-XXXVI-

Sweeney Todd watched in bleak indifference as the oven flames tore through Mrs. Lovett's skin, peeling it away from her face like charring parchment as the woman wailed a song of the pain she was doubtlessly enduring. Todd's former merriment had depleted back into his regular grim countenance. He heaved the heavy iron door and latched it closed; this action blocked out much of Mrs. Lovett's piercing noise. Todd spun without another glance behind, and felt his gaze settle on his wife's inert body.

The razor he still held hung loosely in his grasp as he slowly stepped forward. Each stride was harder to take than the next. Despite his dealing of Mrs. Lovett and her gruesome end, he suddenly experienced the onslaught of very human emotions that he could no longer restrain. He was alone in the chamber, and even if he was not there was no shame in mourning for one loved so implicitly. Todd lowered to his knees before his dear Lucy. He swallowed audibly. He didn't know if he could bear seeing the deadly gash across her throat; the wound which had ended her life. However, he was convinced that after all he had done, after all the deaths he'd ensured, he deserved to witness the implications of his murderous crimes. He reached out and pulled his dead wife toward him with barely restrained despair. He cradled her in his arms and settled his gaze on her calm face, and in doing so he sealed his own fate.

"It truly is detestable, what happened to us isn't it Lucy?" Todd's voice was hardly a whisper. He touched her cheek softly with a broken affection. "I don't even remember when we last saw each other."

Tears fought their way through Todd's restraint and cut down his cheeks. However, he didn't even note it. He was suddenly becoming brutally aware of all he had done. He felt an ironic smile flicker across his lips, though it held none of the malevolence as before and only limitless misery. He brushed a strand of golden hair from his wife's face.

"I saw our daughter. I saw Johanna." Todd took a shuddering breath. "She's beautiful…like her mother. Just as I suspected."

Todd felt the razor twitch in his grasp. He didn't look at the gleaming silver, rather, he refused to. Without his genuine consent, the blade began to ascend. As all of his emotions churned together without mercy, the only option open to him was to end the reign of the monster he'd become. In doing so he would also end his unbearable suffering. Almost in a trance Todd laid the blade against his own throat. The metal felt startlingly cold and yet, he did not react. Killing Sweeney Todd would be Benjamin Barker's very last achievement on this earth, but it would never separate him from the demon that had dominated him. It was not as though he hadn't known what he was doing at the time. It wasn't as though watching the life fade from every stranger he'd murdered made him regret, although he suspected each death destroyed what was left of Benjamin Barker, piece by piece. And why was he running so diligently from his former self? The answer was simple. It was Barker who felt pain, fear and sorrow. It was he and he alone who awakened such deep and unbearable emotion that Sweeney Todd could not endure.

He put pressure against the blade, and held his wife closely. As he prepared to drag the razor through his throat he halted only at the sound of a woman's belaying cry.

It was on that very night that Clara Cartwright learned the limit of her mortal endurance. For years she'd watched dear Johanna grow from an innocent child into a faultlessly beautiful woman, and although she enjoyed those years so very much, they still brought her great regret and taught her to despise her own weakness. Johanna had been a prisoner and Clara had done nothing to help her. Neither had she been able to help Benjamin Barker or his dear wife. She was caught up in a web of devastation that she could not escape. She realized now that there was nothing that could be done. It was over. Everything was over.

Learning that Johanna was Mr. Barker's daughter brought her little surprise. After all, the girl had so many accentuated attributes from her father, and her golden locks were identical to her mother's. Perhaps Clara had already conceived the connection, and yet she just wasn't willing to accept it. The outcome of the unfortunate family was all the more heartbreaking as Clara imagined what their life would have been like alternatively. Mr. and Mrs. Barker would have showered little Johanna with so much love and security that the girl would never have known sorrow or fear. She would have never been trapped in the affections of a detestable man who raped her mother and orchestrated the downfall of her father. Mr. Barker would have lived in peaceful contentment with his wife and daughter until his dying day.

Now, as Clara looked on, the measure of depression on Mr. Barker's pale, blood-streaked face was absolutely devastating. Only his physical appearance led to believe the broken man kneeling in the blood of his wife had once been Benjamin Barker. Clara could scarcely see through her tears as she fought to retain command of herself. It was in this fearful mode of observation that Clara noticed Mr. Barker lifting a blade to his slender neck. There was nothing she could do to stop herself. She leapt out of her hiding place and her despair spilled over in shout in hopes to dissuade his action.

Mr. Barker's head snapped up at the sound of her cry, and remained on her face for a few terrifying moments. Then he set his wife to the stone and rose to his full height, glowering at her with not sadness but fury. He took a step toward her, and yet Clara could not find the will to move. Mr. Barker's twisted visage looked as temperate as a soul-devouring demon as he came at her.

"Why?" There was no emotion in his deep voice.

Clara couldn't speak; couldn't move, she could do nothing but stare in dumb amazement at the sight of the devil himself nearing closer and closer. She wasn't even sure what he wanted her to answer. In response to her silence, Mr. Barker lunged at her with a crazed look in his eye. Clara gasped as he locked a hand around her throat and furiously forced her backward until her back struck the wall. The rough treatment caused the air to escape her lungs but there was nothing to be done to replenish them. Mr. Barker's grip was strong and impregnable, and Clara was sure he had a mind to strangle her then and there. However, before he did so she had to speak to him. She latched her own hands about his wrist but made no move to redirect his attack. She swallowed what air she could and used it to her advantage.

"Mr. Barker…please…listen…"

Her words seemed to have an effect on him, because he loosened his grip slightly. His face went blank for one moment, and at the next it had contorted into yet another horrible mask of rage. Clara released a small squeak as he pressed his blade into her throat.

"If you call me by that name again-"

"You can kill me in due course Mr. Barker; I am not afraid to die now after all the horrors I've seen. Yet before you end my life I must be allowed to speak." Every word was a painful endeavor due to the sharp metal biting into her neck, but Clara persevered. "You mustn't kill yourself in such a state, not like this. It would be dishonoring to your wife's memory."

Mr. Barker's face slackened in utter shock at her words, and, as Clara had expected, his anger returned in full force. He leaned in on her with just barely restrained rage as he forced the blade tighter into her throat. She inhaled sharply in pain. When Clara recovered and was able to glance up, Mr. Barker was so close she could smell the tangy scent of blood on his skin.

"How dare you speak of her?" He demanded through clenched teeth. "What makes you think you have any right to speak of matters to which you are ignorant?"

"I may be ignorant of your and Mrs. Barker's precise experiences, but I can plainly see the pain you face. I only advise to allow her passing to be painful, as it is supposed to be. Don't let this creature inside you be the end of your life. Mrs. Barker deserves more than that, as you do."

"Me?" Mr. Barker stepped back, easing only a small amount of pressure off Clara's throat. "And who exactly do you refer to when you address me?"

Clara allowed the tears to fall down her face. "I refer to a man who offered a poor wretch shelter and comfort when he could have easily turned her away. A man who loved his wife so very much and who conceived a beautiful child. I refer to you, Mr. Benjamin Barker."

The sound of the metal razor striking the ground would have made Clara jump however her terror had faded into something deep, and somehow detached. Her pity for the desperately irresolute man who finally began to show himself through a façade of sinister immorality surfaced and she could not allow weakness to show on her part. She remained against the wall as Mr. Barker collapsed to the ground, defeated and exhausted. Clara hesitated at first, but she fought through her nervousness. She dropped to the stone while Mr. Barker's chin remained bowed and his gaze lingered, focused on the ground. Clara sighed.

"The poor souls you murdered…Mrs. Lovett…perhaps they deserved to die for their own separate sins but it shouldn't have been you to kill them. I didn't know you very well Mr. Barker, but I knew enough to be certain of your integrity. I am so sorry about what happened to you and your family, but although you have lost your wife, your daughter is still alive."

Mr. Barker slowly raised his head, his expression emotionless once again. "Johanna? You know her?"

Clara nodded. "Yes, I was her governess. I watched her grow from a little girl into a clever and temperate young woman, and I truly appreciate the years I spent with her. But I was not enough." Clara took a large risk and placed a comforting hand on Mr. Barker's shoulder. "I lacked the strength to protect her, and I despised myself for it."

Mr. Barker was silent for many moments. Clara could not read any emotion on his face, although he seemed to be very deeply engaged in thought. Withdrawing her hand Clara took a deep breath, hardly noticing the revolting stench wafting inside the oven room. Finally Mr. Barker spoke.

"I don't even know her."

"I do hope that the love you felt for her so many years ago can somehow surface again, and this strange identity that consumes you may fade away. I pray that it will."

Clara stood and unintentionally gazed at the corpses strewn across the ground. Her doubt slowly consumed her. A man who so brutishly ended so many lives and who'd endured such unimaginable horrors could never become whole again. He would never be the kindhearted man he'd once been. Clara gazed down at Mr. Barker with a heavy heart.

"Perhaps there is no remedy for such a horrible circumstance, but that is not for me to say. I have faith in your daughter, and I know she will be alright. I care for you Mr. Barker, but I fear my advice to you is futile. Only you can find yourself again."

For a while Clara simply stood there before Mr. Barker. She was too frightened to move, and soon became too afraid to speak again. Yet it was not the thought of being so close to a dangerous man who just a moment ago threatened her life. Mr. Barker hadn't moved or spoken for so very long and Clara feared he would shatter if she made a sound. So she stood in utter silence, unable to hold her mournful tears at bay.