Kidney Pie – Chapter 13

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Sitting on the stained wooden counter, Jack hunched over his crossed arms, scowling sideways at Mr. Fogg. The doctor leaned over beside him, speaking calmly as he lit a candle. "We'll have lot of fun now, won't we? Just you and me and your lovely sister." Jack shot an angry glance at Mrs. Lovett, who smiled back uncertainly. "Now, how'd you like to tell me your name?"

"Jack."

The doctor smiled sweetly, leaning his weasel-like face too close to his stubborn patient's. " Wouldn't you like to say your whole name?" Only silence and a deeper scowl answered his question. "You see, my name is Dr. Jonas Fogg. I have a first name and a last name. Don't you have a last name, too?"

"No."

Frowning, Fogg turned to Mrs. Lovett. "Doesn't he know it?" Jack's jaws clenched as he saw the amusement spring to the baker's eyes.

"Oh, I'm sure he does. Don't you, dear?" She was trying not to giggle. He could hear it bubbling out in her voice, and growled through his teeth. The Asylum was eerie. It somehow seemed to embody everything he ran from when he gave Scotland Yard the slip: chains and weeping stone walls, wretched bloody screaming, prodding strangers, the noose, the whispers of a madness that, confined, would turn on itself. In that dim office, reeking of chloroform, he was suddenly sure that, if he were ever caught, he would go mad. The madhouse frightened him, but it couldn't shake or enrage him like that stifled laugh. "He's usually very friendly, poor bugger. Just being shy, I guess."

"Well, I will need the name for records." Eleanor's eyes met the Ripper's, questioning him silently. He searched her eyes through the same stare. This is insane. It was the hospital, the bloody chloroform that made the air in the room seem to burn, the feel of the ragged cloth around his wrists that made him suddenly doubt the impossibility of his capture. Why did I let them tie my hands?

"Well…" Mrs. Lovett paused, her eyes not leaving Jack's. "If he doesn't want you to know…" The Ripper felt himself stop breathing, trying to read her. There was love in her eyes, somewhere. She loved the barber. But you knew that. Why should it matter more now? Of course they should pretend to be married. Didn't it make more sense? Wasn't at least some of that love for him?

"I know it's difficult dealing with madness in loved ones, ma'am, but you really mustn't humor him." She doesn't know. She wouldn't tell him. They still stared. Jack watched her decision forming. She'll find a way to buy Todd the time he needs.

She won't let him leave me. Jack startled, not recognizing this new fear until he tried to quell it. The baker opened her mouth, her words catching for a moment. "Tripp," she said. "Jack… Jack Tripp, his name is."

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Standing in the dark in the broad, dirty passage, Sweeney felt that he had been swallowed by some stone beast. Dripping water echoed on the wet stone floor, falling from the ceiling, invisible in the blackness above him. The bars on either side, thin, bent, and rusted, loomed like ribs in the faint light, and from behind them came the sound of whispering and muttering and shuffling like the breath in giant lungs. Samuel's footsteps, the barbers own steps, the echoes of their slow treads through the gut of the Asylum mingled in the gloom, a heartbeat.

The beast exhaled a stink as Mr. Todd paused in its belly. It was not overwhelming, but it was undeniable. It was the smell of unwashed bodies in unwashed cells, the smell of shit and vermin and sickness, of the foul dampness that clung to stones and iron like sweat. It was the smell of the prison ship, of the cells of Botany Bay.

I too have sailed the world and seen its wonders, for the cruelty of man is as wondrous as Peru…

Samuel past him, trundling on toward the men's side of the ward and speaking softly as he went. "You just be careful not to excite them, is the thing. We don't make too much noise, or turn the lights too bright on 'em."

He knew the dark, the constant, sleepless murmuring and the sound of men moving in the shadows. He had lived it.

"Barker, you miserable git! Barker! Get over here!" A whip uncoiled with a leathery hiss, snapping at the air like a serpent. "Barker!" That dark around him, wet and smothering. "Barker, you get here, or you won't have a speck of skin left on your filthy little back!" You can't threaten a dead man.

He followed the orderly towards the cells, steps slow and automatic. "The light, it upsets 'em, you see. Could be they don't like to see where they are, seeing it ain't where they think they are."

It was dark. The light was Lucy. The light was life. He was sure of it. Outside, he could feel the sun pouring red into the waters of the bay as it rose. He knew it, even in the dark.

"Do you have the keys?"

Samuel looked at him, his wide eyes white in the darkness. "You – You can't go in there! They'd rip you to bits!"

Sweeney looked past the other man, seeing the bars and the pale eyes behind them. "I want to know someone will have the keys. In case anything happens in the cells. They can get in. They can help."

What hell made Jack the Ripper?

"My poor brother… I just want to see them."

"H-here they are, gov." The keys jingled as Samuel fished them out of his pocket. They gleamed faintly in the dim light. "I've got 'em right here."

The guard was beside him, a tower, snatching at his collar to drag him away. The prison door creaked. Another man cried out, "Just bring him already, will you?" And from behind the second guard, the man in the door, the red light crept into the cells, glinting off the set of heavy keys dangling from his captor's belt. Keys to the door, to the pantry, to the armory, to the gates, to the shed that housed the colony's little fleet of leaky rowboats. And in that gleam, the cunning, cutting soul of Sweeney Todd sprang to life.

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"There now, Mr. Tripp, that's not so bad, is it?" Turning back to his patient, Fogg held up the candle and casually tipped the melted wax out onto the floor. Jack wondered how the flame could still burn when it felt like the air in the room had been drawn away. "That's a fine name." Just a name. Not even his name. It didn't matter at all. He tried to breathe, his fingers winding themselves into the worn cloth of his sleeves. It doesn't mean a bloody thing. "Now we'll play a little game." Jack finally looked at the doctor, his eyes darting almost hopefully between Fogg's narrow face and the candle's flame. "All you have to do is watch this little candle. Don't even move your head. Just follow it with your eyes. All right?"

Just a name. Jack glanced nervously at Mrs. Lovett. Just a candle. He drew a shaky breath, turning back to the doctor. It's just a bloody hospital. Just buying time, Jack.

He could feel Fogg watching his eyes as the candle drifted side to side in front of his face. He had to force himself to follow the flickering little flame and not return the doctor's stare. Across the room, Eleanor's form was blotted out by the little glare as the candle passed between them. Her shadow flickered behind her. He felt the chill of the asylum creep up his back. It's just a hospital.

The candle paused in front of his face. Jack looked at it, almost relieved that it had stopped, as if he could have failed even such a simple test. "Hmm…" Fogg peered down his thin nose at the candle for a moment, the thrust it suddenly toward the Ripper, stopping just short of his face as Jack leaned back with a startled yelp. "His reactions seem fine." The doctor whirled the candle in dizzying circles, letting Jack, feeling shaken again, to follow its glowing trail as best he could. He turned to the baker. "He has got mad looking eyes, though, hasn't he? Looks very mad, indeed…"

"Always thought he was rather dashing, myself." Mrs. Lovett looked down suddenly finding the flour trapped in the black lace of her gloves fascinating. Jack knew she was trying not to look at him, to keep from seeing her smirk. "But if that's your professional opinion…"

Fogg grunted, setting the candle off to the side and rubbing his narrow hands together. "Now, let's have a look at that silly head of yours." He reached for Jack's battered top hat, but the Ripper leaned away, scowling. His anger over Eleanor's amusement had at least thawed some of his fear. "Oh, come along, now. Can't I take your nice hat? I'll give you a sweetie." What? Jack could only stare as the doctor pulled from the pocket of his lab coat a handful of butterscotch and peppermints.

"Is that standard procedure here?" Jack didn't need to look up. Even as his stared, dumbstruck, at the candies, he could hear the same shock in the baker's voice.

"Of course. We're one happy family here, and I always reward my poor children with a sweetie when they behave." Fogg took advantage of the Ripper's awe to quickly tip the hat away with his free hand, letting it fall onto the counter behind Jack. "There. I'll just take a look at you." Stuffing the sweets back into his pockets, the doctor took his patient's head in both hands, forcing Jack's face down as he dragged his disheveled head closer. "He has fits, you say?"

"Oh, yes, sir. Dreadful violent ones, he has. He scares us half to death." A woman whose brother-in-law was being committed to an insane asylum did not laugh. Mrs. Lovett was struggling to stay in character as she watched Fogg root through Jack's unruly hair, tapping occasionally at his skull with bony fingers. "Nearly cut my throat a time or two."

"Has he, really?" The doctor looked up at her, surprised. "That's remarkable! I'd love to see one of these fits. In fact, I'd suggest you leave him here for observation." He smiled like a child with a new toy. "Oh, won't you make a fine addition to our little family, Mr. Tripp!" He ran his fingers idly through the Ripper's hair. "Even if you haven't got the nicest hair, I think it'll sell." Fogg looked up at the baker ahain. "What do you say? I can call an orderly right now?"

Jack felt ice water creeping through his veins. Still hunched, Fogg's miserable hands on his head, he pressed his arms closer to his chest, feeling the hard shape of his knife beneath his coat.

Nellie was silent, staring. Deciding. "Perhaps we'd better wait till him brother gets back."

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Sweeney smiled in the dark, clutching the set of keys so that the warm blood that dripped from his hands slipped between his skin and the rough flecks of rust. Along the wide corridor, the wooden cross bars were off all the cell doors but one, the beams that trapped them shut cast into the hall or propped against the walls. The bolts were drawn, the heavy padlocks fallen away. All that held the doors closed against the thronging prisoners were loops of slick intestine, twisted and tied through the bars.

One of Saucy Jacky's tricks. Mr. Todd grinned wider as he stepped toward the last locked door. Screaming rose all around him, its intensity soaring as hysteria spread from the cage of brown-haired madmen who had witnessed Samuel's death, who now howled and shrieked at his gutted corpse, to the far ends of the ward. Already, the women in the final cell were beating at the gate that held them, their arms reaching through the rusted bars, clawing at the smell of blood. They were dirty, their wide eyes rolling as they shrieked. And all had yellow hair.

His smile faded. Stepping up to the door, he reached slowly through the boney, scrabbling limbs for the bar. The women's nails bit and slid on the bloody leather sleeves of his coat.

There's tawny and there's golden saffron,

There's flaxen and there's blonde…

He let the bar fall, reaching for the bolt. It slid back with a squeal, and the screaming, the snatching answered by doubling their fury. Behind him, he heard one of the heavy iron door grate against stone. His slippery ties were starting to give, as he intended. The freed maniacs would overrun the asylum, and no questions would be asked about the night's deaths. Ignoring the grasping prisoners, he fit the key into the hanging padlock.

There's course and fine,

There's straight and curly,

There's gray, there's white,

There's ash, there's pearly…

The harsh sound of the heaving gate came again, and she door swung open with a metallic scream. Sweeney dropped the keys, braced his free hand against the door, and let the lock fall. For a moment, the skeletal hands clutched at his wrist as he held the door shut against the weight of the women on the other side. Then, stepping back, he let the door fly open.

Buff and ochre and

Straw and apricot…

The blondes burst out at once, plunging the barber into a stream of bodies. Ready, he threw the women to either side, forcing his way into the cell in spite of their clawing limbs. A starved thing threw herself at him as he reached the door, but flung her back into the darkness. A girl writhed beneath his feet, trampled by the others. It didn't matter. None of them mattered. He was inside.

Outside, more doors sprang open as the inmates pushed at the bars, attacking the bloody ties with nails and teeth.

Sweeney scanned the cell. One girl lay on a grimy cot, empty eyed and murmuring. Another clawed at the stone walls with bleeding hands. And in the darkest corner huddled a girl perhaps sixteen, with hair like wheat and a face as white as bone. Johanna…

Without a word, Mr. Todd leapt across the filthy prison, swept his daughter into his bloody arms, and dashed back into the chaos of the ward.

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"Well, I'm sure you'll want to discuss the fees and such with my husband when he gets back. Head of the household, you know." Mrs. Lovett finally dropped into the ratty looking chair behind her, more for the sake of her aching head than her aching feet. Stalling Mr. Fogg had become rather tiring. "Don't want to run through all this twice, now, do you?"

"Oh, it's no trouble at all, ma'am. I never tire of dealing with my poor children's other families." The doctor smiled happily. "You know, it's the most fascinating thing in times like these, what with the murders in Whitechapel and all. I get so sort through every loon and half-wit in the East End. Everybody's suddenly certain his eccentric Uncle Whatsit's Jack the Ripper." Both Jack and Nellie startled, exchanging a glance, but Fogg didn't notice. Laughing, he flung his lanky arm over the Ripper's shoulders. "Now, we're not ever going to see him here, wherever the devil is. He's not half foolish enough to wind up like your brother here. That's my take on it."

"That's good for him, then." Mrs. Lovett glanced at the door. Come on, Mr. T. Should it take this long? What if he couldn't find her? "You hear that, Jack? You ought to think more like the murderer."

Fogg straightened, letting go of his stunned patient. "Oh, no, I didn't mean it like -" Stopping, he looked at the far wall, as if he needed to see through it. "What was that?"

"What?" Listening, Nellie could hear a chorus of screams somewhere further into the asylum. "They don't always do that?"

"Not so loud. It…" The doctor's beady black eyes grew wider. "It sounds like they're coming closer." Mrs. Lovett smiled. That's my Mr. Todd, then. "Excuse me. I'd better see what's happening."

He went for the door, but Nellie was faster. He couldn't interfere with Sweeney's escape. Or theirs. She threw herself against the heavy wood, blocking his escape. "Ma'am, I'm afraid I have to go now. Move."

The baker glanced at Jack. "Ready, love?"

"What is this!? What are you-" Fogg followed her eyes, looking back to the counter in time to see a grin split the Ripper's face as he pulled a long knife out from under his coat and, with a flick of his wrist, slashed the long piece of cloth that hung between his hands. "Oh!" The doctor stumbled back from the door, raising his arms in from of him as Jack sprang towards him.

It didn't do him any good. His arms slowly sank as he collapsed, his blood pouring from the bleeding gash in his throat. Mrs. Lovett opened the door and stepped out, looking down the dark hall. Coming toward them, she saw two white-faced figures, a man and a girl with yellow hair. Behind them came a wave of wailing madmen. "Jack!" She looked back to where the Ripper, dripping blood, still stood over the doctor's wound-riddled corpse. "Jack, we've got to go." He looked at her, startled, then down at his kill, as if he couldn't quite remember where he was. "Now!" In the hall, Sweeney and Johanna were leading the charge, running faster and faster. They'd be at the office door at any second. Inside, Jack stared at her. She could almost see the wheels spinning behind his mad blue eyes, the pieces of reality reconnecting. But he wasn't moving. And Nellie knew she was not going to outrun Fogg's children if the waited much long. "Jack, run!" But without waiting, she bolted out into the hallway and ran.

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"Do you think they'll be back soon?" Anthony's voice cut through the stillness of Mrs. Lovett's parlor, drowning out the ticking of the baker's long ago broken cuckoo clock. Toby stared at the little fire in the hearth. He had given up answering that question half an hour ago.

It had been almost three hours since his mum had hurried out of the shop, a demon leading and a fiend in tow, not saying where the three were bound. To rescue a girl, the sailor has told him. From a madhouse. The boy scowled. He wouldn't trust those two to lead her to church, never mind an asylum.

A woman cried out in the street, and both boys jumped, craning to see the door, but it didn't open. Outside, they heard the harsh squawking of a flustered woman, and a man's laughing reply, indistinct, before the sounds passed by them.

Toby's little fists closed tight as he settled back down. The worst part was not knowing what was going on. Even Anthony, who Toby couldn't help noticing was a bit dense, knew more than he did. The sailor thought Jack was a doctor from Whitechapel, although it was only because he believed Mrs. Lovett had called him after his spill down the stairs. And Toby was certain that nobody had fallen down the barber's steps.

Again, voices sounded from outside, a man's wailing. It sounded almost right outside their windows. He shuddered, but kept his eyes on the coals at the base of the fire.

He hated them both, the barber and the Ripper. Even Anthony shared his silent curses, as harmless as he seemed, for adding more pieces to the puzzle and for sending Mrs. Lovett on this fool's errand. His nails bit into his little palms, bringing tears to his eyes, but his scowl only grew deeper as he tried to blink them away, opening his fists and burying his hands in the cushions of his worn old couch. If anyone else comes to hurt my mum, I swear I'll…

"Don't you think they'll be back before too long?" The boy stared ahead, his eyes opening in wonder as his fingers found something hard, something he had forgotten, beneath the pillows. "Don't you, Toby?" Ignoring his guest, Toby pulled it out, seeing again the switchblade knife Jack had given him. "Toby…?"

It was a little big for his hands, but his fingers found the catch and the blade sprang out with a soft hiss. Its sudden motion startled him, but not nearly as much as the unexpected beauty of its blade. For a moment he was lost in the firelight along the steel.

"Toby, what are you…"

He looked up, stunned at having forgotten the room around him. "Sorry, I…"

A crash sounded from the barber shop. "What was that!?"

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Turpin stared as the white lather spread around the shattered bits of the mug at his beadle's feet, then lifted his eyes to sneer at the trembling henchman. Idiot! Angrily, he turned back to his investigation, trying to ignore the fading fear that the noise had caused in him. The shop itself was eerie, as if in the absence of the sunlight and the current occupant, the place would be the haunt of the Barker's ghosts. And they'd be weeping ghosts, pleading for their daughter, their Johanna. My Johanna…

He tried to shake it off as he crossed to the back of the room, searching for anywhere Todd and their sailor might hide the evidence of the work, but the feeling wouldn't leave him. He looked in a covered, ratty crib, but saw only a doll's porcelain skull in the white moonlight. Ghostly. He looked in the trunk against the wall, and found white shirts like shrouds.

For an absurd moment, he wondered if Barker was dead. Then he spotted the dark splotches on the inside of the trunk. Leaning closer, he took a match from the box in his pocket and struck in. In the sudden small flare, the dark stains showed reddish-brown. "This trunk is stained with blood." He all but whispered, half stunned by his own success. "This could easily hold a – a corpse…"

"My lord…" Beadle Bamford's voice was choked with fear. Turpin stood, turning. "My lord, there's drops of… It's all over the counter…"

Turpin swept across the room, they dying match held before him. It was true. Dark rep spots were scattered across the tabletop. The soap dish and a spare mug were flecked with scarlet. An old leather strop was sticky to the touch. But the worst damage was to a pair of faded portraits in a jointed frame. They were not only splattered but smeared with drying gore, as if the glass above the photograph had been caressed by a bloody hand.

The judge picked up the frame, peering through the crimson film at the face in both pictures. He knew that woman. She looked just like his Johanna. Lucy… And the man beside her… The man who had welcomed him to this shop and schemed to steal away his Johanna, their Johanna…

"Benjamin Barker..."

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Sweeney ran, not sure whether the pounding her heard was that of his own heart or if the madmen running behind him were gaining on him, their bare feet drumming down the stone floors. He knew that part of their screaming was Johanna's cries. He was carrying her like a child. She was frightened. There was no time to calm her, though.

In front of him, Mrs. Lovett ran as fast as she could, one hand trying to lift her skirts out of the way of her flashing boots, but she was already winded. Sweeney shifted Johanna in his arms, throwing her against his chest so that she flung her arms around his neck and clutched the back of his coat. With his freed hand, he reached out, taking Mrs. Lovett by the shoulder to push her on.

Behind them the door to Fogg's office crashed open again. Jack. He was only seconds behind them, but so were the lunatics. And the door was ahead, the terrified porter already scrambling for the key. It would be close, but he should be able to pull it off.

The doorman fumbled with the keys, looking behind him in fright, but managed to swing the door open before they reached it. For a moment, he hesitated at the threshold, not sure whether to run or to wait and help them. He waited long enough to give the barber his chance.

Sweeney shoved Nellie toward the door. She was already breathing in gasps, finding barely enough air to squeal as she stumbled into the night. Sweeney snatched the man's keys and kicked him hard in the knee. Behind him, he could hear the Ripper, sprinting, almost at the door. He wrenched the keys out of the porter's hand as the man fell. "Jack, get him! No witnesses!"Jack faltered, just a leap away from the door, and looked at the barber. Then he pounced at the yelling porter, letting Sweeney step aside and out of the hospital.

On the asylum's steps, Sweeney let Johanna's feet swing back under her, carefully breaking her grip on his neck. There were tears in her eyes. He had no time to wipe them away. Mrs. Lovett was behind him, watching him, panting. He caught her bewildered, hopeful eyes as he spun back to the door. Her adoring eyes. No time. It would only take one slash to dispatch the doorman. He doubted even the Ripper would dare to do more with Fogg's freed inmates charging the hospital's open door.

Sweeney Todd reached out and pushed the heavy iron door shut.

"Mr. T! What are you doing!?" Nellie pulled at his arm as he rammed the stolen key into the lock. "Stop! Open the door! Mr. Todd!" Sweeney said nothing, only taking her by the wrist as he turned, flinging the keys into the asylum's overgrown yard. "You can't just leave-"

Yes. I can, Mrs. Lovett. He grinned as he reached for Johanna's hand and led them back toward the street. Behind him, he heard the door begin to crash and shake on its hinges and Jack's muffled voice. "Todd! Eleanor! Let me out!" He walked faster, all but dragging the baker, who still tried to pull him back.

"What about Jack! Mr. Tod - " Acting on instinct, Sweeney pulled her swiftly into him, stopping her mouth with his as they collided. He felt her resistance melt as she leaned dizzily into the kiss. No time… Half reluctantly, he broke away, still pulling her by the arm. Mrs. Lovett followed, looking silently between the barber and the madhouse door, where Jack's cries were lost among the other inmates'.

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