Disclaimer: I own nothing!! So don't set Sweeney on me, please!
"Hey, don't I know you, Mister?"
The woman's crazed eyes were searching his face, tracing along his brow, down the bridge of his prominent nose, now along his jaw line. Sweeney's fingers flexed and tightened, the razor shaking in his grip.
No, it couldn't be, he thought frantically, his arm – to which slitting throats had always been like a reflex – paralyzed at his side. She can't possibly recognize me as… him.
Her mouth was slightly agape, chapped lips blazing red against her ghost-like skin. Her pals and rather misty eyes had ceased their wandering and were fixed upon his own dark and panicked eyes. A drop of saliva glinted at the corner of her mouth as the moonlight flooded the room. Wraith-like, she took a step forward. She was so very small, Sweeney noticed.
His razor was still in his hand, and he could feel it humming with the desire to slit another throat. He could feel it itching to draw more blood, to feel the warm liquid run down its handle and drip onto the floor, seeping into the wood to stain the boards maroon. The barber's tool seemed to pull his arm forward of its own accord, ready to take another victim to avenge his dear Lucy's death.
She blinked.
His arm suddenly went limp and fell to his side, the razor sliding through his fingers and landing on the blood-stained floor with a clang lost to their ears.
Her eyes had changed. No longer were they misted over, hiding the iris from the world. Now a sparkle, a glimmer of a tear, pushed the mist away. She was suddenly conscious of the drool at the corner of her mouth, and she hastily wiped it away with a dirty hand. This left a light trail of brown on her chin.
His hand was in front of his face, fingers reaching out towards the woman. Hesitantly, delicately, his index and middle fingers brushed over the tip of her small nose, the nose his fingers had longed to tough for…
Fifteen years, he thought. His middle finger leading, Sweeney let his hand travel to her cheek, along her jaw line, down her throat to rest on the cold skin that covered her collar bone. He half expected her to flinch or recoil at his touch, but she stood locked to the spot, her breaths hardly moving her chest.
He turned his eyes upon her face again, taking in her features almost greedily. It had been so long, so long…
"Lucy."
The name had been uttered not by him, but by her. Her eyes were racing back and forth across his face, and suddenly her chest heaved as she breathed deeply. This caused him to remove his hand.
"Don't tell me you've forgotten your Lucy."
No, no, no, I've never forgotten you, love! Lucy… Lucy, Lucy, Lucy…
But as frantic as his thought were, the words just weren't coming out. Her name was dancing on his tongue, tickling the inside of his mouth in attempts to escape, but he uttered no sound.
"Benjamin?"
Her eyes were filled with tears now, her mind obviously filled with doubt. Sweeney – no, Benjamin – wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and feel the warmth of her body pressed against his, to say her name over and over until his tongue swelled up, but something had him paralyzed. A low grunt escaped his mouth as he tried to force her name out.
"Ben," her voice was pleading now, shaking on every syllable, "don't you remember your Lucy?"
His breath was coming short now, the air searing inside his chest, causing him to open and close his mouth like a fish, gasping. Limply and lumbering, he shuffled forward, slowly closing the gap between them. Here eyes were still searching his face, and she was oblivious to the trails the tears had left running down her cheeks.
Without warning, as if his mind was no longer in control of his body, Benjamin pitched forward, practically falling on top of her. One arm wound itself around her lower back while the other held her to him by the shoulders. Her arms were pinned to her side by his death grip, and the two breathed in unison, chests heaving with and almost spastic quality.
"Lucy."
Her name left his mouth at last, and he released her, backing up a few steps to look at her, his eyes traveling over her face again.
"Ben!"
This time it was not a question; she could see her husband's face from fifteen years ago reflected in this older, and no doubt wiser, version. He spread his arms wide, wanting to hold her again, but she surprised him by shaking her head.
"Lucy?" He took a step forward, but she stumbled backwards. "What is it, love?"
"I can't," she sank to the floor with an ungraceful thud. She turned her tearstained face away from his, looking instead at the floor.
"Can't what?" he bent down and lifted her chin with his finger so as to look her in the eye. "Tell me, please."
She jerked her head to avoid making eye contact and began speaking.
"I don't know what people have told you about me, Benjamin, but after you were sent away, I…" her voice faltered. "H-he… I couldn't…"
Benjamin understood what she was trying to tell him instantly, and put a supportive arm around her shoulders.
"I know," he whispered. "Mrs. Lovett told me everything. She told me what happened."
"I'm so sorry, Ben," Lucy collapsed into his arms, sobbing into his chest. "I never meant for any of it to happen. I tried to stop them from taking her, but they were too strong." Her voice was frantic, and she was speaking as if she wouldn't get another chance. "There were times I just felt like dying, everything was so bad. I-I tried to kill myself, Ben. I'm so sorry."
"No, Lucy, don't be sorry," Ben held her tighter, feeling her sobs racking through her body. "You have nothing to be sorry about. It was him, and only him. He is the only one that needs to be sorry."
"I can't," Lucy started, standing up quickly and backing away from him. "I'm just not… I feel so dirty, so stained. I can't possibly start over, not with you."
"What?" Ben whispered, straightening up.
"I don't deserve a second chance, not after what happened to me."
Before she could protest, Ben walked over to her and took her into his arms.
"Don't talk like that, love," he said, stroking her hair. "You're as beautiful and as pure to me as the day I first saw you." He kissed the top of her head, closing his eyes as he felt her arms wrapping around him.
"I love you, Lucy."
"Mr. Todd?"
Lucy's body suddenly went rigid, and she pushed him away with surprising strength. Bewildered, Benjamin watched, his mouth agape, as his wife's eyes began rolling in their sockets. Strangled noises were coming from her mouth, and her arms were hugging her body tightly as she rocked back and forth on her feet.
With a crash that drew Ben's eyes from his wife, the door opened. Judge Turpin, whose voice had caused this change in Lucy, strode into the room. He looked absolutely furious.
"Where is she?" he asked, taking no notice of Lucy. Ben ignored him and instead turned his attention back onto Lucy. He took her head gently in his hands, forcng her to look at him.
"Lucy, look at me," he pleaded. "Lucy, it's me! Lucy…"
"Mr. Todd, I suggest you answer me if you value your life," Judge Turpin had obviously not realized who the woman was. He grabbed Benjamin by the arm and pulled him away from Lucy.
"Forget about the crazy woman," the judge ordered. "I asked you a question. Where is Johanna?"
For the first time since his return, there was fear in Ben's eyes. He looked from the judge's angry face to Lucy, who was now on the ground, beating the floor with her fists. She was drawing awfully close to the chair…
"No!" he yelled, pushing the judge off him and running forward, trying to stop Lucy from pushing the…
But it was too late. Lucy's fist came down with a clang on the lever hidden under the barber's chair. With a creak, the floor opened and the chair tilted back, as if to drop another victim to their death. Benjamin grabbed Lucy's frail body and pulled her away from the chair.
However, the judge had not been as lucky. The sudden appearance of a giant hole in the floor had caused him to stumble backwards, over towards the box which had been used to hide Pirelli's body. As Ben watched, dumbstruck, a figure rose out of the box and shoved the judge forward. Tripping over his own feet, the judge fell to the floor beside the hole.
The person walked out of the box and stood next to the judge, who was sprawled on the ground. He squinted upwards, looking the person in the eyes. After a few seconds, his eyes widened and he gasped.
"Johanna?"
The person took off her hat, to reveal elbow-length blonde hair. With no remorse in her face, Johanna kicked the judge, sending him falling down the hole to the bake house below.
Benjamin watched, dumbstruck, as Johanna turned to face him and Lucy, who were still sprawled on the floor. Father and daughter looked at each other, silent, for a few seconds, before their attention was averted.
"Sweeney's been a bad boy!"
Lucy had begun shouting, a mad glint in her eyes. She pulled herself free of Benjamin's grasp and made a dash for the door, still yelling, "Sweeney's been a bad boy!"
"Lucy, wait!" Ben yelled, starting for the door. Johanna, however, reached it first. She closed it and held the doorknob, so as to stop him from leaving.
"Mr. Todd, I don't know what kind of barber shop you're running here, but I would like to thank you. If it wasn't for that hole in the floor, I fear I would have never gotten rid of the judge."
"Johanna, I would love nothing more than to speak with you, but I really have to find Lucy," Ben gently removed her hand from the doorknob so as to open the door. On his way down the stairs, he called over his shoulder, "And the name's Barker now. Benjamin Barker."
As he dashed away into the night, following the calls of, "Sweeney's been a bad boy," he heard Johanna mutter, "Why does that name sound familiar?"
Lucy, where are you? He ran down Fleet Street as fast as his legs could carry him, but her voice never seemed to get louder. I swear, I'm not going to lose you again.
"Sweeney's been a bad boy! Sweeney's been a bad boy!"
Other voices were joining Lucy now, angry voices.
Please stop yelling Lucy, please. Benjamin silently pleaded with her, afraid what might happen if she kept it up. Her voice was, finally, growing louder now.
"Lucy!" he called, but no answer came except, "Sweeney's been a bad boy!" As he rounded a corner, he finally saw her.
Lucy was running in circles in the middle of the street, still yelling. A crowd had gathered around her, most in their nightclothes. Some held lanterns and candles, while others, all men, had brought their guns. Benjamin began pushing through the crowd, catching snatches of their conversations as he went.
"Belongs in Bedlam, that one."
"If you ask me, all the crazies deserve to be shot."
"Let's put it out of its misery."
"I feel sorry for the poor thing."
"Lucy," he breathed, breaking through the crowd at last. Lucy had not ceased her running, so Ben stepped forward, blocking her path. When she made to dodge him, he grabbed her by the arm, forcing her to stop.
"It's all right, love," he whispered, holding her close to him and speaking so only she could hear. "Your Benjamin is here."
Her breathing came in wheezing gasps, and her body was covered with sweat. Ben brushed her damp hair out of her eyes, to see that they had become misty and pale again.
"Lucy?" he asked, looking her directly in the eyes. "Lucy, do you know who I am? It's Ben."
But Lucy let out a maniacal cackle, throwing her head back so far that her hair touched the ground. Slowly she brought her head back up again, and said, "Sweeney's been a bad boy, hasn't he?"
"No, Lucy, not Sweeney," Ben was pleading with her. "I'm not Sweeney. I'm Ben."
"Sweeney's been a bad boy! Sweeney's been a bad boy!"
"No!" Ben stood up, shouting now. "I'm not Sweeney! My name is Benjamin Barker!" He crouched back down to speak directly to Lucy again. "Lucy, you have to know who I am. Lucy, please."
"Why he's as cracked as she it," someone said. "Seems to think he's Benjamin Barker, but we all know Barker was sent away years ago. Probably dead." A few people laughed, and another said, "And how fitting, that's Lucy, his wife."
Lucy was lying on the ground now, chanting to herself. Her eyes were wide and staring, and she clutched her hands together tightly. Ben looked around at the crowd still gathered; not a single person looked sympathetic. Everyone was laughing.
A new rage boiled up inside him, this time nothing to do with Judge Turpin. He was furious with everyone here, everyone sleeping in their beds, everyone in London.
They all deserve to die.
He reached into the deep pocket to his left and his fingers recoiled slightly to touch the cold metal. He gripped the razor inside his pocket and slowly drew it out. Trancelike, he flicked it open, admiring the way the moonlight shone on the blade. He placed the blade on the fingertips of his other hand and pulled away and down in a swift movement.
He hardly felt the pain as the blade sliced through his flesh, hardly noticed the blood dripping from the razor and down his hand. The people were laughing harder now, obviously amused by his self harm.
Gripping the razor tighter, he stood up again. He turned to face the crowd, locking eyes with one of the men in front.
I want you bleeders.
The man was laughing at him, laughing so hard that Benjamin could see every yellow tooth in his mouth.
"How about a shave?"
The man had no time to answer. Benjamin wasn't sure if the man even heard his question, for within seconds the razor had sliced through his throat.
Your throat slices like butter, friend.