AUTHOR'S NOTE: I previously uploaded this, but for some reason it never showed up in the Oliver! archive. Here it is again!
As much as the audiences love Nancy, I'm surprised that no one really writes about her in fanfics. Most are about the boys in the gang (slash pairings about twelve-year-old boys?!) Yes, there are some fanfics about Nancy, but they all try to give her a happy ending with Bill. However, she's not supposed to get a happy ending. That's not the point. Bill MURDERS her. I really don't see how he would actually love her. She is blindly devoted to him, but there is no way he feels anything for her. He uses her and takes what he wants. I am writing this in the tragicality sense ONLY.
Nancy is based off the fantastic Samantha Barks (with hints of Kerry Ellis), and Iain Fletcher as Bill, both who are in the 2011 Oliver! UK tour. Samantha, however, left the tour recently, as she was cast as Éponine in the Les Mis movie coming out in December 2012. Kerry closed the 2009 London revival. The amazing Robert Madge as the Artful Dodger, Harry Stott as Oliver, and Neil Morrisey as Fagin.
Nancy hurried through the alleys of London, gripping Oliver's hand tightly in hers. She walked as confidently as she could to not to let the boy know that she was anxious to the point of nearly being ill. She could hardly keep herself from breaking into a run, but she knew that Oliver, exhausted from the day's events, would never be able to keep up with her. Nancy knew that the boy's safety and probably his life rested on her shoulders. If this did not go through, Oliver would be forced to participate once more in Bill's schemes, and most likely would not come out alive. Nancy did not even want to think about Bill would do to her. She swept her dark curls behind her ear and smiled down at Oliver, trying to convince him that everything was fine. But he gazed up at her, his brown eyes serious, and she mentally cursed. Nancy looked up to see the London bridge ahead, and quickened her pace and tightening her grip on Oliver's hand, forcing him to jog to keep up with her.
As they ascended the steps, Nancy heard someone behind them. She pulled Oliver up to the bridge itself and bent down to look him in the eye. "Now, Mister Brownlow is comin' to get yer," she said in her thick Cockney accent, her words rushing as her fear mounted. "You behave yourself, Oliver." She straightened his ragged clothes, hands shaking as she heard the person following them approach. Risking a glance, her worst fears were confirmed — Bill had followed them. He stood in the shadows, barely discernable, but she knew it was him.
She turned back to Oliver, her hands shaking violently as Bill approached them. "Be a good boy," Nancy said. "Make me proud." She saw the boy pause, hesitant to leave her. "Go, Oliver!" she whispered in a hoarse voice. She kissed him quickly on the forehead and shoved the boy forward. "Get out of 'ere," she said desperately, hearing Bill draw closer. Oliver began to protest, but she took a step towards him, desperate for him to be gone before Bill arrived. "I'll be fine! Go!" she begged.
Suddenly, Bill appeared beside Nancy and reached out to grab Oliver. She tried to throw herself between them, but Bill hauled the struggling Oliver back. Nancy tried to force Bill to let the boy go, but he shoved her back. As she lunged forward to reach them, Bill struck Oliver on the side of the head. The boy crumpled, unconscious, and Bill tossed him aside.
"What are you doing?" Nancy cried, horrified. "Bill, 'e is just a boy!" She bent down to reach Oliver, stepping past Bill. She felt his hand grip her arm and drag her back. She cried out as he twisted her arm behind her back.
"Tryin' to leave me, wern't yer?" he snarled, his breath on her neck as he twisted her arm even further.
She cried out, almost screaming. "Bill, Bill, let me go! You're hurtin' me!" He suddenly shoved her to the ground, kicking her in the side. Her chin slammed into the ground as she fell, and she tasted blood. She coughed violently, her ribs feeling like they were on fire. "I would... never... never leave you," Nancy said, choking out the words as she looked up at him, blood on her lips. When she saw the look in his eyes, a chill of dread settled over her. "What's that look for, Bill?" she said, her voice shaking. His bloodshot eyes were hard and cruel, and she backed away, scrambling to pull herself over the cobblestones as he took a threatening step towards her. "I didn't leave, Bill! Ain't I stayed with you?" she said desperately. She cried out as he hauled her to her feet, grabbing her tight by the shoulder. "I ain't seen anyone but you," she said, crying out hoarsely in agony as his grip tightened mercilessly. "I've been true to you, I have!" Her voice rose to a shriek as her words poured from her, terrified of his fury.
She screamed, a piercing shriek of terror and pain as he shoved her to the ground once more. This time, however, he pulled out a club and raised it over his head. Her screams rent the night as Bill struck her with the club, over and over and over. There was blood everywhere. Her dark hair was matted with blood, her face covered in it. Her hands were stained red from trying to protect herself. She screamed, sobbing and writhing in agony as Bill struck her as hard as he possibly could.
Her convulsions became weaker and more feeble as the life began to ebb from her body. He paused for a moment, the only sound his heavy breathing and her sobs. Nancy jerked in weak convulsions, and she reached a blood-stained hand up to him, begging for mercy. Her eyes were filled with tears as she tried to say his name, but the gash on her neck prevented her from making a sound. Her breath came in short, choking gasps as she tried to breathe, blood coming to her lips. Her lungs had been punctured internally because her ribcage had partially collapsed. She began to choke on blood, but was unable to cough. Bill raised the club over his head once more and brought it down on her head.
As he stared down at her, blood oozing from the deathblow he had given her, he noticed something that unnerved him — her eyes were still open. He beat her harder, screaming at her to close her eyes. Her body was a limp, broken doll covered in blood that he struck, trying to make her close her eyes. But they stared at him, lifeless and accusing. He stepped back and stared into her dead brown eyes. Hearing footsteps, he looking up to see Fagin sprinting towards him.
"It's over, Fagin," Bill said as Fagin approached him. The old thief stopped by the broken figure on the ground. To his horror, he realized it was Nancy, beaten to death, her body lifeless on the bridge.
"Bill, what have you done?" Fagin said, horrified. "Not Nancy, no, you didn't!" As Fagin looked down at her body, Bill turned to see Oliver starting to stir. He hauled the boy to his feet and dragged him into the darkness.
Fagin ran in the opposite direction, trying to find Dodger. "Run!" he yelled at the thirteen-year-old. "Bill did Nancy in, and the cops will be 'ere soon!" Dodger ran beside Fagin, his eyes, for the first time, showing fear.
Fate decreed that Bill would be punished for the brutal murder of Nancy. He was cornered on the London Bridge, near the scene of her death. A crowd, lead by Mr. Brownlow, demanded justice, following Bill, and preparing to make the thief pay for his dark deed. Bill used Oliver, threatening to kill the boy. The murderer was shot, dying near where his lover was killed his own hand, and Oliver was returned to Mr. Brownlow. Fagin, Dodger, and the boys fled the hideout, barely escaping the mob bent on getting rid of the underworld of thieves and murderers.
Early the next morning, an old man walked through the street of London. It was Fagin, though he wore a disguise to hide from the mob still hunting for him. He had paid Noah Claypole, the apprentice of the Sowerberrys, to temporarily take his place as the collector of the dead that day. The apprentice willingly agreed, relieved at the prospect of having a day off from the gruesome job.
Fagin pushed a cart, calling in a cracked voice, "Bring out yer dead! Bring out yer dead!" People left run-down buildings to place bodies in the cart. Some wept openly, while other tossed the bodies in with no respect for the dead. A mother tearfully placed her infant in the cart, an orphanage giving Fagin three boys — one he could have sworn one was Dodger — and a lover tossed his girl, dead from alcohol poisoning, among the dead without a backward glance.
Fagin pushed the cart, now laden with bodies, through the streets towards the London Bridge. The bridge was not part of his route, but he wanted to find Nancy's body before the rats got to her first. Leaving the cart at the foot of the stairs, he went up to the bridge. Her body still lay near the railing, cold and stiff. The blood had dried on her skin, hiding any shred of beauty she had left after such a beating. Fagin picked up her body and placed it in the cart as rain began to fall. He began to trudge to the Sowerberrys in the pouring rain, mud making his trek difficult. When he arrived at the funeral home, he looked at Nancy's body for a moment. The pouring rain had washed away some of the blood, her eyes still open and staring. He reached up and closed her eyes before going to find the apprentice.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yes, I know, the Sowerberrys did not collect the dead. They were a funeral home — people brought them bodies. But I wanted to have someone, even if it was Fagin, to show some respect for Nancy after she died.