A/N: Wrote this a little over two years ago, but god, I wish I could say it's been longer. See, I never realized why no one would read it then, so I took it down, but... While it's not the worst fanfiction I've seen, I still wish to kill it with fire, as they say. Hell, at least it's not a crossover. And the girl bears no resemblance to me, so I dodged a small bullet. Still, I warn you that I've not edited this in any way, apart from adding line spacing. Maybe you'll get a laugh from it.
"That's Todd's place. He's famous, he is," I declared "They say he's the best barber you'll meet, a proper artist." I glanced up at the man who had asked me about the building we stood before.
"Is he? Well, thanks for your help, Miss." Mr. Turner, that's what he told me his name was, peered up at the barber shop.
As he had told me during our brief conversation, this was his first trip to London. Looking for someone to ask about important places on Fleet Street led him to me. This surprised me. I, as a poor beggar, was rarely addressed by adults, except for those who wanted me away from their shops. Why someone who was clearly higher class would even give me a second thought was beyond me.
Mr. Turner walked up the steps to the door, where I heard the barber greet him. I smiled sadly to myself. I had no one to talk to now, and Mr. Turner wouldn't be back for quite a while.
To ward off boredom, I decided to visit Mrs. Nellie Lovett. She was the owner of the pie shop that rested bellow the barber shop. Mrs. Lovett had always been fairly nice to me, as I helped in her shop every week. Until recently, though, she never had enough business to need an assistant. Strangely, business had picked up lately, since Mr. Todd arrived upstairs.
The bell on the door jingled as I entered. Mrs. Lovett looked up from her baking, and greeted me.
"Hello there, Sarah. Early, aren't you?"
"I've got nothing to do," I replied.
"Well, come on then." Mrs. Lovett gestured for me to approach. Working on the pies, we made small talk, of weather and business. After a few minutes, a thought seemed to occur to her.
"You know, love, you remind me of a woman I used to know."
I looked up at her. " 's that so?"
"Yeah," she said, looking as though she was remembering something from long ago. "I've told you 'bout Mr. Barker, haven't I?" I nodded. "Well, his wife Lucy looked so much like you...."
"How's that?" I inquired, greatly interested in the stories Mrs. Lovett told me about the past.
"Same hair, all gold. Same pale skin too. 's nothing to be ashamed of," she added when she noticed I was blushing. "She was a beautiful woman. Just like her daughter. That's the Judge's ward, y'know. Johanna."
"Miss Johanna's related to Mr. Barker?"
"Mm, yeah. Sometimes I think you look more like Lucy than Johanna does, though. I used to wonder--" Her comment was cut short by a bell ringing from somewhere a short distance above us. I didn't bother to look up. "That'll be more meat for the pies. Be back in a bit, mind the shop."
I nodded. Mrs. Lovett left a few times a day like this. Apparently she went down to the bakehouse, but the time I asked to come along, she refused. With times being better now, she got meat in every so often, but the butcher brought in a full pig. It was cheaper to butcher it herself, she said, and she knew I had a weak stomach.
As I contemplated this, the door opened again. Mrs. Lovett had returned. When I asked her why, she told me that Mr. Todd had been kind enough to take care of it for her.
"Quite a gentleman, isn't he?"
"Yes Miss." I nodded.
"Take the rest of the day off, love," she told me. "Business is a bit slow today."
"Yessum." The day was dull, and I had nothing to do as I wandered down the street. I looked up at a sudden thought. Maybe Mr. Turner would be back by now, yes he had to be if Mr. Todd had left the shop. Funny I hadn't seen him leave, I noticed. I thought it might annoy him to try to talk to him again, but he seemed a kind man, and I had a reputation for acting on impulse. With this in mind, I walked up the steps to Mr. Todd's shop.
"Sir?" I called, opening the door. A silent room greeted me. Disappointed, I wandered away, bored again. I wished I could have talked to Mr. Todd. Mrs. Lovett had spoken so fondly of him, but I had never spoken to the man myself.
As I walked down the street, I noticed that the bakehouse door was unlocked. I knew it wasn't a good idea, for that was where the meat was processed before it became pies. Even so, I looked around to see that I wasn't being watched, and opened the door quietly. Creeping silently down the steps to the room bellow, I became nervous. The smell of blood hung heavy in the air, turning my stomach. Still, my curiosity got the better of me, and I continued.
I heard quiet humming when I reached the bottom of the stairway. I peered carefully around the wall, and saw a horrific sight. Mr. Todd, knife in hand, stood by a table, on which there was a body. I couldn't quite identify it at first, but upon seeing the man's face, I was certain it was Mr. Turner. What truly scared me, though, was the splash of blood that covered Mr. Turner's neck and shoulders, and the matching stain on Mr. Todd's sleeve.
I stifled a scream, tears filling my eyes. I watched in horror as Mr. Todd raised the knife and sank it into the flesh of the corpse before him. I watched for a moment more before ducking back behind the wall. I sank to the floor without a thought to run. In a horrible realization, I understood what I had seen: Mr. Todd had left to butcher the meat for the pies. And I had eaten those pies many times. I gagged, fighting for control of my stomach.
Running back up the stairs, I was very aware of my footsteps. A moment later I realized that my footsteps were all I could hear: Mr. Todd's humming had stopped.
"Nellie? That you?" I stopped dead. There was a dull thud of a knife being set down, which gave me brief hope. I realized to soon that he was a barber, and carried several razors with him.
"Toby?" Another assistant of Mrs. Lovett. Slow, quiet steps came near. I turned and sprinted, caring no more whether he heard me. If I could join a crowd outside, he wouldn't be able to find me. I hoped.
His footsteps grew quicker, closer to me. I held my breath, refusing to scream. I did not want him to recognize my voice.
I burst through the door, slamming it behind me, and ran into the bright light of day. I panted slightly from my sprint, glancing around for a place to hide. The tears, the running, my weak build; all of them added to my exhaustion.
The door to the pie shop opened suddenly, and Mrs. Lovett dashed to my side.
"Good lord, what happened to you?" She looked at me with concern.
"I-I--there was--" I paused mid-sentence. Hadn't Mrs. Lovett gone down to the cellar for "meat" before? I grew sick at the thought: she had known from the beginning. "I was robbed," I lied. "I didn't get a good look at the rat that took my bag though."
"There there, love," Mrs. Lovett looked relieved. "Now then, how--"
Cut off again in mid-comment, Mrs. Lovett turned to the bakehouse door that had just opened. Panic gripped me once more as Mr. Todd appeared. He still had the stain on his sleeve, and his bloody hands looked like something out of a ghost story.
"Nearly finished," he said as he smiled at Mrs. Lovett. "Just left something upstairs, won't be long." He turned to me. "Actually, since I was thinking of taking a quick break, wouldn't you like a haircut? Free of charge, of course. Don't think Mrs. Lovett hasn't mentioned what a great help you've been to her." He ignored my weak protests and steered me up the stairs. Mrs. Lovett shot a worried glance at him, but he smiled. "Won't be more than a few minutes." He turned back to me. "Sarah, isn't it?"
He pushed me through the door at the top of the stairs, closing it behind him.
"Sit down, Miss. Make yourself comfortable." He smiled a terrifyingly calm grin as he gestured to chair in the center of the room. Glancing around, i noticed a line in the floor around the chair. I was certain that there was a trap door. That was how Mr. Turner had gotten to the cellar so quickly.
"Are you sure it's no trouble?" I asked desperately, but he shoved me into the seat.
I was sure that there was no escape for me. Leaning back and closing my eyes, I sobbed silently. There was the sound of running water, which I assumed was Mr. Todd washing the blood from his hands. I heard the sound of a knife--no, not a knife, a razor--being sharpened. Some footsteps quietly approached me from behind. A hand was laid across my shoulder, pinning me to the chair. I felt an arm wrap around my neck, and a cold blade pressed to my throat. I felt a terror I had never known.
The instants passed. I actually began to pray that he would just end it. I opened my eyes. The razor was still at my throat, but Mr. Todd had relaxed the grip on my arm. I heard him let out a quiet gasp.
"You...!" he choked, so quietly that for a moment I thought I had imagined it. He released me completely and stepped around the chair. Standing before me, he placed a hand on either side of my face, with a gentleness that shocked me after being so roughly restrained. He looked at me with a strange, conflicted expression. "I... I'm sorry, Miss." He continued to stare at me, as though he recognized me. As though I was friend he had lost.
"Mr. Todd?" I couldn't deny my fear, but something in his expression... it was somehow captivating.
"I'm sorry, Miss," he whispered again. "I... you know that you look like a woman I used to know? Lucy... my wife...." He ran a bit of my hair between his fingertips. I placed a hand lightly on his wrist. My hand was shaking. He remained there for a moment, looking so much weaker than the man I had seen before.
He stepped back, giving me yet another strange stare. He seemed like he couldn't look me in the eye, and yet he still wanted to take in every detail.
"I'm sorry." He looked away, but I could have sworn that he was in tears. "You... you can leave now. Please... I know that you'll have to tell the police... what you saw. But... please don't tell them that Nellie knew about it.... Let her go free...." Despite his request, his voice was flat and there was no emotion to his comment.
"I won't." I stood up. "Er, Mr. Todd... Mr. Barker?"
"Yes," he replied quietly.
I hesitated, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... you poor thing." I walked to the door. "I won't tell anyone about what I saw. Don't worry. And...." I struggled for more to say, but there was nothing else.
"Thank you, love."
I left the shop. Once I got to the bottom of the stairs, I looked back up. Benjamin Barker stood in the same spot in shop, just visible through the window. Then I turned my back on the shop and ran. I never returned to Fleet Street.
A/N: Oh lord. Make it stop. Please, think of the children. … If you've survived this, dearest reader, you are a braver person than I. I hope it wasn't as painful for you as for me.