Usual disclaimer and thanks: Nothing is mine, Sweeney/Benjamin Barker belongs to Sondheim, Tim Burton, and Johnny Depp; Will Turner and his father, Bootstrap Bill and the Flying Dutchman (aka, Pirates of the Caribbean) don't belong to me either, etc., etc. Incredible amounts of thanks to my beta, Doris The Younger (check out her Lord of the Rings stories).

And many thanks also to my future reviewers—I really love reviews! Please - let me know what you think - even a simple comment means a lot to a writer.

Here at last is the end of the story. Let me know what you thought of it.


Chapter 07 Consequences

Days passed as Barker struggled to stay on the raft. He'd caught a fish once–actually, the fish flew into his raft as if it was sent, but nothing else appeared. The heat and light and salt ate away at his body, and he curled under the scrap of sail for most of the daylight hours. He didn't sleep, didn't rest, just lay on the raft, waiting out the days and nights, hoping to see any type of sails on the horizon.

I may end up returning to the Dutchman anyway. The days weakened him, breathing became harder, and every bit of moisture seemed to be sucked from his body. He didn't know how much longer he could last.

Barker called the images of his wife and daughter into his mind to give him the strength he needed.

Lucy's blonde hair and blue eyes in a pale oval face, smiling shyly and lovingly. A tiny baby girl called out to him. Flowers in Lucy's hands, flowers surrounding her, flowers in Johanna's blankets...love in his heart, his voice, his hands...

As he grew weaker, Barker knew that he wouldn't make it. He would die, and find himself either back on the Flying Dutchman or sent to the afterlife – the very fate that he had just managed to escape.

Golden hair, a sweet smile, the cooing of a baby... he tried to sustain himself with his love for Lucy and Johanna, but his strength still ebbed away.

And then the black fury came, and for once, he wholly welcomed it.

Flowers falling from his hands, dead and dry flowers that dropped from Turpin's hands, Turpin's hands banging the gavel, Turpin's voice sentencing him, Turpin's face in triumph...

Pale wan Lucy reaching for him, her golden hair streaming as she called to him, sweet Johanna crying, crying... his world ending... his heart breaking...

No, no, I'm innocent, I didn't do anything, can't you see what's happening, he wants her, he wants my beautiful Lucy and my baby needs me and I didn't do anything! I'm not the criminal –he is, he is!

Years of loneliness, isolation, torture... whippings and drownings and pain and cruelty and anger and hate... a pale face always in his mind, yearning and love submerged under determination driven by anger and hate...

A black fury filled his being with the determination to live, to survive.

Lucy, I'm coming for you, and I will make everything right. I will be there for you, and I will have justice for us. I will punish him, I will kill him, I WILL HAVE HIM!

The waves splashed over him, almost caressing him. Calypso's voice whispered in the waves. You have come back. You have chosen, my strong, determined man. You must live with your choice.

He was still alive – and he couldn't wait to return to London. Lucy was waiting for him. And so was Turpin. Benjamin Barker was finally coming home. No, that man is dead. Call me Sweeney... Sweeney Todd.


Hot, unending, torturous days later, the merchant ship appeared on the horizon, and approached his makeshift raft. As the ship grew closer, the wind that had filled its sails settled into a gentle breeze.

AHOY, came a call from the ship. A rope ladder was unrolled from the side and a young man nimbly climbed down the ladder to pull Todd's makeshift raft closer. "You're safe now. Don't worry," he said as he grabbed the man who called himself Sweeney Todd firmly but gently, and helped him cling to the ladder as they were pulled aboard.

His eyes wide and voice gentle, the sailor boosted him over the ship's rail. "You're safe now. Don't worry," he repeated. "This is the ship Bountiful, bound for London. I'm Anthony Hope, Second Mate."

The deck was moist beneath his hands. The aptly-named Bountiful felt real, and alive as the Dutchman had not been – full of noise and movement and sensation and life. He wanted to yell, to cheer, to laugh in joy... but he couldn't. I'm not alive enough for that.

Anthony Hope lifted him from the deck with a light, strong touch. "Let me help you, Mr..."

"Todd. My name is Todd," he managed to croak through blistered lips. His feet hurt, his skin hurt, the sun assaulted his eyes, and he wanted so much to laugh with relief. Pain is life... and I'm alive again. I'm alive!

Once again he found himself in a sickbay, bottles and bandages opened and scattered across the shelves. The ship's doctor examined him gently and carefully. After applying a soothing lotion to his skin, the doctor gave him a drink laced with laudanum. Throughout the ordeal, Hope helped the doctor eagerly.

At his request, Anthony Hope even found a hand mirror for him. His hand trembled as he gazed into the mirror.

He saw a pale face like a corpse, a face hollowed with torment, eyes black but burning with an inner light. His hair was almost black, and wild as the sea, with a stripe of white at his temple.

He couldn't remember what he'd looked like before... but he was a monster now.

He tried to force his face out of the scowl that was set there.

Nothing.

He tried to smile.

Nothing.

He wracked his brain to think of anything that could bring a smile to that terrible corpse-face.

Nothing.

The memory of Lucy's face brought a wave of longing and sadness and regret... and tears that could not fall.

He tried to feel grateful, tried to feel safe, tried to feel anything.

But feeling was almost gone, muted under anger and love roiling together... Lucy, and his Johanna. And Turpin, and the Beadle, and what he'd do to them. No matter what, they'd pay for what they had done to Benjamin Barker.

Sweeney Todd would make them pay for what they'd done. And he'd find Lucy, and Johanna, and... and by then he'd know what he wanted to do. Maybe by then he would feel alive again.

A wicked smile began to form on his face, but inside he felt like screaming and crying.

Benjamin Barker had suffered, had died, had fought his way back to the living, and had chosen between love and hate. God help him, he'd chosen.

END