin Barker!” Sweeney screamed in confirmation- his hate clouding his previous plans of a slow death for the man before him. Though in a quick moment he seemed to deem strangulation as the wrong option, and his hands left his adversary’s neck. Instead, the hand clutching his silver friend was driven fast towards the judge’s chest. Whether in his mania he had managed to calculate it or not, the barber managed to drive the blade inbetween two ribs.
Turpin gave a quick gasp, too stunned to even scream. His eyes founds Sweeney’s and his look of panic and confusion lasted until his body seemed to finally realize it was done in, and his head slumped against his chest. Hand still wrapped around the razor, the barber stared.
Was that…it?
Had those fifteen years of his life just been avenged? He blinked several times, as if expecting the world to change, or something to announce the confirmation of his victory. Instead of happiness, a sort of depressed confusion settled over him. He forced himself to ignore the immediate question of ‘what now?’. Shouldn’t he have the time to at least enjoy his victory? Why did his triumphant moment have to be so…. Hollow?
“Luv?”
Sweeney jerked away from his victim in surprise, hand finally leaving behind his razor. He turned his head to look up at Mrs. Lovett. Wondering how she had managed to stand from the chair, he watched as she slowly came down to her knees to be level with him.
Had he been on the ground the entire time?
One of Eleanor’s hands came up to rest against him bloodied cheek, her eyes locked steadily with his. “Are ya done?” She asked.
That was it! That was what he wanted to know. Was he done with his revenge? There was blood on his hands, but that wasn’t new. The judge’s corpse slumped behind him though…that was new. His hands and person weren’t touching his razors, his friends, his weapons. That counted for something, didn’t it?
His lips parted to say something, but she stopped him from thinking by laying her thumb across them. “Are ya done?” She repeated.
Taking that as a cue, Sweeney pulled Eleanor’s body closer and kissed her.
--
He had been a little panicked when he discovered his lab empty. Two seriously wounded people did not just vanish, but a lot of things were off and peculiar that day. Still, James had quickly dashed into every room to try and find them. Finding them was not much of a victory.
James had seen some truly horrific and disturbing things before, but what he saw in the parlor really hit him.
Blood streaked one of the walls, had formed in small pools on the carpet, and was splashed upon several pieces of furniture. Mangled bodies of those who now painted the room was not particularly pleasant either. Yet, almost worst of all in James’ mind- were the two blood stained people clinging to one another in the mess.
Instead of entering the room he fled back down the hallway.
Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5/ Part 6/Part 7/ Part 8