Chapter 3-Toby Gets A Clue

Lucy Barker was standing directly in front of the window, shuddering and clutching her shawl. She was muttering with her head down. A small crowd was gathering around her. Some people were pointing and laughing, some were trying to shoo her away. None were attempting to help or seemed in the least bit concerned.

Sweeney tilted his head to the side and frowned slightly. "What is that?" he whispered. He leaned forward to stand up, but not before Nellie grasped his wrist.

"Wait!" she said in a panic.

"What?" Nellie watched his face turn from the window. She could tell him now, in a rush, and he would undoubtedly leave her right then and there to see his pitiful, crazed wife. He'd probably bring her to the pie shoppe and expect Nellie to stand there and watch him care for her. Or, she could continue lying until he guessed. She'd only be going deeper, but the thought of seeing the man she desperately loved care for one who didn't have the capacity of caring for him as Mrs. Lovett did kept running through her mind. She couldn't tell him.

"I need…more meat for the pies. That's why it's so slow around here." You're only digging your own grave, Nellie. Even her own head was against her.

Sweeney gave a sharp, quick nod before replying, "Yes, of course." He turned to go upstairs when Lucy began shrieking and howling. "Can you do something about that?" He then pivoted on his heel and walked slowly up the stairs. One hand was on the rail, one was on his head. Sweeney finally made it to his barber's chair. He sat down and took out one of his razors. His thumb gently caressed the blade down the center. It was newly sharpened, and just testing the razor, he slowly swept his thumb across the edge. It sliced his finger open just enough to bring blood to the surface and drench the surrounding skin in red. The sweet rusty smell filled the air around the barber, and he noticed one thing.

He hadn't felt any pain.

The sharpness he had expected to feel wasn't there. It didn't exist. The razor existed, the blood existed. The pain didn't. He looked into the glint of silver to see his reflection. His face was streaked with blood in the small mirror-like object. Sweeney stood and put the razor back into his belt and walked toward the window. The skies were darker than usual. He watched as the clouds slowly opened themselves up to the grimy streets below and poured out buckets of rain. It was God's attempt to clean the filthy city, but it needed much more than just rain to change the corrupt nature of London.

Mr. Todd turned from the window and mindlessly picked up his coat, which was draped across the back of the chair. He put it on and went outside. He had no idea where he was going, but he couldn't be in that room anymore. It was most unlike him, going for a stroll, but it wasn't exactly a stroll. His strides weren't leisurely, but quick, heavy and purposeful. That was Sweeney—purposeful. That was also why he had already planned out his death. Life with no purpose wasn't a life for him. "The life you're living at the moment can hardly be called a life, either." Soon, Sweeney noticed that he was wet. He was very wet. The rain had fallen from the sky and onto his head; his hands, too, were drenched. "Where are you going?" he asked himself. His question was soon answered as he came to a grand house on a corner. It had a sense of injustice and wickedness about it, and Sweeney saw red. It was the Judge's house. His hand automatically reached for his belt and whipped out a razor. His purposeful steps began walking toward the home of the one that had made his life a living nightmare. Sweeney's arm was stiff at his side, and he felt his wrist twitch with a demented sort of joy. The blood rushed to his palm and the razor seemed to pulse in excitement. It was the feeling that he had missed just moments ago; the need to see the blood.

Sweeney's dark fantasy began to take a mind of its own. He imagined the sinking of the cold metal into warm flesh, the loud screams that turned into gurgles, and finally, the thud of the body drained of blood. His heart began to quicken, as well as his pace. The large building loomed in front of him, and the barber stopped dead in his tracks almost literally. There, on the street corner next to the unlit street corner lamp, was a constable.

The constable had white hair and a slight pot belly. He swung his billy club aimlessly at his side and seemed very focused and alert. The whistle was in his mouth and his blue uniform provided an obvious contrast for the silver badge. "Ah, an officer of importance." Usually, the police officer would have been no problem, but this man seemed a little too attentive. Indeed, Sweeney's suspicions were correct. The constable turned his head slightly and noticed the razor blade next to the stone-still stalker. He furrowed his brow and sauntered over to Mr. Todd. The wooden billy club was now being thumped into his palm.

The rain fell on his face and white hair. Water dripped from his handlebar mustache. "Hello, my good sir. What brings you here on this beautiful day?" There was a tone of supremacy in his voice and an air of suspicion around him. Sweeney detected this and used it to his advantage. No inconsequential law enforcement member would stop him from accomplish what he had come to do.

He must have been standing there staring at the man for quite a while, since the question was repeated. "I said, what brings you out on this fine day, sir?" He was obviously agitated, so Sweeney's answer came quickly this time. There was no need to anger the good man.

"Just visiting a friend, officer."

"With a razor, sir barber?"

"He needs a shave, sir. Of course, he can wait if you are in desperate need of one yourself." The man frowned in confusion and Sweeney gave a small smirk. "What is your name, officer?"

"I am Officer Jonathan Daley, of division two of the London police force. And what might your name be?"

"My name is of no importance," he growled as he glanced around. There was no one on this street, or probably on any street before or after it. It was a nasty day indeed. Sweeney closed in on Officer Daley's neck and enveloped it in his hand. "Goodbye, Jonathan Daley." A smooth swipe of the razor and a slight pause, and blood flooded from the unsuspecting old man's neck. Sweeney dragged the body to the doorstep of the honorable Judge Turpin. He was about to go inside, but he heard Mrs. Lovett's sweetly accented voice in his head. "Wait." It took all of Sweeney's strength to put the dead police man sitting upright, as if guarding the place. There were better ways of torturing a man than killing him at his home. Rain slowly began to soak the blood into the navy uniform.

"Let this be a warning," muttered Sweeney as he walked away from the scene of the crime. He had no need to put away his helper; no one was watching. Besides, wouldn't the fact that his coat was covered in blood be reason enough to raise suspicion? No one was taking notice of him, so Sweeney kept walking. He strode right into his barber shop, his overcoat darkened by the blood and water.

As soon as Mr. Todd entered the room, he noticed a change. Something was wrong. Someone had been there. It was inevitable that a person other than himself had been inside his room; whether they had touched anything was still unsure. He acted as he would normally and tossed his coat into a corner. The barber's chair sat in the middle of the room, waiting for someone to put its trust in it. Of course, the chair was no different from its owner; deceptive and fatal. Nonetheless, Sweeney sat down and put his head in his hands. What had gotten into him back there?

No, he wasn't thinking of the poor Jonathan Daley. The police officer had left his mind and Sweeney probably wouldn't ever give it a second thought. No, he was thinking about that instance in the pie shoppe. It was so unlike him to go and talk to Mrs. Lovett like that. He had barely spoken a word of Benjamin since the day he arrived. It was as if he ignored all of his past except the part that included the evil qualities of the Judge, he wouldn't feel the pain of losing his family. That wasn't to say that they didn't come up in his dreams. Sweeney's subconscious self openly admitted the ache he felt for the love he knew sixteen years ago.

A sharp ringing noise interrupted the barber's thoughts. "If it's that sailor boy," he mused, "I'm going to slice him in half," He stood and was pleasantly surprised that it was a new customer. He seemed of middle age with a scruffy beard and tattered clothes. "A weathered traveler, perhaps?"

The customer took the liberty of speaking first. "I understand that you are a barber." Sweeney gave a sharp nod. "I would like a shave. My life has been far too lonely, and I feel the need to be clean-shaven. How can I be sure that you are a fine barber?"

"I guarantee that this will be the closest shave you will ever receive in your life, sir. Please, sit." The man did, and Sweeney put the cloak over him to protect the clothing from suds, hair, and blood. He closed his eyes and waited for the suds to come. Sweeney lathered him up and took his razor near his throat. He gave a slight smirk and swept the instrument across the man's throat. His eyes widened and he gave a loud sputter before blood sprayed in every direction. There was a loud thump behind the chair as Toby shut the lid of the trunk to avoid getting covered in blood.

Sweeney sent the body down to the basement before walking slowly over to the trunk. There were still wet footsteps beside it that disappeared just before the edge of the wood. Mr. Todd slowly opened the trunk to see Toby looking up at him with wide, accusing eyes.

The boy opened his mouth to speak and a rush of garble came out. Soon, he sorted it out and made words out of it, even if they weren't very many. "I knew you were bad! I just knew it!"

Sweeney lugged Toby out of the trunk and glowered at him.

"Get out."

Toby didn't move.

"I said, get out!"

"I knew it! I told mum you were bad, but she didn't listen!" Anger flashed through his eyes as he let Toby go. The boy nearly fell from the force behind the gesture. As he regained his balance, he thought of a threat that would surely bring the barber to his knees.

"You can't do this. I…I can get you sent to jail!" Toby was the more serious than he had ever been in his life. "Besides, mum won't stand for this!"

"Your dear mum already knows," he replied coolly. Sweeney began advancing in his direction, and Toby's eyes widened as he began heading backwards towards the door. "In fact, she aids in the disposing of the customers." Toby hit the door and fumbled for the doorknob. His hand closed around it and turned. Before he exited the shop, the murderous barber grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close enough to hear him whisper.

"Don't say a word." At first Toby thought Mr. Todd was going to whip out his razor and kill him right then and there, but he was released to leave. Toby nodded vigorously before awkwardly walking out the door.

In one swift movement, Sweeney seized the razor and swung at the door once the meddlesome child was gone. He rested his forehead right below the implement lodged in the wood. Someone knew, and no one was supposed to know anything. And who knew just what young Toby would say, sober or not.

Author's Note: Thank you for all of your amazing reviews! I enjoyed writing this chapter, even if it wasn't my best. The next chapter is coming soon!