Hello ladies and gents, tis me again with the Author note. I had been hoping to get this chapter up yesterday, but I've been done over with a wicked cold. So it's a day late.
I do have something quick to say before we launch into the second chapter though- and it's something that has been bothering me and several other writers for some time now. It's the readers that add our stories to their Favorites list- but don't bother to take the three seconds and write a review. Personally, I think that if you like it enough to fav it, then you should like it enough to send the author a note- we work hard on this stuff! I don't really expect any of the guilty party to change their ways, but at least now it's been said.
Dedicated to the charming Mrs Lovett, as always (check out bleedingrubies./index.cgi for the Sweeney Todd rpg)
Suggested music for this chapter? More Sorry Then You'll Ever Know by John Berry
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It was so late as to be called early- the clock in the hall having long since struck the twelve chimed of the witching hour. But in the darkened midnight gloom of Mrs Lovett's parlor, heavy, moth eaten draped covered the windows; blocking out the stars and leaving the passage of time to be marked out only in the dying red coals in the hearth. Dawn's light would not enter here come morning- blanketing the man on the small couch in perpetual darkness.
Sweeney Todd, sitting still as a marble statue; eyes as blank and sightless as any patient in the wards of Bedlam. Staring into the realms of his own history, following paths only his eyes could see, passages no other human could follow him down. He had come this far, and refused to turn away now- refused to be defeated by the shades of events he had already survived. Memories of a man he could no longer be; barely recognized as someone he had ever been. And yet, he feared, the end of the path lead only to gibbering madness, not to the elusive calm that he had hoped would come with the death of Judge Turpin. That he had searched for in blood, and found nothing.
Nay saying voices in the back of his mind that whispered their terrible thoughts into his ears. That all he was, was a hollow shell, empty and echoing save for the gnawing, burning bloodlust. The anger and pain consuming all that remained of the man; feeding upon itself like the snake that swallowed it's own tail. Fifteen years of being driven by hatred and dreams of revenge, but what was he now? Now that he had nothing left on which to seek revenge?
The Judge and the Beadle were gone. Corpses that would molder and decay the same as any. Their blood had not been any hotter, any redder, then the nameless men that had come before them. And what now? Now that he had finally realized the driving force of his life was gone, the black fury that had kept him alive- now with nothing left to destroy, save for the man who had taken it into his breast?
What would Lucy say if she could look from beyond the Ether, to see the butcher her husband had become, been reduced to? And as his lips silently mouthed the question to the empty room- he knew the answer. Lucy, for all her loveliness could not have loved this man he was now. Would have fled the darkness that flourished in his soul, condemned him for what he had done. She could not understand it, not could she love it... Love him.
Could not have. Would not have- forgiven him. The truth was like a knife in the belly, severing muscle and tendon, tugging against veins, until it reached up and pierced through his heart. Cleaving through the ties that held him chained to the memory of his beloved Lucy, leaving the rest clinging for dear life.
The shadows now seeming a cover, a night cloak to hide his monstrous self. Sweeney stared at his own hands, shadowy shapes of a darker black in this place devoid of light. Pictured them dripping with blood, pooling in the hollows of his palms; like a man dying of thirst cups precious water. Unable to quell the thrill of pleasure and power that blossomed from his twisted heart, even as it sickened the remains of the man, the humanity.
And as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the image, Sweeney Todd remembered forgiveness.
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Autumn in London was almost always a beautiful time of year, the leaves in Hyde Park turning brilliant shades of crimson and gold, the air filled with the bracing scent of wood smoke. Even the air seemed crisp and cleaner, the last of the nice days before the chill dampness that always came with winter. As Benjamin Barker entered Fleet Street, it became obvious that the charms of autumn did not visit here.
The air was scented with fish entrails from the mongers on the corner, the cobbled streets caked with mud from the sturdy carts that carried supplies and goods to and fro from the shops that lined the narrow street. The buildings were packed in cheek to cheek, occasionally broken by a darkened, filthy alley way. He had lived near here most f his life, but the last several months had so much been spent in the company of Lucy, in a very different part of town- that suddenly it threw the squalor and poverty of his own place in the world, into sharp relief.
Lovett's Pie Shop stood halfway down the winding street, the front windows edged in white, lacy curtains. The sign over the door was carefully painted, the front steps freshly swept. Even the tables of the outside patio area were clean, sturdy wood. The roof was an elongated triangle shape, made unique by the heavily slanted skylight set into the front slope. At a little after ten in the morning, there were no customers, it still being too early for the lunch rush. Benjamin stopped outside the door, reading over the Open sign several times. His guilty conscience weighted his hands, as he turned the brass knob and stepped over the threshold.
They had played together as children. Supported each other when they were sick, and shared equally in the joy of the other. A lifetime had forged their friendship into something he had thought inedible, something that would withstand the tests and trials of time. The sensible constant to his own wilder dreams, making sense of the confusion in his own mind. His Nellie had been there to push him when he feared failure, the first to sing his praises when he succeeded.
And as he stepped into the shop, he didn't recognize her.
Nellie had always been a ray of bright, bracing sunshine. And now, as he looked more closely at the woman behind the counter, he realized with a sharp pain, that someone; that Albert Lovett, had turned out the light. Her hair was covered with a rough spun brown kerchief, flickers of auburn red peeking out at the edges. Her dress was the same fabric, heavily dusted with white flour, a functional gown that was devoid of any sort of beauty.
A bell over the door chimed as he entered, and she looked up. For the first time in nearly 8 months, Benjamin could see clearly, without any deception, how such a short span of time could change a person. Her cheeks were hollowed shadows, dark against the waxy paleness of her skin. Her dark eyes surrounded by exhausted purple circles, one even bearing the fading green and yellow patterns of a black eye half healed. This woman was a dim wraith, and for a long moment he couldn't bear to look her in the eye.
And then she smiled.
Surprise and joy etched clearly on her face in equal measure, her mind not yet fathoming what her eyes told her to be true. And it was Nellie, not Mrs Lovett that dropped the ball of dough to the counter, sending up a cloud of four into the air. It was Nellie that rushed around the side of the high counter- and for half a moment, his Nellie that he enfolded into his arms. And Benjamin closed his eyes tightly, pressing his cheek against the top of her head and silently thanking God that she had forgiven him this much.
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"I am more sorry then you'll ever know…" Sweeney Todd murmured quietly into the still parlor, slowly blinking against the darkness and the tears in his eyes. She had not turned away from him, never hated him for his failures. Though things between them had changed forever. She was now Mrs Lovett, and he, soon to be a married man. Her stomach had already begun to swell with the life of her first child; the purple bruises of abuse still clear on her skin.
Too much had changed, and too much that she could never tell him. And while he was forgiven, even the naïve Benjamin knew too well that some things could never be forgotten. And so they had become Mr Barker and Mrs Lovett, and he and his lovely young wife moved into the loft over the pie shop. It was, he mused, very possibly the only thing he had ever denied his Lucy- she had wanted to borrow money from her father to start their house in a more upper class neighborhood. He told her it was pride that wouldn't allow it- and in the end she stayed by his side.
Sweeney rose to his feet, stabbing at the dying embers and tossing on more dry wood. The rough texture was a distraction from the road his thoughts would soon carry him down- the evasion that had kept him alive through the years of his exile. A cherished denial that he was not sure he was prepared to part with yet; like a child with a favored toy. Lucy. His Lucy. The beloved wife of Benjamin Barker- and what existed behind his memories of their perfect marriage.
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Thanks for reading, I hope you all enjoyed it! And before you ask, yes, there will be a part 3.