Chapter 7
I had quite a bit of trouble with this chapter, so I'm not sure exactly how it turned out... Anyways, anonymous review replies:
Bloody Pumpkinhead: Meh, spelling mistakes. We all make 'em :P Aw, your teacher came and dragged you off to class? And the dreaded math, too... I hate that subject with a passion XD
MK: Yes, it appears that she has XD I know, poor Mrs. Lovett eh? She should have lived, and she and Mr Todd lived happily ever after by the sea... but I guess that's what fanfiction is for, isn't it? :P
Mrs. Lovett shivered beneath the cold sheets of her bed. She was having a difficult time falling asleep. Countless thoughts were racing wildly through her mind; among them, wondering if she should regret that impulsive kiss. Mr. Todd hadn't reacted to it in the slightest, but she didn't really know what that meant. That was his usual manner: unresponsive.
On the other hand, if it had made him angry, he would surely have done something about it, wouldn't he? She sighed and rolled over, thinking that perhaps his head was paining him too much for him to even have noticed.
She speculated the advice that she had given him. She hoped that it had been sensible advice, being surprised as she was when she had replied to him. It had been honest, at least, if not helpful.
Reflecting back on what she had told him, she wished with all her heart that he could find a way to forget everything that had happened, and to really move on. To leave his past all behind, start a new life for himself. Even if he could never be the man he once was, she could help him to move on. And possibly, one day, perhaps he could be an ordinary person again.
With that thought resting heavily on her mind, Mrs. Lovett let herself be overtaken by the welcome nothingness of sleep.
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Finally, Sweeney slept. Mrs. Lovett had left him with quite a few thoughts whirling about in his mind. And this time, they were not all about Lucy. The throbbing pain in his head had only intensified since Mrs. Lovett had left, but he eventually succumbed to fatigue and, though unwillingly, drifted off. He knew what awaited him.
The dreams came. The recurring, spine-chilling dreams that haunted him every night of his life. They were the reason that he was afraid to let himself fall asleep, and what kept him from truly resting during slumber.
Terrifying dreams. Dreams of torture, of betrayal, of blood. And pain. Pain that engulfed him entirely, that was interwoven with every fiber of his body and soul.
Agony.
He was drifting in an infinite black haze, without direction and without purpose.
Then Lucy's face loomed ahead of him, and suddenly he was on his knees on the floor of his barbershop. She stood in front of him, gripping an ominously gleaming razor in each hand. Half of her face was obscured by deep nighttime shadows, the other half twisted in malevolence. The corners of her lips were curved upward in a satirical sneer as she looked down on him, disgust etched in every line on her face.
Lucy's arm came down in a wide arc, her wrist flicking the blade cleanly across his exposed throat, her grin widening. He felt no pain; the only thing he was aware of was terror welling up inside him, helplessly watching blood streaming down his shirt front. He clutched blindly at his neck, panic overwhelming him as crimson gushed from between his scrabbling fingers.
As he felt his life quickly draining away, Lucy began to laugh. A cruel, mocking laugh that spun about him in the air, surrounding him and swallowing him up like a swarm of insects. Lucy's figure began to shimmer while she laughed, dissolving into nothing until she had almost disappeared. Just when Sweeney thought she had vanished for good, and the last few trickles of blood escaped the slit in his neck, the shimmering figure began to take on a new form.
The new form was sullen and gaunt even as it materialized, smiling unkindly while eyeing the pool of blood on the floor. It wiped off the razor almost nonchalantly, staring down at Sweeney's body distastefully.
It was himself.
"Mr. T! Wake up, Mr. T!"
Sweeney was suddenly wrenched back into reality. He sat up too quickly, and his vision went blurry for a moment, and he went lightheaded and woozy, still in shock. His body was awash in a cold sweat, and he almost passed out from the stabbing pain in his temples. His mind blanked and he went into a state of brief oblivion.
Slowly, he became aware of Mrs. Lovett's arms around him, rocking him gently, her voice murmuring soothingly into his ear. Her cheek was pressed against the top of his head, and her fingers were stroking his hair gently as she held him.
As Sweeney became more alert, the throbbing in his temples increased. And as the throbbing increased, he became conscious of the situation. Abruptly, his eyes snapped open and he shrank back from Mrs. Lovett's touch, recoiling when she reached out to him. Anger churned in his belly. He was mortified of how this must look to her, how he must look. How dare she touch him! Particularly during a time when he was in too much of a daze to have realized what she was doing.
"Mr. T-"
"Leave me alone," he interrupted forcefully. He stared at the charred remnants of the fire on the hearth, refusing to look her in the eye.
"But Mr.T -"
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" He shot her the most hateful look he could muster. He'd been humiliated enough this night. And yet again, she had somehow caught him in another moment of vulnerability.
Mrs. Lovett stood up with a start, tripping slightly on the lace hemming her nightgown. She looked shocked for a moment, but her expression swiftly changed back into one of concern. She opened her mouth to object; Sweeney gritted his teeth and screamed at her inwardly.
"Mum? Wot's goin' on?" an apprehensive voice asked, startling both Sweeney and Mrs. Lovett. "And why's 'e in 'ere?"
Sweeney and Mrs. Lovett both turned to see Toby standing in the doorway, a curious and confused expression on his face.
Mrs. Lovett quickly snapped into action. "Nothing, dearie," she said, walking over to him. She put a hand on the boy's shoulder and steered him back through the door.
"I'll explain everythin' to ya in the morning — go back to bed now; you're a growin' boy, ya need your sleep. Goodnight, love."
"'Night, Mum."
Sweeney was slightly surprised that Mrs. Lovett really had left him alone. He heard the faint creak of bedsprings, and the whisper of a long sigh emanate from the direction of Mrs. Lovett's bedroom. He supposed that he might possibly have been a bit harsh with her. But she was always confoundedly concerned about him, when sometimes all he needed was to be alone. He knew she was terribly fond of him, though he couldn't quite understand why.
This night, however, before this incident, had seemed unusual. It had been different somehow. He had actually sought out conversation with her; actually wanted to know her opinions.
Things were changing; he could feel it. But for the better or for the worse, he didn't know.
Sweeney did not sleep again that night.
