"Oh, Mr. Todd, what are we to do?" She begged, clearly desperate for conclusive answers.
But Sweeney Todd was apathetic to her constant questions. A little silence would be perfect. Ample time to collect his thoughts would be ideal.
"Take your own advice Mrs. Lovett," he growled, "and wait."
However, her incessant, yakking voice continued. His dark eyes pierced her; it was a sufficient warning for silence. But that twit kept blabbering. Each squeaky syllable was so maddening, so infuriating. Oh Mister Todd, Oh Mister Todd, Oh Mister Todd. Those constant repetitions of his name, a name that usually evoked intrigue and foreboding, were suddenly very bothersome. He would never have quiet, even in death.
"Mr. T, are you listenin' to me?" Mrs. Lovett retorted. Her hands were bundled into tight fists. Her knuckles were considerably blanched.
Her angry outburst had somewhat succeeded. His attention was focused on her, for the moment. He noticed the clenched fists knocking against her legs.
Sweeney scrunched his face in disgust, "Do you intend to hit me?"
He observed the idea flicker across her features. But the idea was only an idea. Her hands drooped, opting instead to brush imaginary dust from her dress. She exhaled loudly. She was defeated; he still possessed full control. The thought made him internally smile.
"I could use a spot a' gin," She sighed, and cocked her head toward him, "You, love?"
"Brandy," He replied.
"Expensive tastes, tho' don't much matter now do it? Come on then."
She ascended the stairs one by one. Sweeney was close behind. His razor was too. He never released that chaste silver angel, as Mrs. Lovett so aptly named. There was no reason for his grasp to slacken.
She was a heartless creature, a callous thing. He needed the proof. He wanted to see if a heart was truly there.
Sweeney abruptly shoved her with one hand. Mrs. Lovett stumbled and lost a dainty black shoe at the top stair. She turned back and stared.
"You could'a went up first," She huffed, perfectly oblivious as usual.
He quickly grabbed her nape. She elicited a sharp gasp. His fingers embedded her throat. She mumbled something inaudible. It sounded like pleading.
But Sweeney Todd was not a man of mercy, or forgiveness. This treacherous bitch, this cruel temptress, this daughter of Eve was worthless. She was so awfully pathetic. She only thought of him. Everything she ever did was for him. Or so she claimed. But he knew those were more lies. She was selfish.
He dragged her through the dimly light hallway. His footsteps were forceful against the floorboards. They slightly shook under his weight. She struggled to maintain his pace with one shoe.
Sweeney briskly pushed his victim into the parlor. She fumbled, the other heel catching on the carpet. But she instantly straightened. An incredulous smile spread her lips. She bowed her head.
Her behavior was rather peculiar. He wanted her eyes wide. He wanted her lower lip to tremble. He wanted that delicious shaking, that uncontrollable fear. His eyes drifted from her to the parlor.
The only word he managed to find was, "Oh."
A man and woman were presently occupying the parlor. The man was standing, idly drumming the mantle above the roaring fireplace. The woman sat with her legs perfectly crossed. Her eyes were fixated on Sweeney Todd.
"Not engaging in any destructive behavior, Mr. Todd?" She questioned.
"No, no! Of course not, dear," Mrs. Lovett chimed. She was quite flustered, "He was just restless for his brandy, that's all. No harm done, love."
The man stopped his rapping fingers, "You don't have to defend him. The question was not directed at you, Mrs. Lovett."
The woman shifted in the chair; she was undeniably beautiful. Her black tendrils bounced with each miniscule movement. Her eyes were precious emeralds. But her face was hollow, sunken with deep shadows.
The man was handsome enough. His hair was crimson, neatly trimmed. His eyes were a distinct charcoal. His countenance was slightly animated, but a shroud of exhaustion was also present.
Sweeney Todd did not answer her question, "You must be affiliated with Reaping."
"Quite perceptive," was her terse reply.
Mrs. Lovett attempted to create a more conducive mood, "Do you 'ave a name, miss?"
A wave of confusion washed her features. But she nodded curtly and spoke, "I apologize for my stoic behavior. Reaping informed me of your desire for a more personable relationship before formalities. Few clients are concerned with our background. I am Catherine Daver (1), case worker for the recently deceased. This," she pointed to the man, "is my assistant, Thomas Bertram Stone (2)."
"A pleasure," Thomas enthusiastically replied.
Catherine chuckled, "This is his first case, pardon the excitement. Now, if you wouldn't mind answering my question Mr. Todd, we can proceed."
Sweeney Todd was unsure of his answer. He opted for a fabrication, "I was wantin' some brandy. Mrs. Lovett wasn't movin' quick enough, so I pushed her in 'ere."
Catherine studied him with hooded eyes. Thomas produced an obvious frown.
"Mr. Todd," Catherine hesitantly began, "While you can lie without consequence here, the court will not see your answer as favorable."
He was completely baffled. Sweeney Todd, the master deceiver, had been caught. How did she know? He had convinced numerous others before her. Why was she invulnerable?
Her hand motioned for Thomas. He obediently moved to her side. She spoke smoothly, flawlessly, "I will assign you to Mrs. Lovett, Thomas. I believe you will find her more compliant. But do not hesitate to initiate conversation with Mr. Todd. He is quite harmless, just difficult."
Thomas muttered an affirmative reply. He escorted Mrs. Lovett out of the parlor and into the kitchen. Sweeney watched the pair with increasing interest. But his attention was once more brought back to Catherine.
"I don't appreciate such harsh criticism of me demeanor," His voice was laced with venom.
"But it is true, Mr. Todd. You are a difficult, complicated man. Thomas would not benefit from such an intricate case so soon. He still has such a zest for the recently deceased. I would hate to eliminate it, especially this early."
He grimaced beneath her words. He hated hearing the truth. She spoke again after a brief moment.
"You must be wondering about my pinpoint accuracy. It takes practice, but the mention of brandy was confirmation enough. The dead have no need for food and drink. You may have other desires while here. And we strongly discourage any actions on them. And this includes murder, Mr. Todd." Her last statement was emphasized word for word.
"Yes, yes," Sweeney Todd grumbled, "Reaping informed me, but why? Why does anythin' I do 'ere matter?"
"It matters for your afterlife, Mr. Todd."
"I thought what you did up 'ere, on solid ground, mattered." He stated, making an attempt to understand this horrid fate. It was one matter to be alone, but an eternity with Mrs. Lovett was true punishment.
"It most certainly does, what you do while living and dead determines placement above or below Fortune City. And," She added, her voice bordering a small breeze, "I would hate to see your chances for happiness obliterated because of one little mishap."
He made a further attempt to understand her, "So you'll tell the court it was an accident?"
"Quite right, Reaping did not come to you immediately upon arrival to Fortune City. He has so many clients, an expedient visit would be near impossible. You cannot be faulted for unawareness."
However, Sweeney was certain one accident pardon would not eliminate what he had done. He had committed so many atrocious murders. Some were corrupt men, men that deserved his razor. Judge Turpin, namely. But what of the innocent ones?
"I believe, Miss Daver, me destiny will be below Fortune City."
Catherine was amused, "Clients never change. Mr. Todd, we have an option yet, with your permission of course."
"Yes, anythin'." Sweeney Todd encouraged.
A positively wicked smile curved her lips, "Insanity plea."
(1) and (2): Ha ha, more word play. And more will come, I am sure of that.
I hope you enjoyed, as always. And until next time, faithful ones.
George Reaping, Catherine Daver, and Thomas Bertram Stone are property of my mind. Give credit if you intend to use them!