Nightmare on Fleet Street (Part 2)
Chapter 7
“You want ta go down there?” Toby was not particular fond of Mr. T’s plan. The hole in the floor had looked ominous enough without having seen its smooth bricks sides. And after peeking down, he was more unsure of crawling in it.
“Yes.” Sweeney had pulled a shirt out of the trunk in his shop (why hadn’t Mrs. Lovett used that for the door?) and was pulling it on. If she used this bloody thing instead, she still might be here. Angry at his own thoughts, Sweeney yanked another shirt out and slammed the trunk closed. Toby flinched at the sound. “I’ll be.. going down first.”
The tone in the barber’s voice could have almost been reassuring.
--
“Do you need anything else?” Johanna asked, picking up Mrs. Lovett’s old dress hesitantly. How the woman could stand it was beyond her.
“I’ll be fine luv.” Her voice came from the other side of the screen.
And how she seemed almost calm about it all, it made the girl shiver. It was almost like how the judge seemed so uncaring, even while watching his mayhem unfold through a window. Though Mrs. Lovett, she had had the sense to ask for her name, did not appear quite as at ease, she did not seem too fazed by it. And all that blood! It was as if being in the judge’s house was more appalling to her than walking corpses.
The blonde fidgeted nervously in the silence, thinking on how Mrs. Lovett’s situation seemed to be her fault. Swallowing down her fear, she asked a question that had been bothering her for some time. “Where you with your family when… they took you away?”
There was a soft splash from the tub, and then a sigh. “I suppose ya could say tha’. Barricaded in a shop with my boy.” For Toby was good enough as. “Adopter ‘im recently.” In all ways except legally. “’E an’ my…” Friend? Tenant? Neighbor? Love..? “Tenant were wif me.”
“I…I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be luv.” Mrs. Lovett could hear the tears in the girl’s voice. “Mr. T will keep my boy safe.” Hopefully..
“No, really..” Johanna bit her lip. “I wasn’t.. asking, for a baker. I was.. I was asking them to bring me a mother. And I.. I never really thought I would be taking one away from a family. Or getting people hurt.. I just.. I just thought they would never find one.”
Mrs. Lovett dropped the soap she held into the tub, shocked at Johanna’s confession. And what it meant to have a horde of unstoppable people fetching whatever you desired.
--
Toby didn’t know if he was happy or sad when Mr. Todd handed him the shirt full of gin. The barber was gong to tie the bundle to him, so that when he crawled down he could carrying them with use of his hands. When Toby had asked why Mr. Todd wasn’t taking them, he told him he would need both hands to catch him when he came down.
The boy didn’t like the thought of having to rely on the barber, but he had little choice. Besides, after Mr. Todd crawled down to the bake house, he could always stay up in the shop and refuse to come down. Though being alone didn’t exactly appeal to him.
“Is it loose?”
Toby jumped at the sound of Mr. Todd’s voice. “N-no sir.”
The barber nodded his head, tugging at the straps that held the gin one last time. He walked over to where the trapdoor resided, frowning at it as he thought about his descent. “Open it.”
Shakily, the boy pressed down on the pedal with his foot.
--
“Here, let me.” Johanna walked over to Mrs. Lovett and took the corset strings from the baker’s fumbling fingers.
“Thank ya..” She mumbled, annoyed at having needed help for such a simple task. Her body ached from more than just strain, and having had the chance to examine herself she found a surprisingly large number of cuts, some of them with bits of glass still glittering in them. The conversation with the girl had kept her mind on something other than the shards that now resided at the bottom of the tub.
“Really,” Johanna insisted, tying off the laces. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“I’m sure ya didn’t luv.” Mrs. Lovett consoled, giving her new dress one last scrutinizing look before putting it on. Did she want to know where it came from?
“There.. much better isn’t it?” Johanna asked, hopeful to keep a thread of conversation going for more than a moment. “Than your dress..or,” she blushed. “All that blood on the dress.”
“It’s fine.” The baker mumbled, staring at her reflection and smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles. “So..”
Johanna looked at her hopefully.
“’Ow did this bloody mess get started in the firs’ place?”
--
Despite all that had happened, Toby felt a fear in his chest as he watched Mr. Todd lower himself into the chute. The plan was dangerous and seemed to become more insane with each passing moment. But Toby was willing to push that aspect of it aside, anything he and Mr. Todd got through was another step closer to finding his mum.
If there was anything to find…
He shook his head, not wanting to hear those types of thoughts. She was alive, she had to be alive.
Sweeney’s waist had disappeared into the floor, the look on concentration only seeming to intensify as he continued to lower himself. With his back against one wall and his feet pressing against another was probably his best bet in making a safe descent. Though the first task of initially getting himself inside the tunnel was proving more difficult than he expected.
As the last strand of his frazzled hair made it below the floorboards, Sweeney thought he heard Toby mutter ‘good luck’. Though it could have been the creak of the trapdoor hinges as it swung shut, right before smashing into his body and causing him to lose his footing.
--
Johanna’s eyes started to tear up. “Which mess?”
Mrs. Lovett opened her mouth to inquire what the girl meant, then clicked her jaw shut. “Look luv, me being ‘ere is not much of a problem.” Not for you anyway. “Please, do ya know ‘ow this started?”
“It’s my fault!” She wailed.
Oh Lord, the baker put her hands on her hips. Just like her mother this one. “Stop snivelin’ child, and tell me!” She snapped. Perhaps it wasn’t quite right for her dislike for the child’s mother to affect her opinion of her, but she didn’t think there was any other way to get answers out of besides yelling anyway.
The girl looked up in shock at the woman’s sudden outburst.
--
Chapter 8
Out of instinct Sweeney attempted to grab the brick walls, only causing his fingernails to tear. His shirt did little to block the rough texture of the brick, and he could feel his skin splitting open. Growls and shouts came from his throat as he attempted to slow his hurried descent. Thrusting out his feet and throwing back his head in a desperate gesture, Sweeney felt his body come to a jarring halt as he pressed it to the chute’s walls. Having slammed his head into the wall during his break, he could almost see the walls spinning in the pitch dark.
A shuddery breath escaped him and he nearly burst into laughter. Holding himself still Sweeney was almost afraid to move, as his abused muscles seemed to twitch in protest at their treatment. Nausea settled in the pit of his stomach, but he pushed the sensation aside along with a strange sense of vertigo.
He took a deep breath, attempting to calculate how far he had fallen. And if the burning sensation in his side was a broken rib, or just another bruise for his collection.
His situation didn’t seem to be improving as he felt himself slowly start to slide downwards once more.
--
“Terrible sorry fer yellin’ at ya luv.” Mrs. Lovett tried to smile reassuringly at Johanna, who had seated herself in one of the room’s chairs.
“Oh, it’s alright. I really..” she sniffed, wiping her nose on a handkerchief. “Shouldn’t be crying at all!”
No, ya shouldn’t. The baker’s smile twisted into a sarcastic one for a moment before vanishing altogether. Mrs. Lovett let the girl sniff away her tears for a moment before pressing her issue once more.
“Can ya tell me anythin’?”
“I-I don’t know what they used.. But.” She bit her lip. “I know what they did.”
“And?” Mrs. Lovett prompted, feeling her impatience creeping back up.
“Well they.. They found men on the streets. Unimportant ones, they said.” The girl had started to frown. “They would feed them something, and then give them some money before sending them away.”
Unimportant people? Mrs. Lovett nearly said that out loud. Gave them some money and then just sent them off… The gears in her mind were working furiously.
“They tried to keep an eye on them. But they kept disappearing. Turpin.. he.. He thought the man at the apothecary was lying to him, and that the men were just dieing.”
If her mind wasn’t working so quickly to connect the dots, Mrs. Lovett might have commented on the man from the apothecary.
“But he insisted it wasn’t it! Said something must just be happening to them. He-he threatened me. Thought I was telling someone..” Her eyes welled up with tears again. “I don’t even know anyone!”
Mrs. Lovett subconsciously placed a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder, mind a million miles away. The Judge had fed something to people. Unknown people. Unwanted people. The same types of people whom Mr. Todd killed everyday, and whom she baked into pies. People, who suddenly gifted with some generosity, might treat themselves with a shave.
Her stomach turned, and she felt like vomiting when she realized she and Mr. Todd had been the suppliers of the Judge’s ‘plague’ to the masses. A great part of London knew of her pies, and quite a number ate from her shop. She did throw up when she thought about how many pies one contaminated man could have made. And Turpin had lost several men.
Johanna screeched with fright and protest at the mess Mrs. Lovett made on her floor.
--
Sweeney strained his muscles, gnashed his teeth and swore, but nothing slowed his eminent slide down. The bricks had his blood on them, making the surface slick. His back was bleeding openly as well, not helping him in his need for purchase against the walls. Though a slow descent was inevitably better than a fast one, he still had great doubts on his ability to lower himself, safely, onto the bake house floor while moving.
--
“Sorry dear.”
“Oh well.. it’s alright.” Johanna forced a smile for the baker.
“I’ll clean it up, what should I use?” Mrs. Lovett pressed her shaking hands into the folds of her skirts, hoping to conceal their tremble.
“Clean it up? Mrs. Lovett why would I let you do that?” The girl shook her head. “Though I will continue apologizing for the manner in which you were brought here, you are like a guest. I wont have you doing that work.”
The baker felt like laughing at the girl, but instead she just nodded her head. Despite the circumstances, she had been raised by a ‘gentlemen’. She supposed proper manners must have been instilled in the girl at a very young age, probably from a governess. Wherever that governess ended up though…
“Now.. Eh.” Johanna attempted not to look at the mess, but failed spectacularly. “I’ll call someone, I suppose..” Her eyes dragged themselves back to Mrs. Lovett. “Are you feeling unwell?”
The red-haired woman burst into laughter.
--
Was this… the end?
It was strange to think of it like that. Over. Not necessarily completed, but finished none-the-less. Sweeney didn’t particularly like that.
He had never let something get in his way before, he was slowly but surely heading towards his goal. His goal was slipping away form him though, just as surely as he was sliding down to his death. Sweeney did not want to die in a chute, on a rescue operation, practically within his own home. It was so utterly strange and, a little voice in the back of his head whined, uncalled for, that he felt like throwing a fit. But that would surely quicken his descent and end his life faster.
This was not how he wanted to die, and despite all his efforts it seemed to be where it was going to happen.
That was until, his muscles gave up on him, he started to fall (again) before hitting the second trap door at the bottom of the chute.
Finally realizing that he wasn’t dead, Sweeney broke into a large grin. He quickly removed it form his face, becoming irritated; though rather grateful no one had been around to see it.
--
Taking an involuntary step backwards, Johanna was forced to consider a new possibility about her ‘guest’. Perhaps it wasn’t that she was unfazed by the living dead roaming the streets, but more like the fact after witnessing them, she cracked. After all, who wouldn’t be unnerved by it? And who in their right mind started to laugh after throwing up?
When her laughter dwindled to a quickly snuffed chuckle, Mrs. Lovett looked over at her hostess. “Sorry dearie, jus’ an odd time to be askin’ someone if they’re alrigh’!”
“I suppose..” The young girl replied, debating on whether or not to take another step back. She bit her lip. “But really.. are you sure you don’t want some sort of.. medical assistance?”
“Medical?” The word tasted foreign on her tongue. “No need luv, I’ve held myself together fine for years.”
Johanna wasn’t quite so sure about that.
--
Quickly getting over the fact he was still alive, Sweeney began to think on how he was supposed to get out. Toby would have to open the trap doors again, but had he heard his shouts, was he close to doing it right then and there? Despite the fact he could very quickly be deposited on the bake house floor, Sweeney didn’t move.
Even if he somehow made it down and managed to keep himself alive, how was Toby to come down? There definitely wasn’t enough time to crawl down safely, not without someone up top able to open the doors again.
If they ever do, Sweeney thought darkly, glancing up.
Slowly easing himself back up, Sweeney hissed when his bleeding back immediately protested. He had almost forgotten about that…
There was a creak above him, and wasting no more time he slammed his raw back and booted feet into the chute walls to hold himself up. It seemed Toby had finally decided to check up on him. Or come down…
--
Chapter 9
He had heard a crack when the door closed, but could think of nothing. Toby remained frozen, staring down at the floorboards.
A great deal of what sounded like thrashing and curses came up to his ears, causing him to tremble. Mr. Todd had been hit with the tap door, and was falling down his own chute. That, or he felt the need to add a commentary to his descent. The boy didn’t think the barber would take it upon himself to curse that much, and for no apparent reason. Of course, that was only if he was alright. If he wasn’t… well, where did that leave him?
Alone. Alone and in an unsafe place. With very few options.
Whatever sounds that had been reaching him immediately stopped.
Toby went pale. Was he alive? Was he dead?
Did he care…?
He shook his head, trying to clear the thought. What did it matter now if he cared whether or not Mr. Todd lived? However much he didn’t like it, he was relying on the barber. For protection, as well as a means to find and rescue his mum. He couldn’t let his feelings on the matter get in the way.
Shakily, he moved back towards the pedal by the chair and pressed down. Crawling back to the open trapdoor, he took a deep breath and peeked over the edge.
“Mr. Todd?” He called down.
“Don’t come down.” Was the first thing out of Sweeney’s mouth. He didn’t want the boy killing him, did he?
“Sir?” The boy’s voice sounded hollow, and echoed against the brick walls.
“The second trap door closes too soon.” He shouted, feeling his grip slip with every word.
All Toby could see was darkness, though he supposed the slightly darker blob at the bottom of the chute could have been the barber. He heard something about a second trap door, which he didn’t like. He opened his mouth to reply, but the floorboards swung back into place. He hurriedly turned and slammed onto the pedal with his hand.
I’m going to die trying to tell him not to kill himself. Sweeney scowled at the thought. The trap door above him suddenly closed, and a moment later the one below him did too. He let out a sigh, and his body relaxed onto the steel door. A familiar sound reached his ears and he slammed his aching body back into the walls.
Unless he dropped himself down to the bakehouse, this was going to get old, very soon.
“Mr. Todd?”
“There’s a second trap door.” Sweeney snarled, becoming increasingly irritated as the pain in his limbs intensified. “When you come down, you’re going to have to fall.”
“Wot?” Toby nearly screamed.
“I’ll catch you!” The barber shouted back.
The trap door closed again.
Sweeney ground his teeth together in an effort to keep himself from screaming. “Slow down a bit towards the end.” He snapped up to Toby when the door was reopened.
Toby did not fully believe what the barber was suggesting. Drop down the chute? He really had to be mad! The boy opened and shut his mouth several times before freezing at the sound of a thump. “Sir?”
“I’ve dropped down.” The man’s voice sounded even more distant.
The trap doors closed.
Even after lowering his legs down as far as he could without letting his arms collapse, Sweeney had felt quite a jar in his body had dropped. After taking a few breaths and looking around to confirm he was still alive, he stood up and looked back up the tunnel. He informed Toby that he was down, and then steel quickly blocked his view.
Toby pressed down on the pedal once more, wondering if he was imagining it, or if he trembled a bit more every time he did so. “Sir?” He called down.
“Jump down.” Was all he heard.
Jump. He most certainly didn’t want too. How was he supposed to slow himself down anyway? The gin he was supposed to be protecting clinked together as he shifted nervously. Jump down into the arms of a man you don’t trust. How was he supposed to know he would get caught anyway?
He stared down at his shoes, biting his lip.
“Jump, damn it!” The trap door closed again, nearly cutting off the barber’s words.
Taking a deep breath, Toby closed his hands into fists and hit them into the ground. He had to do this. His mum needed him!
Swallowing down his fear, he reached out his quivering hand to press the pedal, stood, and then stepped off into the mouth of the chute.
--
Once the mess was cleaned and perfume put on the carpet and into the air, Johanna was once again left alone with Mrs. Lovett. Only this time she wasn’t particularly sure she wanted to be. So instead of talking to the baker she sat by the window and commenced cross-stitching.
Ignoring her host’s suddenly wary nature, Mrs. Lovett procured her rolling pin and seated herself in an armchair. Frowning at the blood stains, she gave an absent minded flick at what could have once been someone’s skin.
Johanna flinched at the gesture, but continued what she was doing in hope that it was overlooked.
Mrs. Lovett narrowed her eyes at the girl. “Wot kind of mother was you lookin’ for dear?” The question granted her the attention of the blonde. Not liking the blank look she was receiving, Mrs. Lovett drew on her well of annoyances and added, quite nastily; “ya don’t seem my type.” It was difficult for her to keep the sneer on her face, but Mrs. Lovett felt she needed to have a catalyst to get their communication back.
That, or the stress of the day and Mr. T’s personality were rubbing of on her.
“I-” Johanna stopped her indignant speech before it even started, though her grip tightened on her sewing. She frowned fiercely at the baker. “I should hope not. Being the type of someone who is quite..mad.. does not appeal to me.” Despite the firm nod she gave at the end of her words, she looked frightened.
The woman with the rolling pin waited.
The blonde burst into tears. “I’m so sorry Mrs. Lovett! It’s just, this day has been so strange.. and..” She hiccupped. “And..”
“If you’re going to yell, I wont stop you.” She smiled softly, all trace of her previous cruelty gone. In truth, Mrs. Lovett was rather comforted by the child’s outburst, as it reminded her of her barber.
Johanna’s tears fell quickly, then vanished. Though Mrs. Lovett’s actions had only been a ploy to get the girl talking, she saw it as more confirmation of her insanity.
A much more comfortable silence befell the room before Johanna took it upon herself to start the conversation over. “You wanted to know what kind of mother I was asking for?” She barely waited for the nod before continuing. “Well.. I actually wanted to ask for my mother.. But I know she has to be dead, or stark mad for leaving me with this.. Man.”
Mrs. Lovett’s eyes widened in shock at the child’s proclamation, nearly dropping her jaw at how close the child’s guesses were.
The blonde bit her lip, not seeing the baker‘s face. “Not that I want to think of my mother as a bad person.. I just wish I could have known her. So,” she actually smiled softly. “I asked for someone close to my mother.”
Though Johanna was obviously thinking as someone close, as in characteristically wise, Mrs. Lovett came to the very sudden conclusion that somehow the creatures knew that she was, in all physical senses, the closest one to Johanna’s mother. Before she went mad of course, though she still did hang around the shop.
The blue eyes turned earnestly to the baker. “I’m just.. I’m just surprised I got you.”
“Oh luv,” Mrs. Lovett leaned forward despite the several foot gap between their chairs. “I am nothing like your mother.”
--
He was scared out of his wits and every sense told him he was going to die. But a part of Toby was oddly thrilled and incredibly excited about his plummet down. So when the short cry emitted from his throat, he was unsure as if it came from fear, or excitement.
Remembering he was supposed to be slowing down at some point, Toby thrusted his small legs forward, thinking on how Mr. Todd had lowered himself into the chute. Though it did slow him down, it caused him a great deal of pain, and his head nearly started to fall first. In an effort to keep them from occurring her wrenched a muscle in his neck trying to keep straight.
Though it became imprinted in his mind as an eternity, Toby found himself in the bake house in a manner of seconds. In fact, he was in a strong pair of arms.
Though that only lasted a second as well.
Blinking away stars, Toby slowly lifted his head. The walls spun and his heart continued racing with adrenaline. Several of the gin bottles were broken, and his front was wet. Deciding to mourn their loss later, he brought himself to shaky feet.
“Mr. Todd?”
The lack of answer was definitely not encouraging.
“Mr. Todd?” His voice had grown smaller, and it was nearly a croak. Toby’s eyes finally forced him to look.
The barber was sprawled on the ground, having been knocked down when Toby came hurtling into his arms. He wasn’t moving.
--
Chapter 10
“Mr. Todd.. Sir?” Toby knew it was pointless, but he still had to ask. Untying his gin soaked gin bundle, the boy carefully set down his cargo before creeping up to the barber.
His eyes were closed, and his mouth was opened slightly. If he wasn’t always so pale Toby would have thought he was dead.
A sudden cough wracked the man’s body, causing Toby to jump in shock. The man’s dark eyes slid open and immediately landed on the boy.
“I said I would catch you.”
His voice was so cracked and soft Toby was almost positive he had misheard. The boy’s jaw hung open as Sweeney slowly sat up.
“Get me some gin.” He growled, as if he hadn’t said anything.
--
Johanna stared at Mrs. Lovett. “You…?”
Shit, the baker thought, dropping her face into her hands. “I knew ‘er, yes.”
“Why didn’t..?”
“’Ow I knew ‘er is a long, complicated story.” She looked back up at the girl, hoping her questions would stop.
“Please.” Johanna was across the room and on her knees in front of the woman before she could blink. “Tell me.”
The baker sighed. “Ya don’t want to hear it.”
“I do!” She insisted.
“Alrigh’, ya do, but ya wont want ta ‘ave ‘eard it after I tell it ta ya. It’s best ya don’t hear it.” Mrs. Lovett was begging just as much as the girl on her knees in front of her.
“Mrs. Lovett.. Ma’m.. please. Just.. Something.”
Her grip tightened and loosened on the rolling pin as she considered the request. “She an’ your father rented space above my shop.”
The girl looked positively delighted.
“They were good people.” Mrs. Lovett’s voice was rather flat and emotionless as she spoke, but Johanna’s didn’t seem to notice. All she did was lap up the scraps of information she was given.
“Where?” She asked, almost breathless.
“Fleet Street.” Her dead-pan tone was difficult to ignore, but Johanna was, mind gone off.
“Fleet Street?” The blonde muttered. “That’s where Mr. Mayhew's shop is.”
“Mayhew?” Mrs. Lovett snapped, becoming very much alive. “James Mayhew?”
“Yes, he runs the apothecary there.” She frowned, then realization hit her. “You must know him!”
“Yes.” The rolling pin was pulled close to her chest. “Yes.. yes I do.”
--
“There isn’t much left, I’m ‘fraid sir.”
“Fine.” Sweeney snapped, taking the gin soaked shirt over a bottle. “This is fine.” He amended, holding the cloth up to his face and taking a deep breath.
Toby watched him, perplexed.
“This will be fine.” the man grumbled, most likely to himself. Tearing apart the shit, and looking as if in pain while doing so, Sweeney handed the shirt back to Toby. “Cover your mouth.” Without anything else, he walked towards a contraption near the oven.
The boy watched the arm the man kept wrapped around his side suspiciously. Mr. Todd surely had to be going through hell to even be showing that much. Almost putting the cloth to his nose subconsciously, Toby took a calming breath, which was amplified by the familiar scent and taste of gin. Following after the barber, he almost wished he hadn’t when a dismembered hand sailed over his head.
Without the cloth Toby was sure he would have vomited at the sight of limbs poking out of what looked like a meat grinder. As Sweeney threw a foot almost casually over his shoulder, the boy gagged.
“Something..” the man growled, throwing another limb.
Standing as far away as he dared, Toby kept his eyes on the ground. Being left alone to think for a moment brought a strange realization to him. Mr. Todd had always come across as the silent type, hardly ever talking. Especially in Mrs. Lovett’s company. And yet, ever since the appearance of dead men and especially after she had been taken away, the man had engaged in several conversations and had taken to talking to himself out loud. The boy let his mind take itself on a flight of fancy, imagining that Mr. Todd missed Mrs. Lovett, and was talking to fill the silence like she most certainly would have.
Of course, that didn’t account for everything before her departure. Lifting his eyes off the floor for just a moment, Toby let them rest on Sweeney’s back.
Another growl of ‘something’ echoed through the bake house.
He had always had it. Or, Benjamin had always had it. That photogenic-but-not-quite memory. Everything he saw somehow always managed to stay in his head, he was always able to look back on his day and recount everything.
In Australia his gift for remembering became more like a horrible curse, as it felt each sweat and blood drop on his body was forever imprinted on his mind. Oh course hard labor and abuse from wardens was just part of the cruelties there. He had to quickly learn to shut things out, forget.
Most of his memories turned inward after the first few months, locked away, never to be revisited. More and more of his time was spent on the older, happier memories.
Sweeney paused mid throw (it was a foot this time) as a sudden realization came to him. When Benjamin started to lock away his pain into one corner of his mind, was that his start? Was that his beginning, stitching himself together from the memories the man couldn’t cope with? With a discontented growl, he threw the foot.
The demon barber had much the same memory as the man he came from, but he cared little for revisiting his memories, and often let Benjamin’s haunt him.
Of course, everything was still there, locked away, waiting for something to let it out. Thankfully there was very little London held that could make of him think of his prison, and the painful days were kept under lock and key. Many of his memories on his return to London underwent the same treatment. Not that much of what he saw really needed to reach his consciousness anyway.
Right now the fact was rather irritating.
He had pieced together easily enough the connection to the pies and the hordes of people suddenly eating one another. Sweeney highly doubted Mrs. Lovett could have done it, besides, why would she want to? So he went looking for information.
A scrap of clothing, a ring, perhaps a certain complexion in a customer’s skin could trigger his memory. Quite a few prattled on incessantly while he prepped them for a shave, and each and every word was stored and then locked away in his mind. Someone surely had to have mentioned something strange, something he could go off of. Something that could lead him to who did it. Each body part he looked at seemed to fuel his irritation, turning it into anger. Never before had his ability to store and forget all things been a nuisance.
--
Mrs. Lovett ran her hands across his rolling pin, smearing them once more with blood and quite possibly brain.
Johanna watched her for a moment before going back to her chair and picking up her cross-stitching. Feeling oddly at ease with the feeling her guest was insane, she thought back on the scraps of information that had been given to her. It never occurred to her that Mrs. Lovett could be lying, and instead embellished on the vague statements.
‘They were good people’ sent her mind off in a million different directions, and after only a moments hesitation, she started to speak of them out loud.
It wasn’t as if she was crazy, Mrs. Lovett was there after all, though after hearing Mr. Mayhew’s name she seemed to have become unresponsive. She talked about the different ways her parents must have dressed, what their favorite time of the year could have been and speculated on what her father did for a living. Which, strangely enough, was what brought Mrs. Lovett back to reality.
“Barber.”
Johanna nearly stabbed herself with the needle. “Excuse me?” She asked, still a little surprised at hearing the woman’s voice.
“Your father was a barber.”
“Oh..”
“He was the best in London until he got sent away.”
“Sent away?” The girl asked, feeling a strange tightening in her chest. She had made assumptions about her mother, but never before had she ever thought on why her father hadn’t kept her.
“Life imprisonment.”
Johanna felt like crying. Her father was a convict. She stared at the needle in her hand, seeing its tremble.
Mrs. Lovett finally noticed the girl’s shakiness and cursed herself. That was exactly the type of thing she was trying to avoid with Johanna. The dirty details, and the way she herself knew the truths when no one else did.
Her mind, however, skipped over caring for Johanna and went back to James Mayhew. Mrs. Lovett began to chew on her lip.
Why did it have to be him?
Part 1/Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5/ Part 6/ Part 7/ Part 8
“You want ta go down there?” Toby was not particular fond of Mr. T’s plan. The hole in the floor had looked ominous enough without having seen its smooth bricks sides. And after peeking down, he was more unsure of crawling in it.
“Yes.” Sweeney had pulled a shirt out of the trunk in his shop (why hadn’t Mrs. Lovett used that for the door?) and was pulling it on. If she used this bloody thing instead, she still might be here. Angry at his own thoughts, Sweeney yanked another shirt out and slammed the trunk closed. Toby flinched at the sound. “I’ll be.. going down first.”
The tone in the barber’s voice could have almost been reassuring.
--
“Do you need anything else?” Johanna asked, picking up Mrs. Lovett’s old dress hesitantly. How the woman could stand it was beyond her.
“I’ll be fine luv.” Her voice came from the other side of the screen.
And how she seemed almost calm about it all, it made the girl shiver. It was almost like how the judge seemed so uncaring, even while watching his mayhem unfold through a window. Though Mrs. Lovett, she had had the sense to ask for her name, did not appear quite as at ease, she did not seem too fazed by it. And all that blood! It was as if being in the judge’s house was more appalling to her than walking corpses.
The blonde fidgeted nervously in the silence, thinking on how Mrs. Lovett’s situation seemed to be her fault. Swallowing down her fear, she asked a question that had been bothering her for some time. “Where you with your family when… they took you away?”
There was a soft splash from the tub, and then a sigh. “I suppose ya could say tha’. Barricaded in a shop with my boy.” For Toby was good enough as. “Adopter ‘im recently.” In all ways except legally. “’E an’ my…” Friend? Tenant? Neighbor? Love..? “Tenant were wif me.”
“I…I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be luv.” Mrs. Lovett could hear the tears in the girl’s voice. “Mr. T will keep my boy safe.” Hopefully..
“No, really..” Johanna bit her lip. “I wasn’t.. asking, for a baker. I was.. I was asking them to bring me a mother. And I.. I never really thought I would be taking one away from a family. Or getting people hurt.. I just.. I just thought they would never find one.”
Mrs. Lovett dropped the soap she held into the tub, shocked at Johanna’s confession. And what it meant to have a horde of unstoppable people fetching whatever you desired.
--
Toby didn’t know if he was happy or sad when Mr. Todd handed him the shirt full of gin. The barber was gong to tie the bundle to him, so that when he crawled down he could carrying them with use of his hands. When Toby had asked why Mr. Todd wasn’t taking them, he told him he would need both hands to catch him when he came down.
The boy didn’t like the thought of having to rely on the barber, but he had little choice. Besides, after Mr. Todd crawled down to the bake house, he could always stay up in the shop and refuse to come down. Though being alone didn’t exactly appeal to him.
“Is it loose?”
Toby jumped at the sound of Mr. Todd’s voice. “N-no sir.”
The barber nodded his head, tugging at the straps that held the gin one last time. He walked over to where the trapdoor resided, frowning at it as he thought about his descent. “Open it.”
Shakily, the boy pressed down on the pedal with his foot.
--
“Here, let me.” Johanna walked over to Mrs. Lovett and took the corset strings from the baker’s fumbling fingers.
“Thank ya..” She mumbled, annoyed at having needed help for such a simple task. Her body ached from more than just strain, and having had the chance to examine herself she found a surprisingly large number of cuts, some of them with bits of glass still glittering in them. The conversation with the girl had kept her mind on something other than the shards that now resided at the bottom of the tub.
“Really,” Johanna insisted, tying off the laces. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“I’m sure ya didn’t luv.” Mrs. Lovett consoled, giving her new dress one last scrutinizing look before putting it on. Did she want to know where it came from?
“There.. much better isn’t it?” Johanna asked, hopeful to keep a thread of conversation going for more than a moment. “Than your dress..or,” she blushed. “All that blood on the dress.”
“It’s fine.” The baker mumbled, staring at her reflection and smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles. “So..”
Johanna looked at her hopefully.
“’Ow did this bloody mess get started in the firs’ place?”
--
Despite all that had happened, Toby felt a fear in his chest as he watched Mr. Todd lower himself into the chute. The plan was dangerous and seemed to become more insane with each passing moment. But Toby was willing to push that aspect of it aside, anything he and Mr. Todd got through was another step closer to finding his mum.
If there was anything to find…
He shook his head, not wanting to hear those types of thoughts. She was alive, she had to be alive.
Sweeney’s waist had disappeared into the floor, the look on concentration only seeming to intensify as he continued to lower himself. With his back against one wall and his feet pressing against another was probably his best bet in making a safe descent. Though the first task of initially getting himself inside the tunnel was proving more difficult than he expected.
As the last strand of his frazzled hair made it below the floorboards, Sweeney thought he heard Toby mutter ‘good luck’. Though it could have been the creak of the trapdoor hinges as it swung shut, right before smashing into his body and causing him to lose his footing.
--
Johanna’s eyes started to tear up. “Which mess?”
Mrs. Lovett opened her mouth to inquire what the girl meant, then clicked her jaw shut. “Look luv, me being ‘ere is not much of a problem.” Not for you anyway. “Please, do ya know ‘ow this started?”
“It’s my fault!” She wailed.
Oh Lord, the baker put her hands on her hips. Just like her mother this one. “Stop snivelin’ child, and tell me!” She snapped. Perhaps it wasn’t quite right for her dislike for the child’s mother to affect her opinion of her, but she didn’t think there was any other way to get answers out of besides yelling anyway.
The girl looked up in shock at the woman’s sudden outburst.
--
Chapter 8
Out of instinct Sweeney attempted to grab the brick walls, only causing his fingernails to tear. His shirt did little to block the rough texture of the brick, and he could feel his skin splitting open. Growls and shouts came from his throat as he attempted to slow his hurried descent. Thrusting out his feet and throwing back his head in a desperate gesture, Sweeney felt his body come to a jarring halt as he pressed it to the chute’s walls. Having slammed his head into the wall during his break, he could almost see the walls spinning in the pitch dark.
A shuddery breath escaped him and he nearly burst into laughter. Holding himself still Sweeney was almost afraid to move, as his abused muscles seemed to twitch in protest at their treatment. Nausea settled in the pit of his stomach, but he pushed the sensation aside along with a strange sense of vertigo.
He took a deep breath, attempting to calculate how far he had fallen. And if the burning sensation in his side was a broken rib, or just another bruise for his collection.
His situation didn’t seem to be improving as he felt himself slowly start to slide downwards once more.
--
“Terrible sorry fer yellin’ at ya luv.” Mrs. Lovett tried to smile reassuringly at Johanna, who had seated herself in one of the room’s chairs.
“Oh, it’s alright. I really..” she sniffed, wiping her nose on a handkerchief. “Shouldn’t be crying at all!”
No, ya shouldn’t. The baker’s smile twisted into a sarcastic one for a moment before vanishing altogether. Mrs. Lovett let the girl sniff away her tears for a moment before pressing her issue once more.
“Can ya tell me anythin’?”
“I-I don’t know what they used.. But.” She bit her lip. “I know what they did.”
“And?” Mrs. Lovett prompted, feeling her impatience creeping back up.
“Well they.. They found men on the streets. Unimportant ones, they said.” The girl had started to frown. “They would feed them something, and then give them some money before sending them away.”
Unimportant people? Mrs. Lovett nearly said that out loud. Gave them some money and then just sent them off… The gears in her mind were working furiously.
“They tried to keep an eye on them. But they kept disappearing. Turpin.. he.. He thought the man at the apothecary was lying to him, and that the men were just dieing.”
If her mind wasn’t working so quickly to connect the dots, Mrs. Lovett might have commented on the man from the apothecary.
“But he insisted it wasn’t it! Said something must just be happening to them. He-he threatened me. Thought I was telling someone..” Her eyes welled up with tears again. “I don’t even know anyone!”
Mrs. Lovett subconsciously placed a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder, mind a million miles away. The Judge had fed something to people. Unknown people. Unwanted people. The same types of people whom Mr. Todd killed everyday, and whom she baked into pies. People, who suddenly gifted with some generosity, might treat themselves with a shave.
Her stomach turned, and she felt like vomiting when she realized she and Mr. Todd had been the suppliers of the Judge’s ‘plague’ to the masses. A great part of London knew of her pies, and quite a number ate from her shop. She did throw up when she thought about how many pies one contaminated man could have made. And Turpin had lost several men.
Johanna screeched with fright and protest at the mess Mrs. Lovett made on her floor.
--
Sweeney strained his muscles, gnashed his teeth and swore, but nothing slowed his eminent slide down. The bricks had his blood on them, making the surface slick. His back was bleeding openly as well, not helping him in his need for purchase against the walls. Though a slow descent was inevitably better than a fast one, he still had great doubts on his ability to lower himself, safely, onto the bake house floor while moving.
--
“Sorry dear.”
“Oh well.. it’s alright.” Johanna forced a smile for the baker.
“I’ll clean it up, what should I use?” Mrs. Lovett pressed her shaking hands into the folds of her skirts, hoping to conceal their tremble.
“Clean it up? Mrs. Lovett why would I let you do that?” The girl shook her head. “Though I will continue apologizing for the manner in which you were brought here, you are like a guest. I wont have you doing that work.”
The baker felt like laughing at the girl, but instead she just nodded her head. Despite the circumstances, she had been raised by a ‘gentlemen’. She supposed proper manners must have been instilled in the girl at a very young age, probably from a governess. Wherever that governess ended up though…
“Now.. Eh.” Johanna attempted not to look at the mess, but failed spectacularly. “I’ll call someone, I suppose..” Her eyes dragged themselves back to Mrs. Lovett. “Are you feeling unwell?”
The red-haired woman burst into laughter.
--
Was this… the end?
It was strange to think of it like that. Over. Not necessarily completed, but finished none-the-less. Sweeney didn’t particularly like that.
He had never let something get in his way before, he was slowly but surely heading towards his goal. His goal was slipping away form him though, just as surely as he was sliding down to his death. Sweeney did not want to die in a chute, on a rescue operation, practically within his own home. It was so utterly strange and, a little voice in the back of his head whined, uncalled for, that he felt like throwing a fit. But that would surely quicken his descent and end his life faster.
This was not how he wanted to die, and despite all his efforts it seemed to be where it was going to happen.
That was until, his muscles gave up on him, he started to fall (again) before hitting the second trap door at the bottom of the chute.
Finally realizing that he wasn’t dead, Sweeney broke into a large grin. He quickly removed it form his face, becoming irritated; though rather grateful no one had been around to see it.
--
Taking an involuntary step backwards, Johanna was forced to consider a new possibility about her ‘guest’. Perhaps it wasn’t that she was unfazed by the living dead roaming the streets, but more like the fact after witnessing them, she cracked. After all, who wouldn’t be unnerved by it? And who in their right mind started to laugh after throwing up?
When her laughter dwindled to a quickly snuffed chuckle, Mrs. Lovett looked over at her hostess. “Sorry dearie, jus’ an odd time to be askin’ someone if they’re alrigh’!”
“I suppose..” The young girl replied, debating on whether or not to take another step back. She bit her lip. “But really.. are you sure you don’t want some sort of.. medical assistance?”
“Medical?” The word tasted foreign on her tongue. “No need luv, I’ve held myself together fine for years.”
Johanna wasn’t quite so sure about that.
--
Quickly getting over the fact he was still alive, Sweeney began to think on how he was supposed to get out. Toby would have to open the trap doors again, but had he heard his shouts, was he close to doing it right then and there? Despite the fact he could very quickly be deposited on the bake house floor, Sweeney didn’t move.
Even if he somehow made it down and managed to keep himself alive, how was Toby to come down? There definitely wasn’t enough time to crawl down safely, not without someone up top able to open the doors again.
If they ever do, Sweeney thought darkly, glancing up.
Slowly easing himself back up, Sweeney hissed when his bleeding back immediately protested. He had almost forgotten about that…
There was a creak above him, and wasting no more time he slammed his raw back and booted feet into the chute walls to hold himself up. It seemed Toby had finally decided to check up on him. Or come down…
--
Chapter 9
He had heard a crack when the door closed, but could think of nothing. Toby remained frozen, staring down at the floorboards.
A great deal of what sounded like thrashing and curses came up to his ears, causing him to tremble. Mr. Todd had been hit with the tap door, and was falling down his own chute. That, or he felt the need to add a commentary to his descent. The boy didn’t think the barber would take it upon himself to curse that much, and for no apparent reason. Of course, that was only if he was alright. If he wasn’t… well, where did that leave him?
Alone. Alone and in an unsafe place. With very few options.
Whatever sounds that had been reaching him immediately stopped.
Toby went pale. Was he alive? Was he dead?
Did he care…?
He shook his head, trying to clear the thought. What did it matter now if he cared whether or not Mr. Todd lived? However much he didn’t like it, he was relying on the barber. For protection, as well as a means to find and rescue his mum. He couldn’t let his feelings on the matter get in the way.
Shakily, he moved back towards the pedal by the chair and pressed down. Crawling back to the open trapdoor, he took a deep breath and peeked over the edge.
“Mr. Todd?” He called down.
“Don’t come down.” Was the first thing out of Sweeney’s mouth. He didn’t want the boy killing him, did he?
“Sir?” The boy’s voice sounded hollow, and echoed against the brick walls.
“The second trap door closes too soon.” He shouted, feeling his grip slip with every word.
All Toby could see was darkness, though he supposed the slightly darker blob at the bottom of the chute could have been the barber. He heard something about a second trap door, which he didn’t like. He opened his mouth to reply, but the floorboards swung back into place. He hurriedly turned and slammed onto the pedal with his hand.
I’m going to die trying to tell him not to kill himself. Sweeney scowled at the thought. The trap door above him suddenly closed, and a moment later the one below him did too. He let out a sigh, and his body relaxed onto the steel door. A familiar sound reached his ears and he slammed his aching body back into the walls.
Unless he dropped himself down to the bakehouse, this was going to get old, very soon.
“Mr. Todd?”
“There’s a second trap door.” Sweeney snarled, becoming increasingly irritated as the pain in his limbs intensified. “When you come down, you’re going to have to fall.”
“Wot?” Toby nearly screamed.
“I’ll catch you!” The barber shouted back.
The trap door closed again.
Sweeney ground his teeth together in an effort to keep himself from screaming. “Slow down a bit towards the end.” He snapped up to Toby when the door was reopened.
Toby did not fully believe what the barber was suggesting. Drop down the chute? He really had to be mad! The boy opened and shut his mouth several times before freezing at the sound of a thump. “Sir?”
“I’ve dropped down.” The man’s voice sounded even more distant.
The trap doors closed.
Even after lowering his legs down as far as he could without letting his arms collapse, Sweeney had felt quite a jar in his body had dropped. After taking a few breaths and looking around to confirm he was still alive, he stood up and looked back up the tunnel. He informed Toby that he was down, and then steel quickly blocked his view.
Toby pressed down on the pedal once more, wondering if he was imagining it, or if he trembled a bit more every time he did so. “Sir?” He called down.
“Jump down.” Was all he heard.
Jump. He most certainly didn’t want too. How was he supposed to slow himself down anyway? The gin he was supposed to be protecting clinked together as he shifted nervously. Jump down into the arms of a man you don’t trust. How was he supposed to know he would get caught anyway?
He stared down at his shoes, biting his lip.
“Jump, damn it!” The trap door closed again, nearly cutting off the barber’s words.
Taking a deep breath, Toby closed his hands into fists and hit them into the ground. He had to do this. His mum needed him!
Swallowing down his fear, he reached out his quivering hand to press the pedal, stood, and then stepped off into the mouth of the chute.
--
Once the mess was cleaned and perfume put on the carpet and into the air, Johanna was once again left alone with Mrs. Lovett. Only this time she wasn’t particularly sure she wanted to be. So instead of talking to the baker she sat by the window and commenced cross-stitching.
Ignoring her host’s suddenly wary nature, Mrs. Lovett procured her rolling pin and seated herself in an armchair. Frowning at the blood stains, she gave an absent minded flick at what could have once been someone’s skin.
Johanna flinched at the gesture, but continued what she was doing in hope that it was overlooked.
Mrs. Lovett narrowed her eyes at the girl. “Wot kind of mother was you lookin’ for dear?” The question granted her the attention of the blonde. Not liking the blank look she was receiving, Mrs. Lovett drew on her well of annoyances and added, quite nastily; “ya don’t seem my type.” It was difficult for her to keep the sneer on her face, but Mrs. Lovett felt she needed to have a catalyst to get their communication back.
That, or the stress of the day and Mr. T’s personality were rubbing of on her.
“I-” Johanna stopped her indignant speech before it even started, though her grip tightened on her sewing. She frowned fiercely at the baker. “I should hope not. Being the type of someone who is quite..mad.. does not appeal to me.” Despite the firm nod she gave at the end of her words, she looked frightened.
The woman with the rolling pin waited.
The blonde burst into tears. “I’m so sorry Mrs. Lovett! It’s just, this day has been so strange.. and..” She hiccupped. “And..”
“If you’re going to yell, I wont stop you.” She smiled softly, all trace of her previous cruelty gone. In truth, Mrs. Lovett was rather comforted by the child’s outburst, as it reminded her of her barber.
Johanna’s tears fell quickly, then vanished. Though Mrs. Lovett’s actions had only been a ploy to get the girl talking, she saw it as more confirmation of her insanity.
A much more comfortable silence befell the room before Johanna took it upon herself to start the conversation over. “You wanted to know what kind of mother I was asking for?” She barely waited for the nod before continuing. “Well.. I actually wanted to ask for my mother.. But I know she has to be dead, or stark mad for leaving me with this.. Man.”
Mrs. Lovett’s eyes widened in shock at the child’s proclamation, nearly dropping her jaw at how close the child’s guesses were.
The blonde bit her lip, not seeing the baker‘s face. “Not that I want to think of my mother as a bad person.. I just wish I could have known her. So,” she actually smiled softly. “I asked for someone close to my mother.”
Though Johanna was obviously thinking as someone close, as in characteristically wise, Mrs. Lovett came to the very sudden conclusion that somehow the creatures knew that she was, in all physical senses, the closest one to Johanna’s mother. Before she went mad of course, though she still did hang around the shop.
The blue eyes turned earnestly to the baker. “I’m just.. I’m just surprised I got you.”
“Oh luv,” Mrs. Lovett leaned forward despite the several foot gap between their chairs. “I am nothing like your mother.”
--
He was scared out of his wits and every sense told him he was going to die. But a part of Toby was oddly thrilled and incredibly excited about his plummet down. So when the short cry emitted from his throat, he was unsure as if it came from fear, or excitement.
Remembering he was supposed to be slowing down at some point, Toby thrusted his small legs forward, thinking on how Mr. Todd had lowered himself into the chute. Though it did slow him down, it caused him a great deal of pain, and his head nearly started to fall first. In an effort to keep them from occurring her wrenched a muscle in his neck trying to keep straight.
Though it became imprinted in his mind as an eternity, Toby found himself in the bake house in a manner of seconds. In fact, he was in a strong pair of arms.
Though that only lasted a second as well.
Blinking away stars, Toby slowly lifted his head. The walls spun and his heart continued racing with adrenaline. Several of the gin bottles were broken, and his front was wet. Deciding to mourn their loss later, he brought himself to shaky feet.
“Mr. Todd?”
The lack of answer was definitely not encouraging.
“Mr. Todd?” His voice had grown smaller, and it was nearly a croak. Toby’s eyes finally forced him to look.
The barber was sprawled on the ground, having been knocked down when Toby came hurtling into his arms. He wasn’t moving.
--
Chapter 10
“Mr. Todd.. Sir?” Toby knew it was pointless, but he still had to ask. Untying his gin soaked gin bundle, the boy carefully set down his cargo before creeping up to the barber.
His eyes were closed, and his mouth was opened slightly. If he wasn’t always so pale Toby would have thought he was dead.
A sudden cough wracked the man’s body, causing Toby to jump in shock. The man’s dark eyes slid open and immediately landed on the boy.
“I said I would catch you.”
His voice was so cracked and soft Toby was almost positive he had misheard. The boy’s jaw hung open as Sweeney slowly sat up.
“Get me some gin.” He growled, as if he hadn’t said anything.
--
Johanna stared at Mrs. Lovett. “You…?”
Shit, the baker thought, dropping her face into her hands. “I knew ‘er, yes.”
“Why didn’t..?”
“’Ow I knew ‘er is a long, complicated story.” She looked back up at the girl, hoping her questions would stop.
“Please.” Johanna was across the room and on her knees in front of the woman before she could blink. “Tell me.”
The baker sighed. “Ya don’t want to hear it.”
“I do!” She insisted.
“Alrigh’, ya do, but ya wont want ta ‘ave ‘eard it after I tell it ta ya. It’s best ya don’t hear it.” Mrs. Lovett was begging just as much as the girl on her knees in front of her.
“Mrs. Lovett.. Ma’m.. please. Just.. Something.”
Her grip tightened and loosened on the rolling pin as she considered the request. “She an’ your father rented space above my shop.”
The girl looked positively delighted.
“They were good people.” Mrs. Lovett’s voice was rather flat and emotionless as she spoke, but Johanna’s didn’t seem to notice. All she did was lap up the scraps of information she was given.
“Where?” She asked, almost breathless.
“Fleet Street.” Her dead-pan tone was difficult to ignore, but Johanna was, mind gone off.
“Fleet Street?” The blonde muttered. “That’s where Mr. Mayhew's shop is.”
“Mayhew?” Mrs. Lovett snapped, becoming very much alive. “James Mayhew?”
“Yes, he runs the apothecary there.” She frowned, then realization hit her. “You must know him!”
“Yes.” The rolling pin was pulled close to her chest. “Yes.. yes I do.”
--
“There isn’t much left, I’m ‘fraid sir.”
“Fine.” Sweeney snapped, taking the gin soaked shirt over a bottle. “This is fine.” He amended, holding the cloth up to his face and taking a deep breath.
Toby watched him, perplexed.
“This will be fine.” the man grumbled, most likely to himself. Tearing apart the shit, and looking as if in pain while doing so, Sweeney handed the shirt back to Toby. “Cover your mouth.” Without anything else, he walked towards a contraption near the oven.
The boy watched the arm the man kept wrapped around his side suspiciously. Mr. Todd surely had to be going through hell to even be showing that much. Almost putting the cloth to his nose subconsciously, Toby took a calming breath, which was amplified by the familiar scent and taste of gin. Following after the barber, he almost wished he hadn’t when a dismembered hand sailed over his head.
Without the cloth Toby was sure he would have vomited at the sight of limbs poking out of what looked like a meat grinder. As Sweeney threw a foot almost casually over his shoulder, the boy gagged.
“Something..” the man growled, throwing another limb.
Standing as far away as he dared, Toby kept his eyes on the ground. Being left alone to think for a moment brought a strange realization to him. Mr. Todd had always come across as the silent type, hardly ever talking. Especially in Mrs. Lovett’s company. And yet, ever since the appearance of dead men and especially after she had been taken away, the man had engaged in several conversations and had taken to talking to himself out loud. The boy let his mind take itself on a flight of fancy, imagining that Mr. Todd missed Mrs. Lovett, and was talking to fill the silence like she most certainly would have.
Of course, that didn’t account for everything before her departure. Lifting his eyes off the floor for just a moment, Toby let them rest on Sweeney’s back.
Another growl of ‘something’ echoed through the bake house.
He had always had it. Or, Benjamin had always had it. That photogenic-but-not-quite memory. Everything he saw somehow always managed to stay in his head, he was always able to look back on his day and recount everything.
In Australia his gift for remembering became more like a horrible curse, as it felt each sweat and blood drop on his body was forever imprinted on his mind. Oh course hard labor and abuse from wardens was just part of the cruelties there. He had to quickly learn to shut things out, forget.
Most of his memories turned inward after the first few months, locked away, never to be revisited. More and more of his time was spent on the older, happier memories.
Sweeney paused mid throw (it was a foot this time) as a sudden realization came to him. When Benjamin started to lock away his pain into one corner of his mind, was that his start? Was that his beginning, stitching himself together from the memories the man couldn’t cope with? With a discontented growl, he threw the foot.
The demon barber had much the same memory as the man he came from, but he cared little for revisiting his memories, and often let Benjamin’s haunt him.
Of course, everything was still there, locked away, waiting for something to let it out. Thankfully there was very little London held that could make of him think of his prison, and the painful days were kept under lock and key. Many of his memories on his return to London underwent the same treatment. Not that much of what he saw really needed to reach his consciousness anyway.
Right now the fact was rather irritating.
He had pieced together easily enough the connection to the pies and the hordes of people suddenly eating one another. Sweeney highly doubted Mrs. Lovett could have done it, besides, why would she want to? So he went looking for information.
A scrap of clothing, a ring, perhaps a certain complexion in a customer’s skin could trigger his memory. Quite a few prattled on incessantly while he prepped them for a shave, and each and every word was stored and then locked away in his mind. Someone surely had to have mentioned something strange, something he could go off of. Something that could lead him to who did it. Each body part he looked at seemed to fuel his irritation, turning it into anger. Never before had his ability to store and forget all things been a nuisance.
--
Mrs. Lovett ran her hands across his rolling pin, smearing them once more with blood and quite possibly brain.
Johanna watched her for a moment before going back to her chair and picking up her cross-stitching. Feeling oddly at ease with the feeling her guest was insane, she thought back on the scraps of information that had been given to her. It never occurred to her that Mrs. Lovett could be lying, and instead embellished on the vague statements.
‘They were good people’ sent her mind off in a million different directions, and after only a moments hesitation, she started to speak of them out loud.
It wasn’t as if she was crazy, Mrs. Lovett was there after all, though after hearing Mr. Mayhew’s name she seemed to have become unresponsive. She talked about the different ways her parents must have dressed, what their favorite time of the year could have been and speculated on what her father did for a living. Which, strangely enough, was what brought Mrs. Lovett back to reality.
“Barber.”
Johanna nearly stabbed herself with the needle. “Excuse me?” She asked, still a little surprised at hearing the woman’s voice.
“Your father was a barber.”
“Oh..”
“He was the best in London until he got sent away.”
“Sent away?” The girl asked, feeling a strange tightening in her chest. She had made assumptions about her mother, but never before had she ever thought on why her father hadn’t kept her.
“Life imprisonment.”
Johanna felt like crying. Her father was a convict. She stared at the needle in her hand, seeing its tremble.
Mrs. Lovett finally noticed the girl’s shakiness and cursed herself. That was exactly the type of thing she was trying to avoid with Johanna. The dirty details, and the way she herself knew the truths when no one else did.
Her mind, however, skipped over caring for Johanna and went back to James Mayhew. Mrs. Lovett began to chew on her lip.
Why did it have to be him?
Part 1/Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5/ Part 6/ Part 7/ Part 8