A/N: Thank you all for so many reviews, my gooodness. I feel so loved. I'm having way too much fun with this. I just wanted you all to know that I, too, am watching how this is turning out right along side you. I hope you enjoy my jumbled bursts of SweeneyTodd!creativity. :) Please review!
Chapter Four
Nellie Lovett let out a long sigh as she tilted her head back further, immersed in hot water from the neck up. Most of her earlier tension had melted away as she relaxed in her small tub, surrounded with bubbles. Her eyes were closed as she breathed in the light scent of honey. Although her face was peaceful, her thoughts were scattered and irritating. That was the second thing on her list, Nellie decided. First was to settle her physical conflicts before delving into her emotional tornado. Sadly, her thoughts weren't pointed at last evenings events. Her concern was directed straight at, who guessed it, Mr. Todd.
How thoughtful he had been to dress her wounds and make her feel comfortable. Nellie could hardly get over it. She wouldn't of been shocked at all if she had awaken in that same grubby alleyway right now, to have to walk dreadfully back to her shoppe and attend to her pains alone. Mr. Todd's actions were still processing in her mind. Toby hadn't described much into how she had gotten back to her small parlor, but she was sure that Sweeney had helped. This concept alone made a content smile play on her lips, but it was jerked away as she shifted her body, her hip and wrist exploding in pain once more. Nellie frowned, opening her eyes slightly to glare stubbornly at them, as if she could scare the pain away. Unfortunately, nothing happened.
Soon time passed and the water cooled. More then half of the comforting bubbles had disappeared and her back was starting to ache from laying in her reclining position for so long. Pouting a little, Nellie emerged from the water, attempting to block her thoughts of the Judge and rape from her mind. Instead she continued to ponder about if Mr. Todd's hands were as gentle on her body as seemed fifteen years ago. She carefully toweled off, the draining of the tub water low and echoing, as if telling her that Mr. Todd would rather embrace the Beadle than her. Little did she know what was taking place between those two at this instant.
In the hallway, someone rapped quietly, politely, against the dark wooden door. "Mum? You in there?" questioned a young male voice, shy with concern.
Wrapped now in a soft navy blue robe, Nellie glanced at the door. How she loved this Toby boy. She quietly opened the door and gave him a small smile. He stood dressed in his usual clothing now: brown slacks, a white shirt, and soft maroon vest. It seemed that he had tried to comb his hair back to look a bit more proper but it still stuck out in odd places. Mrs. Lovett made a face and ruffled his hair again. "That's better," she murmured, glad to see that her voice wasn't as raspy, but still a bit faded.
Toby smiled up at her, a nice hopeful smile, and she saw his shoulders drop a bit in relief. "You always make things better, mum," he stated warmly, and Nellie felt a twinge in her heart for him as he again called her 'mum'.
They stood there in the doorway for a few quiet moments, gazing calmly at each other. She much closer to him over these past hours, knowing that he had proved himself loyal to her. Nellie knew, now, that he was truly devoted to the woman who had made him feel as if he had family.
Breaking the silence, Mrs. Lovett jerked her chin toward the kitchen. "Why don't you fetch yourself somethin' to eat, hmm?"
Toby nodded and retreated halfway down the hallway before stopping, turning on his heel, and scrambling over to Mrs. Lovett, throwing his arms around her waist. "I love you, mum," he said quietly, his voice muffled in her robe.
Mrs. Lovett gave him a sad smile and ignored the soreness of her hip, hugging him tenderly for a moment. "And I you, dearie. Now go on, stuff yourself." With that, the boy gave her a happy smile and left. Mrs. Lovett sniffed. Such an innocent boy having to deal with the horrors of the world. He doesn't deserve it.
She walked into her room, towel and nightgown in hand, feeling a bit more content. But, happiness doesn't stay long in Nellie Lovett's swirl of a life. At her bedroom window was a hunched and rather filthy woman. Dropping the contents from her hands onto the floor, Nellie gasped. A rather filthy Lucy Barker.
Sweeney's face grew serious now as he crept silently up the winding staircase. The grip on his razor was so firm, so tight, and he lifted it to his face, whispering soothing words. His favorite blade, his closest friend, his entity, was begging for more and it grew hot in his palm. He found himself now at the top of the stairs and he looked up from his razor, wild dark eyes scanning the long hallway for any sign of movement. Then, there off to the right, a thick shadow of a man paced back and forth. Sweeney took a daring step further, stopping momentarily beside some fine drapery to clean off his blade. Now, moving forward again, crazed demon approached what seemed like a small study and stood idly in the doorway.
Judge Turpin, it seemed, had turned his back to Sweeney the moment he was in his doorway. The aging man walked briskly to the window and unhinged the lock, shoving it upward to let in a burst of crisp air. The wave of cold didn't settle Turpin's nerves, no, nothing could ease his anxiety away. He was a wanted man, and quite aware of it. Mrs. Lovett would surely find some way to do him in, even if he was in high standards with the constabulary. She would come for him in the night, carrying some sort of weapon, a twisted grin on her face.
It felt horrible, being afraid, Turpin decided. Not once in the longest time had any trace of fear passed through his daring green eyes, not once. He had always been ahead of everyone, above everyone. But there had always been something about that Widow Lovett that made him uneasy. When she passed him ever so often he could smell her strong perfume and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise if they ever exchanged glances. A sick feeling he had, like she was always watching, innocently from her shabby little bakehouse. A strangled grunt escaped him as he ran his hands through his graying brown hair, shaking.
If he hadn't drank the damn whiskey he wouldn't ever have approached Mrs. Lovett those hours ago. Any other woman, yes, seeing as he hadn't felt as puissant and in control after his troubles with the sailor boy and Johanna, and of course over powering a helpless woman would make him feel much better. It always did. He was above them, they were scum. Beautiful, virtuous scum, at that, but still much lower than himself. He was a Judge. He was who everyone would turn to when there was mischief and scandal, so no one would expect the most exemplary Judge Turpin to be involved with such things. With his strong stare and low voice, he easily intimidated all of London. And perhaps more than London when he vacationed in Scotland during the Christmas season. But never did he believe that he intimidated Mrs. Nellie Lovett, at least not enough.
The Judge began to pace again, not aware of the dark figure that lingered in his doorway, watching him so closely. Watching him with wild eyes, taking his distress in with a thin smile. Nor had he heard the Beadle's small scream down bellow. None of it. He was not aware as that dark figure tightened his grip on his blade and lowered his head to stare menacingly. Turpin, desperately, feeling a bit vulnerable, tore away his clever green jacket and threw it to the side of his study. His head began to pound horrifically again and he seethed in a painful breath, his hand shooting to the large wound on his forehead. He felt so foolish, thinking back on his attacker now, not being able to restrain himself from quite the young boy. But being caught up in such drunken bliss, he was caught off guard.
Such thoughts raced through his mind, the occasional worry of how Johanna was keeping in Mr. Fogg's sweaty asylum would never be pushed aside, along with an itching feeling that he had heard someone open the front door. No, that never happened, couldn't happen. He was safe and alone in his luxurious study, not to be harmed. He walked to the window again, sticking his head out and taking in a frantic breath of fresh air. There now, Judge Turpin. Everything was going to be okay.
"Complete filth."
It was the sound that brought the Judge from his hysterics, this low husky voice. He jumped in his place, banging his head on the top of the window.
"Horrible, ghastly, pathetic, meaningless filth." Sweeney was writhing in the moment, taking in staggering breaths and feeling light headed. His pace quickened to his most cherished victim, wanting to see the red, hear the screams. His wild, crazed glare was narrowed down on this animal, this revolting waste of life. Everything else had darkened into black, nothing was stopping him now.
Turpin attempted to turn around but was unable to as the window was shoved downward on the back of his neck. He heard the crack of bones and he let out a terrible wail, sending up frightened looks from the crowds down below. Again and again the bottom of the window was forced downward, sending horrible aching punches into his flesh.
Sweeney wouldn't of minded that there were crowds forming outside, seeing the open attacking of Judge Turpin through the window two stories above them. Some gasped, some shouted, some marveled as the head of this filthy man stuck out of the building, his face contorting into the most pained anguish. No, Sweeney wouldn't of minded at all, if he was even aware of it. The killer screamed words of loathing and profanity, watching greedily as the back of Turpin's neck split open.
Now for the front.
Sweeney threw the window up, his blade screaming to pierce flesh. With a mangled grunt, he turned over Turpin's body so he was faced to him, his head still out of the window. He would see his attacker, Turpin would know who was going to send him straight to hell to burn for eternity.
The raging barber, not hesitating now, thrust the top of his blade down straight into the center of his throat with a powerful yell. At last the blood, all of the marvelous blood.
"YOU WILL NO LONGER HAUNT ME," Sweeney screamed with finality, his voice much higher than usual. "YOU WILL NO LONGER PLAGUE ME." Another thrust now, and he could the blade push through the back of his neck, hitting the wooden pane.
Blood dripped slowly down from the window and soaked into the neatly trimmed shrubs and bushes on the front porch of his dwelling. Screams of terror echoed up from the busy streets and people shoved and pushed to see the gory sight above, others ran from it, chilled to the bone.
The window pane and the brick surrounding the window were now drenched in crimson as the glinting silver thrust robotically into flesh, tearing, stabbing. Killing. Sweeney didn't take notice of the teams of law enforcements were being called in, or that he had brought a well-planned out marriage proposal to a dead halt, a drop of blood falling into the soon-to-be groom's head. Nor did he see a young woman with yellow hair stop in senseless shock beside a strapping young man, to gaze up at the prison she used to reside in.
A few moments later, it was done. The killer was done. Sweeney let out a long, staggering breath, his shoulders hunched a bit as he pushed some of his bloody hair away. Everything was silent. The crowds below were still, wide-eyed, struck by the event. Todd glanced now to his searing blade and he licked his lips, tasting the metallic crimson. His revenge had finally been taken.
A/N: Well, there you go. I'm still puzzled on what I'm going to do with this, but you know me...bright ideas just pop into me head, and I keep thinking...