O sleep, O gentle sleep,
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down
And steep my sense in forgetfulness?
William Shakespeare, Henry IV, Part I
It was very early, perhaps not a minute or so past three o'clock.
Sweeney Todd sat, rigidly straight, against the bed frame. The white sheets were scrunched under his navel, scratching his stomach with even the most miniscule turn. The solitaire candle was painting the room brilliant amber, but just out of snuffing reach. This insomnia was an unwelcome guest. But to place blame merely on sheets or candles—oh, he knew better.
Something happened yesterday. Something more than the obvious.
He had thought her so wicked, so treacherous, and so very filthy. A polluted soul, thick with deceitful black splotches. She was not human. Not a woman. But a thing. Or better still his toy, to be molded and manipulated. Similar thoughts kept his stomach from sloshing with sickening gurgles.
But his defeated eyes glanced down.
Mrs. Lovett was snuggled against him; her breath tickling tiny, untraceable hairs on his skin. Her silken arms were loosely wrapped around his body; her face propped up with two pillows. Her long, russet tendrils extended like vines on a terrace.
Her face was a portrait of serenity and contentment. The singular flame flickered across her features, making dark hollows suddenly very bright. She almost looked innocent, beautiful.
But her words, those brief words destroyed any chance of a momentary aesthetic confirmation.
"I love you, Mr. Todd,"
Those three simple, honest, and magnificent words—such words that would make Benjamin Barker weep for joy. It had been five thousand four hundred and seventy some odd days. Bleak mornings of waking to screams, haunted wails of broken men. Endless nights of praying, begging to an unmerciful God. Please, please let the guards pass my cell. Please, please make them forget me. Please, please Lord, if they see me let the beating be quick. But it was hopeless. They came every night, drunk or sober, and they pummeled him against the cobblestone. Even when he was allowed a whore, when one guard would spare pity on him even for ten minutes, he never tasted her. Her thickly smeared lipstick, her salty sea-swept flesh—no, all he could taste was blood, sweat, shit and piss—yes, all those bastards laughed so damn hard when they caked his aching bones with the contents of his chamber pot.
The first night a whore was brought, he sat in the corner and observed.
Her name was Kittie—or whatever name she had decided on that night. She was American, with thick, curly burgundy hair and lackluster eyes. He would have never seen her, the cell was sooty and dark, but she lit a cigarette. The match lingered long enough for a brief examination of her features.
"You ain't gonna fuck me are ya?" She hacked, chortling something deep in her throat.
"No, no-no, I would never, not me." Benjamin Barker stammered.
"Honey, ya don't have'ta treat me right. I'm good for it," She reassured, spitting onto the cobblestone floor.
"How can you do it?" He silently questioned aloud.
But Kittie answered anyway, "Easy, just kill 'em off. All those fuckin' feelings. Concentrate on one thing. Money's that one thing for me. Ya just gotta find yours, honey."
The day Benjamin Barker died was underneath two crunching leather boots, face plastered into blood and vomit, hearing echoing, maniacal laughter.
Sweeney Todd was born into silence. The guards would not torment him then. They could not. He did not squirm, beg, or feverishly cry. He was boring now, not as much of a good romp. 'He had no soul left to break,' one of them said. That was the last Sweeny Todd heard from them. And escaping was so much easier. He didn't bother searching for Kittie. He probably would have killed her anyway.
For he felt nothing but revenge. Everything else died with a weak, starved prisoner choking on times past instead of times ahead.
"I would do anythin' for you, Mr. Todd,"
It was maddening really, her compliance and devotion. But words are just words. And what do words have without meaning? Nothing. So how can meaning be tested? Well, through a show of good faith of course. Mrs. Lovett shared much more than last night. And in that moment between the dueling sisters of desire, pleasure and pain, she was truly his. His heart could harden or wither. His mind could conjure numerous denials, rationalizations, even intellectualizations. But, he loved her then. But he would never admit it—that risk was far too great.
She was stirring, eyelids only slightly fluttering. And then her radiant, fire-illuminated eyes were open. She titled her head; her eyebrows knit together.
"Have you slept any?" She questioned, concern flooding her voice.
"No," Sweeney confessed, quickly adding, "But don't trouble yourself 'bout that."
Mrs. Lovett frowned, and her lips bunched on him. She spoke again, "It certainly is troublin', love. Considerin' I can hardly sleep much with you awake. Now, there must be somethin' botherin' you. Tell me. It will do you good sayin' it than keepin' it locked away up there." She motioned with her nose toward his head.
Perceptive! But unfortunately not worthy of the truth, he thought.
"I was thinkin' 'bout me trial," He lied, turning away from her inquisitive eyes.
"Worried 'bout it, huh?" She asked, and included, "But I'm more worried 'bout how you can't look at me when you say that."
Certainly caught on quick, he brooded.
Sweeney sighed, a practiced one, and revealed some false emotion, "I don't want you seein' how worried I really am."
"Oh, now love," She huffed, flipping onto her back, "you don't need to hide everythin' from me. That ain't fair an' you know it."
What was this mockery? How dare she, how dare she question him! She was prying, sifting around places her pretty little nose did not belong. He would extinguish her intrigue.
Sweeney pounced and roughly sat over her lithe body. She gave a startled, yet hungry gasp. His grimace deepened. Little slut, he vehemently thought, you'll get nothin' from me.
His hands clutched and crossed over her throat; his grasp tightened. And soon, her trachea was bulging under his thumbs.
"Why are you askin' me all these infantile questions?" He hissed, his lips curling over barred teeth.
Mrs. Lovett answered with a protruding tongue and bullfrog chokes. Her face was distorted, stained dark orange from the leaping flame. Her eyes bulged, almost bursting from their sockets.
"So I don't look at you. So I don't sleep. So I hide. What else do you think you know?" He questioned, forcefully knocking her head against the pillows.
Her fingers were lacing around his arms; then, her fingernails deeply bit him. Little blood rivulets were soon coursing down, raining onto his interlocked hands.
"You should have pretended to sleep. You should have kept quiet. Then, I wouldn't be doin' this to you, love. Don't you see? Don't you understand?" He begged, watching her arms slacken.
His smile was atrocious, snarled and open, tongue eagerly pressed against his teeth. His eyes darted from her barren eyes, flared nostrils, parted mouth, diminished chest heaves, prominent ribcage, those murderous twin scars . . .
He immediately stopped and removed his hands. Mrs. Lovett sputtered and coughed, awkwardly twisting her neck. She deeply gulped and gasped for air. He crawled away, sitting on the edge of her bed. He turned his back, head hanging very low. His open palms supported his pounding head and closed his burning eyes. But that clawing, gnawing voice was coming back. It was scraping away, pulling his last strand of sanity.
Toddy-boy, oh Toddy-boy! Look what you've left unfinished. Tsk, tsk, tsk—Unfinished, yes. I can't continue this.—Why the hell not? Said so yourself, woman should have kept quiet and stayed asleep. An' she didn't. So why don't she deserve to be shaken up a bit?—But we, you, no I. I was goin' to kill her.—An' you never had any problems with that before. What makes her so damn special?—She's been through enough.—According to you maybe, Toddy-boy, but not me.
"Sorry, for botherin' you dear."
Can you believe it, Toddy-boy? After all your shit, still comes crawlin' back.—It certainly is commendable, tolerable even.—What? No. No. No. Don't start handin' out encouragin' words yet. She might make somethin' go off again, dammed woman.
"I was only tryin' to help you."
Ah-ha! Ha-ha HA! Help? Are you hearin' what I hear, Toddy-boy?—Maybe she was bein' helpful. Maybe I should have listened to her.—Hey, hey. You only listen to me, understand lad?
"I was preparin' you. For what they'll be askin' at your trial. Figured it would ease your worry, maybe help you sleep even."
Oh, you figured did you? Ease me worry, love?—Don't chide her. She had righteous intentions.—Sure has a way of showin' it tho'! Think she might have warned us 'bout this, not just delve right in where she don't belong.—But I don't think it would have been as effective.—BUT I DON'T THINK, NO. YOU don't think. WE think. An' if WE decide she needs a good roughin' up YOU agree with ME, understand Toddy-boy?—WE won't hurt her anymore.—No, but YOU still might.
"Come on now, come back to me. We can sleep together."
Sweeney glanced back over his shoulder. She was patting some imaginary dust away from one of the pillows, lovingly placing it next to the other. She motioned with one hand for him. Her smile was honeyed and warm.
"Are you certain?" He cautioned, quite baffled at her tolerance.
"Yes," She affirmed, coyly patting the linen.
"I might do somethin' again," He warned, trying one last time.
"An' you might not, love. I would risk it. Now, quit stallin' an' come 'ere." She sweetly laughed, gently tugging him back.
If she could forgive and forget so easily, perhaps he would try too.
They lay together, comfortable and relaxed, with fresh sweat from delectable cravings and unbridled passion. And for the first time in years, Sweeney Todd slept without fear.
Sweeney Todd was roused by tinkling keys and a jangling doorknob. Then, a defiant whine from the opening door caused him to straighten. He disentangled from his partner, making sure she was still covered, and sat up.
Catherine Daver tip-toed into the room. Those black curls bounced against her high cheekbones with each careful step. Her eyes locked with him. She looked a little startled.
"You were not in your shop, Mr. Todd. I decided to check all the rooms," She produced the keys, silently waving them around before including, "I have skeleton keys, for all my clients."
"An' so you've found me. Congratulations," He unenthusiastically whispered, glancing around the floorboards for his clothes.
"Yes, but I did not expect to find you here, Mr. Todd," She emphasized, stooping to grasp his clothes and effortlessly tossing them on the bed.
He ignored the statement, opting instead to rummage through his garments. His nose crinkled. He had been wearing the same clothes for days. And all this time he was more concerned with how Mrs. Lovett looked. Now, he must have looked a proverbial shit.
Catherine Daver must have had some inkling, for she spoke quite expediently, "You might as well just get dressed in those, Mr. Todd. We do not have much time to clean them. Or for you to parade around stark as the day you were born, looking for something else."
"An' where exactly are we goin' off to so fast?" Sweeney asked, putting on his undergarments and pinstripe pants.
She sighed, tapping her foot against the floorboard, and said, "Does anyone relay messages in this damn city? Miss Emma Balm reassured me, countless times, she would tell you."
"Tell me what, exactly? She's said and done quite enough already," He huffed, buttoning his off-white shirt.
"But I suppose it slipped her mind to mention your trial today, hmm?"
Sweeney grunted, tying a blue-brown scarf around his neck. He shrugged into his worn brown vest and resumed buttoning. He spoke slowly, trying to control his annoyance, "I wish Miss Emma Balm would slip me mind as easily as she slipped in forgettin' to mention me trial."
"Yes, well," Catherine mused, "We can all wish, Mr. Todd. But she is one of the witnesses."
"Perfect," He muttered, perhaps just a bit too loudly.
Mrs. Lovett stirred and slowly walked her fingers around his mid-section. Catherine Daver watched with mild amusement, tilting her head to one side.
"Come back to bed, love," She sleepily mumbled, "No reason gettin' dressed if I'll be takin' everythin' off again."
Catherine stifled a small giggle. But she motioned toward the door, tapping an imaginary wristwatch.
Sweeney turned back, brushing a stray hair from her forehead, "I will come back, soon. An' I want you just like this. Now rest. You'll need every minute of it, love."
He stooped lower, desperate to kiss her mouth, to run his fingers over her curves—but he retracted. He inched away, watching her drift back to candied dreams.
He hated promises.
He hated reassurances.
And most of all, he hated the toll of keeping them.
Author's Note: Did you miss me? I missed you guys very much! Can you believe this is (insert drum roll here) one of the final chapters? Shocking I know isn't it? I'm sure you can all guess by this chapter's title how many chapters are left. You're all a smart bunch. ;) And as a side note, I decided to pair up my characters with actors/actresses (kind of late, I know /) so you can envision them with Johnny and Helena a bit more (but of course if you like your own vision better, by all means stick with it!). In any case, here we go!
George Reaping – Hugh Jackman (X-men Trilogy, Van Helsing)
Catherine Daver – Kate Beckinsale (Underworld, Underworld: Evolution, Van Helsing, Click)
Thomas Bertram Stone – Ewan McGregor (Star Wars, Moulin Rogue, Big Fish)
Dr. Richard Mortis – Daniel Day Lewis (There Will Be Blood, The Ballad of Jack and Rose, Gangs of New York)
Miss Emma Balm – Christina Applegate (Married with Children, Samantha Who?)
Georgiana Reaping – Julia Roberts (Charlie Wilson's War, Erin Brockovich, Pretty Women)
Fortune City Judge – Can you believe it? I'm drawing a complete blank. Maybe you guys have some ideas?
Aunt Nettie – Meryl Streep (Lions for Lambs, Evening, The Devil Wears Prada)
Albert Lovett – Dan Aykroyd (I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry, Christmas with the Kranks, 50 First Dates)
Anna Sullivan – Bette Midler (The First Wives Club, The Stepford Wives)
Charlie Dalton – Jason Biggs (American Pie Trilogy—because I really don't count anything after American Wedding :P)
Phew! I could only imagine if all these actors and actresses got together and my little story became well ... yeah, back to reality. :PNow, once again as always:
Until next time, faithful ones.