Dislcaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd.
The boy was upset by the water that seeped into his shoe when he stepped in a puddle.
The boy was upset by the cold London air that made him shake more than an old man with a cane.
The boy was upset that he was alone.
The boy.
Tobias Ragg.
It had been a week since that terrible night. His mind was still swimming with disturbing images of blood and bodies. Murder, lies, hatred, and realization that a loved one didn't deserve your love as much as you believed. He missed Mrs. Lovett, but he could not deny that she deserved her fate. He had seen what she'd done and how she'd done it. Though he did feel somewhat guilty, for no sooner had the flames consumed her, then he had pitied himself for being alone.
As he had climbed up from his hiding place, he'd thought that perhaps the fact that Mr. Todd still being there meant that he was not alone. However, this thought only lasted a few moments, for soon Toby saw the sharp razor glistening on the ground.
He'd picked up the beautifully crafted tool and felt it's cool silver, still slightly warm from the last hand that had held it.
The demon barber was killed. His throat slit by the hand of his accomplice's precious little boy.
It was still all over the papers. Still what everyone talked about on the street and whispered about during social events. Details were always added; some were strange tails about the devil and his wife, and others saying that the barber and baker literally bathed in the blood of the ones they killed.
Even children associated the horrible incident with fairy tales, and their parents seemed not to mind.
Mr. Todd. Though a frightening figure, he made him self up to be a kind and working man. Made people think he was simply a book not to be judged by its cover.
A seemingly friendly wolf in the woods who just happens to have claws and sharp teeth.
Mrs. Lovett. She brought in customers with her delicious pies.
An awful witch with innocent sweets for people.
She'd probably even fattened some people up for a later trip from Mr. Todd's chair to the bake house.
Nobody knew who had killed the two. They didn't even know how the baker had died. In fact, there were some thought that she had run away. A few days ago, Toby had overheard three women discussing how she might have gone off with that man Mr. Forge who owned a hat shop not far from her pie emporium. Apparently, when Albert was still alive, she'd bought a hat there and stayed longer than a married woman should.
Toby knew better. Mrs. Lovett hated that man but she knew that the friendlier she was, the less money spent on her headwear. Always so practical. Too practical, he now realized.
He wished that something good could have come out of all of it, but what kind of silly wish was that? Though at first he'd gotten a sort of pleasure out of seeing how everyone hated the barber, even he was surprised at how awful they acted. Even the boy who killed him felt sick watching what they did.
Two constables had carried the body up from the bake house and listened to what the people crowded around them were saying to do. They threw the dead body on the wet cobblestones and loud cheers followed. Then, despite the fact that he was dead, and despite the fact that they could do him no harm, then went at him like a pack of animals.
His body was beaten, spit on, broken, and disfigured.
Toby stood there staring at the sight before him with horror. Were they all made insane by the recently discovered truth? They were all acting like the murderer they despised so much. They laughed at the sight of his mangled form. The body was later burned, but there wasn't much of a man left to dispose of.
For some reason, Toby had expected that the demon barber would stay in the bake house forever, and the light of the oven's fire would continue to dance upon him and the walls. Somehow, the thought that he had been removed from that "resting place" disturbed Toby. It was upsetting to think that it was cold and empty down there.
The fire was put out.
The evidence was cleaned up.
But that place was still haunted.
It would soon be a place that young boys dared each other to enter. A place that ghost stories would be told about. A place that only a clueless newcomer would assume was a fine place to set up shop.
A place that people were scared of.
Toby wasn't.
Still upset about the water in his shoe, the cold London air, and his loneliness, he snuck quietly into the pie shop. He looked down the steps that led to the bake house, and he saw that the huge, iron door was open. Voices were whispering.
Bloody idiots, Toby thought.
Yesterday, a group of boys had started daring each other to touch the meat grinder. The closer any boy got, the more the other boys would repeat, "Lovett's gonna grind ya!"
Toby sighed.
He walked outside, still unable to rid his shoe of the water, and looked at the steps that led to the barbershop. He swallowed. Unafraid of the bake house but still afraid of that shop. Still, his feet moved onto the steps and he went right on up. He then slowly opened the door and looked inside.
That horrible contraption of a chair was still placed in the middle of the room, seemingly normal and unthreatening. The huge window on the wall in front of him, bringing in what moonlight it could with all those dark clouds. His eyes wandered over to the cot by the wall, and he remembered why he'd come up. He needed a place to sleep. For the past week he had tried to sleep outside on the ground, in the park, and even in the bake house.
Now he faced his fear of the barbershop to sleep on a cot.
He might have slept in the parlor like he used to, but that furniture had been stolen. Besides that, there were pictures of Mrs. Lovett in there. He couldn't bear to look at them. Not even long enough to take them down.
He stepped into the room and closed the door, going directly for the cot and trying to ignore everything else. Ignoring the chair, the window, the creaks in the floor, and the razor that was still in his pocket. He did not know why he still kept the razor with him. It was only a horrible reminder, and he could sell it for a good price. But no matter how long he imagined them in a stranger's hands, it seemed wrong.
He laid there on the cot, staring at the ceiling. Sleep would overtake him soon, and he'd stop thinking and start dreaming. Unfortunately, he had nothing but nightmares now. Nothing but memories of that night plaguing him in his sleep. He wondered if he'd ever feel sane again.
His eyes closed and his body relaxed. Asleep.
The nightmares came as they always did, but he did not wake until morning.
Life went on, and people never forgot the legend of Sweeney Todd.
Tobias Ragg never went a day without thinking about it.