Warnings at bottom of fic. Please read.

Clandestine

Once a patient was pushed inside those bar doors, restrained in canvas, time might as well have stopped. Time was more of an idea inside the asylum's cages. Some scratched their fingernails into the wall when the sun rose. But even seeing the sunset was something of a miracle.

Johanna adjusted her sore muscles into a new position. Her lower eyelid kept twitching, and she couldn't stop it. Even closing her eyes felt more like getting burned by the sun. She dug her head into her lap. The canvas scratched her cheeks like a wildcat. Johanna parted her lips. Her voice - made harsh by endless cries - gave a moan.

"He'll bring you the moon on a silver string. Quickly to sleep then, my Jo, my jig . . ."

She hadn't attempted to do the high notes. She knew her voice couldn't take it. Even her song didn't carry a tune. Johanna was just whispering, really.

"He'll bring you a shoe and a wedding ring. Sing here again-"

Wedding ring. Johanna squeezed her eyes shut. Allowing the tears to fall. She couldn't wipe them away. They fell, stinging her cheeks, and stung her heart. Johanna clenched her hand into a fist. Turpin wanted her to marry him. He said one month. One month in this vicinity and he would come back. She would be desperate enough then to accept his proposal.

Anthony was supposed to come. He came that night. The night when she was checked in. Johanna saw him from the window of the carriage. He ran after her. Reaching out for her. Their hands never touched.

"I'll marry Anthony Sunday," Johanna whispered to herself, "I'll marry Anthony Sunday."

The other women shrieked. One fell back on Johanna. She was used to it. Whenever Mr. Fogg came around. Everyone clung to the walls as if their barriers could save them from whatever torment he was planning. Often the other women would trip over Johanna. She preferred it. They blocked her from sight.

A wave of panic overthrew her as Johanna realized Mr. Fogg was nearing her. He never wanted her. She was never good enough before. Why now? Johanna closed her eyes again.

"Not that one," the beadle said. His foot crashed in front of her. Someone grabbed a fistful of her hair and jerked her head up. Giving her no choice but to face him. He grinned like a weasel. "This is it."

Mr. Fogg grabbed her forearm and pulled her up. Her knees wobbled. This was the first time she had stood up straight in . . . she didn't know how long. Johanna's lower lip quivered.

A woman grabbed at her skirt as the Beadle pulled her past them. Johanna met her eyes, surrounded by a face full of moles. Her stare was like green fire.

"Take me! Take me!" she screamed.

The beadle drew out his cane. He shoved her out of the way with it.

Mr. Fogg kept a steady pace. One Johanna could hardly catch up to. He nearly dragged her along like a child pulling their doll behind them. Johanna lost her footing. With a gasp, she fell to her knees. Mr. Fogg yanked her upright. They turned the corner.

There was light. Not much of it. But the room was bright enough to make her have to blink. Such a shock to her dank conditions. It was an office; she realized. With a desk and everything. The brown atmosphere caused her stomach to churn. The door shut. Mr. Fogg released the straitjacket from her. Nimbly, Johanan stretched her fingers out. She got braver and reached both arms out towards the ground. She felt a bit lighter now. Almost like a butterfly.

Johanna cocked her head. Facing the door. A door with a handle. A door to break through.

Run, Johanna, run!

But she found she couldn't.

Her limbs were too sore. Her pace wasn't fast. She would die if she attempted to escape. Like all the others who did.

"This one was mad, huh. Spitfire, almost. Kept singing to herself all day and all night."

Sing. Right. Yes. Sing. That's what she did.

Jo, my Jing? Ooh, your father's at tea with the Swedish king. He'll bring you the moon on a silver string . . .

That was the song, yes. The song. Always floating through every thought. It never left her alone. It was her comfort and her hell.

Johanna looked down at her hands. Were they always this pale? This rough? She traced over her nails. They weren't always jagged. Were they?

Another man entered the room. He grabbed both of Johanna's shoulders. The beadle followed them behind. They walked out the doors.

There was the moon. Stars. Littering the sky.

Johanna arched her neck to see.

She wouldn't get to see the sun. Yet she never realized how beautiful the moonlight was. Johanna swiped a tear away.

The Beadle forced her into a carriage. The way she was when she was taken.

Johanna expected to feel fear when the Beadle slid in across from her. Her heart should beat half a beat faster and her breath should hitch. Yet it didn't.

No. She was . . . relieved. Johanna was out of the asylum. At last. She'd dreamed of this day. Her visions twisted into nightmares. But Anthony would save her. Johanna would have to get away and find Anthony herself. They would run away. Together.

Who knew what was waiting for her next.

"His lordship has been eager to speak to you," the beadle said, with a sickening grin, "You're to meet in his office once you're ready." He looked her over, wrinkling his nose. "I think that means a bath for ya."

Two servants greeted her once the carriage jerked to a stop. One man and a woman. They took her elbows. Afraid she might fight. But she didn't.

"Let's get you upstairs, miss," said the maid, "His lordship wants you nice and tidy before meeting him."

More maids were inside. The butler left. One unbuttoned the first one on her dress. Only for it the rip. The maid grimaced.

"Don't worry. Master Turpin won't want anything from the asylum. Tear it all off and it won't make a difference."

The majors of her clothing came off with rips or holes. They tore one of her petticoats right off. The maids pushed her into the tub. Johanna shrieked as she hit the water.

The last bath she had where water was filled with ice chips. The nurses laughed as they poured more of the water on top of her. She was drowning. The tub was stained with filth and the water carried dirt. Nurses yanked at her hair. Teasing that they would cut it off.

The maids scrubbed her down with rough rags. Unforgiving rubs. They ran their lather-coated hands through her locks.

They pulled her out. Johanna became too heavy for herself to carry. She relied on the bedposts to keep her upright.

"Look at how thin she's gotten," whispered one maid to the next, "Her bones are poking through!"

She pointed at her ribs to make a point.

The maids dressed Johanna. Not in the silk nightgowns her skin craved. No, they put her in an ivy-colored gown. With a neckline that almost touched the brim of her corset. Johanna was exposed. Black beads dotted along the edge of the neck. Her skirt was full. Heavy. She could hardly walk as it was. A maid helped her bruised toes into shoes with a short heel. Every step sent needles through her heel.

"His lordship wants to speak with you, Miss Barker."

One maid led her to the wide doors of Judge Turpin's office.

Johanna had felt nothing before. But when Judge Turpin opened those doors and studied her, fear shot through her. Johanna's stomach hardened as he laid a hand on her waist to escort her inside. His hand brushed against her shoulder as he released her. Johanna stood in front of his chair, gripping the end of it to keep herself upright. The soles of her feel groaned.

"I trust this means you've come to your senses," Judge Turpin said, folding his hands behind his back and walking from one end of the room to the other, "Johanna?"

"Sir . . ."

She swallowed. Judge Turpin neared her.

"I . . ."

Too close. His steps were long as he traveled to her. Invading her space. As the asylum patients had for weeks.

If she said yes, he would rip her apart and marry her. If she refused, it was back to the asylum.

Back to the asylum.

Anthony was supposed to come. She would marry Anthony Sunday. Was it Sunday?

Johanna looked up at Judge Turpin. His vulture eyes leered down at her. He gripped her shoulder. She flinched.

She had to run. Find Anthony. Before he brought her before the priest.

"Yes. I have."

Johanna grimaced.

Judge Turpin's lips curled into a smile. Nausea tore through her. Johanna cowered. Judge Turpin set his other hand on her shoulder. The first touch she'd experienced since the asylum.

"Excellent. My Johanna."

He stared her over. His hand reached for the bodice of her dress. But he stopped himself.

"To your room. I'll get you when it's time."

Time could be now. Later. Anywhere in between.

Johanna nodded and helped herself out. She tripped. She held herself up, using the wall. Coming face to face with a painted angel. Johanna pushed the angel's nose. She leaned on the wall, back to her room.

The maids were waiting for her. They silently peeled off the dress and removed her shoes. They helped her into a nightgown. One of the soft ones she yearned for so desperately. The fabric cocooned her. A maid placed heated coals under her bed. Her sheets didn't prevent her from shaking.

This was her moment to spread out. Feel the rest of the space she had. Relax her muscles. Johanan couldn't. She curled up. Her muscles groaned like old gears. But taking a new position was unfamiliar. Terrifying and unpredictable.

There were no screams in the night. Only footsteps. But they were hardly threatening. They didn't chase or wander inside with a pair of scissors.

Johanna didn't feel herself sleep. If she had, she would never know. The pain in her eye went away. The only remainder was a sharp sting that disappeared shortly after closing her eyes. But the dread remained. Like a shadow overcoming the room. Johanna clenched her hair. She was lucky no one cut it off for their wig-making practice.

The maids dressed her. She sat at her window. Her lark didn't sing.

It was as if she hadn't been to Foggs Asylum at all.

As if she never met Anthony. Judge Turpin never wanted her as a wife. It was normal. Her normal, at least. Johanna almost wanted it back.

He came in the evening. When a few stars were out and the silver moon reflected on her window. Johanna was too afraid to move. Her hardened stomach cramped as she turned around. She knew it was him. She'd seen his crazed features as a reflection in her mirror. A whimper escaped her lips.

"Put this on. The coach is leaving in twenty minutes."

Johanna nodded. She didn't leave her window seat, but watched as he closed the door. She took careful steps towards the parcel. As if a lion was about to jump from the box and roar. Johanna opened it. Sticking her name inside to feel the lacy fabric. A wedding dress.

A maid knocked at the door. She entered at her grant and began helping her into the dress. Johanna looked into the mirror. Her bones jutted out. As the maids the previous night commented. Though they didn't describe the extent of it. Johanna didn't recognize herself. She was more bone than skin. With long hair sticking to her back. She trailed a hand over her ribs. They felt like rows of thin books. The kind she read from as a young girl.

Was she a human? A monster? Demon from hell. She didn't know. Surely, something like this couldn't be a young lady.

Couldn't be herself.

The dress hung too loosely over her form. A noose that was waiting for its next victim. The maid found a few pins to keep the neckline from sagging. Johanna looked in the mirror again. The dress was white. Like a virgin. Hardly a shade lighter than her own complexion. The sleeves ended in lace, which was limp over her wrists. Small patterns were sewn into the skirt. Lines and shapes. The dress ended on the floor. Johanna had to bunch it together to walk. Perhaps it was incorrectly made that way. Or Judge Turpin was smart and had it done on purpose. Johanna didn't know. Nor did she care anymore. She would find a way to lift it up. Run along the streets with her dress hitched to her knees, like the common harlot. It didn't matter. She was safe as long as she was away from Judge Turpin.

He met her in the carriage. He titled his head. Pleased at his fine handicraft. Johanna hugged her arms to her chest, grasping at her neck. She nearly tripped down the stairs, yet she didn't change her position.

"My Johanna, you look like a fine young woman, indeed," said Judge Turpin as she descended the last step.

She looked up at him. Her eyes hit the glare of the chandelier, causing her to wince. Johanna fought a groan.

"Sir, correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe the groom isn't supposed to see the bride before the wedding. It's bad luck. Isn't it?"

She couldn't read him. She didn't try. Johanna kept her gaze on the marble flooring. If it worked, it would get her a few moments. A few moments to break into a run and escape from Hyde Street. But she kept her words unassuming. Unsure. To give Judge Turpin the benefit of the doubt. Allow him to feel like he was the smartest one in the room, and Johanna was still that little girl with long braids down her back, tied with little plaid ribbons.

"We will make an exception tonight," Judge Turpin said, slaying her hope, "Come, Johanna, come."

There was no choice but to obey him. Johanna cocked her head to sneak a glance at the door to the side. Hardly anyone used it. She didn't know what was on the other side. But whatever danger lurked, there was a joy compared to this. Johanna looked away; nearing Judge Turpin. He placed her hand on his elbow for her. With hope vanishing faster than a shooting star, they entered the carriage. She sat across from him. For a moment, Judge Turpin looked like he might move to get closer to her. Johanna flinched. Even at the idea. But he didn't. He stayed across from her, next to Beadle.

Johanna stared at the window, the only place she could look wasn't at Judge Turpin. Looking at him reminded him of everything. Her dress was crafted for this occasion. Beadle assisted him with everything. He was always there. But the window carried freedoms. Promise. Brokenness. Everything Johanna could sew up together, nice and tidy, and hold to her chest; as she sobbed for hours.

A tear ran down her cheek. Or was it imaginary? Johanna found her eyes in the reflection. It was real. She brushed it away. Looking down as she saw the church.

Within moments, she would be Judge Turpin's. His possession. His toy. His whore. His wife.

The beadle grabbed her bicep. Digging his fingernails into her tender flesh as a warning. He gave a smile as they entered the chapel.

A priest waited for them. He nodded at Judge Turpin. He grabbed Johanna's other weak arm. Holding it in his own as if they were lovers taking a midday stroll. The priest began the moment they were at the altar.

"Dearly beloved."

Johanna snuck a look at Judge Turpin. He seemed taller than before. With his chest strutting out with pride. With honor. All along, he knew he was going to win.

"We are gathered here today."

Her chest shook with gasps. Intensifying as the earthquake raged on inside of her. Sobs quieted themselves in her throat. But once the tears welled in her eyes, she broke like a china doll. All her pain released into a loud sob. Enough to shake her. Judge Turpin peered down at her with a raised eyebrow. She sniffled.

"To join this man and this woman in holy matrimony."

Wails flung off her chest. Bouncing off her heart and tearing at her voice.

The beadle grabbed her arm. Johanna gasped as she looked at his beady eyes.

"Stop it!" he ordered, then relaxed back into his former position.

Johanna covered her lips with her hand. Focus. If she could focus, she might stop. Or pinch herself. Snap herself out of it before. This trance of tears.

"Joseph Turpin, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in holy matrimony, to love her, to honor her, to comfort her, and to keep her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"

Judge Turpin looked at her blotching face. "I do."

"Johanna Barker, do you take this man to be your husband, to live together in holy matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, as long as you both shall live?"

Johanna dared herself to look up at Judge Turpin again. His eyes narrowed, like an eagle flying in for attack. She turned back to the priest. Her shoulders shook. Her lips parted. To say, "I do." But a sob escaped her instead. She looked back at Judge Turpin. He gave a slight nod. To warn her. Johanna nodded. That was all she could bear.

"I need to hear, 'I do' from you, Miss Barker."

He was unforgiving. But she knew Judge Turpin also wished to hear the words.

"I . . ." Her throat dried. "Do. I do."

Judge Turpin slid a cold ring through her finger. Johanna did the same with him. Her hands shook, and she nearly dropped the ring. They told each other that the ring meant something. For Johanna, it testified she was trapped forever. There was no chance for freedom.

"By the virtue vested in me by God, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

What was a trickle of tears before became a storm.

"You may kiss the bride."

Judge Turpin faced her. He cupped his large hand under her neck. Tilting her head towards him. Johanna sniffled again. Wiping away another batch of tears. It didn't scare him, however. He pressed his lips against hers. His lips were wet. He was enjoying himself. Johanna bit back her lower lip, hoping to fend him off that way.

Once he released her, she resisted the urge to wipe at her lips. At the filth that now coated them. The feel of his lips there.

Judge Turpin adjusted his grip as they ran back to the carriage. His nails rested on her upper arm. Vulture's claws. He slid in next to her. Clasping his other hand on her knee. She hated how it tingled under his palm.

He led her into his room once they stopped. In time for what he'd been waiting for years. Perhaps all her life. Her stomach churned.

Johanna had never been inside Judge Turpin's personal quarters before. The room reminded her of the rest of the house. The furnishings were simple. The walls were painted with nude angels carrying harps. Johanna's gaze dropped to the bed. Where Judge Turpin was dragging her towards.

His coat was off. His cravat was loosened. He tugged at her hand. But Johanna did not move.

"No, sir. Please, sir."

Judge Turpin ignored her small pleadings. He held both hands at her hips. Johanna took a step forward from the weight. Then backward, out of protest. Judge Turpin was the tide against her. Pulling her to the bed. Until he'd pushed her on top. Judge Turpin pulled at the bodice. Confused why it wouldn't budge. His eyes lit as he pulled the pins out. The fabric tears through his jagged gestures. He peaked through each layer. Becoming more animal-like with every one.

It hurt. Physically, as he forced himself on her. Emotionally. As Johanna pleaded for mercy and wept. With every wet kiss, every time his hands moved, it stung a bit more.

When he finished, she was limp. Like a rag doll. Lost by his owner and waiting on the dirt. One hand faced upward, with her fingers slightly curled. The other rested in the valley between her breasts. Where Judge Turpin had placed his greedy fingers and licked.

She was naked and limp. Johanna stared blankly at the angel above her. They wore a strained expression. Their buttocks were exposed behind a small strip of fabric. If only she was a painted angel. Carefree or childlike. With glowing skin and plumb bodies. She could be one. Not now. But she wished she was.

Judge Turpin was mostly pleased. As he informed her in the morning. He tied his cravat around his neck.

"I was quite satisfied last night, my flower. I set my expectations a little too high. Never fear, you are still inexperienced. You will learn with time."

Johanna only gave a nimb nod. She sat up in bed. Her legs hung over the side. She only covered herself with a thin sheet. Without the energy to get up.

"Don't worry about getting dressed yet, my dear," said Judge Turpin.

Panic shot through her. Once he was back from court, he did not plan on doing that again. Did he? Her heart drummed.

"Since you are now my wife, I am having everything moved here. It is customary." He looked her over. "Stay in bed for a moment more, if you'd like."

He adjusted his coat and leaned over. Lips parted. Johanna indulged in his kiss. This time, once his back was turned, she wiped the memory of the kiss off her lips.

She heard the door open and close.

Johanna didn't move. She tucked her knees in, wrapping her arms around herself. It was her protective stance. The position she was always in despite her agonized limbs. It kept her safe. Not for long. She clasped her hands over her ringing ears.

Servants came in. Carrying trunks and dresses loosely in their arms. They placed the items where they belonged. Some maids sent questioning glances her way. Johanna wrapped the sheets firmer around herself. Until one maid approached her. Johanna didn't know her name. Perhaps she was new.

"Let's get you dressed, my lady," she said.

Johanna gave a slow nod. She didn't even have a chemise on. The room was empty aside from the two of them. She glanced around.

"Give me a moment," Johanna said. She didn't realize how raspy her voice was.

The maid nodded. Johanna helped herself out of the bed. A layer of invisible dirt covered her skin. She found a fresh chemise. Even the crisp fabric didn't make her feel any better. There was a hole in her heart.

Johanna allowed the maid back inside. The maid helped her with her corset. Pulling it over her sore breasts. Gathering the fabric at her chest, where Judge Turpin clawed so vigorously. The maid washed her face of the tear stains before going to pick her dress. Johanna grabbed the maid's wrist, grimacing and letting go. Judge Turpin took a hold of her wrist like that. But it stopped the maid, who looked at her with a quizzing look.

"Yes, my lady?"

Johanna cleared her throat. "May I pick my dress?"

"Of course."

The maid helped her find the proper trunks and the section in the closet. Johanna looked through them before she found one. A winter frock with long sleeves and long skirts. The neckline went to the middle of her neck and was styled with a small bow. It was spring, but Johanna yearned for more coverage. The maid helped her shaking limbs into the sleeves and buttoned up the back.

"Thank you," Johanna said, breathless.

The maid nodded. "Shall I have your breakfast taken up?"

She always had her breakfast taken up when she was locked inside her room.

"I think I would prefer to take it downstairs."

"I will inform the cook."

Johanna didn't know they had a cook. Well, of course, they did. How else did they get food? Within a few minutes, another maid collected her to bring her downstairs, descending the same steps she had the previous night. A shiver ran through her. She sat at the table. Poking at the bread on the table. Johanna brought a biscuit to her lips. But did not bite. Her jaw was numb. Johanna traced a hand along her cheekbone. Feeling Judge Turpin's mouth again. She stopped.

"I am not hungry," said Johanna, rising from her seat. She nearly ran back to her old room.

Her bed was made with soft sheets and fluffed pillows. She curled herself onto her window seat. Rocking gently to the stream of people down below. Her body ached. Her eyelids were heavy. Her body begged her to sleep. It had been days. But Johanna couldn't. Every time she closed her eyes, guilt overwhelmed her. Pushing her deeper into the tide. If she had run away. Or if she hadn't. If Johanna didn't meet Anthony - didn't speak with him or ask him to help her - maybe she would've been safe. Judge Turpin might have shown her mercy.

Judge Turpin found her there. In the early hours of the night. Johanna dared to lift her head to look at him. He averted his gaze.

"Really, Johanna," said Judge Turpin, "You've been like this all day when there are things that need to be taken care of. You are the lady of the house."

Her eyes were dry, but she blinked as if she were blocking tears.

"Come now."

Johanna didn't move. She looked him over again and her muscles went rigid.

"Sir-"

Judge Turpin raised a hand. "You will not call me, 'sir', any longer. You are my wife now, not my employee or daughter."

She chewed her bottom lip and tried again.

"Sir . . ." Johanna paused. She clasped her hands in front of her, looking down. "What is it I should call you?"

Judge Turpin took a step towards her. "You may call me by my Christian name."

From the day she was taken to this house, she was trained to call him Father. Johanna followed the order blindly. Until she was in her early teen years. Calling him Father didn't seem right. She was his ward, not his daughter. It was improper to act as if he was obligated to raise her. Johanna wasn't his biological daughter. Judge Turpin took her in as an act of charity. He wasn't Father to her anymore. Johanna stuck with saying, "Sir", avoiding the former the best she could.

"J-Joseph," Johanna stuttered out, "I would . . . I would like to remain in my quarters tonight."

His expression flashed dark. He looked away again - barely for a second before turning back to her. Judge Turpin looked her over.

"I will allow you to stay in here for tonight and tonight only, out of the goodness of my heart. Don't ask for anymore. What will the servants think when their master's new bride refuses to share a bed with him?"

Her heart lurched and Johanna opened her mouth to agree to spend the night in his room again. She stopped herself, stepping backward. Judge Turpin looked her over one last time. He neared the door, pausing before closing it behind him.

"I will have a servant bring your supper. Do eat. You're practically nothing at this point."

"Yes, sir." Not sir. "Joseph."

He closed the door.

It was good of him. The servants would begin telling stories to ruin his pride, yet he allowed her to sleep in her own bed. He allowed her a glimpse of freedom before it bled away.

Johanna didn't eat. She rearranged the way the food sat on the plate to make it look as if she had. The servant brought it back down.

After another restless night, where her body pleaded for some rest and her mind imagined frightening scenarios, Johanna roamed the halls. Judge Turpin would not allow her to stay in her room another night and she better get used to it. Besides, she wanted to see the rest of the house. How it changed over the years. She was disappointed to find it was much the same. Johanna took small steps. Inconvenient, but she didn't quicken her pace. She found rooms she didn't know existed. She studied art. Johanna found herself before a mahogany door. Plain but with small details carved into the wood. She pressed on it.

The door led into an office. A brown desk, looking to be carved from the same wood, met the center of it. Judge Turpin's office. There was a stack of papers atop the glassy top. Johanna stepped around it. She glanced down at the papers. No, that was rude of her. But she spotted a name that seemed to jump from the paper at her. Johanna looked down, reading the entirety of it.

Name: Anthony Hope

Age: 19 ½

Date of Offense: May 17, 1846

Offense: Attempted kidnapping

Sentence: Two years heavy labor in Australia

Height: 185.42 cm

Hair Color: Dirty blond

Eye Color: Blue

Eye Shape: Round

Complexion: Pale

Identifying Marks:

Trade or Occupation: Sailor on SS Bountiful

Education: Read and Write well

Marital Status: Single

Number of Children: Unknown

Birth Town: Bath

Residence Town: London (last)

Other: May be experiencing delusions

Prison. Judge Turpin sent Anthony to prison. It clicked like clock gears in her head. It made perfect sense. If Judge Turpin didn't have him locked up, Anthony would have found her. He locked both of them up. They were separated by bars. Just as he locked her up. They were both trapped. Neither could get to one another.

Johanna fell to her knees with a mournful cry for her Anthony. She covered her mouth with her hands. Her Anthony. Who had no chance of escaping. Who she would never see again. Never get to kiss. Never get to marry.

She hardly got to know him. She could picture his face in those cells on the ship. Pale and flushed with sick. One word was on his lips. Whimpers rang out.

I'm going to marry Anthony Sunday. No matter what. I know I'll be with him one day. Only afraid he forgot.

He couldn't forget. Johanna was the reason he was on a ship to Australia. The reason the next two years of his life would be spent in misery. He must despise her.

Johanna despised herself.

When Judge Turpin proposed he should marry her, poison crossed her mind. Better dead than married to him. Poison. Then Anthony came and Johanna admitted to thinking of swallowing poison. He narrowed his eyebrows, panicked and said gently, "I have a plan."

Johanna did, too.

She pulled herself using the desk and found her way downstairs. She ducked into the pantry. Where Johanna could assume something could help was there.

Someone tapped her shoulder. Johanna faced the maid.

"Beg your pardon, my lady, but what do you need?"

"Laundradum," Johanna lied, "I have a pain in my belly."

The maid found the bottle for her and a spoon. "Just a bit. I've heard tales of people overdosing on this. They wind up dead in their beds."

Johanna nodded. She took the spoon. As she poured the liquid down her throat, the maid put the bottle back.

There were other ways.

No one noticed when a butcher knife went missing. Johanna trailed the blade along her arm. Making a small slit on her wrist.

It stung. But it was release.

Johanna brought the knife to her neck. She took a breath and closed her eyes.

"Johanna!"

Judge Turpin's voice was panicked as he threw open the door. Gasping, Johanna dropped the weapon to the floor.

"What are you doing?" He grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her, "Do you want to go back to the madhouse?"

Tears streamed down her cheeks. A sob escaped her.

"No, sir! No! Please."

Judge Turpin took a deep breath as he grabbed the knife from the floor. With another look, he closed the door. Johanan could hear them even from where she was. She sank to the ground, pounding her fists into the carpet.

"Prepare a room for Mrs. Turpin. No furnishings other than a bed. Nothing at all that she could use to injure someone. Keep everything plain. White, if you can manage. Hurry."

Johanna curled back into the same position. Judge Turpin came back into the room, facing her.

"Taking one's life leads them down the path to hell," said he, "Do you wish to burn for eternity, Johanna? Do you wish to end up with the same fate as your mother?"

"N-no!"

"Then never try something like that again."

Once the room was done, Johanna was dragged into it. She clutched at her chest. Her dress was too tight. Although it hung limp around her frame. Her skirts dragged her down. She allowed her body to crash onto the floor. Hugging her quaking chest, Johanna buried her face in her own embrace, allowing silent tears to fall.

How? How could she have done that? Her mother poisoned herself. Her mother was dead and in hell. Johanna would have ended up the same way. The world was better without Johanna. But Judge Turpin needed her. That's what he said. Without her, he might hurt someone else. Johanna couldn't be the reason for that. Besides, he was her husband. He was only doing what he had a right to do.

When the window outside proved night had fallen, Judge Turpin returned. He entered the room with a deep sigh. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the tears drip down her cheeks. Johanna dug her hands into her palms.

"Are you willing to behave?" asked Judge Turpin as he neared her.

"Sir, please . . ."

"Please, what, Johanna? I have done nothing but provide for you. I've cared for you. I took you from a life of poverty and I raised you as my own. I loved you, my Johanna. Even as I say you. Do not say you do not feel the same for me. Even the most desolate love."

She did not reply.

Judge Turpin studied her.

"Come now, Johanna," he ordered.

No. Not tonight. She couldn't. Not again.

"I don't want . . ."

Judge Turpin threw his arms in the air. "Then what do you want, child! Tell me!"

"I want my birds."

Something familiar. Something quiet. Something to bring comfort. Her birds. Her birds which she had taken care of for years. Her birds that she loved and fed and named.

"Your birds are dead, girl!"

The blade from before sliced through her. Johanna locked eyes with him. Searching for his lie. She knew the look in his eyes when he wasn't telling the truth. Yet she couldn't find it now. No. No. Couldn't be. He promised they would be taken care of. Being reunited with her birds was one of the only assurances she had in the asylum.

Johanna whimpered.

"It's true." Judge Turpin straightened himself. "Why do you think they weren't singing?"

They never sang.

She never got to hear them sing. What she wished for and looked forward to for ages, was dead. Johanna parted her lips. With a plan to protest. But she couldn't.

With a sigh, Judge Turpin grabbed her bicep. Dragging her through the halls, around corners, bringing her to his quarters again; Johanna cried out in protest. He threw her onto the bed. She landed on the bed rest. A dull ache sprawled in her head.

"What will they think when I have a wife who refuses to share a bed with me and put a knife to her chest?" He clicked his tongue. "How would the world view the good Turpin name?"

"I'm sorry." Her breath hitched.

He turned around. "What was that?"

"I-I apologize, sir."

"Don't pretend with me," he snapped. Johanna froze. With a sigh, Judge Turpin collapsed onto the bed, rubbing his temples. He looked up at her. "Get undressed. It's been a long day. Time for bed."

Johanna nodded. She carried herself to the closet in a daze. Stripping off her clothing, with several looks backward at Judge Turpin. He wasn't watching her. Johanna found a nightgown. Also new. She folded her hands in front of her stomach and found Judge Turpin also in his dressing clothes. She took careful actions to get into bed, rigid and alert.

"Have a drink before you close your eyes," said Judge Turpin. He lifted a glass from the bedside table next to him and passed it to her. "You need refreshment."

He would not stop until she swallowed it whole. Johanna accepted the glass, bringing it to her lips. She paused. The water had a metallic taste to it. But after looking at Judge Turpin again, she continued drinking until the glass was empty. Judge Turpin took it from her, placing the glass on the bedside table.

Johanna's eyelids flickered as she looked up. At the angels looming down at her. The angels. Was she dead? She looked to the side, seeing Judge Turpin. They were in his room. But how did she get here? She blinked. As she opened her eyes, dark clouded her vision. Dark. Johanna blinked again. The blackness intensified. Dancing as if to mock her.

Judge Turpin sat up, watching her. Johanna groaned. What was this?

As she looked at him more and studied his expression, it dawned on her.

He.

She wanted to fight the dark, but she was no angel. She was not powerful enough. Johanna blinked. Unable to stop herself from anymore. A whimper escaped the back of her throat.

Judge Turpin's face was the last blurry image.

It was good he waited for Johanna. Lucy Barker was no spring virgin - not with a husband and child. Johanna was the opposite. Pale and pure. Virgins make better wives. Better than having a married woman as a mistress. Every good man knew that. Especially Joseph Turpin. He'd been exposed to the ways of the common woman. He knew the evils of the world.

Yet. Taking Johanna has his bride. His plans worked wonderfully. The raw excitement pounding in his chest and the tingling of his desires blended beautifully. Johanna, with soft white flesh, sprawled across the bed. Her arms. Her breasts in his hands. Her everything. It gave him a power. A power he only felt once before.

Johanna sprawled on the bed. With tear-stained cheeks. Blinking at him. Blank. She didn't fight. She didn't scream. It wasn't right.

Johanna, with a knife to her chest. Joseph reminded himself that her actions were not at the fault of his. She was her mother's daughter, after all. They were both so soft, so young, so lost. So beautiful. It was likely Johanna would end up as weak as Lucy Barker.

Johanna, looking up at him. Terror struck across every one of her beautiful features.

Perhaps he should try a different approach. After all, Joseph didn't just want Johanna. He wanted her as a wife. Someone to care for him in his old age. To mother his children. To weep by his deathbed.

Flowers. Bribery, if he had to turn to it. Perhaps a new pair of birds. That might keep her occupied.

Joseph caught a glimpse of himself in the window. With the events of the past few weeks, he had forgotten to groom himself properly. There was that barber Beadle Bamford suggested a few months back. Mr. Todd, his name was. Yes, a good shave would do him well.

His dear Johanna, with a blade at her throat. Closing her eyes and embracing death.

Joseph left Mrs. Borthwell in charge of her, to make sure she attempted nothing again. But perhaps she turned her back and Johanna slammed her head into the wall enough to make her bleed. Say if she disappeared for a moment to find sheets wrapped around Johanna's neck. Her pale body lying on the floor, with her hand sprawled upward next to her hair.

He was the only one that could know if his wife tried anything. Or attempted to run again. No. That couldn't happen. Especially now that he made an oath to get her affections.

He began back to Hyde Park.

Her nightgown received no damage the previous night. Johanna inspected every inch of the fabric. Multiple times to be completely sure. Judge Turpin hadn't laid himself on her a second time while she was asleep from whatever that drug was. She recognized the taste from the asylum.

Johanna sat in the library. Hands folded over a book, sprawled open in her lap. She glimpsed at a few words. But they all blended together and her head hurt.

The maid with her was an older woman. Soft-spoken and airy. She folded her hands in her lap and simply watched Johanna. Giving her the impression, Judge Turpin arranged for the maid to stay with her. Lest she nearly hurt herself again. Her cheeks flushed at the idea. She didn't need it.

Judge Turpin came into the room. Putting her at attention. He gestured to the maid to speak with him.

"Did she try anything?"

"No, sir. She sat in the library after breakfast and hasn't moved since."

"Good. Good." Judge Turpin looked over his shoulder at her. "Johanna, come here, my dear."

She did. Her limbs became heavier and heavier with every step. Judge Turpin put a hand on her shoulder. She looked down.

"You behaved well?"

Johanna nodded, understanding what he truly meant under his words. "Yes, sir."

He nodded.

The rest of the day went on as usual. Johanna excused herself to her old room. She felt exposed outside of its doors. Her birdcage was gone. As were a few items that were in there prior.

She didn't eat. She didn't sleep.

She got up an hour early and pretended to have breakfast and dressed. She found a pink dress she had forgotten about.

Judge Turpin found her in her former bedroom again. He was draped in his cloak and held a pair of gloves.

"Put on your shawl. We're leaving," said Judge Turpin.

Before Johanna could stop herself, she asked,

"Why?"

He curled his lips. "I need a shave and you shall accompany me."

Johanna found her shawl. She never had any use for it. Judge Turpin helped her into a cab. To avoid his stare, Johanna watched out the window. The winding streets grew darker.

Fleet Street.

They stopped in front of Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Euphonium and exited the carriage. Judge Turpin held her arm the way he had at their wedding. She watched the customers happily eat their pies. Johanna locked eyes with a woman with messy hair and narrowed eyes. They climbed the stairs to a door. Judge Turpin knocked.

Within seconds, the barber answered it. His dark eyes landed in Judge Turpin, filled with eagerness. Then burned with hatred. Furrowing her brow, Johanna looked at Judge Turpin.

"What may I do for you today, sir?" the barber asked, allowing him inside.

"A shave, if you may, Mr. Todd."

Though it seemed Judge Turpin's words went unheard as Mr. Todd noticed Johanna. The tension in him was released. He grew almost soft as he reached out and took her hand to help her inside. An unspoken word was left on his lips.

Judge Turpin lifted his brow when Mr. Todd did not answer him. "Sir?"

"Yes, of course, sir," Mr. Todd replied, "A shave." He gestured towards Johanna. "And who is this? If I may ask?"

Judge Turpin glanced at Johanna. "My wife, Mrs. Turpin."

There was that fire back in Mr. Todd.

"Wife? Ah, yes. I recall you spoke of a woman in your life with such fondness." Mr. Todd neared him. "And would your wife prefer to stay downstairs with my neighbor? World's best meat pies. Surely, it would be more entertaining for her."

Johanna closed her eyes and clasped her hands at her chest. Yes. Please. Anything sounded better than Judge Turpin's eyes following her.

"She will stay," Judge Turpin said.

Mr. Todd looked back at her. "Of course, sir. Allow me to pull up a chair for you, miss."

He did and Johanna sat, folding her hands together. Mr. Todd took Judge Turpin's coat and began the shave. He stole a last glance at her.

"You have a beautiful wife, sir," Mr. Todd said.

"Thank you."

Mr. Todd moved to the other side. He slid the razor up Judge Turpin's chin. Johanna grimaced at the sound it made. Mr. Todd looked at her again. She straightened her posture.

"As pretty as her mother."

Judge Turpin opened his eyes. "What?"

"The years no doubt have changed me, sir."

Mr. Todd's words were too quiet, like a snake. His words were venom. Johanna grew nauseated. Something was wrong. Mr. Todd's blade was too close to his neck. She took a shaky breath. Judge. Turpin crossed his eyebrows.

"But I suppose the face of a barber - the face of a prisoner in the dark - is not particularly memorable."

As Johanna shook in her seat, Judge. Turpin's eyes lightened with recognition.

"Benjamin Barker?"

Mr. Todd became animal. Not human. Demon. Devil. He wasn't human anymore, with all the rage-filled inside of him. It was red.

"Benjamin Barker!"

And Johanna watched.

She was horrified, yet she couldn't avert her gaze. She watched as Mr. Todd stabbed Judge Turpin's face until he was unrecognizable. Her husband. Her guardian. Watched as he ended with slicing his throat. Blood sprayed. Feeding the fire in Mr. Todd.

She watched as Judge Turpin's body lowered. As his head pounded on the hard ground. He was limp and pale. Dead.

Mr. Todd faced her. His sharp grip on his razor. Blood covered his face.

He was going to kill her next.

Johanna ran to the door. Clawing at the wood. Her hands couldn't grab onto a handle. A latch. Anything that wood her free.

"Johanna."

She stopped. Judge Turpin only gave him her surname.

"My sweet."

She grasped at her chest. Sharp pain prickled through her. Was she breathing? She couldn't feel herself breathing.

Johanna shook her head. "Please. Don't . . . Don't kill me."

She wanted to die merely hours ago, but not now. That was out of her own free will.

"You have yellow hair. Like her."

Johanna paused and slowly turned towards the blood-covered man. She released a shaky breath. "Whose her?"

"My wife." Mr. Todd nodded. He stepped towards her, causing her to become rigid. "Johanna, your mother."

Wife. It couldn't be. Her mother couldn't have remarried. Not in the short months before her death. Her husband was just taken away. No. It didn't make sense.

"How do you know my name?" she asked.

"Because you're my daughter."

Father.

No. No. Her father was dead. He was buried under the blistering sun of Australia. He was dead. Dead. Not alive anymore. He was only the shadow of a memory.

Her beating heart relaxed and Johanna was calm. Almost alarmingly calm. She shouldn't be calm now. This was wrong. She looked at Mr. Todd again. She was still calm as she said,

"My father is dead."

Both of them were now.

Mr. Todd reached out. He took her hands. Johanna flinched and moved away.

"He is not your father. I am."

"But your surname, sir. Mine's Barker. Not Todd."

"As was mine. I couldn't return to London with the same name."

Benjamin Barker.

Johanna looked at him again. Meeting his eyes. Todd. Todd. Where had she heard the name before? Anthony.

"Anthony mentioned his friend named Mr. Todd. Are you him?"

He gave a brief nod. "Yes."

Hope inflated in her chest.

"Is he all right? They haven't shipped him off yet, have they?"

Mr. Todd sighed. "His whereabouts are unknown."

"Oh."

Mr. Todd studied her. His hand lifted out to stroke her hair. It hung limply now. Unlike the locks that used to curl with life. Everything was dead now. Inside and out.

Johanna folded her hands in front of her. "Mr. Todd, if you're still alive, then is there any chance that my mother . . . ?"

She always wanted a mother. A mother to embrace. A mother to love and to coddle. She wanted to have a female figure in her life that she could look up to. There were maids at the house. But if she could have a mother. Her world would open up. Mothers didn't hurt. They loved.

"No. She's dead."

Judge Turpin had told the truth then. She was in hell.

Another question came to mind.

"Why did you kill him?"

"I deserved salvation." Mr. Todd paused. "You didn't want him alive, did you?"

She didn't know. Johanna wanted escape for as long as she could remember, but did she want Turpin to die? It was so much. Death. She would never see him again. Good. It was so permanent. He couldn't actually be dead. It was almost too perfect for her. Too good. But she didn't want him dead. Did she?

Johanna looked at Mr. Todd again. Her father.

He reached out her hand.

A new life. A new start. With her father.

Johanna took the bloody fingers in her own.

Warnings: Rape (nothing too graphic in the moment, the scene mentions pain and the emotion that comes with it), self-hatred, mentions of torture, forced marriage, murder (nothing too graphic), blood, mentions of past dead, attempted suicide, mentions of past suicide, referenced prison time, trauma, referenced sex, lots of tears.