I notice that for some reason ffnet is repeating the first line of stuff—at least my stuff—at least the last part or two

I notice that for some reason ffnet is repeating the first line of stuff—at least my stuff—at least the last part or two. It's not my fault! I didn't do it!

Disclaimer: I don't own these folks, and I wouldn't sell them to make money if I did.

Warnings: Possible spoilers for movie/play, violence, m/m sexual activity of dubious consent.

Extra warning: Once again, we're backtracking a bit to see certain events from a different perspective. This is another not always pleasant part, so feel free to skip to the very end or to skip it entirely.

Many thanks to Miss Becky for beta-duties above and beyond the call of duty. And an enormous thank you to everyone who's sent me a review. You have no idea how good that makes me feel. We're almost to the end now. I hope you'll all think it was worth the ride.

P.S. Yes, I know I misspelled the title…

o-o-o-o-o

Nineteen A: Judgement

A block and a half from the Judge's house, Todd had to stop for a moment. He put a hand on the nearby lamp post for support and stood there taking deep breaths, gathering his resolve and courage. Then he straightened and proceeded down the street.

He very much wanted to look to the side where he knew Anthony and Connor were hidden, but he couldn't allow himself that luxury. Instead, he stepped up to the door, raised the knocker and let it fall, then forced a smile onto his face as the door began to swing open.

"Mr. Todd. Welcome, sir, welcome."

"An honor, my lord."

"The honor is all mine." Turpin's hand was on his back, urging him in and, as always, lingering a bit longer than necessary. "This way."

He heard Turpin shut the door behind him and throw the bolt, and then Turpin was grasping his elbow, escorting him down the short hallway to the library. "I thought we might begin in here."

In spite of himself, he faltered just across the threshold. Everything in the room was hideously, horribly, exactly as he remembered it. His stomach began to churn as he glanced around—the high-backed chairs (he had been sitting there when Turpin had told him the price of his freedom), the table (Turpin had taken the book from it and held it out and ended his innocence), the rows of books (which he now realized all had a similar theme). It was the room he'd seen in his nightmares for the past fifteen years—the room where the first nightmare had taken place.

"Mr. Todd?"

"My apologies, your honor. I was...overwhelmed by the size of your collection." He forced his feet to obey him and carry him forward, forced himself to forget the past and concentrate on the now. He pretended to be busy with the heavy coat, unbuttoning and putting it aside, until he was in control again, then moved toward the shelves. "So many volumes."

"Yes, it's taken half a lifetime to assemble this collection." Turpin beamed like a proud parent anxious to show off a beloved child. "Would you like to see?"

He kept his smile firmly in place and inclined his head and said, "If you would be so good as to allow it, sir."

"Sit." Turpin gestured to a chair. "Something to drink, perhaps?"

"That would be most gracious of you, sir."

When Turpin turned his back to fetch decanter and glasses, Todd closed his eyes briefly, and, as he'd done in every encounter with Turpin, thought of Anthony.

o-o-o-o-o

It was the first time Judge Turpin had come by the stall since he had joined Connor. Turpin didn't bother to wait in line with the others, but pushed to the front and climbed the few steps just as Todd was wiping the last flecks of lather from a customer.

"Judgea Turpin!" Connor gave him an elaborate bow. "Eefa you weela geeva me one moment, I weela be feenished and weela bea weetha you."

Turpin nodded and turned slightly, as if he were seeing Todd for the first time. "You're young Mr. Hope's friend, are you not? The one who assisted him in enlightening my dear Johanna."

"I am indeed, my lord." He wiped the soap from his razor and began to clean it with the rag hanging from his belt.

"I owe you my thanks for that. She has been most compliant since her return."

His hand tightened so quickly that he almost cut himself on the blade.

"So you're working with Signor Pirelli now."

"Yes sir. He has been kind enough to take me on as his assistant."

"He eesa the second besta barber eena London," Connor put in. "We hada the contest."

"Yes, I did hear something about that from one of the other judges." He raised an eyebrow. "Since you're occupied at the moment, perhaps I should give the second best barber a try today."

And in that instant, Todd suddenly knew the way to save Johanna from this man. He smiled and let his eyelids go half-closed and said smoothly, "I would be most pleased, sir, if you would…give me a try. Serving you would be the greatest of pleasures."

And yes, just as he'd expected, there was the flash of interest on the other man's face.

When Turpin hesitated slightly, he gestured toward the chair and murmured, "Please, sir. Sit."

As he flipped the sheet around Turpin, he made sure to let his fingers stroke across the nape of the man's neck as he tucked it in. And as he applied the lather and stropped the razor and began the shave, he made his movements slow, careful, sensual.

And when Turpin looked up at him, he saw in the Judge's eyes exactly what he had known he would see.

Turpin seemed reluctant to stand when he was finished. "Thank you, Mr. Todd. I don't believe I've ever had a more…pleasurable shave."

"My intent is always to…please, my lord."

When Turpin put the coin in his hand, he stroked a fingertip across Todd's palm. Todd gave him a knowing smile, and watched as he descended the steps and strode away.

Connor leaned toward him and murmured, "Exactly what are you playing at, my friend?"

"I know how to free Johanna."

"You don't mean to..."

"If that's what it takes." He turned away to welcome another customer into his chair and continued with the day's business, but he couldn't help thinking...wondering if he would be able to do what was necessary. And then he realized there was a way to find out.

That night he waited until Anthony came up from the shop, waited until Anthony was half-naked and blinded by the water in his eyes, and then wiped his face dry and kissed him.

Todd knew Anthony would respond, and he was not disappointed. Before Anthony really knew was happening, he was on his back on the bed, trousers down around his knees, making low, breathless sounds and arching into each touch. He tried to protest one last time when Todd slid down and dropped to his knees, but all it took was a single word and the boy was compliant.

Kneeling there, pleasuring Anthony, Todd was suddenly and deeply shocked to realize that for the first time in his life doing this was not wholly unpleasant. For the first time in his life, someone else's pleasure mattered to him, mattered very much.

And when next he reached for Anthony, it truly was because he wanted to…for both of them.

o-o-o-o-o

"Here you are, Mr. Todd."

"Thank you." He took the glass, inhaled deeply of the aroma, and then sipped.

Turpin stepped over and ran a hand along a section of books. "And what would you like to see first?"

"I leave it to your discretion, sir."

"Ah. Then..." Turpin pulled a volume off the shelf—thankfully, not the same one he had shown Todd fifteen years ago—opened it, and flipped through the pages. "You might find this enlightening."

Todd set his glass down and took the book, being sure his knuckles grazed along the Judge's hand as he did. He gave the man a lazy smile, then looked down at the drawings. His eyebrows rose. "These are very…enlightening, indeed."

Turpin leaned over his shoulder to point to one of the more extreme images. "I've always thought this was a physical impossibility."

"Difficult, at least," he agreed, turning the page. "This one, however…" He smiled again. "Is something I'm quite familiar with, if you would be interested."

Turpin caught his breath. "I would indeed."

"Of course…" He ran a fingertip across the image. "We will need a third. Is Beadle Bamford joining us this evening?"

"He is. He's just checking the doors, to make sure we won't be disturbed."

"The servants?"

"Have all been given the night off by their generous employer."

"Excellent." He retrieved the glass for another sip of the liquor. "And your ward?"

"I've ordered her to stay in her room."

"Ah. I trust she is an obedient child."

"Very, since her meeting with you and her cousin."

"I'm glad we were able to be of…service to you." He turned his attention back to the book.

o-o-o-o-o

It took another two and a half weeks and almost a dozen more shaves laced with seductive touches and sexual innuendo before Turpin took the bait. Todd was wiping away the last bit of lather when Turpin suddenly caught his wrist.

"Barber," he said in a tone that was almost a purr, "do you have any idea what sort of problem you're causing for me?"

Todd saw Turpin's hand move under the covering, obviously touching himself. He tried to make his eyes as wide and innocent as Anthony's so often were.

"It has never been my intent to inconvenience you, my lord." He lay a hand on the Judge's shoulder. "If I've done so, then you must allow me to…make amends. I'm sure that if you'll join me for a moment inside the wagon, I can provide a…more than adequate solution to your problem."

Turpin looked around, then surged to his feet and pulled the sheet off with one quick movement and ducked between the curtains. Todd gave Connor a meaningful look. He shook his head, but said only, "To-bee. Comea stay weetha me."

Todd took a deep breath, pasted a smile on his face, and followed the Judge.

Thinking about Anthony was the only thing that allowed him to do what he did and pretend to be glad to do it. As soon as Turpin was out of sight, he flung himself back into the wagon and vomited helplessly into the chamberpot Connor kept there, vomited until he was lightheaded and his throat was raw.

He sat on the floor, panting, wiping the back of a hand across his mouth, and was startled to realize that what he wanted most in the world at that moment was Anthony. He wanted Anthony—he needed Anthony—needed the boy to cleanse the foul aftertaste of Judge Turpin from his mouth and his soul.

And later that evening, Anthony gave him exactly what he needed, and more.

o-o-o-o-o

Turpin moved closer, pressing against his shoulder, and he could feel that Turpin was more than ready to begin the evening's entertainment. He brought one hand up and casually stroked down the bulge. Turpin caught his breath.

"I'd like to drag you down to the floor and have you right now," he growled.

Todd shook his head and pursed his lips. "I'm sure you have to wish to hurry this, my lord. You know that anticipation is quite often as thrilling as the actual doing."

For a moment, he thought Turpin was going to grab him, but then there was a sound at the door, and the Judge straightened. "Ah, Bamford. Everything's secured?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Good. Come in. Be sure to lock the door behind you."

"Of course, my lord."

"You remember Mr. Todd from our visit to Fleet Street."

"I do indeed, my lord, and I also had the privilege of presiding over the contest between Mr. Todd and Signor Pirelli." He bowed to the Judge as he joined them.

Todd almost frowned, but caught himself in time. Bamford had already put his hat and coat aside, but he was still carrying his vicious walking stick. Todd was too aware of the weapon; the memory was too sharp—how Bamford had used that stick, here in this very room. It had to be dealt with, and immediately, before Bamford decided he wanted to use it that way again.

"Gentlemen..." He set the book on the table, rose, and turned to face them. "I cannot tell you how flattered I am that you have agreed to allow me to be of service to you tonight." He took a step forward and caressed Bamford's cheek, then let his hand slide down to take the stick from him. "Interesting." He caressed the knobbed end suggestively as he flicked it, making it expand to its full length. "Ah. Very interesting."

"Mr. Todd…"

Turpin was reaching for him, but he wasn't ready to allow that. He was in charge of the situation for now, and he intended to remain in charge for as long as possible. He managed to avoid the grasping hand, turning toward the closest of the lamps.

"My lord, may I lower the lights? I find that shadows are more conductive to satisfactory relations."

Without waiting for an answer, he moved from one lamp to the next, turning down the wicks as much as he dared, throwing the room into semi-darkness. He pretended to check the curtains, to be sure they were drawn, and took courage in the knowledge that his friends were out there, watching, waiting for the signal he had just given.

He leaned the stick against the window casement and faced them. Ten minutes. He had ten minutes in which to make sure that Turpin and Bamford were so interested in him that they wouldn't be aware of anything else.

"Shall we begin?"

From the way they were staring at him as he came toward them, he suspected it wouldn't take even half that time.

o-o-o-o-o

It hurt, knowing Anthony had seen him with the Judge; he was surprised at how much it hurt. And it hurt in a different way to know that Anthony loved him enough to understand and forgive him and agree to do whatever he asked.

And oh, how it hurt when Anthony touched him, everywhere, even there, and it did not hurt...that Anthony made his body respond even a little for the first time since Evan and his friends had taught it not to...that Anthony was careful and clumsy and gentle and afraid, and that this, too, was not wholly unpleasant.

When he woke after only a few hours sleep, woke to the realization that he wanted Anthony to touch him again...that was, perhaps, the worst hurt of all, because it hinted of things that could never be.

Afterwards, when Anthony was snoring lightly against his shoulder, he swore to himself that if he were still alive when this was over, he'd try to be what the boy wanted.

o-o-o-o-o

None of them knew his real plan, because none of them would have agreed to it. They made their preparations to spirit Johanna away, and he nodded and gave them advice, knowing all the while that it would not be necessary.

Mrs. Lovett caught him at the foot of the steps as he was leaving for the market, and something in her eyes told him that she suspected what he meant to do, even if they didn't. "Y' off then?"

"I am."

She bit her lip, and he waited for her to try to talk him out of it, but all she said was, "You be careful. Don' y' dare get y'self killed. I don' wanna have t' deal w' that boy o' yours if y' do."

And then she went up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, and before he could even thank her, she was gone.

o-o-o-o-o

"Beadle Bamford, sir." He waved Bamford to the chair he had recently vacated. "I trust you'll have no objections if I give my attention to Judge Turpin first."

"No...none at all." Bamford dropped into the chair.

"And you, my lord." He was very close to Turpin now. "Do you object to...performing for an audience?"

The expression on Turpin's face answered for him.

"Then if I may..." He lifted his hands to Turpin's tie, pulling the folds of the bow loose, then drawing it slowly from around his neck, watching Turpin's nostrils flare as he tossed it to the side and moved on to the shirt buttons.

"You've always been so...dressed, sir," he purred. "I'd like to see a little more of you tonight."

Turpin hissed. His arms shot around Todd in a parody of an embrace, his hands dropping to clasp Todd's buttocks and pull Todd against him. "I want—"

"And you shall have it, sir, anything and everything you want, all in good time," he interrupted.

Turpin's fingers flexed, digging into the flesh, kneading. He allowed it for a moment, using the time to finish undoing the shirt and pushing it open, then shook his head and repeated, "All in good time."

Turpin's body was pale, a bit fleshy around the middle, with a scattering of silver hair across his chest. There was nothing attractive about it. Nothing desirable. So unlike...

He wouldn't let himself finish that thought. He bent forward and put his mouth to a nipple and sucked lightly, using only a hint of teeth, until Turpin groaned. "Todd..."

"Yes, my lord?"

"You're killing me."

For the first time all night, his smile was genuine. "Yes, my lord. That is my intent."

He took his time unhooking Turpin's braces, and teased at the buttons of his trousers until Turpin made a strangled sound and shoved his hands away and ripped them open himself. He made a sound of reproof.

"You are too hasty, sir." He held Turpin's eyes as he peeled the fabric back, movements sure and deliberate, then pushed them down...almost enough.

He glanced quickly toward Bamford. The man was staring at them intently, piggy eyes wide and unblinking, mouth hanging open, one hand on the front of his own trousers, rubbing at his crotch.

"Mr. Todd..." There was almost a threat in Turpin's voice now.

"At your command, my lord."

He dropped to one knee and reached in to slip Turpin free. Turpin was so ready that Todd feared he would explode at the first touch, so he continued to delay, lifting, stroking, flicking his tongue out to tease, until, with a groan, Turpin shoved a hand into his hair and pulled him forward.

Todd did what was expected, but only for a moment before he drew back and shook his head and murmured, "Surely you don't want to finish like this, m'lord, when there are so many other options."

Turpin was breathing heavily. "I have begun to think that you must have been a whore before you became a barber."

He almost laughed at the irony. "Oh no, my lord. I've never taken so much as a farthing for doing this."

"You're a damned skilled amateur then."

"I've had many opportunities to practice." He stood and nodded to the chair beside Bamford's. "If you'll be so good as to sit there, I'll be able to give both of you my attention."

And both chairs had their backs—their very high backs—to the door.

Turpin shoved his trousers down past his hips before he dropped into the chair. And while he was yanking them down his legs to kick them completely off, Todd reluctantly turned to Bamford.

He'd known that most likely he'd have to service Bamford in some way, and he'd thought himself ready. But he found it took all his strength to ask, "Beadle Bamford, will you allow me?" as he pressed the heel of his hand against Bamford's erection. Bamford threw his head back and wheezed.

"Sir, sir..." he chided gently. "You are both too eager. The pleasure will be over before it's truly begun."

He undid the fastenings of Bamford's trousers, taking even more time than he had with the Judge, dreading the moment when he would have to touch the man.

"Damn you, Todd, I've waited long enough."

Turpin was reaching for him again...and just at that moment he thought he heard a faint sound from the hallway, the creak of wood as if someone had stepped on it.

"As you wish, my lord." He reached into the pocket of his vest. "I've brought oil to ease your way."

"Excellent." Turpin threw a pillow to the floor to cushion his knees, kicked it into place behind Todd, then dropped onto it in the position he wanted. He grabbed the oil from Todd and made a curt gesture.

"Take care of Bamford."

Todd found that he couldn't give them a reply, not even a smile. All he could do was nod and turn toward the Beadle as Turpin had reached around him to fumble with his trousers.

"Allow me, sir." Fighting to remain in control—control of the situation; control of himself—he undid his trousers and let the waistband slip down below his buttocks. He couldn't help flinching when Turpin laid a hand on the bare skin.

"And what's this?" The Judge ran his hand back and forth across the flesh. "Are these...scars, sir?"

He couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. He'd thought—hoped—that with the light so dim Turpin wouldn't notice them.

"Have I discovered a secret vice, Mr. Todd?" Turpin chuckled. "Is it possible that you enjoy a good caning?"

He managed to jerk his head in a nod.

"Then I promise you that later I'll give you a whipping you will never forget, but for now..." Turpin moved closer. "Lift yourself so I can get at you."

He pushed up and leaned forward, between Bamford's legs, letting his forearms rest on the Beadle's thighs for support. He heard the sounds as Turpin prepared himself...felt the liquid drip into place...and fought with all his might against the gray fog that was descending, clamoring a demand to be allowed to take him away to safety. He shook his head. He could do this. He had to.

He thought he heard another sound in the hall and allowed himself a brief moment of believing that Anthony was there, that Anthony was touching his face and murmuring soft words of affection.

And then the Judge took him, groaning with pleasure, and he shoved the fog away and reached for Bamford and set himself to endure.

o-o-o-o-o

He heard the whistle—loud, distinctive, a long blast, a short, a long, a pause, then another series of the pattern. He closed his eyes with relief. Soon now. He let his right hand slide casually downward to the buttons of his vest, and glanced upward.

Bamford's eyes were squeezed shut, and he was oblivious to anything but his own pleasure. And Turpin—Todd knew his patterns too well, knew that the Judge was too near completion to notice anything amiss. He slipped his fingers into the inner pocket to retrieve the razor that he had honed to a deadly sharpness the night before, then dropped his hand and flicked the blade open with one swift movement.

He was able to wait now, for his waiting was almost at an end. Turpin was thrusting faster, faster…and then he felt Turpin shudder against him.

And then he moved.

He straightened, letting Bamford slide into his left hand, then brought up the right. The razor didn't completely sever the erect member from the Beadle's body, but it did quite enough damage. Before Bamford even had time to gasp with shock, Todd slammed his elbow into Turpin's chest, shoving him away.

He dragged his trousers up as he went to his feet, spinning, lifting the razor again. Turpin had fallen backwards and was staring at him, uncomprehending. "Mr. Todd? What are you…"

"Not Todd." He felt the madness coming and welcomed it—embraced it. "Barker. Benjamin Barker. And this is for what you did to Lucy."

"That filthy whore? What does she—"

The words were drowned by Todd's scream as he slashed blindly at the Judge. And he kept screaming, wordless screams of pain and rage and insanity, only faintly aware that Turpin had regained his senses enough to fight back…that they were rolling together on the floor with the blade dancing red between them…that he was cutting into flesh again and again and not caring whose…that someone was shrieking with agony…

And then everything went still, and he found himself on his knees beside a body that was no longer fighting.

He blinked and gasped for breath. Bamford was moaning piteously somewhere behind him. Turpin was lying on his back, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, drenched in blood. Everything around them was drenched in blood. He was drenched in blood.

And when he moved and felt the pain, he realized some of it was his own.

o-o-o-o-o

He knew too well what would happen if he lost too much blood; he'd had it happen, more times than he wanted to remember, after a particularly brutal whipping. He knew he had to finish what he'd started, just like he had back on the ship with Lewis, finish it while he still could, finish it now and forever, so Johanna would be truly safe.

He staggered to his feet and awkwardly fastened his trousers. He paused just long enough to silence the Beadle and wipe the razor on his shirt before tucking it away, then stumbled to the sideboard and grabbed a lamp and as many bottles of the Judge's fine liquor as he could carry. It would do.

The key was still in the library door. He turned it and pushed the door open with his shoulder, then started down the hall, moving from room to room, front of the house to the rear and back again, spilling the alcohol across anything that looked as if it would catch fire easily, then touching the flame to it.

In the kitchen, he thought he saw a shadow move, dart away from the door and into the pantry, and for a dreadful moment he was terrified that Anthony hadn't gotten Johanna out after all and she would see what he'd done. But then his fast-clouding mind reminded him of the whistle. The signal. Johanna was out of the house. She was safe. She'd never know...not what he'd done...not what the Judge had done to her mother...not what the Judge had done to him...

He found himself back in the library, dizzy, empty handed, not knowing where he'd left the last bottle or the lamp. He looked around and spied the decanter, on the table where the Judge had left it. He almost toppled over when he bent to pick it up. He unstoppered it and poured the contents over Turpin's body, then reached for the nearest lamp and dropped it.

And then he stood there, chest heaving, shivering, watching as the flame caught and began to burn. It was done. Johanna was free. Turpin and Bamford were dead. Revenge…justice…salvation...he was finished. And he was suddenly so very tired.

The flames were spreading quickly, and the house was beginning to fill with smoke. He shook himself and reeled from the room, back down the hallway, toward the door that opened to the alley. If he were going to escape, it had to be this way. He couldn't go out the front door, couldn't be seen leaving, couldn't let anyone know...

He almost made it before the smoke and blood loss overtook him. His legs gave way and he sprawled painfully onto the stone floor of the kitchen, coughing, gasping for air. The door was standing open. He tried to push himself up, get to it, get out...but he couldn't find the strength to move.

It didn't matter. They didn't need him anymore. Anthony would take care of Johanna, and Johanna would take care of Anthony. Anthony…he wished...

He slumped to the floor and let his eyes close.

"Ben! Benjamin Barker, open your eyes this instant!"

Lucy. He heard Lucy's voice, coming from a great distance, Lucy, his precious Lucy, and he knew he was dying.

"You have to get out. Please, please, oh God, Ben…"

He thought he felt someone grab his arm and try to drag him across the floor, but his consciousness was fading fast. He whispered her name, and he smiled.

And then everything was gone.