The Demon's Razors

Chapter One: Procrastination

It started out so innocently.

Anthony had retrieved her from Mr. Todd's barber shop practically in hysterics and demanding that they leave for Plymouth at once. He consoled her lovingly, telling her that he would never leave her alone again. He had only to fill out a report with the constable, indentifying his dead acquaintences for who they were—revealing Mr. Todd's identity at last—and then they'd be off.

At that moment, Johanna remembered the razors. There was a whole set of them left, all clean and sparkling and…chased with silver at the handles. They would need money in Plymouth, wouldn't they? Anthony would no longer have a job as a sailor, and the razors might fetch a hefty sum.

She retrieved them from their shelf, curious to see if she had been right about the silver. She was not mistaken. And, cor, were those razors charming, as they reflected the light in them.

So she took them. And at dawn, leaning over the railing for her last glimpse at London, biting her lip anxiously in anticipation for her new beginning, she had them cradled in her arms loving. They were very reassuring, a bit of London that might actually profit them in the New World.

Upon reaching Plymouth, Johanna's first thought was to sell those silly razors. She had been having nightmares, more vivid ones that usual, always the image of Mr. Todd covered in blood, ready to kill her for witnessing the death of the Judge…the Judge that imprisoned her, yet had always provided for her. Her adoptive father of sorts. He had only meant well…hadn't he? No matter, the point was that he had been murdered before her eyes, and she had only pity for him in her heart because of that. And the very razors she held in her arms so cherishingly had played a part in killing him, maybe even others, innocents.

So why, upon setting her foot on soil for the first time in what seemed a eon, did she feel such regretful feelings about selling them? The thought nagged at her. Anthony, blissfully happy that he had made a clean getaway with his intended, pointed out the wonderous sights to be seen in the little town, ever the optimist and oblivious as always. She did love him so for his optimism, although it did irk her now and then, especially when she had weightier things on her mind.

They spent that first night in a small inn over a pub. Leaving Johanna to unpack, Anthony went down for a drink, but not before giving the key to Johanna, so she could lock the door if need be. He had been ever so careful to keep her safe since leaving London. As the door shut, Johanna's mind flitted again to the razors, now lying across the bed. Anthony had pointed out a pawn shop to her on their way to the inn. Should she sneak out while he got drunk and be rid of the frightening reminders forever?

No. It was late, and the sky was darkening. She would get lost or find herself on the end of a knife if she left now. In the morning, she reassured herself. They'd get a fetching price for sure, enough to for a year's rent at the inn.

Months passed. As each day went by Johanna swore to sell the razors, but something always popped up. First, there was the matter of her marriage to Anthony, which was simple, unlike the grandiose ceremonies of her dreams, with only the inn-keeper and his wife as witnesses. The one thing that had made Johanna happy was Anthony's smiling face as he put the ring on her finger, beaming, joyous. It gave her joy in turn to see him so happy. But even as he kissed her, so soft and sweetly, the nagging persisted in the back of her head, begging her to finally be rid of the razors now that she was starting a new life with her husband, a new slate. Tomorrow, she promised herself. Let today be unblemished; let today not be a reminder of London.

The next day, after a rather breathless night with her husband, a somewhat sore Johanna only wished to stay snug in her bed, wrapped comfortably in Anthony's arms. The night had worn her out, and she had gotten little sleep following…nightmares again, and only to wake to Anthony's snoring.

The days after that meshed into days of sewing and darning garments for small fees. One day that stood out was the day that Anthony got a job as a bricklayer. They celebrated down at the pub that night, where Johanna had her first beer. And her second. And her third. And so on. She spent most of the following day hungover, although she did try to keep up with her sewing, fruitlessly.

For a couple of months or so, Johanna spared little thought for the razors. She had settled down so nicely into her life above the pub, only leaving to attend church. The innkeeper's wife brought her orders for dresses and such as well as darning to do, and it kept her hands busy all the live-long day. Her wages went straight to paying the monthly rent, along with Anthony's modest paycheck.

It was not too long after Johanna had finished Mrs. Whitehall's daughter's wedding dress that Johanna discovered that she was pregnant. Anthony was estatic of course, and he took her out shopping. As they traversed the market, Johanna spotted a string of pearls that caught her fancy. It was then that the razors again pervaded on her mind, taunting her, telling her that if only she had sold them just the other day, during a long stretch of free time, she might already be wearing those luxurious-looking milky white treasures.

Johanna bought a rather modest dress instead, and a packet of blue silk ribbons, a color Anthony found most beautiful against her flaxen hair. He commended her on her choices, noting how practical and how pretty they were, before adding that they paled next to her beauty. Even as he spoke such words, his love for her bleeding through them in such a glaringly obvious manner, she only felt cold. The razors cut at her heart, calling her selfish, telling her that she was ungrateful, for she had such a loving husband, and she only yearned for pearls…or perhaps it was her conscious instead making such hurtful remarks, that she nevertheless knew were true.

Poor Johanna. She let the razors sit under her pillow from then on, wanting to sell them, yet wanting to keep them close. They both repulsed and attracted her, like a magnet that couldn't make up it's mind.

The days turned steadily warmer, as winter passed into spring. On the first day of summer, just as the clock struck one o'clock in the morning, Johanna gave birth to a little boy with a shock of black hair. He cried loudly and would not stop fussing until the midwife placed him into his mother's arms. Half asleep, Johanna smiled down at her baby; but before drifting into unconsciousness she had a stray thought wander across her mind: where did her child get that mass of curly raven hair?