Return Of The Demon
A/N: I just had to write the second chapter seeing as people reviewed so fast! Thanks so much! I appreciate that!
Chapter Two
In a haze, when the mind is unstable, it is hard to tell how much time has passed. The most Sweeney Todd could understand at the moment was that the sky had gone from a sour gray to a sinister purple, a distant roar of thunder growling off in the distance. Small flashes lit up the clouds, the building thunder-heads gathering above him...
He was alive. He was breathing. The air had never tasted so sweet, so pure, so divine. He could feel the grass tickling his skin, he could feel the wind raking over his body, he could feel the ground, hard, beneath him. And very soon, if he were not to move, he would be able to taste and feel the rain...
Giving a groan, Sweeney Todd exhaled sharply. His body, still detached from the world, refused to move. The human body is a strange thing. Under great stress and eagerness, it will move of its own will. Seeming to close off the mind, the body can learn skills its owner never thought they had, such as fighting or defending. Yet, when given the chance to rest, the body will immediately go slack, exhaustion will set in, and any movement will fall limp. Such was the condition of our Mr. Sweeney Todd.
The drizzling started slow. Small drops pelted the grass around him, sometimes hitting him directly. He listened, all sounds enhanced after being forgotten for so long. It was like music, sweet music with no lyrics...
"Such is the rain, the tears of the Gods,
"Small and pure, with their clear bods," Sweeney sang gently to the sky, his voice breaking every other note,
"Last resort to clean, a world so meek,
"A world that bleeds, the most foulest reek..." The song drifted to a stop as the pattering grew steadier. The wind began to pick up, the distant rumbling now closer. The lightening forked across the sky, like the tongue of a great lizard lapping at the falling rain.
Sweeney started small. His fingers. Moving his pinky first, Sweeney moved to his other fingers, giving them all a slight twitch. When finished with that, he moved to his toes, repeating the motion. By now the rain was starting dampen his clothes, making it uncomfortable to lie there on the ground.
He went to his arms next, lifting each slowly, one at a time, then slowly, together. He repeated this as well, several times, and then with his legs. His legs were harder, being heavier and larger. There was no way they could carry him, not a this very moment anyway.
With caution, Sweeney rolled onto his stomach, careful to make sure nothing painful jumped out at him. So far, nothing. Clawing out in front of him, Sweeney sank a dirty hand into the muddying ground. With a great heave, he pulled himself forward a good six inches.
The rain was coming down heavier now, starting to soak his hair, the curls now falling limply about his face. His clothes were getting wetter, the material clinging to his skin.
With the other hand Sweeney reached out, his fingers tearing into the dirt, uprooting the grass. He repeated this again, over and over, concentrating on making it forward instead of the overwhelming exhaustion that was blackening the edge of his vision. With a defiant growl, Sweeney slid forward, his legs like dead weights behind him.
Reaching out, his hand hit something rather hard. With a small yelp, Sweeney drew his hand away. He reached out again, feeling the solid object once more. Squinting through the sheets of water, his hazy vision settled on a strange curved figure, it's body arching up and coming down, reaching the ground, solidly held in place. Glaring at it, Sweeney gripped it's edge and yanked himself forward.
He didn't look at the thing. More or less, he didn't need to. He knew full well where he was, whether or not his mind was actually in the state to be thinking. He knew where he had been, where he had been placed...but just how he was back up here in this world, well that would have to wait to be answered.
With great effort as he sluggishly pulled himself along, Sweeney lifted his leg, pressed it against the head stone behind him, and shoved.
He slid liquidly, the mud gliding him smoothly a good two feet. The smirk on his face faded as the the world around him blackened, the exhaustion threatening to consume him. He waited, breathing evenly, before he could finally see again. Then once again, he reached out in front of him, fingers slipping and sliding, latching onto anything to get himself moving.
Sweeney was consciously aware of the pain now, somewhere in the back of his mind. His shoulders ached terribly, his stomach suffering several scratches as the shirt tore. The palms of his hands suddenly smelt like rust and salt, signaling they were bleeding.
"Such is the rain, tears of sorrow,
"Life so pointless and cruel.
"Tis the time to rise again,
"Make blood rain down on these fools..." Sweeney hissed to the cold air, the rain soaking his lips as he sang. The song seemed to give him strength, calling out to haunted world before him.
"Crimson blood like rubies,
"Staining my art and work.
"Washing away my lifted sins,
"Bringing back only the worst..." Sweeney dragged himself forward again. He gave an angry grunt as his hands suddenly no longer met grass, no longer met support to drag him on. Fingers raking along the new ground, he stopped abruptly...
Cobblestone. It was cobblestone beneath his fingers. Oh God, then that meant...this was a road. An actual road. A road people came upon, a road buggies drove on. It was a bloody fucking road.
Sweeney's grip became slick as he dragged himself forward, desperately clinging and grasping at God-only-knows-what. The cobblestone slipped through his fingers, and he lashed out again and again, almost frantically.
'Oh please, oh please, oh please, oh please...' Sweeney Todd was not a man to beg. No not at all. If any begging was going to occur, it was going to be from his victim to him. But damn him if he really didn't need help right now. And if that required him to get down on his knees and ask for it, then so be it...
Someone, somewhere heard him. His silent mental pleas met someone's ears, and for what seemed like the first time in Sweeney's life, they were answered. It was soft at first, barely able to be heard, only getting louder. Out of his peripheral vision, Sweeney caught something glowing through the sheets of pouring rain, something wavering and swinging...like a lamp.
Horse hooves clopped in his direction, heavy and loud now. Sweeney stopped, bowing his head low, nudging his face into the crook of his arm. He breathed deeply, inhaling the smell of the ground centimeters from his face. The hooves cantered about, drawing nearer, and nearer, and nearer...
"Whoa girl! Easy! Whoa!" A man's low voice bellowed. A horse whinnied, so close it actually hurt. Sweeney cringed at the noise, his ears far too sensitive for such pitches at the moment.
"What in the name of-" The man cried, startled. His eyes caught on to Sweeney's form, the darkly dressed man in a heap before his cart.
"Well, what do we have here?" The man, lowered himself from his seat, and placed the horse whip on its hook. He approached slowly, bending down carefully, eyeing the man with caution. With a plump finger, the man prodded his side.
The dark form let out a moan, his body aching terribly. The horse-driver jumped back, his face horrified. Good gracious! The gentleman was still alive!
"Is something going on out there Mr. Pickard?" A highly pitched voice asked. From the cart, an elderly woman with a bright blue bonnet on, stuck her head from the cab side door. Her eyes widened as she saw her cart-man standing over Sweeney's limp form.
"Mr. Pickard! Is the lad alright?" The woman panicked. The man, now identified as Mr. Pickard, nodded with a pale face.
"Aye, he seems alright Missus Crawly. Not looking too good, but it seems like he'll live." Mr. Pickard informed curtly, making his way back to the cab. He was stopped short when the woman, now come to be known as Miss Crawly, hollered shrilly at him.
"Well don't just leave the poor man there! Hurry! Get a horse blanket from the back," Miss Crawly ushered, "Wrap him up good and tight and get him inside! Oh the poor dear!"
"Right away Missus Crawly." And Mr. Pickard ran around back for the quilt.
Second chapter is up! Wo0t! Hope you liked it! We'll be getting into a direct plot soon...give it some time.