Sweeney Todd Forum

The stench of dead fish and unwashed bodies assaulted his senses. Looking up, he noticed he had wandered into the docks by the Seine. He shook himself, trying to clear his head a little; if he had wandered this far, he could have wandered straight off the pier. Then it came to him- to just throw himself into the water and drown. He had always been cursed with a will to survive and he worried it would manifest itself in his subconscious as he went down, but a ripple of riptide eased his concern. He stood on the pier, staring into the dark water, willing himself to jump in.

“If you want to do it right, slit your wrists, friend,” someone said behind him, in English. Erik rounded on the stranger, advancing on him mercilessly. The stranger didn’t move, but he wasn’t frozen in fear, the usual reaction. No, he stood there, calmly staring at Erik. Surprise made Erik stop in his own tracks. There was something wrong with this man, something that made even Erik think twice.

“The world isn’t fit for men like you and me. Is it Erik?” the man asked. His voice was deep and there was a hint of an odd accent to it; certainly old London, but there was something else.

“The world isn’t fit for anything at all,” Erik replied, painstakingly remembering the English he had learned so many years ago. It had been a hobby back then, something to keep himself occupied with.

“I’ve seen you before.  I noticed the mask,” the man said very quietly. Erik frowned and began to move away, but the man laid a cold hand on Erik’s arm. Erik grabbed him by the neck and slammed him against a nearby piling.

“Don’t touch me!” he roared. The man didn’t struggle, indeed, he didn’t even blink.

“We might be able to help each other,” he gasped out.

“I don’t need your help!” Erik snarled, beginning to squeeze harder.

 “And I don’t need yours when it comes to suicide. Let go, please,” the man replied calmly. Erik complied, but laid a hand on his sword hilt. The man looked completely undisturbed by the threat or the previous violence. He had a shock of white piercing through dark hair, which framed a thin, sallow face with two large, deep-set eyes. The eyes caught Erik’s attention; they stared at him with unspeakable traumas reflected in them, away from the world and almost completely bereft of sanity. Erik had seen that same look in himself when he was unlucky enough to catch his own reflection.

“You’re Erik. The Phantom of the Opera, yes?” the man asked. Erik took a step back and began to unsheathe his sword, but, once again, this did not seem to concern the stranger. The man smiled a grotesque grin and continued.

“I don’t actually care who you are. I think we can help each other, so don’t leave,” he said. Erik hesitated.

“No one can help me,” Erik whispered. Christine’s face flashed before his eyes. He felt the sobs building up in his throat and tried to swallow them back.

“I am on a ship back to London. Paris was a stop to get supplies. Come with me to London and be my partner as I search for the man who stole my life. Meanwhile, I can help you find the woman who stole yours,” the other man said very quietly. Erik looked at him sharply, but the man was in his own world and didn’t notice.

“I’m Sweeney Todd, at your service,” Erik’s companion said, extending a hand, which Erik refused. “A month ago, I was traveling and met a young couple. The girl was quite mad and kept repeating something about a man in a mask.” Erik felt something inside him cringe. Christine…

“I moved about quite a bit, for like you, I am avoiding detection. They were on their way to England, they said, but had traveled the local countryside trying to urge the girl from her hysteria,” the man continued. Erik swallowed.

“And you came to find me and avenge the beauty that captured your heart?” Erik snapped mockingly. His companion shrugged.

“No, I came because I think we can help each other. I…I know what it’s like to lose the woman you love to another,” he said very quietly.

“I don’t need help, you British snot!” Erik repeated, backing away.

“Revenge, Erik. We’re both looking for it. Or would you want your wife in the hands of another, as mine has been for fifteen years?” Sweeney said, his soft voice rising. Erik froze. This man had referred to Christine as his wife. How much did he know? He stared distrustfully at Todd, who continued detachedly.

 “She talked almost all night, to herself. She mentioned you had exchanged vows as husband and wife and she had abandoned you to save her lover. She was babbling about how you never left her and she could hear you in her head, punishing her for leaving. She obviously loves you very much,” Sweeney said, speaking in a slow, soft voice. Erik recognized the tone he had used to placate Christine so often. He glared at Todd.

“And what’s your story?” he snarled. Todd paused for a moment, but he did not seem surprised. He seemed to be composing himself.

“I was a barber in London. My beautiful Lucy attracted the attention of a judge who had me sent to Australia. I’ve been fifteen years away, but I’ve escaped to find my own revenge. And I need to find my daughter,” Todd answered slowly, as if every word were painful. Erik still noticed that even when Todd was talking to him, he never looked at him and his eyes were always distant, haunted. The man was even more insane that he was.

“Let’s face it Erik. We are both mad. But madness can be an asset, for how else would we have our revenge if sanity were to prevent us from enjoying it fully?” Sweeney said forebodingly. Erik nodded. He understood. And if this man understood madness, then there would be no better ally…or greater foe if it came to that.

“I won’t trust you,” he said sharply. Todd shrugged his thin shoulders.

             This Todd fellow intrigued him. The man obviously wanted to be home, but had detoured into Paris. Granted, ships needed supplies, but Sweeney had been looking for him. Looking for someone as mad as he to help him execute his revenge, so he said, but Erik thought there might be something Todd definitely had held back. Granted, he hadn’t taken particular care to stay hidden, but then, he always had his hat drawn down and kept to the shadows. Either way, a single man in Paris was a difficult thing to find. Sweeney would have had to have started at the Opera House. He had been waiting for him. This enraged Erik further, both at Todd and himself for not noticing he was being tailed. Todd had given him the address he was staying at, a run-down hotel on the outskirts of the city and Erik considered hunting him down and killing him. However, the promise of somehow reconnecting with Christine and exacting his revenge upon the boy was something he would not, could not pass up.

London…they were going to London…

London… It may have been home once, but Sweeney hated the place now. Turpin had stolen all the light and love out of it, when it had truly been home. Now, the very thought of the city turned his stomach and he knew the air would stink of bad memories and broken futures. And evil. Once it had been home, but no more…now it was only a destination, a place to find his precious Lucy and Johanna and bring them away from that awful city of evil. Maybe they would go to the mountains, or maybe even America. He fingered the sharp edge on the worn razor he had bought from someone in Australia, before he’d slit the convict’s throat with it. His razors, the special ones he and his wife had saved so long to buy, he would have to retrieve those, if they hadn’t been sold or lost. With those, he could build a new life for them wherever he went.

Sweeney vowed to be happy with his wife and child again, even if it meant taking apart the whole world, or the life of an already damaged man. Whatever life Erik might have had, Sweeney decided coldly, had fled with the mind of that poor crazed girl. No, Erik was his pawn and his revenge meant more than Erik’s measly half-life. He was sure Erik would do the same to him eventually.

Erik gathered up his meager possessions and prepared for what he foresaw as an extremely uncomfortable trip to London. Todd had somehow procured passage for the two of them on a ship to London through a sailor friend named Anthony. They had apparently met before when Todd failed in his attempt to board Anthony's ship from a makeshift raft and had fallen into the sea. Anthony had pulled him to safety and hidden him on the ship; they had become something of guarded friends. Anthony reminded Erik of Raoul and it was all he could do not to strangle the boy on immature principle.

Anthony was young and innocent to most of the evils of the world, but not completely blind to it. He drifted through the world with an air of near-invincibility that only came with the very young. Erik envied him the ease at which Anthony passed through the world. They hid Erik in the hold, although Anthony worried needlessly about Erik's comfort. Erik assured him that he would be fine; he had travelled in this way before. While Anthony was quite obviously afraid of him, the young man was still polite and friendly towards him and grilled him with questions on his other travels. Erik answered them with a small element of surprise, as no one except Christine had ever taken much of an interest in his past. He noticed Anthony also took the same attitude with Todd, and although Todd was certainly far cooler in his reaction to Anthony, Sweeney did seem to like the boy.
 
When Erik asked where Todd had gotten the money for passage, Todd answered that some things were better left unknown.

"Well, no place like home, is there, Mr Todd?" the boy said. Todd shrugged.

"This isn't home, Anthony. Not anymore," he murmured. Anthony frowned.

"I thought you said you were from London."

"I was from London. I do not call the place home any longer. Any more than our masked companion down there calls Paris home. Home means something to come home to and neither of us have anything." Anthony glanced back to where Erik had been standing.

"Sir, if you don't mind me saying, how long have you and Mr. Erik been friends?" he asked hesitantly.

"We're not. He's...useful," Todd replied distantly. Anthony frowned again.

"You two seem to have much in common. I thought you would be friends," he insisted. Todd shook his head slowly.

"No, we're partners. Not friends."

As they disembarked, Todd turned to look for Erik. He saw him several yards away, attempting to fend off a beggar woman.

"Oh, sir, any alms for a miserable woman?" she asked. Erik gently pushed her away.

"I'm sorry, dear woman, I have nothing to spare," he said softly. The woman stared at Erik for a moment and turned to Sweeney.

"Hullo, love!  Any alms for a miserable beggar?  If you like, you can have me right here on the street for it!" she announced. Todd made a face and he shoved her roughly away.

"Off with you! Get away!" he roared. The woman hesitated and took a step back towards Todd.

"Don't I know you?" she asked. Todd's face twisted in a grimace of rage and he grabbed the woman's arm and savagely threw her to the ground.

"No, you don't!" he growled. Anthony was watching in horror.

"Mr. Todd, she's only a little beggar woman! Please don't treat her that badly!" he exclaimed. He dropped a few coins to the pavement near the woman.

"Call the Beadle! Beadlebeadlebeadlebeadle dum dum beadlebeadlebeadle..." she began to mutter.

"Todd, she's insane, I don't think you can really fault her for her actions," Erik said.

"She's one of thousands, Mr. Todd. You can't beat them all to the ground," Anthony said. Erik silently agreed; he had lived in Persia and seen first-hand how awful poverty was. Todd shrugged.

"She and the rest of her kind are proof that this city has gone to hell in a hand-basket!" he snapped, turning away and walking down the street.

"I have some business to attend to. Alone," he said over his shoulder. Erik watched him go. He knew where he was going and almost felt a little pity for the man. Almost, but not quite. Anthony glanced at him.

"Do you..."

"I can find a place to stay, Anthony. Go find something else to do," Erik told him. He saw Anthony sag with relief. Yes, you and everyone else. Erik walked down the streets, looking for a place to hide for the evening. As he walked, the very same beggar woman they had encountered before ran straight into him.

"'Scuse me, sir. I be looking for the Beadle I am. Is you the Beadlebeadlebeadle," she mumbled.

"It's alright, madam," Erik murmured. He finally got a glance at the woman's face. She had once been very pretty, but something had twisted her features and years of disease and poverty had worn down her visage to near-bone.

"Do you remember your name?" he asked quietly. He felt a sudden, alien sense of sympathy. Was his Christine to end up like this woman, raving and prowling the streets for bread and coins?

"My name? Oh, my name, sir, is my name," she babbled. Erik sighed and patted the woman on her back. She looked up at him suddenly, and threw herself into his arms. Erik froze.

"Lucy!" she sobbed. Erik blinked under his mask. Lucy....

"Was your husband arrested?" he asked.

 “I will never show my face. Was once on display and found it quite disagreeable. I would like very much to keep from repeating the experience, madam,” he growled.

 “I was just suggesting, is all! No need to get all cross!” she snarled, yanking her arm from his grasp. “And besides, you’ve never even let us see it, so how should I be knowing how bad it would even be? For all we know you just have a bad sunburn!” Erik reached for her again, but Sweeney gently pulled Mrs. Lovett back, as if gathering an angry cat.

 “Stay here, Erik. Mrs. Lovett and I have business,” he said simply. Erik glared at Mrs. Lovett, who stuck her tongue out at him. Erik hung back, fading into the shadows of the alleyway as they walked away, pulling the brim of his felt hat down. He was seriously considering killing the woman as well as Sweeney.

 “Is that him? That’s sickening!” Sweeney growled.

 “Every Thursday and yes, that’s him. He’s an Italian, he is,” Mrs. Lovett answered, “All the rage these days.” Sweeney shrugged and they continued on closer to the caravan, where a small crowd was gathering. Suddenly, the sound of a drum began behind the curtain, as a young boy, maybe ten or twelve, parted the curtains.

 “Ladies and gents!” he called to the crowd, “I have a miracle here! We promise you the most wondrous thing you have ever encountered in all your days on this earth! I was bald as an egg one day, ill I was! But Pirelli’s Miracle Elixir fixed that right on up! As you can see here!” He whipped his hat off, revealing a mane of blonde hair. Sweeney huffed; it was fake, although no one else in the audience seemed to notice. As the boy continued on, Mrs. Lovett suddenly tugged on Sweeney’s arm.

 “Beadle Bamford! We should go!” she hissed in his ear. He turned to her and shook his head.

 “We have business here, Mrs. Lovett. Business we will conduct,” he replied, nonchalantly.

 “Only a penny a bottle, my friends! Marvelous rare miracle it is! You’ll be prettier, handsomer, popular, and sweeter for it, sir! Come now, sir!” the boy continued, splashing a bit on his hand and rubbing it into a customer’s bald head. Todd politely asked a customer if he could see his newly purchased bottle, uncorking it. The sour smell of ammonia and something oddly chemical hit him with stunning force.

 “Pardon me, ma’am, what’s that awful smell?” he asked loudly to Mrs. Lovett. Mrs. Lovett wrinkled her nose, obviously hit by the smell as well.

 “Oh, my, did the privies back up?” she cried as loudly as she could. Todd saw the boy freeze onstage. He forced the bottle under Mrs. Lovett’s nose.

 “Good heavens! Oh Lord!” she shrieked, pushing his hand away. Back in the alley, Erik thought of shoving the whole bottle down her throat. It was a pleasant thought.

 “This is piss,” Todd announced, raising his bottle and taking another cursory look at the contents, “With ink in it to disguise the color.” Other customers froze, almost simultaneously uncorking their own bottles and smelling. A few people actually dropped theirs and one woman vomited. The boy was backing up towards the curtains, still feebly continuing his pitch.

 “Pirelli’s Elixir can stimulate the growth the way…uh…it can make the roots grow like daisies…” he whimpered. The crowd descended on him, demanding their money back. The boy looked in panic towards the curtain, but Pirelli did not appear.

 “Sir! Signor Pirelli!” the boy cried frantically. Finally, the curtains parted and the man who stepped out was even more absurd than his cart. He struck a pose, his blue and white dandy-suit embroidered with sequins flashing as much as possible on the drab, overcast day. Against the background of dreary London and her people, he looked like a blue-jay surrounded by brown toads. Todd suppressed a chuckle. Back in the alley, Erik laughed low in his throat. With a flourish, Pirelli produced an ornate razor and a tooth-extractor.

 “I am Signor Pirelli and who dares to say my elixir is piss?” the flamboyant fop asked, his thick Italian accent rendering him nearly unintelligible. But something was wrong with his speech, Erik could plainly hear. Ubaldo Piangi back home had been Italian and sounded different from this man. This man sounded like Carlotta did when she was trying to affect a different accent than her own. Oh, this was interesting!

 “I do!” Todd shouted, “I have opened a bottle of your “elixir” and have found that it is merely colored piss! You, sir, are a fraud!” The crowd gasped at his bold statement and, out of the corner of his eye, Todd noticed Bamford’s attention had been grabbed. Pirelli grabbed the boy and shoved him forward.

 “Pay no ear to this madman! He is merely jealous of the splendid skill of Pirelli!” the boy shouted, his voice wavering nervously. “Who is up for a shave from the best barber in all the world?”

 “My name is Sweeney Todd and I have serviced no kings, no celebrities, no greater men than those among you, and unlike some, I have no need to distract you from my small amount of talent with pretty augmentations!” Todd continued. Mrs. Lovett crowed with laughter and the others in the crowd joined in. Erik, back in the shadows, had to admit they certainly had showman’s skill. Pirelli was turning pastel-pink to go with the powder-blue of his suit.

 “And what wager to you place, sir?” he asked, his voice still jolly for the crowd, but Erik could hear a cold edge to his voice even back from his vantage point. Todd took out his silver razors, holding them aloft. Erik saw something pass over Pirelli’s face, something like recognition. It was gone so fast Erik almost dismissed it, until he noticed that now Pirelli was staring very hard at Sweeney. Something was wrong here. But Pirelli picked up the razors in turn, also revealing a tooth extractor in the box.

 “I wager these against five pounds, Pirelli!” Todd challenged. Pirelli smiled nastily at him.

 “You have a wager!” he announced with a grand gesture. “See now this man will see his folly! His failure shall be just another feather in the cap of the great Signor Pirelli!” Todd fought the urge to roll his eyes at the idiocy of it all. Pirelli ordered the young boy to bring out his chair, giving the boy a stout kick to the backside when he didn’t move fast enough and a rough clout to the head when he stumbled pushing the heavy chair forward. Erik saw Mrs. Lovett flinch with sympathy and felt himself even feeling sorry for the boy; he remembered what it had been like to receive a beating for an unsatisfactory performance. Todd motioned to a few men, who brought out a chair for him.

 “Who’d like a free shave?” Todd asked the audience. Several men clamoured for the chance on both sides. Once the customers were chosen, Todd and Pirelli turned to their audience.

 “Beadle Bamford! What an honor to see you here! Will you do us the immense service of being our judge?” Todd asked. Beadle Bamford stepped forward, nodding his head politely to Todd and Pirelli each in turn. The boy provided basins and towels to both contenders, although he gave Pirelli the best of the two. The Beadle blew his whistle and the contest began…

 As the whistle blew, Pirelli began stropping his razors with frantic strokes, where as Todd could have been conducting Mozart. Erik shook his head- Todd was playing with him. As he glaced across the square, bored and restless, Erik saw someone familiar… Oh, yes, very familiar! That wretched boy Raoul De Chagney was walking through the marketplace with his head down and a shopping basket. He was dressed a might less nicely than he had been when Erik last saw him and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. The boy was nearly frantic with timidity, obviously frightened of his surroundings. Erik watched him pick his way through the marketplace. Sweeney could definitely find him later… Erik followed him.

 Sweeney’s world had shrunk to include only the Beadle, his customer, and his friends. He didn’t notice Pirelli giving him paranoid glances as he began to mix lather, nor did Sweeney hear Pirelli’s loud, obnoxious boasts about his skill. He didn’t see Mrs. Lovett clasp her hands over her bosom in anticipation or the crowd bustling with excitement. No, he felt almost alone, his personal silence broken only by the soft rasp of his razor against the leather strop. No, he would not rush, for rushing would cause error. His friend, clasped gently in his hand, would tell him when it was ready…

 Erik passed effortlessly through the crowd, years of practice avoiding contact without drawing attention causing him to slide through like water. Raoul was having more trouble. He bumped aimlessly into people, startling at the slightest touch. The basket was clutched to his chest and he looked pale and drawn. As Erik followed, he carefully observed his surroundings, to make she he would remember in case he came back this way, or in case he was discovered and needed to defend himself…or in case he indeed got the chance to Kill Raoul in the streets. Oh, he would not do it now! He had to find his Christine, his beautiful girl. He was so much closer now!

 Todd listened closely to his friend, so gently speaking to him in the whispers of the leather strop. He was now another step nearer to his revenge, if he could ensnare Bamford. Beating Pirelli would be a matter of pride. At a word from his friend, he lathered, shaved, and wiped down his customer’s face. The beadle blew his whistle.

 “The winner is Todd!” Bamford cried. The crowd erupted in cheers, startling Sweeney just a little as he came out of his trance. Recovering, he invited several ladies up to check his work, to the delight of his customer. The ladies all stroked his face, oohing and ahhing at the feel.

 “Oh, so smooth!” one cried. Mrs. Lovett stepped forward.

 “Smooth as a baby’s arse it is!” she announced. Pirelli deflated, staring at Sweeney in shock.

 “Give the good man his five pounds!” Bamford ordered Pirelli. Pirelli produced a bright pastel pink purse with outlandish beaded embroidery, plucked five pounds out of it, and jammed it into Todd’s hand.

 “Until we meet again, signor,” he said, a hint of snarl edging his voice. Todd gave him a charming smile. The Italian ducked into his caravan, throwing the boy ahead of him. Mrs Lovett cringed as the sound of an intense beating exploded from the carriage. Sweeney paid it no mind, this was not important to his plans.

Erik slid between more people, but he noticed the crowd was tapering off as they left the city. They were now on the outskirts. This was making Erik a little uneasy, for if the crowd lightened, Raoul would have a better chance of catching him. Even worse if he decided to take a cab! He could not lose his chance to find Christine! But, finally, Raoul arrived at a little house, some way off from its neighbors, still just outside the city. Raoul unlocked the door and ducked inside. Erik took note of the area and the address. He would come back when it was dark, his time.

A crowd had gathered around Sweeney, asking where his shop was, did he intend to stay in London, and would he take customers on which days?

 “A bloody marvel you are, Mr. Todd!” Beadle Bamford exclaimed, pushing through the crowd. Mrs. Lovett twitched nervously next to him, but Todd smiled extravagantly.

 “Oh, it is an honor to be judged by the wonderful Beadle Bamford! I’ve just come into town but yesterday and I’ve already heard of you!” he said sweetly. The Beadle smiled broadly.

 “Where is your shop? For certainly you’ve impressed me today and I shall have to come calling.” The Beadle inquired. Yes!

 “Above my pie-shop on Fleet Street, sir Beadle,” Mrs. Lovett said, a little too quickly for Sweeney’s taste. He gripped her fingers so hard he felt her knuckles pop. To her credit, she remained smiling, but Sweeney sincerely hoped he would not have to kill her for ruining this chance. The Beadle made a note in a little notebook and smiled.

 “Oh, I shall be seeing you before the week is out, and I have a client of power who might hear a recommendation from me, if you succeed in impressing me as such again!” he announced grandly. Todd fixed him with another smile, gently took Mrs. Lovett’s arm and headed down the square again.

 “If you can’t stay steady, keep your mouth shut, woman!” he snarled as soon as they were out of earshot of the Beadle.

 “Now, Mr. T, I didn’t do nothing wrong! He’s still charmed with you! Now, where’s your coat-rack friend?” she sighed. Erik was indeed nowhere to be seen.

 “He’ll come back to the shop when he’s done with whatever he’s doing,” Sweeney mumbled. Still, he needed to find the girl too, and he was sure Erik had discovered a way, if he was going to venture out in London in midday. He was also sure that if Erik did find her, he would not share this information with Sweeney. Also, finding the girl kept up with the façade that he would help Erik and he needed to keep Erik in his fold for now.

 “Excuse me, madam, but I’m looking for my brother. He’s run away with a young woman with blonde hair, who I am not sure is entirely suited to him,” he asked the vendor Mrs. Lovett was approaching. He asked the same question several times, before a woman beamed with excitement.

 “Oh, yes, sir! I believe I seen him! A little nervous looking boy with blue eyes?” she asked. Todd nodded.

 “Oh, it seems the poor dear was just here! He bought a house out by my farm, he did! I only seen the girl once, a tiny little thing huddled in a cloak, so I ain’t sure if she’s yellow-haired,” she replied.

 “Yes, the girl is a tad unstable, which is what makes her just the wrong choice at all for my little brother! I must find them and talk sense into him!” Todd said.

 “Oh, now, dear, what’s wrong with this little girl? It could be she’s a perfectly normal, lovely girl!” Mrs. Lovett said slyly.

 “Oh no, dear, she cries in the night. Sounds like a ghost she does. People don’t like to pass the house now, she wails so fierce. The children are saying she’s not alive at all, but the ghost of the boy’s lover who died and whom he now lives with!” the vendor told her.

 “The girl is prone to awful fits and I fear she will ruin his reputation! She is merely a young actress who took one too many men, if you get my meaning,” Todd whispered conspiratorially. The woman pursed her lips in sympathy.

 “My son took up with a girl like that. Almost killed him, she did! I hope you are able to put the young man to rights!” the vendor said.

 “Well, please try to keep this to ourselves, for I’d hate to risk our reputation further!” Todd whispered, dropping a few coins into the woman’s hand.  The woman smiled and nodded. Oh, she’d talk eventually, but the money would still her tongue for a time and Todd just had to make sure that his plot was carried out before that.

 “Erik! Oh, I’m so sorry! I should never have left! You were my angel and I left you to rot in hell!” she wailed, reaching her little hands out to him. For a moment, he thought she might throw herself against the bars in her quest for absolution. But she really wasn’t seeing him, just a hallucination of him. Her eyes never fixed on him, but something far off in her own head.

 “Tell me you forgive me! Tell me you understand!” she cried. Erik heard something deeper in the house and quickly pulled away from the window.

 “You died for me and I left you and you died for me…” she chanted. Erik turned his head. This was too much, seeing her like this. Because of him. Raoul entered the room and Erik pulled further back into the shadows.

 “Goodnight, Christine,” Raoul said, speaking softly and carefully, as if to a very frightened child. Christine shook her head.

 “Nighttime is his time,” she told him. “Erik’s time. I remember. He gave me lessons only at night and he only moves at night.”

“Erik is dead, Christine,” Raoul said, almost harshly.

“Erik is dead. Erik is dead and Christine lives and we left him,” Christine chanted.

“Yes, we left him so we could be together without his insane influence! We left him so he could die alone!” Raoul snapped. Christine began to sob inconsolably again.

“He died for me, didn’t he?” she whimpered.

“Christine…”

“He will forgive me, won’t he? I want him to forgive me! He died for me!” she cried out.

“Christine, Erik died for no one. He died alone because of what he did to you, remember?” Raoul said. This was obviously something that had been repeated to her quite a few times. Christine huddled herself tighter on the bed. When Raoul reached out to touch her she shook her head madly and moved away.

“No! I killed him! He died for me, as you said! I don’t deserve anything!” she wailed. Raoul shook his head, defeated, and left the room. Erik heard the sound of a lock sliding home and ground his teeth in rage. No wonder she wasn’t getting any better, the boy was making it worse! He waited a moment and began to sing. He sang to her, just as he had all those many nights when he taught her to sing like an angel, when her music filled his heart with love.

 “Erik?” she whispered, her eyes fixing on him at last. She smiled, but it had an odd edge to it.

 “Tell me it’s you and not another hallucination!” she cried. Her eyes cleared completely and she was on her knees before the window, her frail hands grasping the bars.

 “I am here, Christine,” he said.

 “Forgive me! You died for me and I beg your forgiveness for leaving when you needed me the most!” she sobbed, her hands reaching through the bars and pressing against the glass, as if trying desperately to touch him and reassure herself this was not only a dream, and that the forgiveness she craved would be awarded her.

 “I am real, Christine, and I forgive you. Don’t be sad anymore. Come back to the world,” he whispered. She dissolved into sobs, but they sounded different this time, somehow.

 “There was never anything to forgive, Christine,” he told her, pressing his hand against the window beneath hers. She went on crying, but it sounded cleansed. She would get better, but first he had to try to find away to free her. Raoul was the one driving her crazy, not him! Now completely enraged, Erik sprang down from the tree, ready to barge inside and kill the boy where he stood. As he landed, a hand grabbed his shoulder. Erik whirled, lifting the intruder off the ground and slamming him heavily into the tree he just descended.

 “I wouldn’t do that, Erik!” Sweeney gagged.  He must have been standing in the shadows of the tree, although how long he’d been there, Erik couldn’t say. He threw Sweeney to the ground, irritated that he’d allowed someone to sneak up on him.

 “What the hell are you doing? Following me?” Erik hissed. Sweeney held a finger to his lips and grabbed Erik’s arm. Erik roughly shook him off.

 “You can’t kill him now,” Sweeney said. “I just came from the road and there are already whispers of a man outside the “haunted” Chagney house. Someone will be coming to investigate soon, once enough people mention it for Scotland Yard to come out here. And no, I didn’t follow you. The information flows free enough in London I knew where they were and figured you would be out here. Now come along!” Erik growled low in his throat and followed Sweeney back to Fleet Street.

“Spare a coin for a miserable woman?” she begged. Erik dropped a coin into her palm and tried to go around her.

“Have you seen my Johanna? She’s only a little girl, only a little girl!” she chanted.

“No, ma’am, I’ve not seen her,” Erik answered gently. She looked up into his eyes and Erik noticed with a shock that he recognized her. Older and filthy, but she looked just like Lucy, Sweeney’s wife. He’d seen her picture in Sweeney’s shop.

 “Hello, Mrs. Lovett,” he whispered. The woman jumped and dropped her burden again. A human hand dropped from the bundle. Erik stared. Mrs. Lovett was disheveled, her eyes wild…and she was covered in blood.

 “An experiment, if you will. Now help me!” she snapped. Erik shrugged and lifted the body. The weight was slight, but the effort made Erik’s lungs suddenly seize up. He coughed and tried to hide the awful wheezing and tightness from Mrs. Lovett. He shifted the body on his shoulder and a small, feminine brooch dropped from it, which Mrs. Lovett snatched from the cobblestones and pocketed.

 “Should I ask who she was?” Erik asked.

 “A prostitute and beggar. I was making an experiment and killed her is all,” Mrs. Lovett replied shortly. Erik stayed silent for a moment.

 “Is it Lucy?” he asked.

 “No. I got the wrong one. I can’t never tell them apart until they’re all close-like and who likes to get that close?” Mrs. Lovett replied.

 “You can’t kill all the beggar women in London looking for her,” Erik said. “It’s not that I don’t condone killing, as I think it’s a good way to remove inconveniences, but it’s merely impractical.” Mrs. Lovett shrugged.

 “Never you mind what’s my business! Let’s go dispose of this thing in the rubbish heap, or behind the hospital- no one will notice another body there,” she snapped.

 “As for our dear Mr. Todd…” Erik began.

 “Well, then there’s not much to be said about him. He had himself a tantrum but he’s fine. We’ve…figured out a way to dispose of the body, but it’s our secret,” Mrs. Lovett said abruptly. Erik dropped the body and grabbed her.

 “I’m getting tired of being man-handled all the time!” she exclaimed, shaking him off and storming away. Erik stomped after her, leaving the body where it lay.

 “You tell me what is going on or I will kill you right now!” he growled when he caught up with her. She laughed and pushed him away again.

 “A business venture, if you will! He wants practice for his revenge, I want meat! It’s a superb arrangement!” she said with a smile. Erik recoiled in horror. This was beyond even him.

 “Mad! The both of you!” he cried.

 “Well, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?” Mrs. Lovett said, turning her back on him and strolling down the street.

 “By the way, Erik, I will eventually find her,” she called without turning. Erik sniffed and wheezed a bit. He thought of running after her but the changes in weather had affected his breathing. It was now August and it was hot and sticky and didn’t do anything for his laboring lungs. He left the body where it was; he hadn’t been the one to do the deed and had no intention of being caught with a body he had no responsibility for.

 He returned to the sewers where he had found his refuge and quickly swallowed a potion or two to ward off further wheezing. The thick fog that hung over London certainly could not contain anything healthy to a human system and the damp, dank air the prevailed around the city affected his body in ways he didn’t want to think of. He gently picked up the violin he had found discarded in a heap outside of a house. He had repaired it and reconditioned it to sound beautiful again. He began to play to soothe himself. He knew from experience that the street urchins and prostitutes would gather to the music soon, but he knew that his frighteningly thin appearance and the rumors of a ghost in the sewers would keep them at a safe distance.

 He had only gotten through a few bars when he heard someone drawing close. Closer than usual and certainly too close for comfort. He turned, fluidly transferring the violin and bow to one hand and drawing his sword with the other.

 “So this is where you’ve been staying?” Mrs. Lovett said.

 “Oh for God’s sake, can’t you leave me be?” Erik shouted.

 “Bear in mind, I know where you live,” she said, ignoring him, “You’ve been ill lately and I’ve noticed you’ve been less careful about who follows you. I can turn you in, I can accuse you of whatever I’ve done. You’re the Opera Ghost, everyone will believe it of you!”

 “I just want to get Christine and get out of here. You and Mr. Todd can go be happy cannibals and I’ll leave you be for now!” Erik replied.

 “I doubt that. But I wanted you to keep in mind, we’re all mad and we might actually be a match for you,” she twittered with a broad smile.

 “Here, now, madam, let us away from this place,” he said calmingly. She twitched under his protecting arm.

 “She’s the devil’s wife! Her chimney belches smoke from Hell, it does!” Lucy twittered.

 “I know it does, but let’s get you away from the evil people, shall we?” he said. He looked to passersby like someone trying to coax a crazy woman away from the businesses.

 “Don’t I know you, mister?” she asked.

 “I know you’d have to eat sometime, Frenchie,” she whispered. He tried to maneuver himself away from her, but she dug her nails into his arm.

 “Mr. T told me to tell you he has something for you,” she hissed. “He got you a present…a peace offering if you will, as he put it. He won’t tell me what it is and frankly, I don’t care. But get your arse over there before he drives me mad with orders to go find you!”

 “Oh really? And why didn’t you just intrude my home like you did before?” he asked.

 “I’ve been busy!” she replied with a devilish smile that made Erik’s stomach turn.

 “I’m not coming to see him. Lord only knows what you two have cooked up together this time!” he snapped. Mrs. Lovett shrugged.

 “Well, we both know where you live. I’ll come see you every day until you go to see him,” she said coquettishly, like a little girl delivering a play-ground threat. Erik couldn’t have her prowling about his home, not with Lucy there!

 “Hello, Erik. I trust you’ve learned by now that your lovely girl has been committed. With this, we now have a new opening to work together!” Sweeney said, grandly. Erik stepped back. Sweeney was only this loquacious when he either wanted something or was enticing a customer.

 “Look, Erik, we brought you here to find your Christine and you have. Now all that’s needed is to free her from the jaws of terror and spirit the two of you away! But, one factor remains. Come with me!” Todd continued, leading Erik down to the bakehouse.

 The bakehouse stank awfully. Erik recognized the stench of raw sewage and rotten meat. Human meat.

 “Accept this small token of my apology, as I understand my own plans got in the way of our partnership,” Sweeney said, back to his quieter demeanor again. He motioned towards the back, where the sewers met the bakehouse. A small sobbing noise emitted from the back, along with the soft clank of chain. Restrained to the back wall, thin and drawn, was Raoul. He was gagged and chained to the meat grinder. Erik chuckled deep in his throat.

 “Mr. T, you are a wonder. I’d forgive anyone who presented me with a gift like this!” he said gleefully. Raoul, bleary with pain and fear, finally looked up. His eyes bugged at the sight of Erik and he began to struggle with his chains.

 “Obviously a noble; no strength at all to free himself!” Sweeney taunted. Erik smiled widely.

 “Now, dear boy, let’s see what we can do with you. But first, I wouldn’t want to get this dirty!” he announced, removing the mask. Raoul shrieked through his gag. Erik turned to Sweeney and bowed. In spite of himself, Sweeney took an involuntary step back; the face was merely a skull, grinning with maniacal joy. Sweeney felt his inner core shake; he hadn’t been afraid of anything since Australia, and it took him time to recognize the feeling. Erik was in his element now and it was possibly the most frightening thing Sweeney had ever witnessed.

            “How did you do that?” she whispered, her voice trembling. It sounded like the voices of those he had tortured in Persia, or soldiers returning from too much bloodshed in war.

            “Ah, requiems should always have so much power. Particularly mine,” Erik replied. She looked up at him and Erik saw ghosts in her eyes. She cleared her throat and tried to recover herself, but Erik noticed she was putting considerable effort to still the shaking in her hands.

            “Is your little fop dead?” she asked.

            “Extremely,” Erik answered with a low chuckle that made Mrs. Lovett shiver with horror. “You may have him whenever you like. Forgive me if I don’t partake, but I don’t like my revenge quite like that.” She shrugged and suddenly caught sight of his bloodied hands. Her eyes followed the blood and caught sight of thicker things clinging to his arms. For a moment he thought she might faint or vomit, but she shook herself and disappeared into her home for a moment, returning with a small basin of water and a towel. She slammed it down on the counter before him and backed away.

            “I’ll go down and I’ll get him later. Do I want to know what you did?” she asked. “Although listening to you up close would do anyone in, it would. I had to send Toby on an errand to get him out of here.”

            “No, you don’t want to know. You look bad enough as it is, Mrs. Lovett,” Erik replied with a small smile. He began calmly washing the blood off his hands in the little basin.  She shuddered violently and turned her head.

“What was that song?” she asked, keeping her head turned until he had finished washing up.

“Something I wrote. Part of an opera I wrote some time ago. Did you like it?” he answered. Her eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment and Erik thought he saw tears glimmer there.

            “I remembered my Albert, how sweet he was. He wasn’t much of a husband, really, if you get my meaning, but he was a good man, he was. Until he slipped on the ice and dashed his brains out so many years ago.”

            “I am sorry.”

            “No, it’s all fine to me. Better off than me, I think.” She sniffed and shrugged. The hardness returned to her eyes and she suddenly seemed to remember who she was talking to. She snatched the bloody towel back from him and pointed to the door.

            “Now get out,” she snapped suddenly. Erik bowed and left.
 
            Sweeney lay on his back on the floor of his shop. His breath hitched in and out with violent sobs he thought would never end. He felt as if his heart were wrenched in two pieces, torn apart to leave a great, black void. He felt as if he had been skinned alive, his heart exposed to the world. Erik’s voice had coaxed out the human side of him, which he thought he had lost.

With difficulty, he dragged himself from the floor and steadied himself. He saw a customer coming towards the shop stairs and unlocked the door slowly. He composed himself, ignoring the great shuddering pain that wouldn’t go away; pain he had thought he’d hidden forever, but Erik’s voice had savagely ripped it back out to be examined in the painful light of day. He swallowed and mustered up a smile for the customer.
 
            Erik went over his plan in his head, factoring the fact that Sweeney’s bakehouse-cellar led to the sewers and catacombs. Nothing could go wrong now, but he had to make sure he accounted for Sweeney’s interference. He had certainly proven himself a clever adversary and Erik was not about to underestimate him. He was very sure he knew what plan Sweeney would come up with to free Johanna. All he had to do was get Anthony to free Christine too, and he supposed that wouldn’t be difficult, as the plea using the similarities between their situations proved.

His only real concern was Mrs. Lovett. She was certainly a variable he didn’t like leaving to chance. The woman herself was also clever and obviously just as insane as her lover. But he was sure he could take care of her if it came to that. Really, if he let events run their course, he would have very little to do until the final act. Care still had to be taken; he could not fail, he needed Christine too much.
Still, as eager as he was to free Christine, he couldn’t say he found the girls so quickly. He would have to wait until it was time. He passed Christine’s prison regularly and, while she continued to stare down from her window, she did not sing anymore. He knew Johanna was there too; they seemed to be sharing a cell and she would occasionally stare down at the streets with Christine. Erik noticed a very strong resemblance to Lucy, who was currently eating some chicken he’d been lucky enough to steal from the market. She didn’t seem to mind being penned in; indeed, she seemed to enjoy it, as if the confines gave her a sense of security. Erik tried to think of her as a pet, for his plans would most likely leave her dead with her husband. He shook his head. He felt a little sorry for her, but the girl would be free, Sweeney would be dead, and all would be well. These were desperate times and desperate measures were necessary.

“Mr. Todd, I’ve been thinking,” she said cheerily, trying to brighten his mood, “That, since the business is booming, perhaps we should think of a little place where we can go and be together all nice and quiet-like.” He didn’t answer, but kept staring straight ahead. Toby gave her a quick smile.

“Wouldn’t we all like that? We can go to the sea! I love the sea!” she prattled on, nearly talking to herself, “My mum took me when I was just a skinny little slip of a thing and I loved it there! We can go and be a family. Wouldn’t that be nice?” Sweeney gave her a very forced, small smile, but never looked at her. That was a start.

“We’ll have a nice quiet little house. I’ll teach Toby to read and you can have a nice, proper barber’s shop. Toby’ll have his friends over and we’ll have our own friends, of course. And, perhaps, maybe even be married!” she continued when no one said anything. Toby swallowed his food and stared at her and Mr. Todd, who didn’t stir from his own little world.

“Well, then, it’s settled, isn’t it? Toby, you’ll be the best man at our wedding!” she announced. Toby looked at her and gave her a rather pained smirk.

“There will be a nice, big dinner afterwards, all you can eat!” she added and the boy brightened. She tapped on Sweeney’s forehead, but all he did was half-heartedly bat her hand away.

“Are you listening?” she asked.

“Yes, yes, of course,” came the distant reply. She scowled.

“What did I just say to you, Mr. T?” she snapped.

“I must get the judge…” Sweeney muttered.

“Now, you stop that foolishness! You could have a life! Life is for the alive, not wasting away brooding! You have me now, love!” she scolded. Todd shrugged. Mrs. Lovett began roughly packing up the picnic. Toby sprang to help her, eager to be rid of the awkward situation. He snatched the basket and blanket and took off down the way.

“The judge…” the barber repeated. Mrs. Lovett took his hands.

“Mr. Erik, have you found her?” he asked frantically.

“Yes, Anthony, I have. She’s in Fogg’s Asylum and, by some happy coincidence, locked in with Christine!” he told the boy. Anthony’s eyes grew to the size of plates.

“An asylum? A mad house! I’ll kill the judge!” he cried. Erik grabbed his shoulder.

“Stop that. You’ll do no good to anyone if you get all locked up. If you do, she’s stuck there forever,” Erik snapped. Anthony nodded.

“I just have no idea how to get them out. I cased the place, and it’s impenetrable. I am sorry I have not yet planned a way to free them,” Erik continued, doing his best to look very frustrated and upset.

“Oh, perhaps Mr. Todd will know how to get them out! He’s a very crafty man, sir!” Anthony suggested. Erik shrugged.

“Judge isn’t a color, Mr. Todd!” she snapped irritably. She scowled at him and, for once, he seemed to notice. He glanced at her with an almost mournful look in his eyes, as if he was noticing how much he was letting pass him by. Suddenly, the door burst open and Anthony crashed into the place in a manner that usually reserved for charging horses.

“Mr. Todd, I found her!” he shouted. Mrs. Lovett jumped and almost tripped over her own skirts. Todd turned sharply.

“Johanna? Where is she?” he asked.

“A madhouse! Mr. Todd, it’s too horrible to think of!” Anthony moaned. Todd glanced at Erik, who nodded.

“They’re both there. Christine and Johanna,” Erik said. Perfect, two little birds with one stone! Sweeney thought.

“I’ve got it!” he proclaimed, “Wigmakers get all their human hair from Bedlam. So, Anthony, we shall disguise you as a wigmaker’s apprentice!” Sweeney told him.

“Erik, you’d best either stay here or well away. I think a masked man waiting outside a mental hospital might prove a bad idea,” Sweeney said to him. Erik pretended to protest, but then resigned himself to standing in the corner as Sweeney and Anthony went over the finer points of women’s hair and the shades they came in. They discussed Johanna’s hair and, after a brief talk with Erik, Christine’s hair as well. Erik even fronted a little money for clothes for the disguise and a pistol, all of which Toby and Mrs. Lovett procured in no time.

“We shall have her back by tonight!” Sweeney assured the lad. He didn’t notice how Erik was smiling. He had his thoughts too trained on other things.

Everything had done perfectly. Anthony would have to go in alone- Sweeney would not risk being immersed in the world of bedlam, where he knew he belonged. He knew Sweeney would be too engrossed in his own plans to use Anthony’s rescue of Johanna to bring the judge back into his grasp. The trick would be to get the Beadle here while Sweeney was absent. A good complaint about the smell from the chimney would do, if Erik was correct –and the stink of burning leftover flesh was enough to draw any number of complaints.  If the Beadle could distract Mrs. Lovett and Sweeney long enough for him to get Lucy into the area unnoticed then the plan would be set. He could also get Christine away from the carnage before it started, making their escape through the tunnels connected to the bakehouse. As he turned to leave, his cloak was tugged.

“Mr. Erik, sir. Can I…” a small voice asked. He turned. Toby stood there, pale-faced and shaking.
“Yes, young man, what can I do for you?” Erik asked softly.

“Sir, I know you are friends with Mr. Todd,” the boy began, “but I know you are also friends with Mrs. Lovett. She’s a proper lady, she is, and I fear Mr. Todd…I fear he will do something to hurt her!” The boy began to sob.

“Why do you think Mr. Todd is up to something?” Erik asked. Toby shrugged uneasily, glancing up at the parlor door with fear.

“I hear things. Before, that beggar lady was talking about the Devil, and she said that the Devil was here. I think it’s Mr. Todd and I think he may do something…do something bad,” he answered softly.

“Toby, if you think that Mr. Todd is doing something wrong to Mrs. Lovett, you should talk to her,” Erik told the boy, “I can’t be here to protect her, so when I’m not here, you have to protect her. Observe him and make sure he’s not going to hurt Mrs. Lovett, but don’t do anything until you talk to her. And don’t do anything to Mr. Todd yet, for if he is as bad as you say, you’ll do no one any good dead.”

“I have to protect her?” Toby asked.

“Yes, you’re a smart boy. You can protect her when I’m not here,” Erik told him, clapping him on the shoulder. The boy beamed with a new pride and walked purposefully into Mrs. Lovett’s shop. Hoping that would keep the boy out of everyone’s hair, Erik set off to deliver his message.

The quick letter of complaint was barely needed. It turned out Erik wasn’t the only one who noticed the smell, indeed his was one of the more polite complaints. And if the Beadle needed any more help deciding to stop over, letting Lucy jabber about in the area clinched it. Erik wondered why Mrs. Lovett was foolish enough to burn the leftover bodies- Erik had experienced all sorts of foul things in his life and the smell of burning human flesh was one of the worst.

He wondered if Toby had noticed it. Hopefully, Toby could keep Mrs. Lovett busy long enough for him to get everything set in place.

Mrs. Lovett hastily wiped her hands on her apron and stalked down the stairs. She’d spent most of the evening listening to Sweeney and his inane babblings about precise shades of hair before she excused herself.

 Everyone was happy, what with the girls’ impending rescue and the prospect of Mr. T being all done with the revenge obsession. She’d be happier when Erik was safely away, as much as she appreciate that he understood her need to kill Lucy. Then it dawned on her. Erik had her! Grinding her teeth she stomped into her shop, searching for a knife. She’d kill Lucy tonight if it was the last thing she did! She still had time before Mr. Todd came back, since he was going to accompany Anthony part of the way to the asylum to drill him in the minute details of hair color. As she hurried out the door, she almost ran straight into Toby.

“Oh! You have me a fright!” she cried, hastily hiding the knife behind her back.

“I apologize, mum. I meant to tell you that we’re all sold out and I put the sign up,” he said. She patted his head. She couldn’t vanish now, particularly not to go killing someone. She sighed and went to her parlor and picked up her knitting, slipping the knife into the cushions of the couch. She’d just been knitting scraps, but it was coming together nicely as a lovely scarf, which she had decided to give to Toby. She noticed after a few moments that he was sitting across from her on the hearth, staring at her.

“Toby? Are you alright?” she asked. Toby shrugged and dropped his eyes, as if afraid to tell her.

“I just keep thinking about how it was with Signor Pirelli and the workhouse. Then you being so good to me and all, and I think that God must have sent you,” he said. She gave him an indulgent smile and tried to ignore him. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what he had to say.

“So, mum,” Toby continued, “There aint nothing I wouldn’t do for you. I’d beat away monstrous beasts with my bare fists to keep you safe!” Mrs. Lovett felt the color leaving her face. Oh, he couldn’t! She could send him off to Sweeney just fine as long as he’d kept his mouth shut. She had liked the boy, almost loved him, but there were always those desperate measures…and now for once in these desperate times, Nellie Lovett was actually hesitant to take one of those desperate measures.

            “Oh, now, love, what on earth are you going on about?” she asked, the effort to keep her voice steady nearly exhausting her.

            “Just…I don’t like Mr. Todd, mum. He acts awful odd. Mr. Erik isn’t much better, if you ask me, but at least he talks to me. I don’t know, but I don’t like them,” Toby answered. “I don’t think they’re up to any good. Mr. Erik says I should protect you and I will, mum, with all my heart and soul!” So Erik put him up to this!

            “Oh, don’t be silly, love. Mr. T and Erik are just…eccentrics. Let’s not fret ourselves over them!” she cooed nervously. She gave him a smile and Toby shrugged and stared at the floor.

            “But I keep thinking that Mr. Todd in particular is up to something and I don’t want you to get hurt, mum! There just ain’t nothing I wouldn’t do to protect you!” he cried, almost whining. She gave him another indulgent smile, her mind clicking rapidly and tears brimming with tears.

            “Oh, Toby, there is really nothing to worry about! Here, I’ll give you a penny and well get ourselves some sweets and I’ll read a book to you,” she whispered, trying to lure him back to his usual complacency. She reached into her purse for the money and Toby’s eyes popped wide.

            “That’s Signor Pirelli’s purse!” he cried. She looked down. Damn!

            “What? No it isn’t, it’s something I got for my birthday from Mr. Todd. Surely Pirelli wouldn’t have anything as girly as this is, would he?” she sputtered.

            “Oh yes, he would! He liked filly things and that’s how I recognize it! That proves it!” Toby squealed, grabbing her hand, apparently intent on whisking her away. Mrs. Lovett dug her heels in and pulled him back.

            “Oh, now you stop!” she scolded, “For all you know, Pirelli got taken off by some bloke in an alley and Mr. T found it!”

            “No, mum! Don’t you see, he was in Mr. Todd’s parlor when he disappeared!” Toby frantically cried. Mrs. Lovett gently pushed him into a chair.

            “Now, dear, you shouldn’t say such things about Mr. Todd, after how good he’s been to us!” she whispered. He suddenly grabbed her around her waist in a startling hug.

“But, mum, I fear for you! You know I’d never say anything that wasn’t true! Please, let’s escape! We can go to the sea, like you wanted. I’ll find a job, I’m good at everything,” Toby begged. She felt her heart give a tug. This boy loved her, loved her like his mother and she was now going to have to have him killed. She thought of the knife…she could easily overpower and kill him; she doubted he’d resist her. She started to reach down to grasp the handle. If she did it quick, if she stabbed him in the back of his thin little neck, he’d never feel a thing. But as her fingers brushed the wooden handle of the blade, she realized she couldn’t do it. This was one desperate measure she was not willing to take herself. She sighed.

“Well, Toby, I think we should wait just a few more days so I can see what I can find out about Mr. Todd. But why don’t we teach you how to be a better worker?” she said. Toby frowned, puzzled.

“Well, you know how I don’t let you in the bakehouse while I make the pies? How about I teach you to help me, so if we do have to run off, we’ll be able to open our own shop together?” she asked.

“I can make the pies with you? Then we’ll escape?” Toby asked, obviously excited.

“Yes, love. Come, now, let’s show you how it’s done,” she said, taking his hand. She knew this had to be done, but she would not be the one to do it. Mr. Todd would have no trouble with it, she knew. And it had to be done.

“Oh, what a stink!” he heard Toby exclaim. What the hell is Toby doing down here? Erik though.

“Well, it’s the sewers, dear, the stink wafts upwards. I’m guessing that a few of those rats have gone up to Jesus down there,” Mrs. Lovett answered. There was something in her voice Erik didn’t like. He watched her show Toby how to open and close the oven, and how to work the meat-grinder. Then, leaving him with a kiss and orders to finish the meat in the grinder, Mrs. Lovett shut the bakehouse door. Erik heard a lock sliding home, but Toby seemed oblivious.

“Toby?” he called. The boy looked up.

“Mr. Erik, sir, what are you doing down here?” Toby gasped.

“I should ask the same thing of you,” Erik said. The boy puffed out his chest.

“Mrs. Lovett and I are going to run away from Mr. Todd! She’s teaching me to help her make pies so when we leave, we can have a new pie shop all to ourselves!” he announced proudly. Erik felt a jolt of anger for the cruelty this woman had inflicted on this boy. He knelt before Toby.

“Toby, if there was something horrible that you needed to know, you’d be able to handle it, like a grown man, right?” Erik asked gently. Toby set his mouth and nodded. Erik gently lifted the boy up so he could see over the top of the meat-grinder, into the funnel. A recognizable human hand was poking up out of the mass of meat. Erik felt Toby’s skinny body tremble in his hands.

“Oh no…no, no!” Toby began to wail. Erik clapped a hand over the boy’s mouth just as the wailing turned into shrieks of terror.

“She…she…couldn’t know! She doesn’t know!” Toby screamed behind Erik’s gloved hand. He thrashed against Erik so hard Erik dropped him and the boy tumbled into the mangled remains of Raoul. The boy let loose a bloodcurling shriek and launched himself straight back into Erik, who swiftly scooped him up and hurried him into the sewers, away from the bodies. The boy was shaking, going into shock. As Erik set him on the ground, the child suddenly vomited, narrowly missing Erik’s legs.

“Toby, now listen close! You have to calm down or they’ll find us! Do you hear me, boy?” Erik said, shaking the boy’s shoulders. Toby’s eyes were swimming in horror and trauma, a sight Erik had seen on one too many faces in his life, whether from the tortures he created or the sight of his face. He snapped his fingers in front of Toby’s eyes. Toby just stared at him.

“I…she…she lied to me…” he muttered. Erik slapped him hard in the face. Toby cringed and merely grunted, but his eyes cleared a little.

“Toby, listen! I need your help! There is a girl, a very good girl, who needs your protection when I rescue her!”

“Johanna?” Toby asked mechanically.

“Yes, and a friend of hers also needs your help. She’s my wife and her name is Christine. I think she will like you. But can you do me a favor?” Erik asked, trying to keep the boy’s attention. Toby shook himself and sniffed.

“I can do that,” Toby whispered.

“I need to help Christine. Can you hide from Mr. Todd and Mrs. Lovett. Can you be quiet for me?” Erik asked. For the life of him, he didn’t know why he was helping this boy, who could quite feasibly get him killed or caught. Perhaps it was because he knew that the presence of a child would comfort Christine in their escape, or maybe because Erik wanted a family with Christine. Or, maybe, he just didn’t want Toby to botch the whole thing. He repeated his question to the boy and this time, Toby nodded dully and Erik gently folded him underneath one of the sewer grates in the floor.

“Mrs. Lovett?” a voice called.

“We’re closed for the evening, sir!” she shouted.

“Oh, no, ma’am, it’s Beadle Bamford and I am on official business! May I have a word?” came the reply. Mrs. Lovett swore. Of all times to be calling! She straightened her dress and her hair and went to answer the door.

“Ah, I do apologize, milady, but there have been some complaints about the stink from your chimney. I have come to investigate,” the Beadle explained. Mrs. Lovett shrugged.

“I would sir, but Mr. Todd has taken the wrong key and therefore has the one to the bakehouse. I can’t open it until he returns,” she lied.

“Oh, well, I’ll wait for him, then. I do apologize about the hour, but I had other business,” Bamford said cordially, letting himself in. Mrs. Lovett stood aside. The Beadle plinked at the harmonium, standing mournfully and unused since the death of her husband in the corner.

“I used to play, but I don’t much anymore,” he explained.

            Sweeney had successfully delivered the letter, detailing Anthony’s plan to run away with Johanna and telling the judge to come to his shop to get her. Truthfully, he’d be badly paranoid on the way over to the Judge’s house that he would be recognized, but he hadn’t been. He returned to the house to find –of all wondrous things!- the Beadle standing in Mrs. Lovett’s parlor.

            “Hello, Beadle Bamford! This is such a lovely surprise!” he exclaimed as he entered the parlor. Mrs. Lovett jumped as he spoke. She was pale, frightened looking, instead of her usual cold demeanor. What in the world was happening?

            “Yes, Mr. Todd, I am here on official business,” the Beadle told him, “There have been complaints of the smell from the bakehouse chimney. Apparently, it is something quite foul and, as Public Health and Safety are my station, I must investigate!” Sweeney paused for a moment. Mrs. Lovett began wringing her hands fretfully.

            “Of course, dear man, you shall see the bakehouse! But first, why don’t we come up to my shop and I will pamper you the way a man of your station deserves to be pampered!” Sweeney proposed grandly. The Beadle frowned and hesitated. Sweeney held his breath.

            “Free of charge, sir!” he added. The Beadle smiled widely.

            “Well, then, do you have any pomade? I love the feel of a nicely-pomaded head!” he conceded. Todd gave him a bright smile.

            “Of course, sir! Here, let me show you up!” Todd exclaimed cheerily. Mrs. Lovett still didn’t seem to relax, even though the danger was past. Sweeney had a startling thought that he hadn’t seen Erik all day. Perhaps Mrs. Lovett and he had had words. Still, with a smile, he ignored her anxiety and led the Beadle up to his parlor.
 
Down in the bakehouse, under the grate, Toby closed his eyes and sang a little nursery rhyme to himself, just as he had in the workhouse. Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake… it was the only one he knew, but the words twisted his stomach as he thought of Mrs. Lovett's sin. How could she do this to him? Todd! Todd must have put her up to it, for he could not believe that his Mrs. Lovett would do such a thing willingly. She was his angel and still needed him to protect her… Especially now that he knew that Mr. Todd was making her do these bad things. Once she was away from him, she would go back to normal, he just knew it. Suddenly, there was a clack and a sick thud. Something warm began to drip on him from the grate above him. In the dim light, he could see it was dark red. Toby began to scream anew as the Beadle’s blood continued to rain down on him.
 
Mrs. Lovett was about to hurry out when Todd reentered, wiping blood from his hands.

            “I got him. Now I just need to get the judge over here!” he cried between his teeth.

            “Now, I understand that, dear, but we also have another problem,” she said, trying to remain calm. She had to get Todd distracted so she could go kill Lucy, now that she knew where she was.

            “And what is that?” Todd snapped.

            “It’s…” she faltered. She wasn’t sure if she could do this to the boy. He probably had already seen the Beadle, now that Todd had dumped him down there. Poor Toby! But she looked into Mr. Todd’s eyes and found her strength again. This was for her and Mr. T and nothing could come between them, not even sweet little Toby.

            “It’s the boy, Mr. T! He’s guessed,” she answered. Todd frowned. Just then, a series of screams issued from the bakehouse.

            “Well, I suppose if he didn’t know already, he does now,” Mrs. Lovett said shakily. Todd glared at her and hurried off to the bakehouse.
 
            As the two rushed down to find Toby, Erik shook off the chill from the child’s shrieks, no doubt from some sort of new horror. He worried a bit that Todd would find him and kill him, but, as long as Toby didn’t do anything to prevent Christine’s escape, it would all work out. As they disappeared from view, Erik ran home and got Lucy. As they walked back to Todd’s shop, she babbled on about the Beadle. As they approached Erik saw Anthony approaching with the girls. His heart broke to see Christine as disheveled and dirty as she was. He ran forward. Johanna had a protective arm around Christine, who was trembling violently. Apparently the girls had become friends.

            “Christine!” Erik cried.

            “Erik?” she gasped, flinging herself into his arms. Anthony gave him a quick smile and went up to the shop with Johanna, who looked back to watch her friend go. Anthony soon returned without Johanna, evidently having told her to hide in the shop, and ran down the street to hire a cab. Now that he was gone, Erik could finish his plan.

            “Christine, can you wait here for me, please?” Erik asked. Christine nodded.

            “Lucy, Beadle Bamford is upstairs, through that door,” he told the other woman. She gave him a filthy smile and clapped her hands.

            “Thank you, sir! The Beadle must know of this evil! Beadle beadle deadle deadle…I think I know this place!” she muttered, walking unsteadily up the stairs. Erik turned back to Christine.

            “You are real? I’ve seen many things that aren’t real!” she gasped, squeezing his arm. She sounded heartbreakingly like a little child, and her eyes stared, blank and bright.

            “Yes, I am real, Christine. Come away with me and we will be happy!” he answered, sweeping her into his arms. She made no reaction, indeed didn’t even move. She frowned, apparently having trouble wrapping her head around the concept that he was still alive.

            “Christine?” he said. She blinked and gazed up at him.

            “You’re not him! Erik is dead!” she cried, throwing a punch that smashed into his shoulder. Frail and tiny as she was, he spun with the force of it before she took off running to the stairs.

            “Johanna! Come back!” she called. Erik raced after her, grabbing her just before she opened the door. Peering through the window, Erik only saw Lucy pacing around the shop, but not Johanna. Guessing she had hidden from the beggar woman, he picked Christine up and dragged her down the stairs. She kicked at him and even bit him as he hid with her under the stairs. Then Sweeney exited the bakehouse, looking rather angry and she froze. As Sweeney scaled the stairs Christine began to tremble. She whispered something under his hand and he leaned close to hear.

            “He has eyes like you did when you were mad…” she whispered. Sweeney flung open the door with a cry.

            “What are you doing here?” he shouted. He had found Lucy. And then, Erik heard her familiar question float down to him as he and Christine backed away from the barber’s shop…

            “Don’t I know you, mister?”

Erik heard Sweeney advancing on Lucy and for a moment thought that he might recognize her. But then he saw Judge Turpin coming up the way. Apparently so did Sweeney.

            “It’s the Judge! I have no time for this!” he cried. Christine let out a muffled cry behind Erik’s hand as there was a soft thud from above and the sound of the trapdoor opening. As the judge rushed inside, Erik rushed her to the bakehouse door. It was locked, but locks had never stopped him before. Picking the lock was a little slower than usual with Christine under one arm. Suddenly she gasped and stopped struggling.

            “Erik? Is it you, truly?” she moaned. He was so surprised by her sudden change that he nearly dropped her in shock.

            “Yes, Christine. I’ve come to take you away with me,” he whispered. He forced the door open and ran into the bakehouse. Pressing a handkerchief over Christine’s face to shield her from the foul stench, he turned her away from the two bodies lying on the floor and rushed her around the corner.
“Erik, you’re dead…you can’t be here!” Christine insisted.

“I know, Christine, but I’m not dead. I’m here with you,” he murmured. She shuddered and fainted. She had admittedly always been very good at that. He gently lowered her to the floor and turned to go grab Toby. Just as he did, the bakehouse door swung open and he darted back behind the sewer wall.

Mrs. Lovett came through the door, too agitated to notice that she hadn’t had to unlock it first.
“Toby? I’m sorry! Please come out, dear!” she called. She turned the corner and ran face-first into Erik’s chest. She let out a soft yelp and jumped back.

“What are you doing down here, Frenchie?” she asked nastily. She backed away from him slowly.

“Where’s Toby?” she asked. He took a step forwards and she shuffled backwards, glaring at him.

“Where’s Lucy for that matter?” she hissed when he didn’t answer. Suddenly, her foot nudged Lucy’s side. She glanced down.

“Oh thank the Lord!” she cried, “You finally made a mistake!” She clapped her hands with glee and cackled maniacally. Erik stayed silent. Suddenly, the trapdoor opened and the judge tumbled down. Mrs. Lovett stared at him for a moment and Erik heard a small squeak from under the grate. He noticed the blood oozing from the bodies was dripping down the grate. Poor choice of location, but Toby could hate him for it later. Mrs. Lovett turned back to Erik.

“His revenge is finished, Frenchie! Oh, now he can forget the whole thing!” she crowed. As she turned to face him, out of the corner of his eyes, Erik noticed the judge wasn’t dead. He wouldn’t last long by any stretch of the imagination, but he wasn’t dead yet. Mrs. Lovett’s focus suddenly shifted.

“Oh, here now, who’s this little poppet?” she cooed. Turning, Erik saw Christine had recovered and was staggering around the corner, her eyes wide with the horror before her.

“Erik…Erik, where are you?” she cried, oblivious to the presence of the two people before her.

“Oh, she wants her Erik? Let’s see if she notices you now!” Mrs. Lovett laughed, ripping the mask from Erik’s face and shoving him towards Christine. Christine looked up at him, face-to-face.

            “Erik! It is you! I know it’s you now!” she cried, the madness suddenly dissolving from her eyes. Mrs. Lovett put her hands on her hips and scowled, rather disappointed.

“Oh, well, then, I didn’t know she’d take that face as a road to sanity!” she grumbled. Suddenly, Christine, trying to skirt around the bodies to Erik, banged into the remains of Raoul. Erik let loose a small curse. Christine unleashed an unlovely scream that echoed in the cavern. Mrs. Lovett jumped back and had her ankle grabbed by the still-living judge. She repeated Christine’s example as Erik grabbed Christine and dragged her back into the sewers. Christine fought him in earnest this time, still screaming. Mrs. Lovett was still trying to free her ankle from the grip of the dying judge. The bakehouse door was suddenly thrown open and Todd entered. Erik grabbed Christine, who froze instantly.

“What’s going on?” Todd snapped at Mrs. Lovett. Erik saw her glance in his direction briefly, but she made no move to point him out.

“The judge had a twitch left in him but he’s dead now! You can go back about your business!” she sputtered, waving him away. She was evidently too desperate to get rid of Lucy before Sweeney saw her to deal with Erik right now. Christine began to tremble violently and Erik found himself –for once- wishing she would just faint and get it over with.

“Oh, what’s the matter with you? I got the judge! Open the oven!” Sweeney said. Mrs. Lovett froze.

“It’s alright, Mrs. Lovett. Go ahead!” Erik said, coming around the corner, holding Christine’s hand.

“What do you want?” Todd asked. As Erik came into the light, Sweeney noticed the lack of mask, which was still lay discarded where Mrs. Lovett had thrown it.

            “Do you want to see what’s wrong with her?” Erik asked. Mrs. Lovett rushed forward to attack him, but Sweeney grabbed her arm. Christine was staring at everything with wide-eyed horror, but she did not faint and didn’t move more than Erik guided her. Erik gently rolled Lucy onto her back. He could see her throat had been slashed in a single stroke so deep it had almost decapitated her. As he moved away to let the light from the open oven fall on her face, he also moved Christine well back and away. They passed Raoul’s moldering remains and she shut her eyes and swayed. Through all this, Sweeney was silent, but Erik could see the recognition sinking in as the hellish flames from the oven lit Lucy’s decrepit face.

            “Oh…” was all Sweeney said. Erik could see the last dredges of sanity dissolving in Todd’s eyes and slowly moved Christine behind him.

            “You killed her? My Lucy?” Sweeney groaned, denial glazing his eyes over. Erik hadn’t expected this. Suddenly, Todd bared his teeth and rushed at him. Erik swung his body around, easily tossing the smaller man aside. Christine screamed. Sweeney turned his head towards her. Erik grabbed him and threw him against the oven back. Sweeney shrieked as the hot metal seared his skin. He kicked off the oven and swung at Erik with a razor. Erik dodged out of the way and drew his sword. Mrs. Lovett backed away, as far as possible from the two men. Sweeney suddenly ducked under the blade and slammed an elbow into Erik’s chin. Erik’s teeth clacked together and he fell backwards, momentarily stunned. Sweeney grabbed him around his neck in a vicious headlock. Erik launched himself backwards, slamming Todd into the stone wall. The wind whooshed from Sweeney’s lungs and he dropped to his knees, stunned. Erik placed his sword against Sweeney’s neck. Todd froze, glaring up at Erik over the sword.

            “You knew…Erik, you bastard, you freak! You knew she lived! And you killed her before I could even see her again!” Todd shrieked. He knocked the blade aside and swung with the razor again. Erik easily side-stepped him and knocked him back to the ground.

“I didn’t kill her, Sweeney, you did! Look at her neck!” Erik snapped. Todd stopped short, his head slowly, slowly turning to look at Lucy’s body. His eyes centered on the gaping wound in her throat.
“I…I…Lucy…” Todd gasped.

            “Was it I who told you she poisoned herself? Was it I who has been killing women through the city looking for her?” Erik asked calmly. Mrs. Lovett began to sputter nonsensically about her innocence.

“I should still kill you!” Todd snarled between his teeth.

“Mrs. Lovett knew the whole time. She let you think she was dead. How could I know she was alive until just now?” Erik asked. “Sweeney, if Mrs. Lovett knew how much you loved Lucy –and you know she did-, wouldn’t she have told you she was alive, instead of butchering four women trying to find her?” Todd seemed to process this for a moment before turning to Mrs. Lovett.

“Jack the Ripper…Those murders in the papers, that was you trying to kill Lucy?” Todd said very slowly. Mrs. Lovett began to shake her head. Erik backed away to let the two of them talk.

            “You lied to me? Not only did you lie, but you’ve been trying to get rid of her!” he choked.
“And she did quite a good job of it too!” Erik added. Mrs. Lovett gave him a frightened, panicky look and backed away from Sweeney.

            “No, dearest, I never lied! She did take the poison, but it left her like this! Now, would you want to know that your Lucy was selling herself and eating out of the rubbish dump?” she quailed. Todd began to advance on her. Erik allowed himself a little grin; this was working better than he’d thought.

            “You may be right, Nellie,” Sweeney said thoughtfully. At the sound of her given name, both Mrs. Lovett and Erik froze. He walked up close to her, a funny little smile on his face.

            “The past should stay the past,” he whispered, pulling her close. Erik backed away. He’d seen that glint in Todd’s eyes before and he didn’t want to be close when the moment came. Todd whirled Mrs. Lovett in a dizzying dance, smiling his little smile. She smiled back, entranced.

            “May we still be married, love?” she asked.

            “Life is for the alive, my dear,” Todd said, ignoring her question, “Let’s keep living it!” He suddenly spun her around, using her own momentum to fling her into the open oven. A blood-chilling scream burst from the oven door, brutally cut off as Sweeney slammed the door shut. Todd stood there for a moment, eyes completely blank. Slowly, his head turned to look at Lucy.

            “I killed her…I;ve killed them both…You’ve destroyed everything,” Sweeney murmured.

            “You brought me here to have a nice juicy catch to turn in to your judge so he’d come here,” Erik said dryly, “You could have actually done what you said and worked with me so that we could come up with a mutually beneficial plan. But you had to let your revenge take over everything, and look what’s happened.” Sweeney shuddered and dropped to his knees, gathering his wife up into his arms.

            “I’ll be seeing you, Mr. Todd,” Erik said, tipping his hat to Sweeney, who just stared at him, clutching his wife. Toby was slowly emerging from the grating. He teetered to Erik, who noticed an odd white streak running through Toby’s hair, startlingly similar to Todd’s. Toby kept staring at Todd and the oven where Mrs. Lovett had met her end.

“Protect her…” he whispered. He looked up at Erik, his eyes pleading. Sweeney was harmless now, but Erik understood the need for revenge. Toby motioned at Todd, but Erik shook his head. He reached in his pocket and handed Toby the razor Sweeney had discarded so long ago. Toby gripped it so tightly Erik saw his knuckles turn white. He quietly walked up behind Sweeney.

“Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker’s man. Bake me…bake me a pie…” Toby was mumbling. Sweeney merely raised his head in acknowledgment of the child’s presence.

“It was all…because…of…you,” Toby hissed suddenly, yanking Todd’s head back and slitting his throat. Todd barely reacted, simply bowing his head over his wife as blood poured out of the wound. Christine stared at the scene in numb shock.

“I didn’t like him, Erik. I’m glad he’s dead,” she whispered, child-like. Toby returned to Erik, holding the razor out to him. Erik refused it.

“Revenge is yours. Keep it as a reminder,” he told Toby. Toby slowly put it into his own pocket. Erik put his arms around Toby and Christine and led them from the tomb.

 Christine seemed barely aware of his presence as Erik escorted her and Toby through the catacombs of London. Toby, meanwhile, seemed alert and observant of his surroundings, although he did not stop muttering the nursery rhyme under his breath.

 Finally, they stepped out into the night. It was almost morning, Christine's eyes seemed to flutter a bit as they entered the open air, as if she was coming to consciousness after several years of sleep.
 "Erik... " she whispered. Erik took her hand.

 "Yes, Christine. Kim here, it's all over! You and I will take Toby and be
a family far from here! "'he exclaimed. Toby didn't seem to hear, gripping Christine's hand and repeating the rhyme Over and over again.

 "Is it?" Christine asked in an oddly haunted voice.

 "Sweeney is dead, that Lovett woman is dead, and Raoul is dead! We
can be happy now!" Erik proclaimed proudly. Christine lowered her eyes away from him and said nothing else as they hurried along the streets. As they walked, Erik fished In his pockets for a spare mask, While he no longer worried about frightening Christine and Toby did not seem to care, he still was quite uneasy about walking the streets unmasked, even if it was still early enough that the streets remained deserted. He succeeded in finding a small handkerchief, which would do until he could make or find a new one.

 Erik thought as they walked. He didn’t want to take them home, but he needed a place to leave them until he could book passage to Paris. They were both so traumatized from the night’s events, he didn’t want to leave them unguarded for too long. He did not trust any landlord to shelter them with no question, particularly since the papers were still going insane over Mrs. Lovett's handiwork. He met a young woman outside her little room and paid her almost twenty pounds to leave with no trace.
 Christine was quiet for the rest of the day, although she did seem to have bonded delightfully with Toby. Erik sat with them for almost a whole day. He sang to them for hours. Toby finally stopped singing to himself once Erik bought him a bottle of gin, which the boy tried to share with Christine. The two of them sat in the corner of the bed, passing the bottle of gin between them. It would have been cute or funny if it wasn’t so heartbreaking. Christine, through the haze of the alcohol, still stared ahead and said nothing.
 
Erik eventually had to leave them to gather his belongings from the catacombs of the sewers. When he got there, he noticed someone standing just inside the entrance.

 “Anthony, what are you doing here?” he snapped.

    Christine seemed barely aware of his presence as Erik escorted her and Toby through the catacombs of London. Toby, meanwhile, seemed alert and observant of his surroundings, although he did not stop muttering the nursery rhyme under his breath.

            Finally, they stepped out into the night. It was almost morning, Christine's eyes seemed to flutter a bit as they entered the open air, as if she was coming to consciousness after several years of sleep.

            "Erik... " she whispered. Erik took her hand.

            "Yes, Christine. Kim here, it's all over! You and I will take Toby and be
a family far from here! "'he exclaimed. Toby didn't seem to hear, gripping Christine's hand and repeating the rhyme Over and over again.

            "Is it?" Christine asked in an oddly haunted voice.

            "Sweeney is dead, that Lovett woman is dead, and Raoul is dead! We
can be happy now!" Erik proclaimed proudly. Christine lowered her eyes away from him and said nothing else as they hurried along the streets. As they walked, Erik fished In his pockets for a spare mask, While he no longer worried about frightening Christine and Toby did not seem to care, he still was quite uneasy about walking the streets unmasked, even if it was still early enough that the streets remained deserted. He succeeded in finding a small handkerchief, which would do until he could make or find a new one.

            Erik thought as they walked. He didn’t want to take them home, but he needed a place to leave them until he could book passage to Paris. They were both so traumatized from the night’s events, he didn’t want to leave them unguarded for too long. He did not trust any landlord to shelter them with no question, particularly since the papers were still going insane over Mrs. Lovett's handiwork. He met a young woman outside her little room and paid her almost twenty pounds to leave with no trace.

            Christine was quiet for the rest of the day, although she did seem to have bonded delightfully with Toby. Erik sat with them for almost a whole day. He sang to them for hours. Toby finally stopped singing to himself once Erik bought him a bottle of gin, which the boy tried to share with Christine. The two of them sat in the corner of the bed, passing the bottle of gin between them. It would have been cute or funny if it wasn’t so heartbreaking. Christine, through the haze of the alcohol, still stared ahead and said nothing.
           
Erik eventually had to leave them to gather his belongings from the catacombs of the sewers. When he got there, he noticed someone standing just inside the entrance.

            “Anthony, what are you doing here?” he snapped. Anthony shrugged.

            “Johanna spoke very highly of Christine and misses her,” he answered. Erik glared at him and began gathering his things.

            “Where are you staying now, Mr. Erik?” Anthony asked.

            “Here,” Erik snapped. Anthony gave him an exasperated look.

            “Christine and Johanna became friends in Bedlam. Johanna refuses to leave without saying goodbye!” he cried. Erik shrugged. He rummaged through the bag of his belongings, finally producing a mask and turning his back on the boy to replace the handkerchief with it.

            “I’ve got Christine, and therefore I am through with you, boy. Go away,” Erik snarled.

            “Mr. Erik, please, Mr. Todd is dead!” Anthony cried. Erik gave him a stare that made Anthony take a step back.

            “You…I don’t think you did it, but you must’ve had something to do with it…” Anthony gasped.

            “Yes. So? What are you going to do, boy? Take down the Opera Ghost all by your lonesome?” Erik asked ominously. Anthony took another step away.

            “No, Erik, no… If for no other reason than I know exactly what you’d do to me if I tried,” he replied quietly. Erik huffed in amusement and continued to leave.

            “But, Mr. Erik, please! Johanna is quite beside herself!” Anthony pleaded. Erik shrugged again. Anthony tried to grab at his arm, but Erik pulled away nastily.

            “My dear boy, do you want me to explain it all to your bonnie lass?” he growled, “That Sweeney Todd, the man responsible for the disappearance of twenty or more men, is her father? Do you want me to tell her that her father, who she believed dead, was a murderer, cannibal, and a criminal? That her mother was raped and humiliated at the very hands of the man she came to live with, and was eventually murdered by her own husband? Her whole sordid past laid out before her in a way only I can tell it, how would she like that?” Anthony swallowed, in shock.

            “You didn’t know either, eh? I’m not surprised,” Erik muttered, brushing past Anthony.

 “What you said, about Mr. Todd being her father, is that true?” Anthony asked.

 “Hello, my love!” Erik said cheerily as he entered. She looked up at him and, for the first time in forever, Erik saw sanity and complete recognition in her eyes.

 “You killed Raoul,” she said simply. Erik froze, caught off-guard.

 “Yes, Christine. You have to understand, though, that I did it for you. I couldn’t stand seeing how he was treating you,” he answered after a beat. Her features creased into a glare.

 “I went mad because I wanted you to forgive me! I thought you were dead only to discover you were alive and never once bothered to…”

 “To what, Christine? Contact you while you were off with your lover? I’d seen you together enough, and I didn’t need to hurt myself more!” Erik snapped, a little more forcefully than he’d meant. She stood, barely reaching his sternum, and glowered up at his mask.

 “I loved you, Erik, I really loved you,” she cried, “But no more! The murders, the deception, the whole mad mess… I can’t believe I once wanted your forgiveness!” The shock of her harsh words struck Erik like icy water. He blinked once, before the shock began to wear off and rage began to build.

 “Christine, do not speak to me like that,” he said, quietly. She slapped him, slapped him so hard the mask spun off his face. The force rocked him on his feet for a moment, even as petite as she was.

 “You couldn’t have just let well enough alone!” she screamed. Toby jumped awake and immediately scuttled into a corner.

 “And let that little jackass turn you into some catatonic doll? To let him throw you into a mental asylum?” Erik shouted.

 “It was better thinking you dead and wishing for your forgiveness than knowing you were alive to give it!” she snapped, “I never should have asked for forgiveness! I was a naïve, stupid little girl!” She went to hit him again, but Erik shoved her away. He could vaguely hear Toby whimpering his nursery rhyme again in the corner.

 “Shut up!” he screamed at the child. Toby immediately stopped, staring at Erik with a chilling gaze that momentarily frightened Erik even through his fury; Erik could swear her hear Toby’s mind finally snap apart.

 “Don’t you dare speak to him like that! Because of your mad fantasy of having a family, you’ve destroyed us both!” Christine raged, lashing out at Erik again. Erik put a hand out to ward her off, but a sharp sting made him instantly recoil. He stared down at his hand and watched a thin line of crimson welling furiously in his palm. He looked at Christine in shock. She was gripping Toby’s razor.

 “If you come near me again, I will kill you! Get out, Erik!” she growled, baring her teeth, looking like a cornered animal possessed. Insane rage exploded through Erik’s body. He tore the mask from his face, and Christine flinched away from the skeletal face cloaked in fury.

 “Do you really want to kill me?” he murmured, anger boiling round the edges of his words. Christine lost some of her fearlessness and began backing away as he advanced on her.

 “Kill me, Christine. End my miserable existence, I beg you!” he continued, grabbing at her. She slashed again with the razor, this time less forcefully. It was still a good hit, opening his forearm in a diagonal line from his elbow to his wrist. Before she could attack again, Erik grabbed her by her shoulders, lifting her off her feet.

 “Kill me! Fight for your life, Christine!” he screamed, and was vaguely aware of another slash to his chest and one to his face. Snatched the razor from her hand. And, bracing her against the wall with his body, laid the metal against the fair skin of her throat.

 “Kill me, Erik,” she whispered, staring up at him. His eyes narrowed.

 “Was this an attempt at suicide?” he asked her mockingly. She shrugged.

 “I’m destroyed. You’ve taken away everything I ever wanted, including yourself. Kill me, Erik,” she said calmly. She was so beautiful, so serene in the face of death, where just moments before she had seemed one of Satan’s fallen angels. Erik laid a gentle kiss on her lips.

 “I hate you…” she whispered against his mouth. There was a sudden flare of pain in his chest and Erik looked down. Blood was seeping from a wound in his chest, flowing gently around Christine’s hand. As she moved, he saw the end of a long shard of broken glass protruding from his chest. He wondered for a moment where she had come by such a weapon before remembering that damned gin bottle!

 “Angel of death, meet thy Lord,” she murmured, staring up into his face. Erik began to laugh, high and hysterical. He pressed the razor into her skin and smiled affectionately at her.

 “Angel of music…” he whispered back. He slid the razor across her throat. The motion was so gentle it seemed to do nothing at first, until he saw the blood in a bright beautiful line, sheet down Christine’s breasts. Music filled Erik’s throat, streaming out of him like a sudden wave of pain and fury. He was lost in a sudden haze of music and seething rage. It was a requiem for everything he’d done over the last few months, for everything he’d done for her, his own poor heart, the love he’d never have, everything, that had died in his life. He didn’t stop until he felt himself growing so faint he could barely stand. What lay on the bed barely resembled a human being’s remains. He had torn her apart, cut her to pieces. He still held her heart in his hands. His breath hitched, catching and snagging in his throat as his asthma clutched at his chest. As he regained himself, he noticed the sound of someone breathing softly. He turned. Behind him, covered in splattered blood, stood Toby. The white streak in his hair was dark with blood and his eyes were glazed, yet oddly calm.

 “She…she…she was a proper lady…” Toby muttered, shaking from head to toe. To Erik’s surprise, he did not sound sick or frightened, but as if he was eulogizing Christine. Erik didn’t answer him. He staggered through the door, only to be met by Anthony. The damned fool must have followed him. Anthony didn’t say anything, but stood there staring in shock.

 “That…music…” he gasped. Tears were welling in his eyes and he stared, haunted at the masked man.

 “Out of my way, boy,” Erik whispered, limping off into the night, Christine’s heart still in his hands.

It took him almost two months to get back to Paris. Somehow, and he wasn’t sure how, he had recovered from his injuries. He almost cherished them, a mark of emotion from his beloved Christine. But he knew that the recovery was partial at best and, if he was going to die, he was determined to die where he belonged.

Erik made it to the little well, where he had held Christine the first night she had come to his home with him, where he had bathed her forehead with water to recover her from her faint. He collapsed, exhausted from the effort of his journey. He had dried Christine’s heart on the journey and now placed it beside him where he lay.

He wasn’t sure how long he slept for, but something woke him. He opened his eyes weakly, only to be staring straight into Toby’s.

“I’ve been waiting for you for a month, Erik. Johanna and Anthony came here with me, but I ran away from them to look for you. Christine told me where you lived. What took you so long?” he asked quietly.  Erik shrugged.

“I can’t run anymore. I’ve spent my life looking to be loved and ended being hated. I guess revenge gets you that,” Erik wheezed. His asthma suddenly seized his chest and squeezed. Toby smiled.

“You just asked for too much, Erik,” he said. “Besides, this is a kindness for someone who taught me revenge.” Erik struggled for air needlessly, his last breaths whistling in and out. Toby carefully cut the mask away from Erik’s face.

“Thank you, Toby,” Erik murmured. Toby shrugged.

“Johanna and Anthony said to leave well enough alone, but they don't know how important revenge can be, particularly when it's a good thing for all involved. Anthony really was never the same after seeing Christine as he did. You know, they thought Christine was that girl that used to live in the room. She’ll be forgotten, just like you,” Toby told him. His voice was flat, thoughtful Erik shrugged, wheezing violently.

 “Anthony and Johanna will be happy. And what about you?” he asked.

“I’ve never been to America. When you were singing, I thought of the sea, so I think that’s where I should go,” Toby replied thoughtfully. Erik smiled. Toby shifted his weight on his heels to kneel more comfortably next to Erik. He placed the mask carefully on the ground next to Christine’s heart.

“Are you ready?” he asked as he reached down and grabbed Erik’s hair.

“Yes,” Erik answered. The razor flashed once more in the dark…