7)
Sweeney stared at me silently for a moment before stepping to the side.
"Get in," he hissed, and I quickly scurried into the shop. Sweeney took my arm and, still panting, I allowed him to lead me to the chair that was in the centre of the room. I sat down, putting my head between my legs to overcome the sudden faint feeling that arose.
"Here."
Looking up, I saw that Sweeney was holding out a glass of water. I warily took it, staring at it as I contemplated drinking it.
"I haven't poisoned it," he assured me with a bitter tone. I couldn't decide whether he was annoyed with my reluctance to drink or if he was attempting to be humourous.
Deciding that I did in fact need a drink, I took a tentative sip of water. It trickled down my dry throat, sending cool relief and help through me.
"Thank you," I said quietly, continuing to sip my water. Sweeney stood by the window, watching me, and when I finished the water, only moved to take the glass from me. I thanked him again.
"Why are you here?" he asked me, taking his place by the window once more. He seemed wary to approach me.
"I was attacked," I told him. Something in Sweeney changed; there was a brief flicker of something in his dark eyes. Fear? Worry? I couldn't tell.
"I fail to see how that concerns me," he said loftily, turning away. I stood up.
"My attacker threatened me regarding the murders," I said as if he hadn't spoken, choosing to ignore his comment. "And tonight, a work colleague of my father's came to dinner." I paused for Sweeney to respond, but he was silent. "They are the same person."
Sweeney looked at me scathingly over his shoulder, but remained silent. It was clear he wasn't interested.
"My attacker was Judge Nathaniel Turpin," I said, and Sweeney visibly stiffened at the mention of his name. "I recognized his voice and I have suspicions that he may be the murderer."
Sweeney slowly turned to face me, but his eyes were distant.
"Judge Turpin," he whispered brokenly.
"Do you know him?" I hesitantly asked, taking a small step back. It occured to me that Sweeney was dangerous. I'd seen him threaten grown men, scaring them away from me, and I knew that he had razors.
"A pious vulture of the law," Sweeney sung quietly, under his breath. He seemed to have forgotten that I was standing in front of him. "Who, with a gesture of his claw, removed the barber from his plate . . . "
"Mr Todd?"
My voice seemed to have broken his trance like state, as his eyes snapped up to meet mine. He took a menacing step forwards.
"Judge Turpin is a monster," he hissed furiously. My eyes flicked down to his hand, widening when I saw the razor he held.
"You do know him, then?" I asked, forcing myself to keep eye contact with him.
"Yes."
I watched as Sweeney spun around and began to pace in front of the window, back and forth. He moved swiftly, like a caged lion. I prepared to run if I needed to.
"How do you know him?"
It was a risk I was taking, asking Sweeney about a man he so clearly hated, but I had to know.
"That . . . man sent me away," Sweeney spat as he continued pacing back and forth, never looking my way. "He sent me away and claimed my wife as his own."
Realisation dawned on me as I thought back to Sweeney's file.
Sweeney's wife had been raped and commited suicide shortly afterwards.
My eyes widened slightly as I stared at Sweeney in horror, my stomach churning uncomfortably.
"He raped her," I whispered. I felt sick. Turpin sent Sweeney away, leaving his wife alone with a baby, and took advantage of her.
Feeling faint, I stumbled backwards and fell into the chair. The room began to spin.
"Put your head down," Sweeney's voice ordered sternly.
"What?" I mumbled absent mindedly, blinking as I tried to clear my blurry vision.
"You cannot faint here, otherwise I will have to carry you home. I cannot explain that to your mother."
I leaned forwards, putting my head down, and shut my eyes as the uncomfortable feeling disappeared. It felt as if I was on an unsteady boat, like the ones found at parks. Ricky liked to take me on them, steering us around the lake. I never told him so, but they made me feel sick.
When I finally felt I had enough strength, I straightened up.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I'm not usually so weak."
I felt annoyed at myself as I said this; I'd come to ask Sweeney for help, but almost fainted twice and made him angry by questioning him on his past. Somehow, this wasn't going as I expected it to.
"Please," I said. "Will you help me?"
Sweeney regarded me silently, a hint of a sneer in his expression. I watched him, waiting and silently pleading.
"Why should I help you?"
"Because we're the same, you and I. We're both mad. We both want to rid ourselves of the guilt."
Sweeney stared at me, his mouth open as if to question what I had just said, but I spoke before he could.
"My family and I moved here because of me," I said. "I was in an accident." I paused before continuing. "My friends and I were in an asylum . . . and it collapsed."
"How did you survive?" Sweeney asked me quietly, as if he couldn't help himself.
"I was trapped in a pocket of air. My friends . . . died."
I closed my eyes as tears sprung to them, lowering my head, but Sweeney remained silent. I could feel his eyes on me.
"I still see them sometimes," I whispered. "They . . . talk to me."
"Ghosts," Sweeney said quietly, his tone understanding. I looked up at him.
"I came to you because you understand. You feel guilty for the deaths of the people you lost . . . you know Turpin. Please, will you help me?"
Sweeney stared at me silently, seemingly considering my plea for help. I sincerly hoped that he would. My family didn't believe me. If he didn't either, I'd be completely alone.
"Yes," he finally said.
Relief washed over me as I stood up, smiling at him.
"Thank you," I said. "Thank you so much."
It was late when I finally returned home, escorted by Sweeney. I asked him if he wanted to come in, but he refused. I didn't even have a chance to thank him before he turned and walked away.
The door opened before I could take my key out; Mum rushed out.
"Lucy!" she cried, enveloping me into a tight hug. I didn't return it, standing stiffly as she squeezed me.
Emma and Ricky were on the stairs when Mum took me inside, her arm around my shoulders. I looked at them briefly, but said nothing. Dad walked into the hallway.
"Finally," he said, shaking his head. "Lucy, we almost called the police."
"You should've done that earlier," I said bitterly.
"Because of your accusation, the dinner had to be cancelled," Dad snapped back. "Nathaniel felt very uncomfortable. The roast your mother made was completely wasted."
I felt guilty, but it was clouded by the anger I felt for my father. Glaring at him, I pulled away from Mum.
"Turpin attacked me," I said boldly, holding my head up. "Being a judge does not immediately make him an honourable person."
"Lucy . . . " Mum moaned behind me.
"Go to your room, Lucy," Dad ordered. "I don't want to see you for the rest of the evening."
I gladly followed his orders, storming upstairs and into my room. I made a point of slamming my door, such as Emma did when she had an argument with our parents, and then lay on my bed, waiting.
It didn't take long for Ricky to knock.
"Come in."
Holding a plate, Ricky walked in and, shutting the door behind him, sat down on my bed.
"I brought food," he said, holding the plate out as a peace offering. I smiled gratefully, picking up the sandwich he'd made me.
"Thank you."
"Where did you go, Lucy?" he asked me as I took a big bite. I waited until I'd swallowed to answer him.
"It doesn't matter."
"But, Lucy - "
"If you've come here to question me, I'd rather just be left alone," I snapped. Mumbling an apology, Ricky got up and left my room.
Guilt washed over me, putting me off my food, so I got up from my bed and put the plate outside my door. Someone would take it downstairs.
I lay on my back, staring up at my bedroom ceiling. I must've fallen asleep at some point.
I had nightmares all night.
"Is this your wife?" I asked, picking up a photo frame. The black and white photo was of a beautiful young woman. She was beaming, as if she was the happiest person alive.
"Yes," Sweeney answered me quietly. I smiled.
"She was beautiful." I looked over my shoulder. "What was her name?"
Sweeney was silent for a long time, and I briefly wondered if he had heard my question. I was considering asking him again when he finally spoke.
"Her name was Lucy."
His reaction to my name and presence in his shop suddenly became a lot clearer, and an uncomfortable silence fell over us. I looked away from Sweeney, putting the frame down.
"Like me." I forced myself to speak in a bright tone, grinning at him. Sweeney's lips twitched slightly.
"Yes."
It was the day after he'd agreed to help me. The atmosphere at my home was too uncomfortable and awkward to bear, so I made the excuse of needing to go into town to leave.
I found myself enjoying Sweeney's company, and he didn't object to my presence in his shop. I had spent most of the day reading while he paced, neither of us speaking, but it was a comfortable arrangement.
When my book was finished and I was left with nothing do, I took it upon myself to explore his shop.
"What's in here?"
I came across a simple wooden box on his desk and though I had my suspicions of the contents, I undid the latch and opened the lid anyway.
Seven razors were lined together, nestled in a bed of velvet, shining in the dim light of the room. I could feel Sweeney's eyes on me, watching me carefully as I tilted the box this way and that, admiring the razors.
I longed to pick one up, hold it in my hand, but I didn't think that Sweeney would take too kindly to me doing so. Still, I looked up at him.
"May I?" I asked quietly.
Striding forwards, Sweeney took the box from me. I watched him as he ran the tips of his fingers along the handles. His touch lingered on the last one, which he slowly lifted from the box.
He extended his hand and it took me a moment to realise that he was offering me the razor.
My hand shook as I took it from him, keeping the blade tucked in, and admired the detail in the handle.
"It's beautiful," I said quietly, handing it back to him. The most sincere grin I'd seen appeared on Sweeney's face as he held the razor up, taking the blade out.
"Yes," he agreed. "It is."
Lifting another razor, Sweeney softly sung under his breath.
"These are my friends . . . see how they glisten. See this one shine, how he smiles in the light . . . "
Thank you dionne dance and CadyD for reviewing!
