Chapter 21

London, England.

"Miss, stop fidgeting," Richard Taft ordered the young girl as he towed her down the gang planks of the ship and onto London streets. The blonde head swiveled backwards to observe her slave ship for the last time, scorn in her gaze, yet her facial expression remained unchanged as her head turned towards the winding roads that lay ahead. Where they would lead was an alarming fact, but the exact way in which they would arrive there was unknown.

Keeping her tongue within her cheek, Johanna stared objectively at the hand that rested upon her arm, its fingers wrapping tightly around her with each resounding footstep down the echoing walkways. Her arm shifted in a rebellious manner, but the rough shake that Taft had given her afterwards was a warning in itself. Crestfallen, she submitted to his demands and rushed through the darkened streets of her dreaded nightmares.

"Are you aware of where you are going?" Johanna questioned, not truly caring if he did or not. In all honesty, she prayed that the officer had not the slightest idea where he was headed and turned on his heel, bringing her back to the ship where she could slip into her cabin of numbness, darkness.

"Yes, Miss, I am well aware. Used to live here, you see," he responded, slightly startled by her words. She had not spoken to him for months, if not for a slight word or too.

The instinct of stomping on the man's foot was all too promising, yet reason, as much as she truly detested it, was harsher than the fingers that bruised her skin.

"Judge Turpin's house is down this way," he whispered to himself as he turned a sharp corner, revealing a suddenly paved road, glowing with soft light from the street lights.

Johanna offered an instinctive wince upon hearing her soon to be guardian's name. But once the door to Turpin's home penetrated her stares, the tempo of her heart's beating increased to a sickeningly high pace. The window she had spent so many years hopelessly observing the world lay above their heads, a large detriment from the ominous house, adorned with carved lions as sentries. She had left one prison and returned to another.

"Please, Mister Taft, sir," her quivering voice beseeched. "Don't send me in there." She clung to his jacket's sleeve and imploringly burned the side of his face with her desperate glare. In fear of succumbing to the girl's earnest wishes, the officer kept his head forward, though his eyes darted to the side and skimmed over her slight figure.

"I must do what has been asked of me."

Johanna coughed back the cries of despair. Of course her pleas would be rejected by the officer. Partially in Taft's defense, she reminded herself that Turpin had most likely threatened the guard, terrifying him into abiding by the tyrant's rules. The defense for the male soon crumpled, dominated by the venom within her withering heart.

"He will beat me..." she informed the man miserably, remembering the statement her previous employer had murmured on the night of the fateful letter's delivery. "He may even kill me.

At first, it seemed the sentry was taking heed of her warning and actually considering the weight of each word. Curtly shaking his head, he muttered in a dead tone, "I am sorry, Miss."

Taft rapped the door with his knuckles, scoffed at the door's knocker, and lifted the brass handle, letting it plummet to the wood's surface.

At this, Johanna jumped. Her breathing seemed to be the reason for her constricted throat, the suffocation darkening her vision. Trembling fingers pressed to her throat, she made attempts to ignore the tears that slipped from her eyelids and poured down her wrists, to her viciously trembling arms, to her tattered boots. If she strained her ears, she could almost hear the faint thump of her guardian's boots upon the polished wood of his home, slowly making their way to the front door, to her.

To ensure the girl did not turn and flee, Taft pulled her towards his body and tightened his grip, bringing forth a small whimper from her lips. His head bounced towards the sound, but shot back towards the large doorway as the volume of the deep footsteps increased, like a terrorizing crescendo.

The door's handle began to jiggle ever so slightly; the deep draw of breath could be heard from the confinements of the home.

"P-p-please, sir," the girl moaned, sobs seeping through her high-toned, cracked words. She turned her face to the floor, staring at the dirtied pavement rather than her guardian's smug expression, her capturer, her executioner. He would not see her like this.

She could not see who stood in the doorway of what was once her home, but the leering presence seemed to have been more assuring than staring into the man's face. By her side, Taft's shoulder straightened, his body stiffened at attention.

"Your honor, I have brought the girl." Unless Johanna had imagined it, she could detect a slight shiver behind his informative statement.

Instead of a response, fingers shot out towards the girl's chin, grasping it roughly and jerking her face upward. The action was so sudden, so unexpected, she had not the time to close her eyes shut and refuse to entertain the male's gaze. No, she now stared into the cold, black eyes of her guardian like the helpless quarry that she so pitifully was.

Judge Turpin seemed to have aged, she noticed that much. Red rims encircled the murderous spark in his eyes. His hair had taken on a whiter shade, perhaps because of his demanding profession, but it seemed blatantly obvious that the man had acquired such a worried state because of her absence. A twinge of guilt tugged at her heart, diminished as Turpin's eyes wandered down her ragged figure. He drunk in the sight of her, suddenly aroused by the ragged, almost forbidden look she possessed. It only made him covet her to an even higher extent. And she saw this all within his observational glare.

"Very well, Officer, you are dismissed."

Richard Taft did not bother to hide his expression of relief from the conclusion of his task, but the greedy flame within his gaze erupted to wildfire as he held his palm outwards, expecting some sort of sum for his persistency and obedience.

Turpin studied the opened palm of the Officer, eyes narrowed. "You expect to be rewarded." It was not a question, but a mere observation.

Slightly withdrawing his hand in sudden alarm, Taft babbled his apologies and released Johanna from his tightened grasp within a single moment.

"Enough, Officer," the judge commanded with persuasive authority. After Taft slouched like a disobedient child, Turpin, in a forced voice, began to speak calmly to the guard. "Now, after all that you have done, I am certain a penny or two would do no harm." His ensuring smiles made Johanna's stomach clench in disgust.

He distributed a tip to the shocked man with a hazardous smile upon his lips, a beam of triumph. "Consider the tip a purchase on my behalf. For with that money, I have bought silence." His eyes glinted in the dim light from the streetlamps, a dangerous flicker of forewarning.

"Yes, sir, "Taft said, nodding his head in understanding before turning to make his leave. As his head swiveled to the side, he momentarily caught Johanna's petrified glance. To her distain, the man's expression held regret, and yet he continued to stride down the steps, stance now held upright with tainted pride.

The only man she could have loathed more than the disembarking sentry now placed a hand on her shoulder, curling around her bones like a vulture's claw entrapping its prey. Still, she dared not face him.

Not even bothering to order her inside, his movements were swift and curt, harshly yanking her inside of the house.

Turpin did not release his hold, nor did he slacken his grip as he pulled her through the main hallway. When she faltered, his hand jerked her forward, when she let out a cry of pain, he only increased the strength of his grip. Her cries were a beautiful sound; the edge in her young voice was like a morose song of which he and only he could enjoy. How he had missed the feel of her beneath his hand, the pleas that rose from her thin throat, like the neck of a swan…

"Ah, Beadle!" he called to his companion that rested within his study as he passed the room. "Come and observe our charming little visitor!" Placing both hands on her shoulders, Turpin wrenched the child before him and produced his prize to the snide male.

Bamford's response was nothing more than a malicious smirk and mock bow of his head. "It is a true delight to have you grace us with your compelling presence once more, my dear." His lips puckered in delight as she shrunk back from his looming figure, yet recoiled in repulsion when her back slammed into Turpin's torso.

Chest heaving, she remained silent, promising herself that she would not lose her nerve in the midst of her true horrors.

From above, the judge observed the crown of her blonde head in tormented delight. Apart from the haggard appearance she held, his Johanna was still perfect, utterly angelic. Still she held the glorious tresses of silken gold, still her eyes remained pure irises of soft blue. Her skin, apart from the tanned color, was soft under his coarse hands, her body still trembled beneath him, just as she used to. God, how he yearned for her!

"Come now," he strained to keep his voice within control, "you must return to your room."

With widened eyes, her mind comprehended the longing within his tone in less than a second. "No, sir, please…" Her small voice beseeched him with all of the sentiment he had been so deprived of.

It was simply too much for him to bear. His clutch on her arms now tightened with all of the strength he could exert, bringing shrill screams of pain from her lips rather than slight whimpers. He hauled her down the hallway, though she struggled and wept, away from the grinning Beadle and towards the stairwell. The small frame he had adored with all of his might was so slight, so perfectly petite; he made absolutely no effort to fight the smile of pleasure that spread towards his lips.

She fought back, surprisingly, with strength she had not parted with. Perhaps the prison had strengthened the child. At this, the smile morphed into a dreaded frown. As he shoved her up the stairs to her room, his only consolation was the simple thought of breaking her until she was the feeble creature that she once was.

The door to the child's room was thrown open, its handle banging against the adjacent wall. Her room had remained untouched for the year or so that she had been gone, save the absence of her birds. She did not deserve them any longer, nor did she deserve his pity in its state of profundity. And yet, a throb of guilt towards her pleas made his eyes mist with emotion. To fight this sudden weakness, he whirled her thrashing figure around to face him as they stood in front of her quaint bed.

"Please-" her hoarse voice was cut off as his hand made sharp contact with her cheek. The blazing accuracy of the blow jerked her head to the side. Blond hair hiding her face, Johanna's breathing had noticeably caught in her throat as the sting in her flesh burned her flushed face.

Somewhat disgusted by his actions, Turpin swiftly brought the girl's body to his, offering her closest thing to a hug that he could offer. His ward's body was stiff and unmoving beneath him; he could almost feel the odium in her broken stature.

"I'm sorry," he nearly wept, strong arms holding her to him though she did not return the embrace. Was it love that caused his tone to break, was it tormenting worry that made each day a living hell without her presence?

As he brought her away from him, staring intently into the eyes that he worshiped, the tyrannous judge realized that all love was banned from his heart as her acidic stare burned his skin. No, it was desire that coursed through his veins. That innocent child that he had housed was dead, as lifeless as her loathsome father and temptress mother. He was now left with the spawn of the Barker's, but she was not his child. So he would feel no guilt.

"I should make you beg for leniency," he stated sinisterly with a wicked scowl upon his face.

The girl bowed her head, a whisper carrying through the room. "Why would I beg when I know that my words will be for naught?" Tears streaked her skin; her feet stumbled away from him.

He advanced towards her retreating figure until her body was pressed against the wall beside her curtained window. "I see prison has not entirely robbed you of your wisdom," he observed coolly, an indication of the coming storm. She turned her face away from his, displaying her reddened cheek.

After he had her cornered, his hands pressed against her beating chest, entrapping her beneath his demining hold. He lowered his voice, a lustful whisper, "I suppose that you departed Botany Bay with your innocence intact as well."

As her thin lips parted in terror, he seized the opportunity to bring his face towards hers. Johanna screamed in the back of her throat, her tone laden with sobs of helplessness. He kissed the space between her shoulder and neck, inhaling the scent that rose from her smooth skin. Her body itself was a mockery, daring him to claim all that was her. Oh, and he would do it. He would have her until she was weak from struggling, exhausted from pleading for the release that would never come to her.

And suddenly, the girl did something he did not expect. Summoning breath within her lungs, she cried for the one man that would never have allowed such horrors to unfold; the one man that would have shielded her from it all even if it meant giving his life to the greedy hands of death.

"FATHER!" Her throat vibrated as she screamed, piercing Turpin's hardened barriers, shattering his confidence, his lust.

He pulled back in shock, his bewilderment expressed upon his face. Had the child truly called him such? Did the pleading in her tone truly depict her desire to have him as a protecting father rather than the animal he was morphing into?

Pure guilt rippled though him in shuddering waves. She met his gaze, unfathomable panic written in her misting, wide eyes. It was, by far, too much for him to handle.

The floor creaking beneath him as he spun to the exit, rushing from the room, yet fleeing from the child that had caused his heart to recoil into the bottomless depths of his guilt. He could feel her large eyes following him as he retreated to the safety of the hallway, though he did not dare meet her stares with his own.

This time, he made sure to lock the door behind him before trudging down the stairs where he would seek comfort from a numbing bottle of spirits.

Cape Town, Africa

Using his bare hands, Sweeney Todd pummeled his fists against the iron wall that held him within his blackened cell. He repeated the rhythmic pattern of ringing thumps, ignoring the harsh ache in his knuckles, until the passing officer ceased his stride before the door.

"I'd suggest you quit your bangin' before I make it your skull that's bangin' against this 'ere door!" the officer demanded, his voice ringing throughout the silent prison.

Smirk concealed by the iron door, Todd opened his mouth in reply. "Why don't you see to it that I do stop, you bloody son of a bitch!"

Silence greeted the provoking comment that is until it was broken by the eerily calm reply of the outdoor officer.

"Do you wish to repeat that, prison rat?"

"Yes, I very much do," Todd began lightly as if he were discussing politics rather than enraging an infuriated officer. "I said that if you wish for me to stop banging on this here door," he rapped his knuckles on the prison's doorway, mockingly, "then you should come in here and see to it that I do stop, you frightened, repugnant son of a bitch."

Again, silence.

"And, sir," the prisoner added, fearing that his words had gone ignored, "I am quite sure that prison rats are not capable of speech. I don't suppose an ignorant tub of shit such as you would know that, though, so I suppose I should pity you rather than expose your flaws."

Anger seemed to stab at Todd through the thick prison door as the jingling of keys was heard.

"You better get on your knees, yeh bleeding idiot, and pray to the Lord for mercy because I sure as 'ell will not show any," the man's enraged voice spat as the click of the lock echoed throughout the room. The captive shaped his body into a stance of preparation. That click was like a gunshot, signifying that the time to act was now.

Just as the officer stepped inside, nightstick in hand, Sweeney Todd hurled himself towards the guard and brought his enemy to the floor before the man could even contemplate what had occurred. Being an armed man, however, proved to be the advantage as he struggled against Todd's unfaltering grip on his neck. With his club, the man relentlessly beat at Sweeney's skull, attempting to call for assistance when the prisoner's clutch had slackened.

The higher power was revealed when Todd snatched the club with his fingers, leaving one hand still wrapped around the officer's neck, and forced the raised arm to the floor. The baton was sent spiraling on the stone floor and away from its owner. Now that his grip was free, Todd wrapped his second hand around the officer's neck and applied all pressure to his fingers. The man trapped beneath him thrashed with strength of an entrapped animal, but his flailing arms soon grasped the con's arms in order to pry the fingers away from his windpipe.

The blotched skin of the convict was a molted purple, the cut off breaths of air made the male's heartbeat slow and his eyes explode with flashes of red.

His crushed throat expanded suddenly as the pressure around his neck disappeared, gone as if the hands had evaporated into the musty air. Breaths flew down his throat, concluding in a harsh fit of coughs.

Todd clenched the fingers he had just used to choke the man to his near death. "Damn it," he cursed, "don't make me kill you."

The officer coughed a response, cleared his raspy throat, and sputtered, "Y-you are not goin' to simply walk out of 'ere. When I tell the others of this, they'll catch yeh and kill yeh for this outrage!"

Todd's spine stiffened at the warning, a cold glare leaking into his expression. The remorse for his violent actions died along with the control remaining within his tortured, almost insane mind. The last reason he had to live within the cruel world, the reuniting with his family, had just been horribly threatened. He could not have that.

"You will not be able to tell the other officers," he stated simply with a blow to the man's face using his raw knuckles. As the officer's head cracked against the stone, Todd sought the opportunity to wrap his fingers around his quarry's neck once more. "No, I do not think that a dead man can speak."

At the words, the guard's mouth opened in a cry of shock. The shrieking sound halted abruptly when the convict lifted the man slightly upward, hand still wrapped around the fallen man's throat, and thrust his head against the stone again, this time with more force.

The ensuing splinter of the officer's head was notable, the blood that pooled from the cracks in his skull even more so. The bulging eyes of the guard widened in horror as Todd sent the man's head against the hard surface again, again, and again, strength increasing with every blow until the bone inside the man's head had been ultimately flattened. His skull was now flattened to a pulp beneath his hands, a wad of gruesome, bleeding flesh.

With a cry of shock, Sweeney scrambled away from the now lifeless body of his victim. He held his blood-stained hands to his chest, staring at the body with his brow furrowed, gasps of trepidation stripping him of all control.

He had to think now! There was no turning back, he had killed a man. The chance to escape had never been greater at that moment and the chances of escape afterward were inconceivable. He would be murdered, just as the officer said, if he remained.

As he struggled to his feet with eyes still locked on the bloody carcass, Todd steadied himself using the assistance of the surrounding walls. Upon realizing the body that lay before him held weaponry for his advantage, he could feel the gags accumulating within his stomach. Yet he managed to choke down the heaves of sickness as he approached the fallen male, bent forward, and rummaged through the dead man's possessions. After the grisly task had been completed, he pocketed yet another gun and a hunting knife, along with a small canister of water. Just as he was about to remove the officer's boots for his own use, the approaching sounds of men's voices grew from the end of the long prison hallway.

The boots remained on the body's feet, long forgotten, for Sweeney Todd had slipped from his cell and began his desperate sprint in the opposite direction of the growing voices. The racing thoughts within his mind became clouded with panic as the voices morphed into shouts.

With a grunt, he demanded his mind to produce one single destination at a time in order to remain calm enough to continue his escape, the first being the stairwell of which he had descended so many countless days ago. The ache in his legs from lack of use implored his lunging joints to cease their pointless flight, pure persistency summoned strength he had stored within his deprived body. Not even the approaching shouts of anger could deter him from his plot, it had been said before: He would not fail this time.

The stairs were darkened, tripping him with each rising step. Hands trembling, he clawed his way to the top of the stairwell and bound towards the main exit of the building. He had made it above ground, the first destination was completed.

The door swung open and Todd squeezed his eyes shut to prevent the sunlight from blinding his vision. But instead of piercing sunlight, the insides of his lids remained black. Hesitantly, he stumbled outside into the cool night and opened his eyes. It was nightfall.

Now the second destination…

Though Sweeney Todd had planned on creating a proceeding destination for his flight, all thoughts went absolutely blank as the prison building behind him rang with oncoming thuds of officers' boots. There was no time to think now.

Plunging into the shadows of the night, Sweeney ducked into the concealment of the town's streets, hiding amongst crates of goods and shielding himself away behind corners of buildings. His bare feet made little to no sound in the roads, but the sharp pebbles ensure that his feet were torn to shreds as he advanced towards the one location he thought to be the wisest: The town's docks.

The only problem seemed to be that he had not the slightest clue as to how to find the docks.

Thus began Sweeney Todd's helpless scrounger of the city, resulting in bloody feet and bottomless aggravation. For what seemed to be hours of torment, the convict's body shrieked with protest after the days he had spend shut up in a lonely cell. As his mind wandered to the thought of the prison he had just fled, his mind produced the image of the officer he had so horrendously slaughtered. But what should he have done? What other could he have taken that would have resulted in less bloodshed but still ensured the uniting with his beloved family? The answer was simple, but almost unacceptable. There was no other option; he had done what he must. But since when was Sweeney Todd frightened of condoning murder?

A hand fell upon his shoulder and as he whirled to face the assailant with hunting knife unsheathed, Todd's eye fell upon the young face of Peter.

Sighing in relief, but frustration towards what he had nearly done, Sweeney Todd tugged the boy into a shadowed alleyway and hissed, "Boy, I would have killed you! What the hell are you doing here? You are supposed to be with John!"

"God almighty, Ben, what's happened to yeh?" he inquired, appalled by the man's ghastly appearance.

Shaking the boy roughly, Sweeney repeated, "Why are you here?"

The boy's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Ben, they bloody killed John, I know it!"

Todd ignored the leap his heart made with the news. "What do you mean?" he questioned lowly.

"We were cornered by officers, Ben, and when we ran, they shot at us. We got separated, so I turned back 'ere to find the docks and sneak into one of 'em boats. I've been lookin' for days! And John…I don't know where 'e went! They bloody killed him, Ben!" Sobs edged his voice.

Though irked by the boy's usage of his dead name, Todd placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and hauled him from the alleyway. "Take me to the docks," he demanded roughly, "and never call me by that name again."

Peter looked up in bewilderment, but vigorously shook his head. "I don't know where the docks are, Be-…I mean, sir."

Screams interrupted the conversation, originating towards the end of the black road. Without a word of warning, the prisoner bolted in the differing direction and towards what they believed to be a forsaken market place.

In low whispers, Peter indicated the rotting fish carcasses sprawled to the side of the boat. "Sir, we must be near the docks. Look at the fish to the side." He pointed towards the side with his forefinger.

It may have been little information, yet it was all that each of them had. Swiveling in diverging directions, they turned down abandoned streets and ran with mustered agility when the voices of their captors grew with each step.

Perhaps it was sheer luck that sent the smell of salt water to the prisoners' noses after they stumbled into yet another darkened passageway.

"We're close," Peter exclaimed in glee. He now led the way with a bounce in his step, as if he were simply on an outing with his companion.

The source of swooshing water could have been mistaken for the pounding of blood within his ears, but the magnificent sight of a small rowboat pulled ashore, rushing waters glinting in the moonlight, and paper-white sand was an assurance to Todd that they had made it to the very area they were destined to find. If this sight was not a gift from the Lord himself, then the already well stocked rowboats were unmistakably so.

Of course the owners of the rowboat had left a man to guard their possessions. Peter, not alarmed in the least, let his fist sink into the man's face, his body falling to the ground, face first in sand. Todd frowned at this, but remained impassive.

The boy than grasped the edge of the boy and began to heave it towards the glistening waters, sending Sweeney a beseeching look for assistance. The older man nodded his head once and began to tug at the rowboat as well until it was bobbing upon the water's surface.

Beaming broadly even when the trip would result in inevitable failure, the boy gestured with his hand and said jovially, "After you, sir!"

After pulling his throbbing feet from the water and winced as the salt water stung his open wounds, Todd hauled himself into the rowboat, Peter following suite.

As they, for the last time, rowed madly away from their prison, Sweeney Todd observed the area where he had lost himself; where Benjamin Barker had drawn his last breath; the location where he had ruthlessly shattered a man's skull until he bled crimson death.

Where were they headed to? Todd's mind was no longer capable of providing himself with a destination. Maybe they would live to see another prison; perhaps they would die at sea. Whichever end they were to meet, at least they had been granted more time of life, freedom than their unfortunate inmates.

Lying beside the boy, the man fell into the deepest slumber of his life, almost glad that he had a companion of some sort on their journey to the unknown.