Yea, the fifth person! I wanted to do this person because I think too many people give the said character too much crap on Fanfiction(and also, I think the said character needed to see Sweeney). Like it or hate it, it is what it is. If you cooperate and read, your Goodie of the Day is...sugar cookies! and in honor of the Fourth of July...they have white frosting with red, white, and blue sprinkles! enjoy.

ps. i keep forgetting to do this, but I guess it's important so I don't get sued: yes, I do own Sweeney Todd, because I am, in fact, the Goddess of Musicals. Poof! Sweeney is mine.

The emptiness mocked him, giving him no relief. He stared angrily at the white door he just passed through. He pounded on it, yanked the knob, and kicked it as hard as he could, but it was no use; it refused passage to Rebecca and Johanna. He felt sick to his stomach, and attempted to lie down, put he more or less merely fell to the "ground". He examined his appearance to see how much more he was rotting away. His clothes didn't look much different, just thinner and far grayer. He wasn't able to comb his hair with his fingers anymore; it now, more than before, resembled thick, black wire. Pulling out strands, he noticed several were the color of snow. He felt his face; it was rough and cold, thick lines covered his face. They were not wrinkles, but stress lines that hardened his features, which darkened the shadows around his eyes. His hands were coarse, full of hardened calluses, and pale as sin. He felt lethargic, almost dreamy. He wasn't sure if he could sleep in this place, or even if he needed to. Perhaps he was only exhausted from his encounters. He felt drained, as if the universe was toying with his mind, purging him of what he once knew and thought. He knew that he could never find himself until the ordeal was over.

He wasn't sure whether or not to call this experience an ordeal. Was it difficult and full of hardship? Yes, but it was also a rewarding, fulfilling journey. He had learned so much and saw so much of life in a different way, all the while traveling along the difficult route. He was now apprehensive of the future, but grateful for the past. So much about his life seemed to make more sense now, and the world seemed a less menacing place. But he could not still overcome his guilt and hatred over a handful of people, especially her. His fists tightened at the thought of Mrs. Lovett. How could she betray him so horribly; how could she lie so cruelly?

He didn't have long with his thoughts to himself, however. As before, the white around him began to disappear, replaced by the slowly materializing and melting colors, forming shapes and figures of all sizes. The screeching, deafening, grinding sound filled the atmosphere around him. He covered his ears, trying to drown out the cacophony that enveloped him. The room around his began to solidified, forming a square room with an unusually slanted wall, a grand window taking up most of the space. Wood flooring cracked into place, forming tight planks. The room was a cheery yellow, with brown pinstripes. A bed, a cradle, and other furniture dotted the room. Judging by the light coming from the window, it was twilight, but several candles lightened the room, giving it a calm appearance. He gasped when he realized what this room was: his barber shop, fifteen years ago. He was overcome with nostalgia. The room was so quaint, and so pretty, nothing like he knew it as now. He had almost forgotten that it once looked like a happy sanctuary rather than a grim reminder. The last thing he wanted while serving his second chance was to be placed right back where it all began, but here he was. Still, looking at the room the way it used to be made it far more tolerable. He traveled towards the window, the light of the closing day coating his skin. The view was wonderful; the buildings looked new and colorful, the air was clean and clear, and the sunset shown a beautiful orange against pink clouds. It was beautiful yet sad, disappointing to know that the room's atmosphere of optimism died. He wanted to breathe in the smell of the room, which always carried wafts of vanilla, but he knew that the gift of respiration had long left him. He chuckled morbidly to himself, realizing that a good sigh would work, too, but that was no longer possible. He turned his gaze back to the setting sun.

"It's beautiful, isn't it, Ben?"

Sweeney stiffened. He knew that voice, that sweet, wonderful voice that he had forgotten so long ago. He wept when he could no longer produce it in his head. He loved to hear it, to dwell in it, and he had been denied of it all these years. His whole body began to sweat, and he felt a trickle of sweat creep down his forehead. He turned his head more slowly than ever before. He longed to be confirmed that it was indeed her, yet didn't want the torment if he saw that it wasn't. His eyes gazed behind his increasingly large mass of black hair, straining to see past his wisps of wire. His shoulders turned to aid his repressed eyes. And then he saw her. Her golden, curly hair shown wondrously and her blue eyes shown with wonder as she gazed into his dark brown eyes. It took him a while to part his lips, and even longer for a voice to rise in his throat, until he forced out the name of the most beautiful woman in the world.

"Lucy," he whispered.

"It's always been beautiful," she said, smiling with all the joy that one could contain. Sweeney could hardly stand, yet alone speak. He fell to his knees, finding it hard to hold his head to face her. He had almost long forgotten what she looked like, but now her features shown brightly, rekindling his memory. She was even more beautiful than he remembered, not at all like the beggar woman had he last seen. No, that devil wasn't Lucy; it was not her spirit or her grace, only her body with no soul. Even though his eyes saw, he still was disbelieving, unable to comprehend that she was standing before him.

"It can't be," he said.

"Yes, it can," she replied in a voice no louder than a whisper.

"It can't be, it can't be, it can't be," he muttered to himself, barely audible even to his own ears. She reached out and touched his face, her fingers delicately gracing his changed features. He didn't feel her warmth, only her touch, but he soaked up the feeling like air. She knelt in front of him, her hand continuing to caress his face. He reached out his hand to touch her face, feeling her imperfect skin. He caressed her hair, shining with more color and vibrancy than anyone he had ever seen. He stared into her deep, bright, and warm blue eyes, falling deeply into its trance. Sweeney smiled, his heart filling with such joy that he was sure it would burst. A cool line grazed his face. He touched it with his index finger and realized that, for the first time in fifteen years, he was crying tears of joy.

"Come with me," she said softly, rising to her feet. She guided Sweeney along, lifting his arm with ease. Grasping his hand, she led him to the window, the sun finally disappearing behind the London skyline. "The view was always this beautiful, wasn't it?" she asked.

"It was, but not for a long time," he said.

"What happened?" she asked.

"You were taken from me," he said, his hold of her hand tightening, as if he would not let go for the rest of eternity.

"You've changed, Ben," she said, caressing his hair and staring into his eyes, darkened from the world's evils.

"Many years have come and gone since I lost you," he said. She smiled.

"Well, I'm here now, and that's all that matters," she said. She pulled him into a hug, and he returned the embrace. She was so soft, yet he was saddened that he couldn't feel her warmth. He wanted to remain this way with her day and night forever and ever. This was paradise, this was home. The rest of the world no longer mattered, only Lucy was important. He wanted to stand by her side forever, to gaze into her eyes until time stopped, and to kiss her until the end of days. But he knew that that wasn't possible, not now. Later, perhaps, but not until this journey came to a close.

"How long do we have?" he asked.

"As long as you like; as long as I'm here with you," she said. "But, unfortunately, not an eternity," she said. That didn't bother him; after his next two people, he would have eternity. He smiled sadly.

"What's wrong?" she asked with her eyes full of concern.

"The last time I saw you, it wasn't you, it was only…only…" he could bear to say the word monster. "It wasn't really you."

"That part of me is dead, only the true me survives now," she said. He cringed; he once said something like that, and it changed the course of his entire life. A horrid idea came to his mind. He knew this part of the journey was inevidable, but he longed for it to delay. He needed to ask, so he could be prepared.

"Do I have to see you…die?" he asked, to scared to know the answer. Unfortunately, her eyes dimmed in animation.

"Both times," she said. His head sank, and his eyes welt up with more bittersweet drops. Both times. He knew exactly what she meant.

"Does it have to be soon?" he asked. She drooped her head, the experience obviously difficult for her.

"The hour has come. My soul left at twilight," she said, she, too, on the verge of tears. He wanted to protest, he wanted to shout no, and that it didn't have to be this way; it was too soon, he wasn't prepared. But it was too late; the smoky image of Lucy appeared behind him. He turned his head to watch, though it was not his bidding. He attempted in vain to shut his eyes and turn his focus away, but his pupils were forced to concentrate on the scene before him. The real Lucy held him close, assuring him that this wasn't real. Lucy's image was crying, weeping, grieving. She could hardly contain herself; she stumbled about, knocking over the lamp. He heard a cry from the crib in the corner. Johanna. Lucy was clutching a small bottle with no label in one hand, and a bottle of gin in the other. She took a swig of gin, gasping for air once she swallowed it down.

"I can't do this anymore," she muttered to herself, sobbing uncontrollably. "I can't, I can't, I can't…" She slumped to the far corner of the room, and folded into a fetal position, her head sunk to her knees. She continued to weep, all the while saying "I can't, I can't" over and over again, until the words faded to a mere whisper. Sweeney didn't move, he could only watch in horror. He clutched Lucy tighter while holding back a scream. Lucy lifted her head to look into the mirror that stood across the room. She stared maliciously at her reflection, her eyes hardening into angry squints. She rose from the corner and half-stumbled to the reflective glass, eying it with a venomous glance. Sweeney had never seen Lucy like this, and it frightened him. She stared at the mocking mirro for some time, her breathing intensifying.

"Stupid slut!" she screamed at herself. Lucy heaved the empty gin bottle at the mirror. Both the mirror and the bottle shattered, leaving shards of glass scattered along the floor. The loud crack startled Johanna, and she began crying. Lucy continued to weep. A distant call could be heard from downstairs.

"Lucy, is everythin' all right?"

Lucy didn't respond, even as the faint sound of footsteps could be heard. Lucy eyed the bottle in her hand, and then the crying Johanna, and finally her broken reflection in the mirror. Her attention turned back to the bottle once more.

"I'm sorry." She raised the bottle above her head as if to make a toast. "Til death do us part," she said. She drew back the little bottle, and swallowed its contents whole. Sweeney longed to part from this waking nightmare, but had no way to turn away or shout. The only thing he could do was clutch Lucy tighter. The sounds of footsteps were heard on the stairs, growing louder and louder. The figure of Lucy was fading, her edges blurring, and her features less distinct. The figure appeared dizzy, and collapsed on the ground, the bottle rolling away from her hand. Her figure faded to gray, and the sounds of footsteps faded. Another shadowy figure appeared in the doorway, but there was no way to recognize who it was, even though Sweeney knew perfectly well. Eventually, both of the figures faded away completely. It was now dark, and the candles left the room with an eerie glow. The force which kept Sweeney from looking away ceased, and he turned to face Lucy, burying his face in her hair.

"That wasn't supposed to happen, no, no, no…"

But it began to happen again. The force jerked his head off of Lucy, forcing him to turn it around. Behind him was the shadow of Lucy, but it wasn't the one he held in his arms. This Lucy was haggard and dirty, with clothes that no longer held color, and were so old and thin that their mere skeletons were practically all that was left. Her face was hideously distorted by scars, warts, and boils, her hair lying in stringy, greasy, gray-yellow strands. She twitched and jerked her body in the oddest of fashions, muttering to herself and hopelessly searching the barber shop for another human being. Sweeney jerked when he saw his figure appear in the barber shop, the look of demons in his eyes, the shadows of evil cast upon his face. He remembered his final minutes as being strangely dreamy, as if he was walking in a drunken haze. He had lost himself in those moments, left himself behind and let the Dark Guidance lead the way. It was only until he realized the full consequences of his actions did his senses become clear. Sweeney suddenly fell into the same stupor as before, the actions of the shadows becoming slow and fuzzy, their words incomprehensible. His mind felt like it was tumbling blindly, falling into a state of complete emptiness. He saw himself approach Lucy, look madly into her eyes. When he slit her throat, his senses once again heightened. The blood never looked more disgusting or horribly crimson and thick. Lucy's eyes widened, and she was still. He pressed the lever by his chair, and Lucy disappeared into the depths of the bake house. Sweeney's image faded instantly, the last look in his eyes was annoyed relief. When he opened this mouth, this time, his throat obliged, and he let out a painful, desperate cry of agony. It was long and loud, and he felt the room vibrate somewhat. He broke into hysterics, screaming Lucy's name, all while she clutched him, trying to calm him down.

"It wasn't real, Ben, it wasn't real!" she said, desperately trying to calm her husband down. He sank to his knees, and pressed his hand to his face.

"I'll never forgive myself for this, and you'll never forgive me. What must I do to leave this nightmare?" he said. She touched his cheek with one hand and stroked his hair with another while humming an unknown lullaby. She lifted him to his feet and guided him towards the door of his shop. "Come, let's leave this dreaded place."

"We can leave?"

"Of course. Anything is possible, even forgiveness."

And with that, they left the barber shop, Sweeney guided by his Lucy into the realm of the unknown.