After The End
A Sweeney Todd Fan fiction
By Aobaru
Author's Introduction: This story takes place in the universe of the 2007 film Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street, directed by Tim Burton. The setting is London in the mid-nineteenth century. The story opens after the final scene of the movie, in which Todd finally murders his enemy, Judge Turpin, by stabbing him repeatedly in the neck with a straight razor; discovers he has inadvertently murdered his wife, whom he thought was dead; shoves his landlady, Mrs. Lovett, into the furnace after he discovers she had lied to him about his wife being dead; and finally, weeps over his dead wife's corpse, only to have his own throat slit by Mrs. Lovett's "adopted" son, Toby Ragg, who has witnessed everything. In the film, this is where the action ends; in the play, the police, accompanied by Anthony (the sailor who saved Todd's life) and Johanna (Todd's daughter), break into the bakehouse to discover an insane Toby mindlessly turning the handle of the meat grinder.
This fanfiction will take plot elements from both the original musical and the film adaptation.
Finally, please excuse me if my story doesn't fit exactly how it was in 1840's London – I don't really know how their police system or medical system worked, but I'll try to guess.
I do not own the characters from Sweeney Todd. I do, however, own my own characters, I suppose.
After The End
Constable James Connolly stood in horrified awe at the scene before him; now, it wasn't as though he was not used to violence – he lived in London, for God's sake – but the carnage that stood before him was unlike anything he had ever seen before.
He remembered the earlier events of the day. He and his partner, Henry Dodgson, had received several complaints concerning foul smells and smoke coming from a Fleet Street pie shop over the past week. Most of the complaints were from neighbors or passersby, although one complaint in particular stood out in Connolly's mind.
About two days prior, a sullen-looking woman with stringy blonde hair had walked into the station shouting, "Mischief . . . mischief . . . The smell of death comes from the chimney, of human flesh!"
Connolly stood up to greet the woman. "Can I help you, ma'am?"
The woman started to scream. "The scent of hell lies on Fleet Street, in the shop started by the devil's wife herself!"
Connolly rushed towards the woman. "Ma'am, if you cannot control yourself . . . please tell me, calmly, what on earth you are talking about."
The woman beckoned for Connolly to come closer, and whispered in his ear.
"The meat shop, on Fleet Street, operated by the devil's wife herself, Mrs. Nellie Lovett . . . the smell of death rises from its chimney! It does indeed!" She nodded, and walked out of the station, humming to herself.
Connolly stood up straight and sighed. He ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair in frustration.
"Oi, Dodgson! We got another one about the Fleet Street pie shop!"
Dodgson stood up from his wooden chair in the back of the station. Dodgson, Connolly's partner for the past two years, was a well-built man of twenty-eight; he had short blonde hair and a mustache. "Another one? That's the third this week!"
Dodgson grabbed some paperwork off of his desk, walked over to Connolly, and handed the papers to him. "Log what the complainant stated, as usual."
"Well, there's a problem," Connolly said. "She seemed sort of . . . I don't know . . . crazy."
Dodgson scratched his head. "What did she say, then?"
"Pretty much what the other two said. You know, putrid smell, black smoke. . . . She also mentioned the owner by her first name – Nellie Lovett. She called her the 'devil's wife.' "
"The devil's wife?" Dodgson laughed. "Connolly, I've been to Mrs. Lovett's Pie Shop, and I can guarantee you that, in addition to having heavenly meat pies, the owner and her son are not demonic in the least."
"You're right, of course," Connolly admitted. "But I suppose I'll log it in anyway. Can't do any harm."
Dodgson smiled, and gave his partner a playful nudge. "Always trying to impress, aren't we? We'll be sergeants soon enough, I bet."
"I only hope my new partner isn't such a git," Connolly laughed, and pushed back.
"Fuck off!"
Returning to reality, Connolly suddenly became aware of his surroundings. Standing with him was his partner, Dodgson, and two young men – one tall with long blonde hair, the other short with fair skin and a cap – who they had just met outside, about to enter a coach. Connolly and Dodgson had discovered them descending the stairs from the apartment above the pie shop; the officers had stopped the two men right before they entered their coach.
"Oi, you two, what are you doing here?" Dodgson asked.
The taller man turned around swiftly, as if he had been caught doing something bad. He placed his arms around his shorter and younger friend, as if to protect him. Connolly and Dodgson approached the two and their coach – they were acting very suspicious, after all.
"I said, what are you two doing here?" Dodgson repeated.
The taller man smiled. "My apologies, sir. My name is Anthony. Anthony Hope." – he reached out his hand and shook with both officers – "and this is my cousin . . . George."
"Hello," squeaked George, although he did not attempt to shake hands.
"We were just on our way to the . . . opera," said Anthony.
"Are you aware," said Dodgson, ignoring him, "that this is a private property?"
"Yes," answered Anthony quickly.
"Do you have permission from the owner to be in the shop upstairs?"
"Um . . . yes. Mr. Todd and I are very old friends."
"You don't look that old to me, son," said Connolly.
Anthony laughed. "Well, you see, sir, I'm a sailor. Mr. Todd was a shipmate of mine."
"And where's Mr. Todd, now, then?" asked Dodgson.
"That I do not know, unfortunately. It also appears his landlady, Mrs. Lovett, has closed up shop for today."
"And why were you up there, anyway?" Connolly asked suspiciously.
"Well, he and Mrs. Lovett invited me over for dinner a couple of days ago. In conversation, I mentioned that I was going to the opera with my cousin today. He asked, 'Well, since my shop is on the way to the opera-house, would you mind picking up a package for me and dropping it off here? I'll even give you a spare key, in case I'm not in.' So, as we are friends, I agreed. He proceeded to give me a key. So, today, on the way to the opera, I stopped by the post office and got his package. Then, I told the coach driver to stop here, and I proceeded to climb the stairs, unlock the door, set the package on the floor, and lock it again, just like Mr. Todd had asked me to. You and your friend, here, caught George and I on our way back to the coach. Now, if there isn't anything else, I think we'd like to get on our way."
Dodgson and Connolly stood in amazement at this very thorough explanation. The man and his cousin obviously wanted to get on their way.
"Please, sirs, we do not wish to be late," said Anthony, smiling hopefully.
After deciding that Anthony's story was plausible, Dodgson decided to let them go. Anthony quickly shook both of their hands.
"Thank you, sirs, now we'll just be off –"
Suddenly, a scream pierced the air: a scream of extreme pain. Connolly and Dodgson knew this kind of scream; and it was coming from the cellar of the shop.
"Come on!" shouted Dodgson, already running.
Connolly and Dodgson sprinted down the staircase on the side of the shop that descended to the cellar. When they reached the bottom, they were slightly relieved: the door locked from the outside. Dodgson undid the locks quickly and they burst into the cellar.
Connolly stood in awe at the scene surrounding him – and apparently, so did his partner, for neither were moving. He heard the clattering footsteps and gasps as Anthony and George joined them.
"What in the bloody hell . . ." said Connolly, quietly.
There was carnage everywhere. Dismembered body parts – hands, feet, fingers, toes – sat on shelves and tables, being slowly gnawed away by flies; on other tables sat finished pies, apparently fresh out of the oven. At the end of one of the tables stood a large meat grinder; a powerful stench erupted from it and filled the whole room. It didn't take long for Connolly to put it all together. Then, a sudden sound surprised him: he looked over and saw Dodgson doubled over, vomiting. Apparently, Dodgson had figured everything out as well, and finally knew the source of Mrs. Lovett's "heavenly" meat pies.
"Oh, my God!" shouted Anthony. He rushed towards a form on the floor of the cellar. "Mr. Todd!"
As Dodgson was otherwise engaged, Connolly strode forward to investigate. Anthony was bent over a body, crying.
"Anthony . . . Anthony, get up," Connolly stated. Anthony slowly rose to his feet.
Connolly bent down and placed two of his fingers on Mr. Todd's neck to check for a pulse, but he quickly pulled back when he felt something warm on his fingers.
"Holy fuck . . . it's blood!" Connolly shouted, his voice shaking. "Dodgson! Pull yourself together and go get some help!"
"O – Okay!" – and he heard Dodgson's footsteps up the stairs.
Connolly stood up and wiped the blood on his trousers with disgust, and Anthony resumed his mourning of Mr. Todd. Then, George came over and bent down over a bloody corpse that lay next to Mr. Todd – a corpse with long, blonde hair.
"It's the woman from two days ago!" said Connolly, though he wasn't aware he said it out loud.
George began to sob. "It's . . . my mother."
It was then something shiny caught Connolly's eye: on the ground lay a bloody straight-razor. Apparently, this was the murder weapon.
Connolly then decided to investigate the remainder of the room. He walked to the left of the furnace and discovered several more bodies, all of them apparently with their throats slashed. He gasped when he recognized two of the corpses: Judge Turpin and Beadle Bamford – at least he thought the latter was Beadle Bamford; the corpse's skull was cracked completely open, and there were bits of brain, hair, and skull covering the floor around him. Connolly nearly vomited.
Who could do this? Connolly thought. Mrs. Lovett? Mr. Todd? Anthony? Certainly not Anthony; he's over there bawling over Mr. Todd. And Mr. Todd is dead, he couldn't have done it. That leaves . . . Mrs. Lovett.
As Connolly walked nearer to the furnace, he felt its heat on his face, and an odd smell permeated his nose. He looked down; there was another corpse at the foot of the furnace. But something was different: this corpse was . . . sobbing?
Holy shit, thought Connolly, taken aback; it seemed the body was muttering as well. He squatted down to listen.
"He got her, just like I told her he would . . . ." The voice was high, but not female: this was obviously a little boy. He was muttering between sobs.
"Son . . . Son? Are you all right?" Connolly asked, and he turned the boy's face towards him. The boy's face was pale and covered with tears, blood, and sweat, and he looked to be about eleven or twelve.
"HE KILLED MY MUM!" he screamed, and he stood up, tears running down his face.
"Who did? Who's your mum?" asked Connolly, trying to soothe the boy – but he only began to scream and cry hysterically.
"I TOLD HER NOT TO TRUST HIM! BUT SHE DIDN'T LISTEN! AND HE PUSHED HER INTO THE BLOODY FURNACE!" – the boy collapsed.
"I . . . saw everything . . . ." he muttered, then he seemed to go unconscious.
Then Connolly heard a rush down the stairs: it was Dodgson, with two men from the hospital nearby – they were holding a stretcher.
"Dodgson!" Connolly shouted, "Over here!"
The medics rushed over to the boy who lay, unconscious, on the ground.
"He was the only one alive when we got here," Connolly said to them. "The rest are dead."
They lifted him onto the stretcher, and carried him, carefully, up the stairs. Connolly stared at Dodgson, who looked quite blank; then he remembered what the boy said.
"Dodgson!" he shouted. "The boy said that someone pushed somebody into the furnace! We have to open it up!"
Dodgson could only nod in reply. Connolly pulled open the lock on the door and then grabbed the handle.
"I could use a little help!" Connolly shouted.
Dodgson seemed to awaken from his haze; he grasped the handle next to Connolly and both pulled. Slowly, the door cracked open. When it was fully open, Dodgson and Connolly rushed to the opening.
There, amidst the flames, lay a charred, disfigured corpse. Connolly had to cover his nose: the smell of burning flesh was nauseating him.
"I'm sorry," said Dodgson, who looked like he was going to vomit again. "I have to get out of here. I need some air."
He rushed up the stairs.
Connolly stood outside, comforting his partner, who had vomited twice onto the street. Connolly was sure neither he nor Dodgson would ever forget what they saw in that cellar, and he wondered what kind of person would brutally murder a humble barber, a mother, a pie shop owner, and a respected judge and his deputy.
A monster, thought Connolly. Only a monster.