21

He had always had it. Or, Benjamin had always had it. That photogenic-but-not-quite memory. Everything he saw somehow always managed to stay in his head, he was always able to look back on his day and recount everything.

In Australia his gift for remembering became more like a horrible curse, as it felt each sweat and blood drop on his body was forever imprinted on his mind. Oh course hard labor and abuse from wardens was just part of the cruelties there. He had to quickly learn to shut things out, forget. Most of his memories turned inward after the first few months, locked away, never to be revisited. More and more of his time was spent on the older, happier ones.

Sweeney paused mid throw (it was a foot this time) as a sudden realization came to him. When Benjamin started to lock away his pain into one corner of his mind, was that his start? Was that his beginning, stitching himself together from the memories the man couldn't cope with? With a discontented growl, he threw the foot.

The demon barber had much the same memory as the man he came from, but he cared little for revisiting his memories, and often let Benjamin's haunt him.

Of course, everything was still there, locked away, waiting for something to let it out. Thankfully there was very little London held that could make of him think of his prison, and the painful days were kept under lock and key.

Many of his memories on his return to London underwent the same treatment. Not that much of what he saw really needed to reach his consciousness anyway.

Right now the fact was rather irritating.

He had pieced together easily enough the connection to the pies and the hordes of people suddenly eating one another. Sweeney highly doubted Mrs. Lovett could have done it, besides, why would she want to? So he went looking for information.

A scrap of clothing, a ring, perhaps a certain complexion in a customer's skin could trigger his memory. Quite a few prattled on incessantly while he prepped them for a shave, and each and every word was stored and then locked away in his mind. Someone surely had to have mentioned something strange, something he could go off of. Something that could lead him to who did it.

Each body part he looked at seemed to fuel his irritation, turning it into anger. Never before had his ability to store and ignore all things been a nuisance.

Mrs. Lovett ran her hands across his rolling pin, smearing them once more with blood and quite possibly brain.

Johanna watched her for a moment before going back to her chair and picking up her cross-stitching. Feeling oddly at ease with the feeling her guest was insane, she thought back on the scraps of information that had been given to her. It never occurred to her that Mrs. Lovett could be lying, and instead embellished on the vague statements.

'They were good people' sent her mind off in a million different directions, and after only a moments hesitation, she started to speak of them out loud.

It wasn't as if she was crazy, Mrs. Lovett was there after all, though after hearing Mr. Mayhew's name she seemed to have become unresponsive. She talked about the different ways her parents must have dressed, what their favorite time of the year could have been and speculated on what her father did for a living. Which, strangely enough, was what brought Mrs. Lovett back to reality.

"Barber."

Johanna nearly stabbed herself with the needle. "Excuse me?" She asked, still a little surprised at hearing the woman's voice.

"Your father was a barber."

"Oh.."

"He was the best in London until he got sent away."

"Sent away?" The girl asked, feeling a strange tightening in her chest. She had made assumptions about her mother, but never before had she ever thought on why her father hadn't kept her.

"Life imprisonment."

Johanna felt like crying. Her father was a convict. She stared at the needle in her hand, seeing its tremble.

Mrs. Lovett finally noticed the girl's shakiness and cursed herself. That was exactly the type of thing she was trying to avoid with Johanna. The dirty details, and the way she herself knew the truths when no one else did.

Her mind, however, skipped over caring for Johanna and went back to James Mayhew. Mrs. Lovett began to chew on her lip.

Why did it have to be him?

A/N Coming up with Sweeney's very tweaky memory was incredibly fun.. I've noticed a severe lack of dead-men-walkin' so they'll probably be coming up within the next few chapters. I'll also say I've noticed how little has actually happened in the past few chapters, and will quite possibly apologize if the slowness keeps continuing.