The day went by slower than it normally did for the rest of the day. Sweeney Todd knew why, somewhere somehow somebody was punishing him. Punishing him for all the times he had ignored her and for all of the murders he committed.
Being bored all cooped up in his shop he figured he could at least go down and see her, after all she might need more water.
So Mr. Todd went downstairs and knocked on Mrs. Lovett's door.
At first there was no answer so he left and came back later on that evening.
Mrs. Lovett was where he had left her, lying on her bed with a pitcher of water and a now empty glass beside her.
"How are you feeling?" He asked, his eyes full of remorse.
"Fine, how are you love?" Was her answer and question as she noticed him taking a seat in the morose chair next to her bed, note it was the only gloomy like thing in her room, besides Mr. Todd, which probably drew him to it.
"Never mind me." Mr. Todd grumbled, ignoring her question.
It was true Mr. Todd believed that everyone deserved to die but he had always excluded a few people that didn't and she happened to be one of the only ones.
They sat in silence for a while until Mrs. Lovett started coughing.
Noticing that she had run out of water Mr. Todd filled Mrs. Lovett another glass and handed it to her.
"Thanks dear." Mrs. Lovett then took a long slug of the water and held the glass with her remaining water in her hands.
Mr. Todd merely grumbled in response.
Minutes passed and Mrs. Lovett was busying herself by tracing a finger around the rim of her glass as Sweeney simply sat and watched her.
"What are you going to do when I'm gone Mista T?" Mrs. Lovett asked as she looked up from her glass.
Sweeney Todd didn't even want to begin to think about life without his accomplice. Although he avoided talking with her it didn't mean that he didn't find some sort of comfort knowing she was there. Mrs. Lovett couldn't die, she was apart of him.
Without the baker, there was no barber.
Feeling guilty because he was just sitting there like a frog on a log he replied, "I don't know, probably get out of here, sail the world like I did before."
"Oh." Mrs. Lovett nodded, slightly bummed out that he was going to abandon the home she had known for years.
Hours passed and Mr. Todd and Mrs. Lovett were fast asleep. Mr. Todd had nodded off while he sat and stared at her, or in more accurate words, through her.
Feeling somewhat guilty he leant down and brushed her stray auborn curls from her face and traced her plump, cabernet lips.
Suddenly she awoke and Sweeney quickly sat back down in his seat. She was slightly taken aback being that he was still down there with her.
"What are you doing down 'ere love?" Mrs. Lovett inquired, savoring the look of his glossy black eyes.
Mr. Todd didn't answer.
She kept staring, searching for an answer. Why was he down here. The man that felt
"You're dying, pet."
"We're all dying love, my turn 'ad to come sometime." Mrs. Lovett replied, her words shockingly calm a she took the tumbler of gin away from him.
Mr. Todd took another seat back in the chair as he drank re-thinking her brave words.
Sweeney Todd was not afraid of death either. For on a mere technicality, we are all dying from the moment we are born. Getting older and older as the seconds go by, but in Mrs. Lovett's case she was just dying quicker and more painfully than she would have if she wasn't ill.
After a half hour of staring at each other and attempting to make small talk. Mr. Todd occasionally helping Mrs. Lovett pour more water into her glass, the silence was killing her more than the plague was.
"You can go up to your shop if you want to love." Mrs. Lovett said, secretly hoping he would stay and excuse her gesture.
Mrs. Lovett searched his face, his eyes, anything that would tell her why, why was he down here with her. "Why?" She suddenly blurted.
"You never did anything to me, you helped me, and for that I am grateful." Sweeney replied, shocked by his own words of admittance.
I did nothing but help you slip quicker into insanity. I don't deserve your gratitude. I left out a very important fact which resulted in the death of what was left of your dotty wife. Mrs. Lovett thought to herself, she couldn't die a liar. She had to tell the truth and deep down she hoped she could die by the hand of her love, and not by the cruelty of the plague.
"Your wife, you killed your wife." Mrs. Lovett stated as she stared directly into Mr. Todd's eyes.
His eyes returned her tear-filled gaze. Hers was of fear and heartbreak. But his was in shock which was quickly going to be transfused with rage.
"How did I, I never…" Mr. Todd lost for words, he didn't know what she meant he didn't remember killing his wife, he didn't even recall slitting the beggar woman's throat.
Mrs. Lovett's eyes grew brighter with tears when she prepared to say what she knew would probably be the death of her despite the fact that she was already ill with the bubonic plague.
"The beggar woman." Mrs. Lovett whispered before closing her eyes, gulping as if trying to swallow her tears. She had just turned on a light in his mind reflecting her mistake.
Sweeney Todd stood frozen, he couldn't move, he felt emotionless. He killed his wife, he saw her lying on the cold stone floor of the bake house. Flashbacks of Lucy lying emotionless on the floor suddenly sent him into an angry rage.
Noticing Mr. Todd get up with a bolt she sat up more in bed.
Mrs. Lovett automatically stated, "I was only thinking of you." Which was the truth, and nothing but it.
"I'm sorry! I should have told you that she lived but I didn't want to hurt you." Mrs. Lovett practically pleaded not wanting him to hate her, but what did she expect? The man did have the temper of a three year old.
Mr. Todd continued to pace as she went on with her useless apologies and pleads.
"Hurt me?" He spat, finally looking at her, "You have hurt me more than any person I have ever known."
His words were worse than the thought of him slitting her throat. But with them being said he glanced at her practically sobbing face and stormed out of her room.
It was as if there was a hole in his soul from where his heart should have been.
"I'm sorry." She whispered although she knew he couldn't hear her, "I love you."
Mr. Todd slammed the door to the bake house and leaned on it, wiping the sweat from his forehead before collapsing on his knees, taking out a razor and scraping the floor with it.
"No," He silently said, "No!" He yelled as he through the very knife that was used to slit his dear wife's throat.
He crumpled himself to the floor and stared into the flames of the bake house oven.
Mr. Todd didn't know how long he stayed down in the bake house, hating himself, thinking. But he knew it was dark out when he finally decided to go and tell Mrs. Lovett he would try and see past it. But he would never forgive her nor would he forget.
He had been so suppressed by his past he never came to think that maybe there were others out there suffering. Maybe not from the loss of their family, but from unrequited love. And he was the Judge Turpin in her life, and yet, she never even thought about revenge.
Knocking on the door, there was no answer. So thinking she was asleep he entered and saw her lying there, her face tear stained, yet paler than usual.
"Mrs. Lovett?" Mr. Todd whispered.
He walked over to her bed and knelt beside her. He took her gloved hand and held it, which was oddly cold being that her room was probably one of the warmest in the house.
Her face looked so oddly at peace, and as the seconds went by he noticed more and more things that were simply not right. He didn't see the heave of her chest indicating that she was breathing, her hands were as cold as ice, and her face, her beautiful, porcelain face. It was so still, so calm, so peaceful. Mr. Todd then noticed as he held her hand, that Mrs. Lovett had no pulse.
Mr. Todd knew right then that Mrs. Lovett didn't die of the plague, for he was almost and shamefully positive that she had died of a broken heart.
Sweeney Todd never shed a single tear, but for the first time in his life of living as a demon, he lost another part of himself, and this time he would never be reborn.
His last words he had said to her broke his heart as well. Letting go of her hand, he lied down next to her on the bed and took her hand once more, caressing it with his and shutting his eyes. Hoping to never awake to face reality again.
Mrs. Lovett passed slowly and peacefully in her sleep as her last thoughts were of him and her walking hand in hand along the sea side.
Dreaming of the one she loved, the plague cells finished off cutting off the cells ability to communicate with her other immune system cells of which were needed to fight off the plague bacterial invasion. She withdrew one last dream filled breath and died. Died with idle hope that she would overcome her sickness and finally convince the man that she had dreamed of for so long to finally be hers. Dreams so tainted. So surreal. So fake. And yet so utterly wanted.
Her final dreams consisting of her dream home, painted a sky blue with white shudders. Two white wicker chairs would sit on the front porch with ottomans in the front so they could look at the stars at night and the beautiful portrait-like skies in the day.
And the highlight of her home would be on the front windowsill, a vase of gillyflowers, maybe.
-tear- Please don't hurt me for killing Mrs. Lovett! I was just hoping to show how ironic and tragic love can be. Thanks for reading! I apologize for the wait, I have been busy with vacation and school but today, although I have a crap ton of homework, I felt the need to update. Once again thank you so much for reading.