A/N: I apologize once more such a lack of updating, blehh. I haven't really found a lot of time just to write for the fun of it, with school ending. I have a twin brother who has autism, and my grandfather just passed last night, so things have been more hectic than usual, blahblahblahlifeblahblah. I hope I haven't lost any readers in this lapse. Your reviews make me smile. :)
Also, I think I've hit the realization that I needn't write for the feedback to boost my poor, pathetic ego, but to write as an expression, as an art. I do wish for feedback if I am lacking in keeping the characters realistic to Stephen Sondheim's adaptation, and anything that may be puzzling, but I don't think that I should trouble myself over making anything perfect. So, for you all, I give you a short chapter that I came up with a few nights ago.
I hope you enjoy my musings.
Chapter Twelve
Merely stumbling out of the decaying house became a large feat for such a pained man, such a troubled, corrupted soul. Within the seventeen years of being separated from his wife, his most cherished sweet, Benjamin Barker had been heavily whipped, beaten and persistently tortured. Such grievances had drowned him, pulled him downward into the fires of his rising hatred. As the guards of the blazing Australia evenings would kick him to the ground, curse at him, the suffering man would dream only of his Lucy, of escaping the hell in which he was strangled and mocked.
Toils of which would explain the anxiety, and yet devoted patience that settled inside of this man who had lost his senses, he who had been devoured by insanity, by the devil. Especially on the day he had set foot once more onto the filthy streets of London. Only part of him had understood that when he would stand before the angelic Lucy Barker and her daughter of now sixteen, the love shared would no longer hold itself to the unfaltering passion of the past.
Lucy Barker was a widow now, and would not be interested in the monster that had returned.
Foremost, it was the early ignorance once held that now bit away at Sweeney Todd, as he staggered down the stairs of the back porch, one hand furiously gripping at his hair, the other squeezing the golden ring in his palm, her golden ring. The ache in his heart was terrifying and it increased with every step. He was blinded by the image of his wife falling limp onto the ground, dripping rubies.
How could he have been so careless, so peremptory in his wild malice? His wife had been running to him, arms spread open, ready to accept the beast that had been yearning for her compassion--and he had slit her throat, greedily, smiling even.
Todd's breathing was erratic and violent now, his feet having pushed him far away from the house, away from the wretch he had to escape from. Now alone, teetering in a field of yellowing grasses, he collapsed to his knees with a cry. This sorrow that was now gripping the span of his thoughts had worn out any other feeling from his being. All that remained in his broken, broken man was dejection.
Despite what the limited sense in him protested, Sweeney was thrown back to the terror of minutes before.
It was almost a strained loyalty that he held when shoving Mrs. Lovett into the closet, glaring sharply to force her safety. He had enough time to hide his accomplice, knowing that the stare he had thrown at Tobias would kick the boy into fighting off whatever was hunting them down.
Todd had then bounded confidently out of the room and into the kitchen, everything black and chipping from the earlier fire, only to witness a lanky constable punching young Ragg in the nose.
Another official, short but broad-shouldered, had noticed his entrance and charged at him, threatening Todd with his authority, but the barber was too quick: his razor shot forward and plunged deep into the constable's chest before twisting sharply around in a circle, inflicting more pain and causing the man to tumble backwards over a wooden stool, breaking it in the process.
Sweeney had yanked the razor out of the constable, blood pouring from the wound beneath the navy uniform, and jerked the silver over the man's throat before anything else could come from him.
"It's true: you are a lunatic!" the lanky constable had then bellowed with such enmity, honest repulsion, his pistol aimed forward. Todd saw his finger move to the trigger, but Tobias, hatred clear on his countenance, had lifted a broken chair over his head and was sending it smashing on top of the pistol-bearing enemy.
A piercing crack of the gun had echoed and Sweeney threw himself behind a charred counter top, just barely missing the bullet, unbeknownst to a hefty policeman sneaking past to the bedroom, looking for Mrs. Lovett.
Todd growled, emerging from behind the crumbling counter to see Tobias dodge an old vase thrown by the lanky official. The determined man was now on the floor, stomach-up, clutching his bleeding head beneath the remnants of the wooden chair. The pistol was laying a foot a way, having dropped from his hand.
It took only a few strides to reach the man, and Todd kicked away the pistol before slamming his foot downward onto the man's forehead. The thud produced from the wooden floors beneath him was immediately satisfying. The barber shifted his foot to dig menacingly into his throat, keeping the intruder still.
"Y-You ungodly killer," the constable had rasped, reaching forward in an attempt to move the foot from his throat. Unfortunate for the constable, Tobias kicked his hands out of the way, bringing about a dreadful crack from one of the wrists. The boy then pounced onto the man's legs, grabbing onto them with a firm tenacity, despite how harshly the man swerved and kicked.
Todd had soon swooped down to kneel over the man, snarling, threatening, silver friend now shoved so close to the the throat of the constable. "Would you rather me a godly killer?" the barber mused, teeth bared, almost entertained by the thought, "I suppose, sir, that this hellish purgatory we live in deserves to brim with angels of death."
The blue eyes of the constable had grown foggy with fright. "You needn't sway me with words of imminence," he trembled, "for the life you cling to is worthless, heinous compared to those that have died under your hand--!"
"--the hand that has been tortured, as well, by wretched demons!" Sweeney had roared, digging razor across throat, furious, jerking the blade back and forth over the neck even after the blue eyes were drained of life.
A considerably long minute had passed and Todd calmed himself, adjusting to how angry he had become, how quickly his vision was altered and smeared with red. The Toby boy, he noticed, had ran back to the bedroom, having been the only one hearing the screams of Mrs. Lovett.
Blinking hard, Sweeney rose from his position, stiffly, and threw a hard glare down at the murdered official, a pool of blood forming around his head.
Something then caught his eye: the constable's left fist was closed, weakly holding something. Disgruntled and recovering from his outburst, Todd had nudged the hand with his foot, opening the palm.
A ring. Golden, fragile, shimmering in the beam of light from the window. Just the sight of it had made Todd's face soften, nostalgic, and he bent down to pick it up, gingerly, with the tips of his fingers. He brought the ring to his face as to study it closely, almost shyly, and he read the engraved words that were etched on the inside, a swirling cursive:
A token of love to my sweet, my darling, my Lucy. -B.B.
Breath had caught in his throat, and all at once, the black eyes of the demon barber dimmed, dull, glistening. "Lucy..."
He was then jerked back to the day before, to when he had pulled back the dirty shawl of the crazed woman and tugged the razor over her throat. And as she fell, choking and spluttering, the now broken chain of a necklace had flung to the left, the rusted chain holding this beloved, golden ring.
Sweeney Todd moaned, despairingly, unable to avert the stare that was centered upon the ring in his palm, the yells of Lucy ringing in his ears. 'Benny!' she had called before, with such love. He was oblivious, almost, to the fact that she had began to run away from him, after her cries of love, of devotion, unseeing to the facet of Lucy's insanity.
His world swirling, a lump formed in his throat, and his mouth dropped open in agony. "I killed her," he had whispered, shaking his head quickly now, chest rising heavily with each strained breath. "I killed her. Oh god, I killed her."
Another vital, essential detail pounded in his ears alongside his heartbeat: Lucy Barker had been living, she wasn't gone, she hadn't left the earth. Mrs. Lovett had lied.
Agony pivoting to rage, Todd had whipped around and half ran, half stumbled to the bedchamber, his face growing hot, needing to hurt something, anything.
A pang, stopping him, halting him in his steps just before he entered the bedroom, making him seethe with confusion and regret. This pang, this twisting ache from inside of him, was holding back the rage that was to be plowed upon the baker, she who was cradling Tobias.
Completely frustrated, Todd attempted to move further towards her, but his hand hadn't ceased from clinging to the door frame. Looking down, consumed by grief, grief that was gnawing away at him, he felt his lips move, "She was alive, and I killed her!"
Eyes flicking upward, sharply, brimming, "You hid her from me," he had moaned, almost a woeful snarl, "You filthy bitch."
He had to bring harm to this wretch, this whore, this liar. Todd's chest jerked forward, and he seethed again, unable to move from the doorway, knowing that he'd cause much more harm to himself than to the wretched baker if he lingered further. Ironically, although the barber had lost his senses, he hadn't lost any wisdom.
Todd lifted his hand, his bloodied hand, and growled the whisper, "Burn in hell."
This late afternoon was a windy one, the ending of Autumn, and the grey skies above Sweeney Todd were clustered with dark, billowing clouds. A deafening thunder boomed unceremoniously as the barber clutched at the grass, angrily heaving loud sobs, unabashedly. Alone in this whirling field of aging leaves and swaying branches, the misery that gripped at the murderer was powerful enough to mirror the echoing thunder above him.
Lifting his face from the grasses, the barber opened his shaking hand, finger by finger, gazing once more upon the golden token of love. "My sweet, my darling, my Lucy," he whispered, lifting his opposite hand where a similar, golden ring was around his smallest finger. As he stared at the two rings, he noticed that seemed to have lost a certain sheen, the glimmering effect that had originally drawn him to them those years ago.
Slowly, anguished, Todd slipped the ring from his finger, pinpricks of rain beginning to tap into his back, and let both rings fall from his hands, his head tipping to the side, mouth opening slightly. The stormed picked up, considerably, and he looked up into the thick, darkened clouds, rain pelting downward to soak his body, washing him, cleansing him, trying to help him forget.
A/N: For the sake for the handful that have asked, no, this is definitely not the end! I plan on making this very long, don't worry. :)