It wasn▓t right. It just wasn▓t right. There was something wrong with him, even more so than normal.
Why did he suddenly have the uncontrollable urge to know exactly how far away he was from the man sitting in the barber chair, draped in a white cloth, waiting for the grave? The barber looked down at the foot of the chair, sifting through his own thoughts to see if there was any way he could possibly figure this out and ease his mind.
Todd knew that he was sixty-nine inches tall. As he looked down at the hidden gears, he gained the sudden knowledge that he was forming an angle of depression of seventy degrees. All he needed now was to figure out how far away the man was and then┘
No. It didn▓t matter. It didn▓t matter at all. He swept over to the man, the problem disappearing from his mind, and tilted his customer▓s hair laden chin using two of his fingers. With his other hand he drew the razor, lashing it across the man▓s throat. Blood soaked his white shirt and the cloth, and the man gurgled. Sweeney wrinkled his nose and slammed his foot viciously onto the iron pedal, sending the cooling man sliding down the hidden shoot to crumple in the basement.
There. That was done with. But he still felt a sense of un-fulfillment in the back of his mind. He attempted to ignore the longing for math and instead went downstairs to see what Mrs. Lovett was up to, making sure to change into a non bloody shirt before doing so.
⌠Mr. Todd!■ The woman was baking pies, just as she should be. She stopped what she was doing and beamed at him.
His eyes rolled to the ceiling and paused there. He realized that he had just formed a forty-five degree angle with his normal eye level. He also realized that he somehow knew that it was six feet between the top of Mrs. Lovett▓s curly haired head and the ceiling of her pie shop (Or the floor of his shop, whichever way you preferred to look at it.). But how far away was Mrs. Lovett from him? No, it didn▓t matter. All he needed to know was that in a few moments she would be much closer then he wanted and that he better get out of there.
He swept a bit too hastily from the shop and hit his hand on the railing of the stairway. The man let out a hushed curse, before pausing to look at the wooden pieces that made up the stair railing.
He had helped build these stairs. He remembered having to cut a piece fifteen inches long to go diagonally from each beam of wood. He also remembered knowing that the newly formed angle had a measurement of forty-five degrees. His hand drifted from one of the vertical wooden bars to the other, and he knew that they were a foot apart. But for the life of him he couldn▓t remember how long the main beams were.
Maybe if he divided the cosine of the angle by the measurement of the hypotenuse he would┘ No! He was a barber. What in all of London did he care about math for? He didn▓t need anything more than basic skills, so he tried once more to put the mathematical thoughts out of his head.
That night was overly long. The fact that he had slept in his barber▓s chair didn▓t help, but every time he had closed his eyes, he had dreamed about right triangles, sides, angles, and unknown measurements. Maybe it would▓ve been better if he had gone downstairs to his bed, but he couldn▓t take the risk that he would see something that would spur the thought of another ridiculous math problem. He didn▓t care. He was Sweeney Todd. He didn▓t care about anything.
He then made the mistake of looking out the window. From here, he could see the closed wooden windows on St. Dunstan▓s bell tower. Each window had a strip of wood that went from corner to corner. He blinked once, twice, but he still was positive that he was seeing a large black twelve labeling the width of the rectangular window. He closed his eyes and held them shut, but could still see the window and the labeling in his mind. A nice readable sixteen shoved itself next to the diagonal of the rectangle, and the number thirty-seven edged its way into place between the top bar and the bar cutting the window diagonally, along with the small circular degree sign. How tall was the shut window?
He had no idea, and opened his eyes to get a better look. A teenager then threw open the window, letting in a breeze that stirred the dust in the tower and blew the problem from the barber▓s mind, along with the knowledge that all the measurements had been in inches.
⌠Doesn▓t matter, doesn▓t matter,■ he muttered to himself, turning away from the window and pacing the shop. He was attempting to fight off the disgust he felt at the boy for breaking his concentration. ⌠It doesn▓t matter. It doesn▓t matter.■
A walk; maybe a walk would clear his head. Maybe he would even be able to convince Mrs. Lovett to come with him. Yes, her rambling would stop any other thoughts from making their way into his head. He ran down the steps, concentrating on the mismatched round cobblestones that made up the street. Todd pushed through the door.
⌠Mrs. Lovett, will you come for a walk with me?■ he asked as soon as he crossed the threshold. She looked up from cleaning off her counter with a rag, very much surprised by his question.
⌠What?■ she replied, believing her imagination must have run amok with her hearing.
He took a deep breath, noticing how off the question was. ⌠Will you come for a walk with me?■ He looked away from her before adding, ⌠Please?■
She hesitated, trying to find some reason for his odd behavior. ⌠Are you alright, love?■
⌠Yes, yes of course,■ he growled, more forcefully than he had meant too. ⌠Are you coming or not?■
Mrs. Lovett moved from behind the counter, dusting flour off of her dress as she walked over to him. ⌠Don▓t see why not.■
He nodded curtly to her before striding out the door, leaving her skittering to catch up. He slowed his pace for her and as soon as she caught her breath she began to talk. He nodded in all of the right places and concentrated on her musical voice, trying to ignore every triangular object in site.
The call of a seagull brought his attention to the balcony of a nearby building. He came to a sudden stop, and the pie-maker bumped into him with a muffled ▒Oof▓. The bird tilted its head as Sweeney studied it before letting out another crackly cry. Its beady eyes met with those of the man.
⌠I▓m twenty-three feet off of the ground,■ the gull informed him. Sweeney screeched, but couldn▓t pry his eyes away. Mrs. Lovett jumped.
⌠Did you hear that?!■ the barber whispered fearfully to her.
⌠Hear what, darling?■
⌠That bird!■ He pointed accusingly at it. ⌠It spoke!■
⌠Now, love,■ comforted the woman, patting his arm. ⌠Birds don▓t talk.■ Her lips pursed. ⌠Are you sure you▓re alright?■
⌠Yes, yes, I▓m fine,■ said Todd, listening to the bird that was now speaking once again.
⌠When I look down at you, an angle of depression of forty-two degrees is formed.■ The bird paused, giving time for the knowledge to set in. ⌠How far away from you am I?■
⌠I have no idea,■ breathed the man. The gull studied him carefully, a smirk seeming to form on its beak. ⌠How does a stupid bird know measurements anyway?■
The bird was offended and flapped its wings, taking off into the air. Mrs. Lovett pulled on his arm, bringing him back to what he thought was reality.
⌠You▓re not alright, are ya?■ she said softly, as if knowing this was something he didn▓t want to deal with.
⌠No,■ he replied, looking over and down at her. ⌠I do believe I▓ve gone stark raving mad.■ He turned and walked a step away from her before turning back around and asking, ⌠How good are you at math?■