A/N -shame- I am NOT abandoning this story! But a very odd list of things and some laziness prevented me from getting this done sooner. One of those things is this chapter requires a certain... mind set. Which leads me to the warning of THERE IS TORTURE IN THIS CHAPTER. And if my reviews kindly slap me across the face and say 'THIS BELONGS IN THE 'M' CATEGORY!' I will happily put it there. Until that time- I'll leave it up to the bold text warning here. If you wish to skip over the torture- which is fine by me- you should at least read the last section and count up nine paragraphs (above the line), and read all that is there. I don't think the torture is too graphic- but I figured you lot might want a warning. Also- any criticism you may have for this chapter is going to be very much appreciated- I want to know what you think of Mrs. Lovett's observations and I think I may have made Sweeney too playful...
45
Knowing what was at the end made the journey that much slower. Knowing what was at the end of the hallway made Sweeney all that more willing to go there, even though his muscles seemed to struggle with each step. He had done his best to keep his and Mrs. Lovett's weights balanced against one another, but ever few steps one of them was always leaning just a little farther over. Sweeney's excitement had done wonders in stifling his pain, and he wondered if she was just as eager, or just very good at putting on a brave face. Her insistence on coming had surprised him, she had never watched him kill before, though she did deal with the end product. Not that he was just going to get the Beadle's and Turpin's death over with. They were fully at his mercy, and he was going to do damn well what he wanted with them before he let them die.
A part of Sweeney wanted to question if Nellie could handle that, though no part of him said she couldn't.
His eyes drifted over her face, curious as to what she had meant when she said Turpin had affected her life as much as his. He had never really thought about the ripple affect of what had happened to him. Sweeney had never really considered the world being so connected before, and realizing someone so close to him had been significantly affected made him wonder about the smaller things. He didn't even know how many people had heard of his and Lucy's story, he had always figured his business was his own. The full extent of his naïveté began to irk him.
"Are ya ready luv?"
Sweeney blinked, suddenly seeing the door in front of him. He didn't respond to Nellie, and instead reached out to push the door open, his blood seemed to turn to fire in his veins.
The room was very much in the same condition he had last seen it in, though he really hadn't spent that much time looking. Sweeney's eyes darted around hungrily, searching for his quarry, but before he could make a full search of the room, Nellie tugged at his sleeve.
"'Elp me ta a chair, would ya?"
He gave an impatient grunt in response and practically dragged her to the nearest armchair. Sweeney was patient enough to let her slowly slide away from him and onto the chair, but he quickly and eagerly turned away from her, desperate for his prey.
After so long…
When his eyes found what he was looking for he was almost disappointed. The judge and the Beadle were unconscious and sprawled on the floor, their hands and feet bound together with curtain cord. Sweeney's lip curled in distaste at the sight of them, and all he did was stare for a moment. His feet took it upon themselves to get him to his targets, and his knees took much longer in lowering him to their level.
The edges of his vision blurred slightly, his chest also gave a fierce ache, demanding that it's pain be heard. A snarl fixed on his face, the barber pushed aside the painful sensations to reach out and grab the Beadle's throat. He would start with him, the judge he would savor last.
Having been knocked on the head quite a while ago, the Beadle was easily awoken when he felt the steel grip of fingers on his windpipe. His beady eyes popped open and he let out a strangled gasp as his nerves became fully aware.
"Such a strange place I find you in."
He squinted his eyes, trying to see the man who was speaking to him. Who was choking him.
"And even when I see how pathetic you are, I feel no pity for you."
His lips parted slightly as he attempted to work his jaw and tongue to make an answer. He certainly wasn't going to die without trying to talk his way out of it first.
"No last words for you Bamford. Your last act on this earth will be to scream."
The man finally came into focus in the Beadle's eyes, and he almost wished his vision had stayed blurred. It seemed Death itself was staring at him with its cold, black eyes. The man's pale flesh and gaunt appearance fueled his delirium. Even when the hand was removed from his throat he was too petrified to speak. A tiny sigh escaped him when his assailant seemed to just be content to stare at him, but the breath quickly turned to a gasp when his jaw was grabbed with icy fingers.
"And to make sure of that, my dear Beadle, I will need your tongue before we proceed."
Sweeney had never been a man of many words, at least not around Eleanor. Benjamin had always had a rather cultured way of speaking which, and in the beginning, the baker had taken to comparing it against the blunt rasp of Mr. Todd. She was suddenly very glad he had never taken up Benjamin's eloquence back into his speech. As of right now, his words sounded beautiful, but the poisonous hatred now oozing through them seemed to be coaxing all of the fear out of the man being addressed. Eleanor felt a coldness creep down her spine as Sweeney calmly opened the Beadle's mouth while reaching for the razor in his pocket. Despite her own growing fears of the truly devilish side of the barber she watched without blinking as he slowly brought his razor across the other man's tongue.
Was this the revenge the man had long dreamed about, or was he acting on impulse?
The Beadle was doing well by enacting what Sweeney had planned for him, a throaty squeal was coming from the man as he watched cross-eyed as his tongue was slowly sawed away. His tear-filled eyes searched the face of his soon-to-be killer for any sign of hesitation, and a fearful moan slipped out of him when he saw none. He wanted to beg, plead and reason for his life, but when he tried to make himself speak blood and spittle simply flew from his mouth. The barber frowned at the mess being made on his already dirty bandages.
"You were just a messenger- perhaps I shouldn't carry this on too long."
Eleanor got the distinct feeling Sweeney was enjoying his one-sided banter. A part of her was glad to see him happy, another part was terrified of his bloodlust-dementia.
The barber propped the trembling man up against the wall and watched the blood run down his chin for a moment, as if lost in thought. "A prisoner tried to escape once, the warden shot him in the leg to prevent him from getting too far. The warden succeeded, though not in the way he originally hoped. Whatever the bullet had hit in his leg he bled out in under a minute."
Confusion crept onto the pain pinched face of the Beadle as he tried to understand the story.
"I'm not sure where to cut, but I'm sure I'll find that artery." Sweeney slapped the flat end of his razor against the man's cheek. "I hope that when you burn in hell the name 'Benjamin Barker' will ring in your skull for eternity," with a quick flash of silver the razor took its first bite out of Bamford's thigh.
A loud, blood-muffled scream filled the room, and the baker felt herself shiver. With every second Sweeney's wicked playfulness seemed to grow, and the twisted notion of revenge that had festered in him for so long was finally and fully making itself known. Eleanor doubted even the Devil himself could have watched the man's delight in the carnage as calmly as she did, for aside from a few quick trembles she sat still and stared.
Blood splattered against the wall, furniture and Sweeney until the sound of it striking against various surfaces seemed to drown out the man's screams. The tortured cries did not last long, as the barber quickly turned the other man's thigh into mince-meat, effectively spilling enough blood to make him pass out and cutting the artery he had been digging for.
Silence suddenly gripped the room, only broken by Sweeney's ragged breathing.
A choking sound made Eleanor and Sweeney move their focus to Turpin- who had been dragged into consciousness by the sounds of the Beadle dieing. He seemed unable to form words as his eyes took in his new bloody reality.
Sweeney's blood spattered lips cracked open into a demented smile when the judge's eyes landed on him.
"Wha… what… who…?" He seemed incapable of properly speaking, the smell and sight of the Beadle's blood assailing his nose and eyes.
At first the barber felt a sudden surge of irritation as the man spoke, and considered cutting out his tongue too, but as the Beadle's screams and been pleasing, Sweeney knew the judge's cries for mercy would be better. The demented torturer turned fully towards his second victim, silently hoping the name Benjamin Barker hadn't been heard by him, hoping to keep it as a surprise for later.
Instead of panicking as Sweeney's attention was more focused on him, Turpin lowered his head and started to cough, saliva slowly dripped from his mouth as his stomach attempted to empty itself.
"You shouldn't ruin the carpet." The barber reached out with his razor, which seemed to be bleeding of it's own accord. He placed the instrument against the judge's chin and made to slowly lift it up, the man would have to lift his chin or let himself get cut. "I assume it's expensive."
Turpin didn't follow well with the razor, and jerked his head up just after it touched his chin. "Who are you.. to..to," despite his best efforts to throw something in his tormentors face, perhaps even anger, all that surfaced was fear. "I…. I know you."
Sweeney's face twisted into one of unhappiness. Was he made? If he was, the rest of what he planned for the judge would be wholly unsatisfying.
"The barber! From…from…"
An 'oh' of delight formed on the barber's face before it returned to a smirk. He slapped the side of his razor against the man's cheek like he had done with the Beadle', only this man visibly flinched. His demented happiness only increased at the sight. "You'll wish you died that day."
"My God! Why…how long…?"
"God?" Sweeney snarled, his previous elation easily replaced by anger. "Do you truly believe you do his work when you send men to die?" His little secret was fast on the approach of becoming known, and at the moment he considered it to be best. Would Turpin scream louder when he learned that someone from his past had finally come back to deal real justice?
"Who are you?" Even on the verge of death his mind managed to work.
The razor did a quick lick across the judge's forehead, leaving behind a thin trail of blood. "I want you to remember!" Sweeney snarled, bringing the razor back to cut across the man's cheek.
As if suddenly realizing he was on the brink of life and death Turpin attempted to crawl away, but only ended up with a wall against his back. "How-how can-" Panic finally settled in, and his chest heaved while his eyes darted around the room. Blood from his forehead slowly began to drip into his eyes, causing him to blink as well.
"Remember Johanna! Her mother!" Sweeney's hands came out, the razor still clutched in one of them, and he wrapped his fingers around the judge's neck. Perhaps slowly strangling him would be the better route. "Her father!"
The madman's fingers were already bruising Turpin's neck, and the razor's bite was causing blood to flow between them, but the choking man still managed to gasp out, "Benjamin…?"
"Benjamin Barker!" Sweeney screamed in confirmation- his hate clouding his previous plans of a slow death for the man before him. Though in a quick moment he seemed to deem strangulation as the wrong option, and his hands left his adversary's neck. Instead, the hand clutching his silver friend was driven fast towards the judge's chest. Whether in his mania he had managed to calculate it or not, the barber managed to drive the blade inbetween two ribs.
Turpin seemed to choke, quick gasp escaped him, he seemed too stunned to even scream. His eyes founds Sweeney's and his look of panic and confusion lasted until his body seemed to finally realize it was done in, and his head slumped against his chest. Hand still wrapped around the razor, the barber stared.
Was that…it?
Had those fifteen years of his life just been avenged? He blinked several times, as if expecting the world to change, or something to announce the confirmation of his victory. Instead of happiness, a sort of depressed confusion settled over him. He forced himself to ignore the immediate question of 'what now?'. Shouldn't he have the time to at least enjoy his victory? Why did his triumphant moment have to be so… hollow?
"Luv?"
Sweeney jerked away from his victim in surprise, hand finally leaving behind his razor. He turned his head to look up at Mrs. Lovett. Wondering how she had managed to stand from the chair, he watched as she slowly came down to her knees to be level with him.
Had he been on the ground the entire time?
One of Eleanor's hands came up to rest against him bloodied cheek, her eyes locked steadily with his. "Are ya done?" She asked.
That was it! That was what he wanted to know. Was he done with his revenge? There was blood on his hands, but that wasn't new. The judge's corpse slumped behind him though…that was new. His hands and person weren't touching his razors, his friends, his weapons. That counted for something, didn't it?
His lips parted to say something, but she stopped him from thinking by laying her thumb across them. "Are ya done?" She repeated.
Taking that as a cue, Sweeney pulled Eleanor's body closer and kissed her.
He had been a little panicked when he discovered his lab empty. Two seriously wounded people did not just vanish, but a lot of things were off and peculiar that day. Still, James had quickly dashed into every room to try and find them. Finding them was not much of a victory, however.
James had seen some truly horrific and disturbing things before, but what he saw in the parlor really hit him.
Blood streaked one of the walls, had formed in small pools on the carpet, and was splashed upon several pieces of furniture. Mangled bodies of those who now painted the room was not particularly pleasant either. Yet, almost worst of all in James' mind- were the two blood stained people clinging to one another in the mess.
Instead of entering the room he fled back down the hallway.
