Caught Somewhere in Time

Making ammends

Two weeks had gone by since the incident in Mr. Lovett's parlour (now technically Eleanor's as well) and tenant and landlady had all but ignored each other. They greeted each other cordially in front of Albert but apart from that, they bent over backwards not to be in the same room, to the point of Eleanor even feigning a dizzy spell to excuse herself when Mr. Lovett invited his tenant for tea to discuss the possibility of him raising their rent again—fortunately he had a change of heart and decided against it. Despite himself, Sweeney couldn't help but be concerned about her, about her rapidly thinning frame, the darkening bags under her eyes, the hollowness behind her eyes and the lack of mirth in her usually warm smile. It was as if she was withering before his eyes.

During the day, he could manage. Between his work and the errands he had to run now that Lucy refused to go out, he had his hands full. His wife was still mortified over the incident at Albert's shop on his wedding day and she had grown paranoid that the whole neighbourhood knew she'd made a fool of herself and would be laughing at her the second she showed her face. Sweeney knew it would pass sooner or later, it had to, but in the meantime he decided not to put pressure on her. He gladly took over some of her daily duties and tasks, like going for walks with his daughter, even if others like going to the market were not his cup of tea. But the nights were always the hardest. He didn't think he'd ever get used to Eleanor's blood-curling screams of pain. He searched on his mind for any memory, any recollection that proved that Albert had been as selfishly brutal in their coupling in his original timeline, trying to convince himself that this was his tenant's regular proceeding, that it had nothing to do with him. But in reality, he was sure he'd remember if that was the case.

It wasn't hard to connect the dots. Despite the loving front they put up in public, Sweeney knew Mr. Lovett was punishing Eleanor because her lover, Arthur Haide, had stolen his money. The question of why she was simply taking it instead of fighting back like he knew she would did not distract him from his own pathetic realisation: if he hadn't plotted the robbing with Arthur, the lad wouldn't have thought of it and Albert wouldn't have had any reason to punish his wife. Whether he liked it or not, it was Sweeney Todd's fault and he knew it. He tried to convince himself it was for the best. It was perfect, really, to have someone else exact his revenge on her so he could focus on fixing his marriage to Lucy and being a good father to Johanna. And Eleanor, she deserved the pain, didn't she? She deserved everything that was happening to her because of what she did to him and he wanted to see her suffering. So why couldn't he enjoy it? Eventually, the screams-filled nights became rarer and rarer and Sweeney, though glad he could finally rest, wondered what had caused the change. He understood the thrill of hurting—killing— those who deserved it and he knew the tireless viciousness that possessed men like Albert Lovett and himself in their quest to impart what they considered justice. Until their victim was (as good as) dead. He gulped at the thought.

The first night of eerie calmness since the wedding had Sweeney worried sick Mr. Lovett had killed her. It'd be by accident of course, because Sweeney knew the bastard had too much fun with her to willingly kill her. But after what he did to her every night, practically raping her if her screams to stop it were any indication... well he wouldn't really be surprised if things got out of hand. He began to wonder how much the human body could bear, how much pain one could take before their will to keep living weakened. It certainly didn't take Lucy much, the thought regretfully. She'd lost hope in his return, abandoning Johanna in the process. She had always been the weakest of the three, the gentle and soft-hearted one and Sweeney loved her for it, didn't he? But Sweeney himself had survived torture, beatings and penal labours, hoping to see her and Johanna again, even when she didn't afford him the same courtesy. And the Eleanor he knew, she'd survived poverty, loneliness and who knew what other hardships, hoping to see him again, hoping he'd return to her and this time he'd see her. Truth be told, he'd long realised he'd still have seen her had she not lied, because she the one who waited for him. How could he not appreciate that? But of course, she took the route of deceit, vitiating any future they might have had from its very foundations.