Summary: One-shot spanning most of the events of the 2007 film. Johanna's character is not explored in the film, so imagining her in love with Judge Turpin - the only caring figure in her life - didn't seem unreasonable to me.
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Blood Stains
I have barely ever left this house. I am aware that most passers-by in the street pity me when they look up into my window. I wish I could soothe their minds, because it is no trouble for me to spend my days here. Looking out the window, I see decadence and filth in the streets, while looking back into my room, I see elegance and comfort.
I know nothing of my mother. I know nothing of my father. I can only assume they did not love me. I do not resent this, though, for it has made it possible for me to be the ward of none other than Lord Turpin. About this man I know fairly little, too, except that he has treated me with nothing short of unconditional love.
Men have always expressed interest in me after seeing me alone through the window. I do not care for them, because I am sure no man could be kinder than Judge Turpin is to me. Lately, though, I have been worried. A certain boy looked more intensely at me than anyone else ever before, and, soon after, it seemed as if my Lord Turpin had invited him into the house. I imagine he assumes it is time for me to be married – I have just turned fifteen -, and I fear this might be the reason he talked to the boy.
Judge Turpin stands before me, with a grave air. I can imagine what he will propose, and I wish he would not put me in this position. I could never openly refuse his wishes, even if this time obeying means being separated from him.
"Johanna, you are approaching an age appropriate for marriage. I have made plans for your future, and I do not expect you to refuse them," he says. His gentle strictness brings tears to my eyes. It is happening, the time has come when he believes my time as his ward must end, and we must separate.
"My Lord, are you sure this is what you wish?" I ask. I dare not plead, for my maids have told me that that is unbecoming. Still, I want a chance to make him realize I am fit to be no one else's wife but his. For years I have dreaded this moment, driving the fear away by dreaming we would marry instead, in the end.
Judge Turpin's eyes narrow and his lips thin. He looks not only angry, but also astonished at my answer. Did he expect me to have taken a liking for the young man looking through the window? Before I am given a chance to explain my reasons, he turns sharply and leaves.
I cannot help the stinging in my eyes. I feel like I have eaten knotted blankets, making my throat burn and my stomach roll around in itself. My body feels too weak to keep itself up. Judge Turpin will marry me away; I am sentenced to a life without him. I throw myself on my bed, tears streaming down my face and wetting the pillows in which I used to dream about my guardian.
***
My sheets are wet. I have been unable to stop my tears until now. Although it disgusts me to disobey my beloved guardian, I will be forced to do so. I could never live in a marriage like the one being arranged for me. I look around at the room I love so dearly, the room in which I have received Judge Turpin's caring and attention so far. I must leave it, to preserve the love in my heart untainted by other men.
I start gathering my possessions, in order to run away to church. I do not have a plan yet; all I am sure of is that I must go someplace where I will remain untouched by men. Yes, I am sure now, I must run away from this arranged marriage.
As I pick up a few clothes, Judge Turpin enters. His face looks darker than I have ever seen it. For the first time, his figure inspires fear in me. I rest my hand on my collarbone and try to maintain politeness. "A gentleman would have knocked on a lady's door before entering."
"Yes, but I see no lady in this room," Judge Turpin acidly replies. My heart sinks as I realize the love he gave me was from a guardian to a ward, not from a man to a woman. He will never love me as a woman. And now, he must be so disappointed to find me attempting to leave him, he will no longer love me as a ward, either.
I try to explain to him I do not want this marriage, but he interrupts me. I would never have imagined myself acting this way towards my guardian. I am aware circumstances are dire, but this does not justify my impertinence. I bow my head, and the details of my situation mix up in my head. Confusion floods my mind and my vision turns suddenly blurred.
***
I slowly open my eyes. I must have fainted, because my surroundings are different from what I expected them to be. I swoon trying to get up to my feet, so I sit back down on the hard surface I was laying on when I woke up. I bring a hand to the roots of my hair and look at the women around me.
They are all blonde, but they are not pretty women. They wear rags and have wild eyes like the woman who used to wander on the street outside what used to be my home. I remember her clearly: her sentences had made no sense and there had been a sullen air of desolation upon her.
The air of desolation the beggar woman had is present here, too. All the women - some no more than girls, younger than me – seem forlorn. My mouth goes dry. No, I do not know where I am, but it is not someplace one would wish to be, and it certainly does not seem like a place one would easily get out of.
I am in some sort of room. It is bigger than my own, back at my home, but it is painfully bare. The walls are cold stone, as are the ceiling and the floor. I see no beds; unless the rags on the long surface in this room are supposed to be sheets, and this surface is actually where we are to sleep. Everything in this room suggests the cold. I shiver.
I won't bother asking for explanations. If these women are anything like the beggar woman of my street, they won't prove to be helpful. And these women inspire even less pity than that woman did. I always felt a certain urge to look into that woman's eyes when she walked across the street moaning for alms, but from these women I shrink away.
I lay back down, curled, holding my knees to my chest. The surface that seems to be the bed I'll be sharing with these women is not only hard, but cold, too. I close my eyes and try to even out my breath. The only thing I can do right now is dream about Judge Turpin rescuing me, even though I have a vague idea he is responsible for me being here.
There must be a reason for this. Judge Turpin is always severe, but never unreasonable. It is said that his work in the court proves to be most just. Yes, soon, he will be back for me, probably telling me he never intended to marry me away. I fall asleep with thoughts of married life with Judge Turpin circling in my head.
***
My mouth tastes worse than it ever has. My ears buzz with the strained silence, broken occasionally by deranged women's moans. A scrawny man has come in once during the endless days I have been here. He walks in again, now, with eyes barely saner than the locked up women's.
The previous time he entered, he cut some hair from a woman a boy following him pointed at. My hair is my pride; I've been taught to comb it in a specific manner to keep it shiny and soft. The thought of having most of it cut off makes my palms sweat.
The man is now followed by a younger man - this one quite familiar, actually. I squint in the dim light and recognize him as the boy who had looked at me from the street and that Judge Turpin intended me to marry. My breath quickens as I panic; he is looking at me, pointing, and saying some words I cannot make out.
The scrawny man is holding a knife and walking towards me, hissing at some women who come too near. I close my eyes for a second, and when I open it, the boy is holding a gun, looking fierce.
"Get away from the girl. Let's see how you handle being left to the care of your darlings," he says, backing the skinny and balding man to the wall.
I understand, now. Judge Turpin has sent him to rescue me, like I expected he would. He grabs me by the arm, quite more gently than I thought he would, and leads me out of the room I was in. He is talking rapidly, and I cannot understand anything he says, except that his name is Anthony.
Before realizing just what is happening, I am wearing boyish clothes and my yellow hair is tucked under a hat. I cannot imagine how unattractive I look, but I understand the need of the attire in order to escape. Soon I shall be reunited with my guardian.
Looking around at the streets, though, I do not yet recognize my home. In fact, we are walking straight at a corner meat-pie shop, walking up a flight of unfamiliar stairs.
"Stay here, I'll be back for you. Hide if you must," Anthony whispers. He looks at me in the most inappropriate way possible, considering I am soon to be married to Judge Turpin. I nod a few times and he walks quickly away. No explanations have been given so far, and I wonder where my groom is.
I shrug my doubts away. Nothing could go wrong, not now that my future as the wife of Lord Turpin is secured. I look around at the new room I've been left at. These days have been quite an experience… And they have shown me that the best place to be was my home.
This room is quite bare, though it has a warmer feeling than the one with the blonde women; its walls are wood. Its main piece of furniture is a huge armchair, which would look comfortable did it not exude a rotten odor. I look at a few pictures I find, depicting what seems to be the happiest family of three I have ever seen…
I smile to myself, but start suddenly when I hear steps coming up the stairs. I look around for someplace to hide, and see a chest near the door. I scramble into it in the most unladylike fashion and hide. A foul smell knocks the breath out of my lungs, but I try to endure it. I know I will be reunited with my guardian in no time.
***
Straining my ears, I try to hear from inside the thick chest I am hidden in. I can hear an unfamiliar man's voice, and I am relieved I hid from him, for he sounds hard and desolate… in a destructive way. I cannot hear much, but a recognize Beadle's voice too, the revolting man Judge Turpin often keeps by his side.
I hear gurgling noises and a clicking sound, followed by a thump. Then, silence, until the door swings open and I hear a thin deranged voice, soon cut short by another thump. Something seems wrong, and I want to get out of this chest. Before I do, the door promptly opens again, and, this time, I hear the velvety soothing voice of my guardian.
I hear him say my name, and I feel warm inside. I remain hidden in order to find out what he says about me. A conversation seems to be going on outside, until an angry scream pierces the air.
"Benjamin Barker!" screams the unfamiliar voice. I hear distinct gurgling noises, going on for too long; then these ominous noises are interrupted by what was now becoming a familiar thump. Trembling, I rise from the chest. I do not care what will happen to me; I must confirm my suspicions.
The image I see is mortifying. The smell of the room is baffling. A man in red garments is standing in the room with a very bloody razorblade in his hands and a very bloodthirsty look on his eyes. Looking at his stained face, I realize that his garments are not red: they are splattered in blood. Cold fills my lungs; I am sure most of this blood is my Lord Turpin's.
My eyes fill with tears, and I do not even fear for myself as the madman swings me onto the armchair, holding me by my shirt's collar. Judge Turpin is most definitely dead. It was his voice I'd heard, I know it well; I've heard it in my sleep.
A muffled scream rings in the air. Horrific noises seem to be as common in this madhouse as the frightful sights and the strong stench of blood. I am repulsed by the turn my life has taken. It seems I had only to step out the safety of my room to see that the world is rotting quickly around me.
The man was holding the bloody razorblade above me, but has now lowered it and is looking at the door. His face turns back to mine in a flash, and I find myself staring into a face that would look scary even if it weren't covered in my beloved guardian's blood.
"Forget my face," he says, before leaving the room abruptly.
I remain in the armchair, feeling as cold as a statue. My breath is shallow as I look down at my clothes, now stained with blood. These clothes will never be clean from this blood. My memory, too, will never be free of the madman's eyes – eyes dead as a corpse's, void of any warm feeling but boiling hate. I could never heed the only words he ever directed at me.
I have just lost the man who cared for me even when my parents had abandoned me. He was my only chance of love in this nonsensical world, and I've lost him. But, still, his blood stains the clothes I now wear as permanently as his memory will tarnish whatever shadow of a life I can try to live from now on.
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A/N: I thought it would be an interesting idea to play with the fact that "forget my face" was her father's only words to her, though she never knew so, and that she doesn't take heed of her father's sole request to her. I also tried to keep most facts of the movie, making it all seem like a big misunderstanding.
With stimulation - please, review - I might write Johanna coping with such early tragedies in life.
Hope you like this; it is one of my first attempts, and I have no one to coach me through the traps of fanfiction writing.
Again, please review!