What May have Been.
The cold London air ruffled Benjamin Barker's collar as he strode down the cobblestone street, leading away from the pier. It had been fifteen years since he had walked on these streets. Fifteen, long, terrible years of wishing he could come home again. Fifteen years of dreaming about his wife and daughter, his once idyllic life as a barber. He clenched his fingers. Oh, how he longed to hold his razors again! For him, those razors were happiness, a career he was born to fulfill, a thriving business where he could provide his family with all they could wish for. And his family…Johanna, darling little Johanna, little innocent Johanna with the blue eyes and wonderful toothless smile. Lucy…his dear Lucy… Benjamin closed his eyes. He feared he would break down if he thought of her any more. He continued down the street, littered with pedestrians, and the clop of horse's hooves as they trotted along, carriages bumping behind them. He remembered these streets well. He remembered when they were bright and happy, where everyone knew him as the friendly barber who loved to carry a tune as he worked, when he had a loving family he cared for more than anything on earth, when he was Benjamin Barker. He was still Benjamin, in the inside, but those torturous years of constant labor in Australia had caused Sweeney Todd to surface. Sweeney Todd who longed for vengeance against that dreadful Judge Turpin, Sweeney Todd who vowed to remove form the earth anyone that had harmed his wife or child, Sweeney Todd whose heart hungered for redemption. Sweeney began to walk faster, the breeze picking up around him. The salty air from the pier still filled his nose. He had just parted with Anthony, the young sailor who had rescued him from the Atlantic's pitching waves three weeks ago. For him, London was another new adventure, another place in the world to travel. A fresh start. He was only in his twenties. Sweeney wished him a happy life free of that monster named Judge Turpin. Anthony was a good man; he would be successful in his endeavors. Sweeny almost smiled at the thought of that man, endlessly chatting about Peru and Africa, and how he wished to travel out to China, how he was stopping in London to view its sights before heading out to Plymouth to visit his mother. Sweeney snapped out of his happy daydream. He was back here, in London. He had one purpose in mind- find his family. He had no idea what that devil judge had done to his wife. Was Lucy still there, in the little house on Fleet Street? Would Johanna be with her, a teenager now? Johanna…a teenager. Sweeney ached at the idea that he had missed her entire childhood. He doubted she would even know who he was. He was sure Lucy would've told her of him. If Lucy was still alive, of course.
Almost by instinct, Sweeney's worn shoes found their way to the cobblestone of another street. He took a deep breath. Fleet Street. He remembered the last time he'd been here. Policemen dragging him away while Judge Turpin and his sniveling Beadle stood by with smiles similar to the Cheshire Cat. What did they care about him being shipped off to Australia? They had Lucy to themselves, now. He remembered Lucy, standing by the door with a look of terror, tears running down her delicate face. Johanna had been in her arms, her big eyes staring out at him with confusion. Before he was wrenched out of sight, he remembered Johanna, gently reaching out her arm towards him. Daddy she seemed to say. Fleet Street stood before him, now. It seemed barren; robbed of all the happiness he saw in it when he had his Lucy and his Johanna. A lonely beggar was making his rounds, peeking into stores to see who to beg. Sweeney shuddered. He hated beggars. The wretched beggar woman that had pounced upon himself and Anthony before they parted was no exception. Sweeney glanced down the street. "My house." He thought. He saw it, there. The building. The little apartment, lovely as a mansion to them on the second floor, above, what was it, a bakery? Sweeney tried to remember, memories from fifteen years ago slowly drifting back through the fog in his mind. Now he remembered. A pie shop. He thought. Owned by some lady he couldn't remember. He strode toward it, faster and faster, still he practically was running. He had to know what had happened. Who was there. If his old life could ever return… Sweeney stood in front of the shop. But it wasn't a shop. It was a tailor. Sweeney took a breath, and nervously entered. A bearded man sat behind the counter, mending an overcoat. He looked up as Sweeney entered. "Can I help you, sir?" he asked, rising from his chair. He almost wasn't sure what to say. "You see…I…well…I…I haven't…I haven't been in town for many years. This shop seems a little different. I think…I think there may have been something else…another shop? Here?" " Ah, yes, that was many years ago. It was a pie shop, I believe. Owned by a woman…Louis? Lowell?" Lovett. Sweeney thought. It was coming back to him now. " Well, she moved off about fifteen years ago. You see, my brother and I, we had always wished to open a tailor business. Well, you see, we owned one, other side of London, but it was so small and we wanted more space…" The man cleared his throat upon seeing Sweeney's somewhat irritated look and realized he was veering off topic. " Well, anyway, I was in her shop having a pie one day when she mentioned she was selling the place, I asked her why, and she told me; there had been a barber who had his business and residence upstairs, he had a wife and baby, I think. The judge pressed the barber with charges of foolishness, I'm quite sure they were false, and had the man shipped out to Australia for life in a labor camp. The judge dispersed the wife and baby, she didn't tell me what became of them, and then she remembered the barber's razors and went and took them." " Razors?" Sweeney piped up. "Yes, the barber had a nice set of razors. The woman decided to take them, just in case the barber ever came back to London. She had held them for a few months, and then she realized she could easily get five to ten quid for the set, and the man would probably never come back anyway, so she sold them. A couple months after she told me that story she moved out." " Where did she move?" " By the sea. I'm not sure exactly where." " What's become of the room above?" The man shrugged. "I don't know what she ever did with it, but it's all just storage now." "The wife and child…you have no idea what became of them?" The man shrugged again. "Not a clue. I suppose the woman knew, but she didn't tell me. There were many shop owners around here, I'm sure they would've known, but every shop that was here when we moved in has overturned into different businesses. We're the only one that's prevailed over the years. And the Judge…I have no idea what he is up to these days. Don't' even know if he's still around. I don't keep up with the justice system around here." Sweeney was numb. His razors…gone. His family…there was no way to find out what had ever happened to them. His home…gone. Everyone who had ever known who he was….gone. He truly would have to start over. All the hope of returning to his Lucy and his daughter…it was gone. All of it. "Th...Thank you." Sweeney said, before turning around and stumbling out. The tailor gave him a wave before sitting back down to the overcoat. Sweeney wanted to scream. He wanted to punch something, hurt someone. He wanted to sit down on the cobblestone and sob. He wanted to leap into the sea and just stay there, letting everything fade away until he too, would fade away into the depths of the ocean and never again be seen. That judge…that demon Judge Turpin…but there was nothing he could do. His old life was gone forever. Little Johanna, if she was still alive, he would never see her face. And his Lucy…his dear, beautiful Lucy… Sweeney buried his face in his hands that would never again feel the touch of a razor handle. He looked up at Fleet Street, shaking with unshed tears. He clutched his little bag, containing all he had left in this world. And, slowly, he walked away from the shop, and everything he had ever known of it, and everything that had once been Benjamin Barker. Sweeney Todd turned and stumbled away, away from Fleet Street, and the cold London air followed him.