Sweeney
Sweeney managed to make it home without incident, even making the climb to his shop. Then, head spinning and little starbursts of pain breaking out across his vision, he collapsed into his barber chair and promptly lost consciousness.
Nellie
Nellie's fingers flew spasmodically through Fogg's many pockets, flickering in and out of existence. A sigh of relief left her mouth in a quick gasp as she discovered the dimly glowing blades of silver.
"Thank goodness," she whispered, cupping them carefully in her hands and rushing down the hall. 186 Fleet Street was... ten blocks away? Closing her eyes, Nellie said a quick prayer to whoever happened to be listening.
Please let me make it there...
Even in her hurry, Nellie paused once she was clear of the asylum to take in a deep breath of air. Though far from clean, it was at least free of the heavy scent of desperation and sour butterscotch candies.
No one seemed to notice the two silver barbering razors flying down the street, seemingly of their own volition, for which Nellie was grateful. Who knew what would become of the razors if someone saw.
Her hands were aching with effort, as if she was holding them in freezing water. She was sure the metal of the razors would be cold enough to burn by the time she got them back to Sweeney.
"Remind me why you're doing this again, dear?"
The Voice.
I don't need this right now, she thought tightly.
"Well, it just seems a little odd to me that you would suffer for a man who killed you..."
Shut up.
"He did, Nellie. That's one thing you can't lie to yourself about."
He wasn't right in the head-
"Is that an excuse for cold-blooded murder?"
Nellie squeezed her clouded brown eyes shut. The Voice was bringing up things she didn't want to think about, things she had forgotten in her mad desire to save Sweeney. Why was she doing this? Little worms of doubt began to nestle in her head.
The razors clattered to the ground.
Sorry for the long wait and short length, dears. :) Enjoy!