Author's Note: Many thanks to Ali (nellielovesyou) for reading this in it's rough stages and encouraging me to finish it.
The Sailor's Promise
By the time the police had finished questioning Anthony, it was almost three in the morning. He was exhausted, and eager to return to Johanna, who had been brought into another room where she could rest. However, she was kneeling in front of the window, gripping the ledge and trembling violently. Her gaze was fixed on the street lamp below.
The floor creaked beneath Anthony's feet and Johanna started. She whirled her head around, flipping back her long, yellow hair, her mouth open and ready to scream. But she saw it was only Anthony, and slumped against the wall, visibly relaxing.
"Is it over?" She asked in a tiny voice, afraid of the answer.
Anthony's heart broke as he sat down beside her. "Yes," he said and hugged her against his chest. She began to cry, gripping his shirt and wailing in agony.
"Johanna," Anthony soothed, though the woman in his arms felt strangely unfamiliar, "Johanna, it's over now." She let him take hold of her hands and bring them down to her sides, lifting her head and looking fearfully towards the door.
"And… there is nothing else?" She didn't fully trust Anthony's assurance.
"No. Nothing but us, now."
Johanna let out a slow breath, weighing her options and deciding that she was indeed safer with Anthony. She touched his face and whispered, "And we will be married on Sunday?"
Anthony nodded, because he suddenly found himself unable to speak past the lump rising in his throat.
"Because that's what you promised," she assured.
Once he could speak again, Anthony said something he wished he didn't have to. "The boy, Johanna, the one in the bakehouse-"
"With…him?" Johanna asked and began wringing her hands in her lap.
"Yes," and he took hold of her hands to still them. "The boy that… was there. He's gone mad, they say, and has been taken to the asylum-"
"No!" Johanna pulled her hands out of Anthony's grasp and backed away from him. "No, no, no, not there. Not there!"
"Shhh, Johanna, just listen." Anthony slid himself closer to Johanna and wiped the tears from her cheeks. "They believe that he's murdered Mr. Todd, Mrs. Lovett, The Beadle, a woman from the streets, and your father."
"He killed them…" Johanna whimpered.
"No," Anthony said without thinking. "Well, nobody knows, because they say the boy's out of his mind. But I've seen the boy around Mr. Todd's, and he wouldn't hurt a fly."
"You don't know that."
"He stayed at Mrs. Lovett's heels like a dog. Harmless, he was."
Johanna grew nervous as her theory was shot down. "But Anthony, we saw him with the razor, with his razor, and they were all dead around him!"
"We could go talk to the boy." Gently, Anthony ran his hands through Johanna's hair, exhilarated that he still could. To think, they were just going to cut it all off… "Maybe he'll recognize us and…he could tell us what happened."
Anthony knew Johanna would object, but didn't expect it to hurt her like it did. She immediately began sobbing again and covered her face with her hands. "No, no, NO! We can't go there!" She shook her head for emphasis. "Anthony, no, please…"
She was not the same Johanna he had first met, singing to the birds outside her window, throwing him down the key, kissing him… Johanna had changed and Anthony had to accept it, because he promised to love and marry her, and he did love her. But did he even know her anymore?
How could he comfort her? He didn't know what to do, what she liked, what she didn't like, what she needed.
So he wrapped his arms around her and said that he loved her, and that they were going to be married, and that they were going to sail far, far away from London. And although he wanted desperately to uncover whatever truth might be buried within the boy, Johanna needed him, and he had made a promise.