This story is based around the through that what is Bullseye had run off instead if alerting the townspeople about Nancy's murder. It is based mainly off the 1968 film. I do not own Oliver or anything related to it. This is for enjoyment purposes only.
Oliver Twist belongs to Charles Dickens
Oliver! belongs to Lionel Bart
Tattered
The pounding of a calloused knuckle on a worn out old door rang through the night. The red night. The bloody night. The night that changed everything in one young boy's life.
"Fagin! Fagin let me in!" a rough voice shouted through the door.
He growled deeply in his throat and glared down at the little orphan by his side. His large hand was gripped tightly around the boy's upper arm. The youth's eyes were filled with horror and fear of the crime he had just witnessed.
"Now boy… you best not be tellin' Fagin what'ya saw t'night…. Or else it might end very badly for ya," he sneered, acid spilling out of his voice.
The moment he heard the lock undone he flung open the door, tossing the blonde orphan inside. The boy scrambled up the stairs to the open den where Fagin's boys were sitting; some playing cards, some smoking, some looking half asleep. It was late after all. They stared over at the boy, unsure of what to do. The Artful Dodger was the only one to make a move. He got up from his mug of gin and went over to his friend, Oliver. Saying nothing he quietly lifted the boy to his feet and patted him off. Putting an arm around the orphan's shoulder, Dodger brought him in and sat him down at one of the tables. He could only imagine what the poor kid had been through.
"Bill. What did you do Bill? Where's Nancy, Bill?" Fagin questioned once Oliver had gone out of earshot. His eyes were filled with worry and sadness. Bill stayed silent. "Bill! Where is she-is that…blood?" Fagin stared down at the lapel of Bill's coat. A splotch stained the grey material. Looking up, Fagin stared right into Bill's murderous eyes. "Oh Bill…"
The old man frowned and closed his eyes for a moment. Turning around he started up the steps. A tug on his sleeve pulled him back though. Bill Sykes glared and that was enough to get the message across to Fagin. He sighed and turned back around to go up the stairs. He put on the cheeriest face he could muster as he reached the top. "Oi! Boys! Ta bed! All'uh ya! Its been a long day. Ya need rest my dears," he ordered. There were a few moans and groans from the youths, but the majority of them stayed quiet, knowing something was wrong. Dodger helped Oliver get to his little cot before going to his own. The blonde boy fell asleep almost immediately upon getting his head down. The ordeal had been so traumatic to him that all he wanted to do was sleep and forget the whole thing.
Once all the boys were tucked in and sound asleep, Bill finally spoke, "Fagin. I want money." He held his dirty hand out in expectation. The old man griped loudly, "Bill, I can't! I gotta take care of my boys. They'll starve ta death if I give up any more money." Never before had the old geezer been so sincere. "And… if I don't 'ave my boys, I don't 'ave no money," And there was the selfishness back again.
Bill had been nonchalantly pacing around the little hell-hole that Fagin called a home. He looked over some of the boys and stopped at Oliver, sneering slightly before turning to face Fagin. "'Ow about we make a… barter of sorts?" he proposed. The old man looked cautiously at the murderer before asking, "What do ya mean by that Bill?" A disgusting smirk spread across his lips, "I want the boy." Fagin snarled and said in a harsh whisper, "No! You can't 'ave Oliver! That's enough'uh that Bill!" With one swift motion Bill had stepped closer to Fagin and pushed the bloody end of his cane underneath the man's chin. "I'm not talking about Oliver. He's useless, couldn't even open up a bloody lock without causin a scene… I want that one," he reached his free arm out and pointed to the bed of a sleeping little gent.
Fagin was taken aback. He stumbled backwards from pure shock. "Dodger? Ya, ya want Dodger! No no no! He's my best pickpocket!" Bill smiled wickedly, "Exactly. Give 'im ta me and consider your debt completely repaid. I'm sure he's worth about that much in annual profits. And then I'd be outta your hair foreva. You'd neva 'ave ta see me again." Beady eyes darted around, not sure of what to reply. His debt repaid? It would be too good to be true! He'd never even have to deal with Bill Sykes again? Bill Sykes would leave him alone? It was all a man during these times could hope for. His will was fading fast. Dodger would understand right? He would want the best for his dear old Fagin…. Wouldn't he? His greedy hands reached out and grabbed Bill's lapels, "Ya 'have ta promise me something Bill. Don't kill 'im. Promise me that." The younger man chuckled lightly and raised his right hand, "Ya 'ave my word." Releasing his hands from the bloodied coat, Fagin stepped back. He looked down in shame. Was one life really worth the lives of others? Would giving up Dodger be okay if the rest of his boys could live peacefully?
He slowly hobbled over to the boy's bedside. Placing a wrinkled old hand on the Dodge's shoulder he shook him gently saying, "Dodger, Dodger wake up." The brunette groaned and grumbled. Fagin cringed and went back to the open floor space, sitting at one of the tables.
Bleary eyed and drowsy Dodger got up from his humble bed and stumbled over to Fagin. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, "Whot is it Fagin…?" The old man looked over Dodger's head at Bill, who was standing behind the boy in the shadows of the night. He lifted his cane over his head. Fagin looked away and closed his eyes. The cane was brought down heavily on the boy's skull, not hard enough to seriously injure him, but enough to knock him out. The Dodger's eyes rolled back and he collapsed onto the floor. Opening his eyes warily, Fagin looked down at his little prodigy. Oh how the mighty had fallen.
Bill crouched down and scooped the boy up from the floor. "This is it Fagin. Consider me gone, dead, whatever ya please," he said while turning around and slinging the boy over his shoulder. He began to walk for the door. Fagin sat quietly, but out of the corner of his eye saw something.
"Wait Bill! Take 'is hat. Its 'is favorite thing. I gave it to 'im many years ago…" he mumbled sadly. He extended his arm with the brim of the hat grasped tightly by his fingertips. Bill rolled his eyes and snatched the hat from Fagin's fingers. Sentimental bastard.
Fagin watched him walk out the door with what was truly the old man's greatest treasure. "I'm sorry Dodge…" he whispered as Bill exited. The door slammed shut, stirring a few boys from their sleep. Fagin dropped down to his knees as tears built up in the corners of his eyes. "I'm so, so sorry," he cried.