His eyes, like revolvers, were aimed at her. "Me name's Sweeney Todd," he corrected, a feral growl reverberated against his clenched teeth.
"Ah, well. I don't see fit to call you Sweeney Todd if you see fit to call me Lucy Barker."
She escaped his now slackened grasp, and walked away. She had made a decision.
Sweeney Todd was more than shocked; he was offended. He was positive this ruse was genius, infallible. That little seedling of mock affection was planted. The deceitful flower was blossoming. And she uprooted it, with one swift tug. He underestimated her. Mrs. Lovett was certainly bizarre, borderline insane even. But she wasn't an idiot.
He couldn't hear all her muffled blubbering. He scarcely made out something about an unyielding desire. And then he was knocking; he was knocking based on a hasty assumption.
And now what was left? An empty bedroom. A botched plan. A dull blade. And a distinct throbbing against his pants.
"Shit," He vehemently cursed, "How did this go all awry?"
He meticulously reviewed his steps. First, tell her somethin' romantic. Somethin' 'bout life with her. Second, come on strong. Third, think 'bout Lucy so you can …
He was picturing her smooth skin; and her golden hair like spilled liquor on the pillow. Her swollen pale breasts; then engorged with milk. Those pink rosebuds; they would tighten with just one gentle brush. And her thin, parted lips. That small, mewling voice. Oh, he would always cherish her.
And it was evident. He said Lucy. He said Lucy into her heaving chest.
"Well, no wonder," Sweeney mused aloud, "No wonder she stormed out a 'ere."
But that slight slip did not elicit an intended reaction. He expected her to bawl, squeal like his victims before the razor slice. Or he expected her to rot and wither. He expected a defeated relaxation of her flesh. He assumed her complete surrender. But she refused him. She even insulted him.
Although it was grueling to admit, Sweeney admired her shroud of decency. It was a commendable quality.
It was morning, according to the kitchen clock anyway. The windows still reflected infinite black flack.
Sweeney had slept less than two hours. He decided to play gentleman and relinquish her bedroom. His slumbering place, unfortunately, was a cramped booth. However, his initial makeshift bed was the floured counter. But soon his dreams captured a crazed Mrs. Lovett knuckle-pounding into Sweeney-dough. The booth, thankfully, produced no loony neighbor nightmares.
But he hadn't seen Mrs. Lovett since their slapdash rendezvous. The thought momentarily flit across his features. He shrugged. He cared little for her exact location; she would eventually crawl around, making him miserable with idle chatter.
The appointed hour had arrived. Sweeney bolted upright as the door swung wide. Catherine Daver strolled toward his meager sleeping arrangement.
Her nose scrunched. She condescendingly shook her head, "I have a suspicion that you deserve to be out here."
"Prolly so," Sweeney yawned, stretching his feet under the table.
"Will Mrs. Lovett see you off?" She questioned, skimming various corners.
"Prolly not," He confirmed while standing, "We should head out then."
"As you see fit, Mr. Todd," Catherine Daver coolly replied.
The pair departed, Sweeney still following her shadow. The door banged against faltering hinges. He raised an expectant face to … more darkness. The landscape was an inkblot. The pie shop, in its filthy brick majesty, was visible. The enticing staircase to his barber shop was nearby. And a pinpoint building was some distance away.
"Suppose this is what Reaping meant by not seein' city splendor," He scowled.
"Perceptive as always, Mr. Todd," Catherine responded, slightly bemused, "Criminals and the like are blinded from Fortune City. Only necessary visuals are allowed. But of course, Reaping will mend some of these restrictions. Now, your appointment waits."
They walked in sweet, Lovett-less silence.
Dr. Richard Mortis was a skeleton of a man, bald and lengthy. His spectacles were precariously low, practically sliding down that alpine nose. His slender fingers flipped through the contents of a folder marked 'Benjamin Barker, alias Sweeney Todd.'
His assistant, a Miss Emma Balm, occasionally scribbled into a leather bound notebook. More often, her fountain pen found homage resting on painted ruby lips. Her thick eyelashes fluttered upon mention of anything particularly violent.
And Sweeney Todd was reclined on a couch, clacking his shoes together.
"Do you have somewhere else to be, Mr. Todd?" Mortis asked, eyes absorbing the countless papers.
"Suppose I don't," He flatly replied.
"Then, I suggest you cease rude interruptions. Your entire life is, pardon the layman's term, a psychological mess." He plopped the thick folder onto Emma's lap. She winced as a paper whirlwind formed on the Oriental rug.
"Now, what brings you to my office, Mr. Todd?" He began, pointing to scattered papers as Emma stooped to retrieve each one.
"Well, Miss Daver made a suggestion, 'an 'ere I am," He concluded.
"Ah, a referral," Mortis nodded and quickly stated, "But why are you here?"
"Curiosity," Sweeney spat after an elapsed minute. Emma snickered.
"I must say, your answers are very succinct. You are always pondering, thinking. I even suggest rumination. Would you agree, Mr. Todd?"
"Of course," was the bland, monotone response.
"Ah, ah. I detect boredom, an apathetic void of emotion. Miss Balm, suggestions?" His voice was inquisitive.
She flopped into an armchair beside the gangly doctor. An exaggerated sigh escaped her open mouth. She didn't even glance at the perfectly filed papers. "I suggest a deviation from Axis I, Dr. Mortis. I believe the diagnosis would be more accurate from Axis II. No signs or symptoms of mental retardation. But I detect underlings of a personality disorder."
"Yes, I concur. Well done, Miss Balm," He produced the icy encouragement, and then gazed at his patient, "So many maladaptive traits. But the questions, and the answers, Mr. Todd! Let us get to them, shall we? Would you consider yourself introverted, Mr. Todd?"
Sweeney wrinkled his nose, "I do prefer solitude, if that's what you mean."
"Yes, yes. Introversion may include a desire for solitude, certainly. Do you prefer solitude to the company of friends?"
"I have few friends, but they have served sufficient purpose." Sweeney replied, lightly fingering his concealed razor.
"What about Mrs. Lovett?" Emma Baum interjected; her voice was laced with winter. Sweeney found it discomforting.
"What 'bout her?" He tersely questioned.
"Is she your friend, Mr. Todd?" Emma questioned; she was perched on the armchair.
His nostrils flared in aggravation, "Hardly."
She breathed an audible, relieved sigh. Mortis loudly cleared his throat.
"I believe from the brevity of your statement, Mr. Todd, that your relationship with Mrs. Lovett is rather strained. Would that include a strained sexual relationship?" Mortis methodically asked.
A sexual relationship with Mrs. Lovett; the thought nearly had Sweeney Todd choke on his saliva. He was close to knowing her the previous night, but the words 'sex' and 'relationship' were inappropriate together. His intentions were strictly damaging. He had no intention for enhancing their supposed relationship. He observed Emma stiffen; her seductive smile soured.
"I care little for knowing Mrs. Lovett," He snapped, watching Emma become perky.
"Well enough, Mr. Todd," Mortis stated, "Do you have any activities? Or hobbies?"
"To slit the throat of any man that done me, me wife, or me daughter harm." He was caressing the blade now; his eyes were dreamy and clouded.
"Ah, revenge. Of course, precisely. Miss Balm, your diagnosis please." Mortis concluded, eyes interlocked with his counterpart.
"301.20, Dr. Mortis," Emma Baum gushed with exhilaration.
Sweeney raised one dark eyebrow in confusion.
Dr. Mortis clasped his hands together. The sound was similar to meat stripped from bone, shearing and crackled. He spoke eloquently, "Your assessment has characteristics of a distinct, albeit rare personality disorder. Your desire for close, intimate relationships is nonexistent. You enjoy solitude, preferably in the barber shop I would assume. You have little desire for sexual relationships. Your preferred activities are limited to revenge-seeking. Your friends are few, and inanimate, yes Mr. Todd I noticed you fondling the razor in your pocket. You are indifferent to praise or criticism. And you display emotional coldness, detachment, and a flat affect. Miss Balm has accurately diagnosed you, Mr. Todd. You have schizoid personality disorder."
"Oh," He mused, "Is that all?" This accurate analysis was quite maddening. Sweeney tightened his grip on the razor handle. His precious friend was needed again.
"No, no. Axis III, IV, and V must be considered. I will fill out the multiaxial evaluation report form. Miss Daver will want one too, for records of course. Miss Balm you may interview him further, practice your skills. I shall return shortly." The doctor hurriedly stood and exited. The slammed door still echoed throughout the office.
Emma Balm had glossy, hooded eyes. Her smirk reflected mystery and secrecy. She rose languidly and sauntered to him. She sat; her rear playfully bumping his legs.
Sweeney was, as always, uninterested. He blankly stared through her.
"I don't have any more questions for you, Mr. Todd," She confessed.
"Just as well," He answered; the sentiment absent.
"But you are so wonderfully fascinating. I have always found convicts a true pleasure, and just imagine my excitement at reading the Fortune Times a few days previous. New Arrival: Sweeney Todd, barber of Fleet Street, London throat slit by Tobias Ragg (1). Oh, you! You had finally died. I beg your pardon, Mr. Todd, to speak of your demise with such vigor. But, oh have I waited." Her voice was husky, honeyed and thick. Her acrylic nails made circles on his gray pant leg.
His stopped her wandering hand with his unsheathed razor. But her smile was wicked. She pounced despite obvious warning. She straddled him, running intrusive fingers through his wild hair.
Her whispers were hungry and possessive:
"Oh, Mr. Todd do not make me wait,
Ooh, Mr. Todd for what I yearn to take.
Now, Mr. Todd quickly undress,
Now, Mr. Todd no soft caress
Will suffice my needs
So if you will, take heed:
It is dishonorable, to make a woman plead.
Yes, Mr. Todd for me you will,
Produce such a delightful chill
Through my spine
As I take what is mine.
But Mr. Todd, too Mr. Todd,
Just give affirmation, a slight nod
And I relinquish the clue
To save you, too.
Now, hush, save your mouth for me,
And after I shall provide the key
For your glorious destiny."
But her parted lips received a new color; a dark, dribbling crimson. Sweeney sliced his razor across her trembling lips. She reeled back in shock. Her mouth instinctively widened to scream. But he scraped her tongue; bloody papilla coating the blade. He violently jabbed her soft palate, once, twice, three times. Her uvula dangled by a miniscule thread. Her voice was garbled as blood formed rivulets down her throat.
It wasn't enough. Memories of Adolfo Pirelli, Davy, were flooding back. This conniving vixen, this vile temptress was threatening him. Half your earnings for my silence. Service me and I shall service you. Sweeney Todd was not a negotiator.
He pressed the blade against her neck and cut. Each jugular splattered steamy blood across his poised face. He didn't blink.
Emma Balm crumpled, falling backward into a hacking fit.
She wasn't dying. She was spitting out more blood. Sweeney deemed this impossible, since little remained of her tongue. But her gashes were sealing, much like his.
She shook with rage, pounding her fists on the couch. She rebounded and roughly grabbed his shirt. Her labored breathing was scalding against his face.
"Stupid, stupid crazy fuck," She cursed, tinted saliva trailing down her chin, "You've made such a foolish mistake."
(1) I don't remember if Toby had a last name in the movie or not, so I've taken his full name from the book edited by Robert L. Mack.
Apologies for the delay, but life does throw some rough curveballs. I hope you enjoyed the slightly longer chapter though. :)
Ps. Emma Baum is a scheming bitch and I love it. And Dr. Richard Mortis is oblivious for leaving her alone with Sweeney, but I still love him too.
And whoops, made another boo-boo. Changed Balm to Baum. Ugh, I will fix it.
Until next time, faithful ones.