Suffering To Survive

Part Seven

The beadle laughed as Sweeney gave in. "I knew that you were  pathetic, barber, just as pathetic as you were back then. Your pretty little wife watching as those peelers dragged you away, and you just going limp, not even bothering to fight, weak. Maybe she was lucky that his lordship gave her such a stunning  performance, showed her a real man!" He continued to stare into the barber's eyes, resisting his body's compulsion to betray any amount of weakness. However, when he felt the wet trail of a tear escaping from his duct after Todd dug the edge of his razor deeply enough for trickles of blood to slide down Simon Bamford's throat, he knew that the barber had won. The knowledge that the clearly disturbed barber had in fact managed to draw his blood pushed the Beadle to fight back, using his strength the push the barber's weight off of him.

Sitting up, he reached for his handkerchief and held it over the injury. "Fine barber, even though I've no idea why you should care about where the whore is. After what his lordship and I had to give her, I don't see what she would want with your lowly cock. If you absolutely must know however, I've left her with an old friend of Turpin's. The bitch was deranged and utterly recalcitrant, but he knows how to better contend with insubordinate shrews." Sweeney didn't even try to stop the conspicuous smirk that tugged at his lips; Mrs. Lovett would never give them what they wanted without a fight, she was nearly as stubborn as himself.

Bamford returned the smirk and shook his head. "You just listen to me, Barker. From where his lordship and I stand, you have absolutely nothing to smile about, Turpin and I are far in the lead. You still don't know where the little bitch is, and there's no way for you to get in, anyway. You threaten even one man guarding the premises with one of your pathetic knives, and you'll find yourself thrown into a jail cell before you manage to utter even a single word." Sweeney roared, wanting to slit the slimy swine's throat from ear to ear, but he needed to know where Nellie was.

The Beadle chuckled and peered at the barber, "Plus, if you're back in a cell, the widowed slut will never have a hope for freedom. And you'll both die in your cells, knowing that her final words were probably cursing your name along with mine and Turpin's. After all, you left her to go to his dinner..." a sudden grin like the cat that got the cream appearing on his face, "just like you did to that pretty little dead wife of yours years ago. What was her name again? Laura? Louise? Lucy, wasn't it?" Lucy! Even though he knew that his wife was completely safe, her beautiful name oozing from his depraved mouth made Todd's knuckles turn white as his grip on his friend tightened.

Driven by the beadle's threats against himself and Nellie, the barber drove the blade of the razor into Bamford's chest. The beadle looked up at him wide-eyed, his hands rushing to his chest as if he believed this would do enough to stop the blood that was seeping through his clothing. "You lying brute, you promised to release me if I told you where your whore was." he barely rasped through his teeth.

Sweeney moved to Bamford's side and, lowering his mouth to the man's ear, whispered, "I made absolutely no such promise, you prick. The only promise that I make is that I will see, you, in, Hell!" He then leisurely dragged the razor across Simon Bamford's throat, listening closely to the gurgling and strained breaths escaping from the dying man's lips. He refrained from blinking unless necessary, not wanting to miss a moment of such a beautifully agonizing demise.

He dragged Bamford's body into the chair and brought his foot down hard on the pedal, not releasing it until he heard the gratifying crack of the beadle's body hitting the floor. Surveying the room, Sweeney lowered himself against the chest that had once contained that Italian's corpse, and took a few deep breaths. He looked down at his bloodied hands and shirt, then at the razor that he had left on the floor.

He began to laugh with the reality that it was almost over. Bamford was the easy target, Turpin would be his biggest challenge. He felt a grin spread across his face as images of the suffering judge begging for Todd to release him from his agonising affliction flashed in his mind. He knew that everything would culminate in the most exquisite bloodbath, but first, he needed to get Mrs. Lovett back. After all, she would now play a pivotal role in his final act of revenge.