Return Of The Demon
A/N: So our poor Mr. Sweeney Todd has been rescued by a Mr. Pickard and Miss. Crawly...let's continue, shall we?
Chapter Three
Miss Crawly cocked her head slightly, bending over the crumpled form of a rather handsome man. He was deathly pale though, as if Death's fingertips had brushed him, yet not quite gotten a good hold on him. He was wrapped up in a white horse blanket, his chest rising and falling slowly, his face carrying the lines of the years that dragged on.
Miss Crawly was no stranger to such fine lines. Her own face was starting to wither amongst the wrinkled skin, her blue eyes losing their luster behind sagging lids. Her small mouth was taunt and drawn in a hard line, her old bones becoming weaker. Her white, brittle hair was pinned high on her head, growing finer every day. But she carried herself with grace, with pride, giving anyone she met a glorified moment of seeing the beauty she had once been.
She had been a very pretty girl. Bright eyes, observant and calm. Long, red locks that shone like the glossy feathers of a robin's belly. She had once been the eye of every man, the prize of many suitors. But, as time goes on, such beauty begins to dry up, and all that is left is an outer shell harboring the inner beauty that very few look to find.
The man before her moved, a groan escaping a pair of fine lips. She jumped, startled, his movement ripping her from her day dream.
"Shhh," Miss Crawly cooed, running a hand down a pale cheek, "It's alright. You're going to be alright now." The dark lashes fluttered, exposing a pair of eyes the color of onyx. A color so abnormally dark that it seemed to cast shadows about the man's face.
His face turned up to her as she cupped one of his cheeks, the other hand feeling his forehead. He was running a fever. It was no surprise though. The man had been stuck in the rain for God-only-knows how long. He was drenched, his thin form shivering.
"C-c-cold..." He murmured. She offered a weak smile, patting his head much like you pat a child. He stared at her, his gaze feverish. His eyes questioned her, yet there was something...thankful behind them. And from the looks of it, the man wasn't very good at showing gratitude. He seemed much too dark a being.
"My name is Miss Crawly, good sir. Janice Crawly." She introduced herself. He stared at her for a long time, drinking in her features, studying her face. It was rather uncomfortable, she had to admit. He seemed to memorizing every curve, every detail, every line of her face in those dark depths. be
"Todd," He finally said, his face impassive, "Sweeney Todd."
"Well, Mr. Todd, you're in good hands now. We'll have you on your feet in not time." Janice reassured. He cocked his head slightly, suddenly frowning.
"We? Who is "we" Miss Crawly?" He asked hazily, his mind still a bit...out of sorts. She smiled gently, padding the blanket, wrapping it a bit tighter.
"Please, Mr. Todd. Call me Janice," She offered, "And by we, I mean my precious servant and driver Mr. Geoffrey Pickard."
"Your...driver?"
"Why yes, the man who helped save your life." Janice said, watching as sudden memories flooded Sweeney's face. He nodded, turning his head to the side and coughing horribly.
"Oh, you poor dear." Janice sighed, rubbing his shoulder. He jerked a bit, yanking his body from her hand. She froze, staring at her hand and then to Sweeney, slightly surprised at his movement. Janice held her hand out to the air for a moment, and then drew it back to her lap. She waited patiently, silently wringing her hands as she did so.
"Sorry..." He apologized, eyeing her sadly. Janice's brow creased, her face confused.
"No need to be. It's not right for a lady to touch a man without such permission of the gentleman first," Janice apologized, "It is my own fault. Do forgive me." Sweeney stared at her, raising his eyebrows. He looked as though he didn't understand, and then quietly,
"Accepted."
Geoffrey Pickard didn't like the man already. There was something odd, something familiar about the man. Something scary. As if he had seen him not to long ago. Yet he couldn't put his finger on it. The rain drove down hard, the lantern beside him swaying as the horse clopped down the road. He kept the pace slow now, the silver rain dancing before him.
"They say a man, even broken and beat,
"Can always harm, even off his own feet.
"It's what they never say, that hurts the most,
"When all disappears, like an ancient ghost.
"To see such darkness in a man's eyes,
"Shows the Devil is churning, withering in lies.
"Is such is this man, broken and beat,
"For I know he can harm me, even off his own feet..." Geoffrey sang, his voice drowned out by the rain. The horse drove on, cantering through the muddy cobblestone, his hooves seeming to drive the beat of his melody.
"Such torrents of blood, gushing down to my feet,
"For he plays the Devil's music, to my defeat.
"Says God to the angels, on such a terrible day,
"The Devil is back, and in this man, he lays." Geoffrey pulled on the reigns, slowing the speed of his horse even more. He could see the light of their home, both his and Janice's. 'Always leave the light on the front porch on, Mr. Pickard,' Janice had ordered, 'So as we can always find our way home.'
"Welcome home." Geoffrey muttered, slowing the horse to a stop. The mare whinnied thankfully, its flanks shivering from the chill. 'Best get her warm and head in me-self.' Geoffrey thought tiredly. Suddenly Janice's voice called from the cabby window.
"Mr. Pickard! Please help me get Mr. Todd inside the house! You know very well I cannot do it!" She rolled the cabby window back up. With a small groan of defeat, Geoffrey circled around back, and opened the passenger door. The man, now being called Mr. Todd by Janice, was trying his hardest to sit up.
"Take it easy now," Geoffrey urged, taking the man by the upper arm, "There we go lad. Take it slow." He helped him down onto the ground, mud soaking both their pant ends.
"Take him inside. Get him some clothes, and put him to bed," Janice ordered, stepping from the cart and lifting the hem of her dress, "He's sick." She strode through the rain, taking a key from her sash and jamming it in the front door. She twisted, jiggling it a bit and threw open the door, gliding easily inside.
"Aye, yes Missus Crawly. Come along Mr. Todd, let's get you inside." Geoffrey encouraged, taking the man by the waist.
"Sweeney Todd, sir. The name's Sweeney Todd." Sweeney offered a small smile, somehow insanely wicked upon his features. For the most horrid moment, Geoffrey wanted to let go of Sweeney. He wanted to run away, into the house, locking all the windows and doors. He wanted to leave this Mr. Sweeney Todd in the rain and mud, hopefully to die of exposure, or something or other. There was something evil about him, something sinister...
And then it passed. Geoffrey gave a great grin.
"Alright then, Mr. Sweeney Todd. You're in good hands now, trust me," Geoffrey chuckled, "Missus Crawly is a good woman. And she makes the most wicked apple pie, I'll tell you that." Geoffrey laughed, and Sweeney gave low chuckle, shifting forward a few steps.
"Wicked you say?" Sweeney asked. A twinkle danced in Geoffrey's eyes.
"Only the best."
"I do love the wicked."
"Then I'm sure you'll be quite content Mr. Todd."
"I'm hoping for the same."
And chapter three is DONE! Wicked, eh? Just Sweeney's style...
