Second Chance

Her world felt like it had stopped moving. She stared at the blood flowing slowly from Toby's small frame for what felt like an eternity. How could so much blood fit in that little body? She didn't snap out of her daze, not even with his footsteps approaching her.

Subconsciously, she handed the razor back to him, and lifted her head.

Perhaps, he was thrown off by her demeanor. He took the razor but didn't slit her throat like they both expected him to. Instead, he grabbed her arm and tried to drag her away from the scene.

"I'm sorry, pet."

Upon hearing him speak, she awoken out of her daze. She inhaled sharply, spinning around to face him. The look she gave him was one he's never seen in her before. Her eyes blazed as hot as the still open oven. For a split second he was almost afraid of her. Her breathing was ragged and uneven, mad. The tears stung at her eyes again as she pounded on his chest. "Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you I hate you fuck you! How could you! I killed him I killed him, my son. . . I can't. . . I. . . hate you fuck you!" she stopped her rampage, falling to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably. She couldn't see a damn thing anymore through all the tears. He stood over her calmly, letting her cry and scream her emotions away.

After what felt like an hour, her crying stopped and she stared at the floor in a daze once more. She looked up at him, wondering why he wasn't taking this moment to end her life. He said he'd kill her after she killed Toby, so why? What was he waiting for? Just sitting and waiting was torture. Hasn't she been through enough turmoil tonight, will it never end?

He stared back her, unmoving. He didn't look at her with disgust and hatred as he usually tends to. His eyes shown something different, new. The room started spinning when he reached his hand out to her. She took it without hesitating. She had given up. She didn't care how he'd kill her, or when, or if. He let go of her when she was on her feet.

"Mrs. Lovett. . ." he wanted to say something but didn't know how to choose his words. She didn't want to hear them anyway. He sighed, and made his way to the door, "Come. It stinks down here."

She looked towards the open oven, as if debating to throw herself into it and end this night.

She swallowed; the room was still spinning. He looked back at her; his brows knit in confusion.

"Johanna?" she asked, and she collapsed onto the bloody stoned floor.

Hearing his daughter's name felt as if she just shot him threw the heart. He completely forgot about her and the sailor's plan. Then another sickening thought reached him, there was a lad in his shop. . . could've have been. . ?

He picked Mrs. Lovett off the floor, laying her down on the settee in her parlor. He ran through her shop to head upstairs, pausing when he reached her door, hand hovering above the handle. What in the world was he going to say? Taking a shaky breath, he climbed the stairs.

How long as it been? She was most likely gone by now. Anthony had returned for her, she would've told him what she saw, and the law would be on them at any minute. He reached the door to his parlor. She was there, standing wide eyed next to the chair. With a shaky sigh, he walked inside.


She had one of his razors in her hand pointing it at him in fear. For a moment he felt pleased to see her holding his friend. He remembers how ghastly he must've looked and grabbed a cloth to wipe his face. All the while Johanna had not moved from her spot, the razor still in her grasp.

"Johanna?" he tried again.

"How do you know my name?" she squeaked out, her voice as light as bird's feather.

He opened his mouth to answer, "You killed the judge" her shrill voice said, "they'll hang you for such a crime."

"I'm not going to hurt you. I promise." He slowly approached her.

She stepped back. "I can explain why I did what I've done." One step closer, she raised the razor higher. "I'm a friend of your father."

"My father?" she lowered the razor. "How did you know him?" she was intrigued. Good.

"I met him in prison. He was sent there on a false charge by the judge. He wanted your mother for himself you see."

"My mother? Lucy was her name?" Johanna asked.


"He mentioned her to me briefly, once or twice. He would whisper her name in his sleep sometimes." She looked down confused, the razor forgotten by her side. "He told me my father was an evil man who tried to kill my mother and me. That he sent him away to protect us."

His fist clenched upon hearing her words. "He lied. Your father loved you more than anything in the world," quick hesitation, "and your mother."

The fear had drained from her eyes. "Your father died in prison, I promised him that I would avenge him and your mother. That the judge would pay for what he's done."

"What happened to my mother?" she asked.

He felt like she had stabbed him with his razor, but he managed to get the words out. "Your mother poisoned herself." He could see her heart breaking. "After judge Turpin sent your father away, he tried to take your mother for his own. She refused him, however he tricked her to attending a ball, where he defiled her in the presence of his audience. She couldn't live with the pain, and. . ." Tears threatened to drop from his eyes. He hasn't cried in fifteen years. He almost would have now but Johanna surprised him by leaping towards him in an embrace.

"Thank you sir," she cried lightly, and when she looked up to him, a small smile displayed her lips.

He found himself feeling a bit uncomfortable in his daughter's embrace. Perhaps it was because the moment was so surreal and nothing like he expected. He thought of Mrs. Lovett downstairs. Wondering if she was still asleep. Hopefully she hadn't awoke, she may run or try to hurt himself. A small part of him wished she was here now, the thought made him feel odd. Johanna stepped away from him. "I can tell you cared for her a great deal." she said.

"No, I. . ." he was at a loss for words, flabbergasted.

She looked into his eyes, they were the same dark shade of brown, almost black, as hers. "You're my father. Aren't you?"

His world spun on its axis so fast, it crashed. "How did you. . ?"

"I always had a feeling you were out there." She smiled, "What is your name?"

"Benjamin Barker."

She repeated it, a sense of longing. She looked towards the window. "Anthony will return soon." She looked back to him, "Why were you not going to tell me? That you're my dad."

"That man is dead." Sweeney said. "He died in prison, like I said. This new monster was born in his place. I am not your father." He mimicked her sad expression, "not anymore."

"You are." She said. They heard the neighing of horses as the coach pulled up outside.

Quickly, Johanna grabbed her father's hands. "Come with us!" she pleaded.

"No," he said. "I want you to live your life, be at peace. Now that you are free."

She grasped his hands tighter. "I hope you find happiness too father."


"I want you to move on," she declared. "Mother's death was a tragedy, but she is gone now, she is at peace and free from this wretched city. There's nothing for you here, leave this city!"


"Before the law finds you," she continued. She grasped his hands even tighter, looking into his eyes. Ever so stern. "May you find someone who loves you more than my mother and I ever could have."

His heart was beating like a drum, thinking of the woman downstairs. No, it couldn't be. "Johanna, I. . ." he swallowed, feeling nervous all of a sudden.

"I want to you to be happy; I want to look up at the horizon years from now and wonder if my new siblings are alright."

He smiled awkwardly, "I highly doubt such a thing will happen, my dear."

"Promise me?" she asked.

"No, Johanna, I. . ."

"Please, promise me."

"I promise."

"And don't give up until you find it." She smiled brightly. She hugged him tight once more. "I have to go," she said heading towards the door.

"Johanna, wait."

She turned around to face him. He took the picture frame off the table, handing it to her. "Here, I want you to take this." She took the photo from him. "It's your mother, and you when you were a baby."

Tears stung her eyes; she held the photograph to her heart. "Thank you," tears started falling on her cheeks. "I'm so glad I got to see you."

"And I too, my dear. Now go, be happy."

She nodded and opened the door. Before stepping over the threshold, she looked over her shoulder at him one last time. "Remember your promise." And with that his daughter disappeared with the sailor. Sweeney watched as they stepped into the coach and rode off into the night.

Now what to do with the emotional wreck of a baker downstairs?

Fortunately, she was still sleep on the settee. He checked the time. It's been quiet so far, but once the court is open right after dawn. . . they should leave long before then. He laid a blanket over her, took a few swigs of gin from her kitchen, and returned upstairs. He found his old bag and stuffed it with any essentials belongings of his that he thought of. Not too many, it'd be best to pack light. He took his razors, some extra shirts and under garments, one more pair of pants, a sketch book, that was all. He found Johanna's baby doll shoved into a drawer, perhaps he should have given it to her as well, its too late now. He left the doll in its place.

Mrs. Lovett would have plenty of more belongings to add, he was certain of that. He locked the door to his shop, glancing at it one last time.

She hadn't stirred in her rest. He would let her enjoy it as long as she could, god only knows where they'd be the next nightfall. He decided to pack for her, to the best he could. Sitting still wasn't an option. Demented, haunting, thoughts arose him every time he took a rest.

He stepped into her bedroom, he's never seen her room before, it was dainty. He grabbed a couple of her dresses, purposefully choosing the simple, weightless ones. They may need to move quickly. He decided to leave the under garments up to her picking. He noticed a simple necklace in a box on her dresser, it was lovely. Assuming it was a gift from Albert he stuck it into the bag halfheartedly. After stuffing in two blankets, he raided the kitchen. He took the gin, bread, water, anything else that wouldn't perish for awhile.

He halted his efforts for a quick break. He collapsed into the one of the booths in her shop, too tired to fight off the haunted thoughts of tonight's events. He didn't mean to fall asleep, he shut his eyes for what felt like a minute.

He dreamed of Lucy's death, over and over and over again. Like a never-ending nightmare. He woke up panicking about what time of night it was. His head shot up from the table, breathing heavily. Mrs. Lovett sat alarmed across from him. She didn't speak, she watched him with a sad expression, hands in her lap. "I didn't want to wake you." She said. She looked down at the bag at his feet. "Where are you going?"

He straightened himself up, rubbing the crick in his neck. "We're leaving London tonight."

"We?" she looked at him confused.

"What time is it?" he asked frantically, "we must be gone before dawn."

So he wasn't going to kill her? Nellie stared at him dumbfounded. "Mr. T. . ."

"Go pack your things." He told her, "I already added in some of your dresses, get your undergarments, whatever else."

She remained seated at the table, "What happened with Johanna?"

"She's gone. Left with the sailor. I got to see her off."

She smiled sadly at the table, "I'm glad."

He watched her as she slowly stood up to finish packing. "There's one more thing I need to take care and we'll head out." he told her.

She nodded. She spun around to face him, "Why am I alive?"

She asks this with all seriousness in her voice. Her question threw Sweeney Todd off guard. For a long time he didn't know how to answer her. So, he gave her a response that confused her even more. "I'm not sure."

He walked past her, down to the bake house. Bodies needed burning.

He lingered at Lucy's. Taking the time to stroke her hair, "I'm sorry" he muttered to her, "I'm sorry." He turned away, not wanting to watch her burn as he did with the judge and beadle. His heart ached, he thought of Johanna and her words to him. By some miracle, the ache subsided.

He bent down to Toby. Mrs. Lovett was no artist when it came to throat slitting, the cut was ragged. He frowned, smoothing out the boy's hair. He scooped him into his arms, walking him towards the flames. "I'm sorry." He didn't watch this body burn either. He closed the door to the oven, locking it. Leaving the bakehouse to retrieve Mrs. Lovett, he took shaky breaths up the stairs, meeting her in the parlor.

"Ready?" he asked.

She nodded, the bag over her shoulder. It was 4 am. "We'll go through the sewers." He said. "We'll less likely be spotted that way."

Nellie shook visibly, she didn't fancy seeing the bake house again, oh the stench would be terrible, the horrors. She was shocked to see that he disposed of the bodies. The smell of burning flesh made her want to vomit, she pushed the feeling away, stepping forward into the sewers. Thinking of how just a few hours ago they were walking down here calling for Toby, she somehow managed hold back the tears.

Trudging through the dirty sewers, she let out a deep, saddened sigh. While Sweeney tried to hold in his shaky breaths. Johanna's words never stopped ringing in his ears. With every step that they took leading them to move on.

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