40
Sweeney's mouth opened to give Johanna's inquiry a curt response of 'no' when the word died in his mouth. He didn't hate himself, did he? The barber enjoyed his work, each dead man was one les stain on the world, every death had felt like one stroke closer to Turpin and his revenge. And yet he did not want Johanna to know him. Was that because he hated what he was?
No, a voice countered, you're trying to shield her. Protector her from a monster. His face continued to fall into one of confusion. Did a man who didn't hate himself, call himself a monster? Could he be anything but for what he did?
In the brief time Johanna had been in Mrs. Lovett's company, the woman had imprinted a strange mark on the girl. She had said when you wanted to yell, yell. There was no point in being polite, especially in such a peculiar and desperate situation. It had been a blissful feeling for Johanna, letting her tongue run free.
The look of utter confusion on the barber's face shocked her though. As the time between his response and her question began to lengthen, she had to resist the urge to look at the apothecary and ask if she had broken the already injured man. Her question had obviously struck a cord with him.
For a moment she cursed Mrs. Lovett, and then she immediately forgave her. If the man murdered people, what would he care if his daughter was blunt? A tiny shiver crept down her spine at the thought. He murdered people, and Mrs. Lovett helped him. As she had originally thought with the baker, could the barber very well be insane? If her father was a murdering mad man, what did that make her?
A question none of us have an answer too, James thought; face twisting into a frown with the deepening silence. He had often wondered if he hated himself for what he did, and despite years of pondering no answer had come to him.
Something broke the stillness of the room.
The sound seemed to echo from behind him, and the apothecary quickly forgot the confused father and daughter. Eyebrows coming together he cautiously opened the door, wondering if he had imagined the sound. He poked his head out into the hall, straining his ears.
"-hwp-"
Some one was shouting.
Adrenaline suddenly shot through him and he found himself running towards the front door without realizing he had registered the sound. The lightest rustle behind him told James that Johanna was following him.
Toby poked his head out into the hallway, quickly calling out a question, but James sprinted past. If it was Eleanor, why didn't she simply come in? Had the cure worked, was it the men on the porch, confused, and suddenly wanting in? He skidded to a halt in front of the door, wrenching it open without a second thought. The sight he saw was not a welcoming one.
"Thank God, sir! Please, I- I don't know… Johanna?" The boy's stuttering words transformed quickly into a breathless sigh of awe.
"Anthony?" The blonde asked, standing behind the apothecary.
"Introductions later, inside, now!" James found himself snapping, ushering the boy in. It wasn't possible, how could they have gotten to her? A voice in his head shrieked.
Anthony stumbled slightly as he complied, the burden of an unconscious Mrs. Lovett across his arms slowing him.
Forcing himself not to immediately charge back to his lab, Mayhew poked his head quickly outside, dreading the sight of a horde of monsters finally come back to their maker. All he saw were several men strewn across the lawn, lying down in a manner that suggested their bones had vanished. Pushing the anomaly aside, he slammed the front door shut.
"Down the hall!" He ordered, voice harsh and loud.
"Yes sir." Anthony's steps were hesitant until James strode out in front of him, cursing all the while.
"Mum?" Toby's eyes were wide as Anthony and James went by. Shock froze him to the door and made it impossible for his legs to move forward and let him follow.
Johanna hurried to the boy's side, face a shade paler despite her quick run. "I'm sure he'll do everything he can Toby. She'll be fine." The words were hollow, and the boy didn't even hear them. The image of the dark blood stain on Mrs. Lovett's dress was fresh and vivid in their minds.
James threw papers and glass containers to the floor, hurriedly clearing space on one of the cluttered counters. He swore when something landed on his foot, but otherwise ignored the mess he made.
"Put her down here and then go fetch water from the kitchen."
Apparently losing the power of speech, Anthony just nodded his head and laid the baker down. A looked of momentary relief crossed his face when he was free of his burden.
"And tell Johanna to fetch me needle and thread.. I might need to stitch her up."
The order was met with another quick nod and a dash for the door.
Sweeney had been jerked form his thoughts the moment James had took off down the hall. When his daughter had followed he had become even more curious, as his mind had been eager for a change in thought topic. Despite all the protest his body mustered, the barber sat up at the sight of Mrs. Lovett. His breathing had hitched and momentarily stopped at the sight of her blood. She wasn't stirring, she wasn't moving… he couldn't even see her breathing!
Acting on impulse Sweeney forced his body to turn, dangling his legs off the side of the table. Blood began to pool in his mouth as he bit his cheeks, preventing himself from crying out in pain, as his side was doing it's best to get him to stay still. He spat blood onto the floor and forced his feet to make contact with the floor.
Preoccupied with Eleanor, James didn't notice the barber's stirring. He ripped apart the dress at the center of the bloody patch, and sucked in a breath when he realized what ever had caused the damage had torn through her corset. Pieces of the whalebone were no doubt now lodged in her side. He swore again, wondering where the water he had asked for was.
James nearly jumped out of his skin when the pale hand of the barber came into his vision. His astonishment grew as he took note of the man just standing there, as if his own body wasn't badly damaged. His reprimand of get back on the damn table died in his throat when Sweeney's fingers brushed against Eleanor's hands.
In a surprisingly delicate fashion the barber lifted her hand away from what she clutched. The burnt looking box was still held close to her chest by her other hand.
Sweeney's lips parted in surprised. "She went back for my razors."
A/N Wew. A lot just happened there, didn't it? Finally put Anthony into the story... terribly wounded Mrs. Lovett.. or... brought to attention a terribly wounded Mrs. Lovett. Heh, I cannot resist severely hurting my main characters. Wonder who I'll bloody up next...
