(I was inspired by a drawing on DeviantArt with this crossover of musicals, and I was in between musical loves when I wrote this. Annie's line about the arsenic really got me inspired though. I hope it's okay. I don't own anything. Reviews are much appreciated!)
Thunder booms as the rain pounds on the tin roof with an intense rhythmic din. Fogg's asylum is just as gloomy as it always is, just as dreary. Especially on Murderess Row, where the women are the sanest, most physically able out of all of the inmates. They should be in jail, but the jails are overflowing with debtors. These women claim that they are not insane, so they have to be looked after with the most vigilant eye. They must be confined together, regardless of hair colour. They can't be bound together by such an immaterial connection as physical traits. They are sisters. They sympathize with each other, and have felt the same emotions. Emotions that would make the skin on a proper gentleman crawl. The inmates have nothing to live off of other than their memories. Reliving one action, one moment in their lives keeps them from going insane, or at least they think it does. In reality they are all going mad, even the wardens. Each passing day is a reminder of the futility of their current existence in limbo land. There is no Heaven for them, and they are numb to Hell. There is no now, there is no tomorrow. There is just that one moment that led them to their ruin.
"Puff." The plump woman, middle aged and ruddy from years of hard work, has probably has not had a bath in years. Her grey hair falls out of her lopsided bun, and she spits out the word in distaste.
"Six." She is beautiful. Her hair is incredibly dirty and discoloured, but one could tell it is still a tarnished golden shade. She is thin, but even in the shapeless rags she wears one could tell that she has a nice figure.
"Pies" Her eyes are dark and sunken in from many sleepless nights. Her hair is frizzy and ill kept, and her cheeks are sunken in.
"Oh no!" The frail thing looks like she will collapse at any moment. She looks like she has aged beyond her years, and her eyes are red.
"Razor blades," the previous woman added vehemently, almost on cue.
"Hope" This woman is a new addition to the group. Her flaxen hair is stringy, and she looks emaciated. Her large, liquid blue eyes express sadness, but also a silent rage.
Fogg hobbled into the room. He is as sketchy and crotchety as ever.
"The Six Married Murderesses of Fogg's Asylum will now perform their rendition of… The Cell Block Tango."
Lightning strikes, and they can hear instruments blaring. Some that they have never even heard before. None of them know whether or not this is real or imaginary. Maybe it is both. Maybe their hardship has enlightened them, made their senses more acute to the sounds of Nellie drumming her fingers, or the leaky faucet across the hall. Maybe they are truly mad. Perhaps they will never know, but they accept it. This is their time to tell their story. It isn't that they need justifying, but it would be nice to reassure the others, and themselves, that they are right.
"Puff!"
"Six!"
"Pies!"
"Oh no!"
Razor blades!"
"Hope!"
They repeated themselves, almost like it was some strange mantra. And each time they repeated themselves, their screams became more passionate and angry. Their cells seemed to melt away, and their clothes transformed into something different. It felt wrong, but somehow fitting. Everything perfect seemed that way.
"He had it coming
He had it coming
He only had himself to blame
If you'd have been there
If you'd have seen it…"
"I betcha you woulda done the same!" screamed Nellie.
Mrs. Mooney let out her grievances first. After all, she had seniority. "You know how people have these little habits that get you down? Take my husband Clarence, bless him."
They see the silhouette of a tall, skinny man in a sooty wife-beater and slacks, holding a pipe. It puffs out smoke that dissipates into the air, but leaves no smell.
"Clarence liked to smoke, no not smoke, puff, his silly little pipe of his all day long. He stank up the whole bloody house he did! Took forever to get the smell out, and it drove away all the proper customers from me shop."
She begins to tango with the figure. It can barely manage to maintain her weight as she jiggles around the room in her rant. She jumps on top of him, and it is surprising that he doesn't break in half.
"Anywho, it was raining that day, and I'd been out by the alleys for the past two hours without a single catch! I mean, well, the butchers all over town were outta meat… Well, I came home and I was really miffed, and I was looking for a bit of sympathy. Well, there's Clarence, sitting in my good parla, taking a drag. He was repulsing all my customers, he was! I go to Clarence and I tell him, 'if you puff out that stinking mess one more time…' And he did. Into perfect little rings. So I take the pistol off the mantle and I fire two warning shots. Into his head."
She pulls out a blood red handkerchief from the side of his head, and the man falls over limp. No one notices him vanishing as she dances on and the others sing the refrain.
He had it coming
He had it coming
He only had himself to blame
If you'd have been there
If you'd have seen it
I betcha you would
Have done the same!
Lucy saunters towards the front and began. "I met Judge Ezekiel Turpin at my debutante party back when I used to live in Bath with my parents."
Another figure appears. He was aged, with a hooked nose and a finely tailored suit. They gracefully glided around the room.
"He proposed, and I refused flat out. I was already secretly engaged to my true love, a barber in London named Benjamin. Well, he didn't take no for an answer. He sent Ben off to Australia and had his way with me; and no one cared.
She pushes him away, and started to dance by herself.
"I didn't want it to end like this though. I stayed with him, and made sure to keep his interest in me."
She starts to dance with him again, but in a more flirtatious manner.
"We started living together, but it took a while for him to trust me again. Six years. Six long years of doing his bidding, while protecting my daughter from his wandering little eyes. He could never be suspicious of me, for I'd only leave the house to pray at St. Dunstans', or visit the apothecary around the corner to buy some smelling salts for my delicate nerves. Finally, we dined together. Alone. So I decided to make the evening special for him. I made him dinner myself, and made sure to fix him a drink."
She laughs. "You know, some men just can't handle their arsenic!" She pushes him onto the floor and pulls out a red handkerchief out of his mouth. She starts to tango with the apparition, and Mrs. Mooney joins in with hers. The others keep singing.
Hah! He had it coming
He had it coming
He took a flower
In its prime
And then he used it
And he abused it
It was a murder
But not a crime!
Nellie looked annoyed. A beat could be heard in the background. "Now I'm standin' in tha bake'ouse mindin' me own busyness preparin' some pies jus' case a customer comes. Then, 'ere comes me husband Albert, screamin' in a jealous rage."
A portly man with a handlebar mustache walks in, synchronized to the beat, like she is. They do not touch each other, but move their hands and their hips. She circles him, like a tiger, and he tries to keep up with her.
"'E wos crazy.'E screams, "Yeh've been fancying the barber! Yeh've been fancying the barber!."
She pauses. The music stops.
"He ran into my knife. He ran into my knife ten times."
She pulls a giant red sheet out of his stomach and reels him in. The others tango on, but then stop to listen to the next story.
"My husband treated me like a princess. He was a wonderful man and he loved our children dearly."
She moves in a solemn, but graceful pas de deux with a man in a grey suit.
"He always worked so hard, so even though we were a bit tight on money, I decided to splurge a little and gave him some extra money from the rainy day jar to go to the local barber. Best in London, supposedly. He joked that he'd look so dashing afterwards that I'd not be able to recognize him. He was such a jolly guy… He didn't come back. I waited two days until I finally notified the authorities. Rather than look for the vagrant that harmed my husband, they took me in for questioning! Oh no! I plead to them. They have the wrong person. Why would I ever hurt him? I loved him so much!"
"Did you do it?" asks Lucy.
"No!" she whelps. "Not guilty!" She pulls a white handkerchief almost out of thin air. She quickly disappears into the background.
Nellie smiles, but it looks frightening. "I got parole a few years ago. I didn' really deserve it but there wusn' enough room. This place was crawlin' with loonies back then. So I go back ta Fleet Street. My tenant and I had this acrobatic act of sorts. A balance act tha' involved guts, and efficiency."
A sullen pale man began to dance with her. His black hair contrasted with the one white streak in the front, but with all the red lighting it looked rather pink.
"E'd put out a few stray customers an' then back flip them down a shaft inta my bake'ouse, where they'd spin down and then fall onto their backs. Face down, arms spread eagle. I'd use wha' could be used as supplies, and we 'ad a few laughs about it. But, I wanted more."
Her jerkily moved around in a desperate manner. Her partner just calmly balanced her. There was no hint of emotion in his face.
"I wus pathetic. I threw meself at 'im, and 'e didn' notice! I'd do everythin' fa him, an' I neva got one bloody thank you! But, I didn' care, I jus' wanted 'im so bad. I counin' take it anymore. I didn' 'ave any supplies to cut up, so I 'ad a lil' free time. So tha' day I sneaked inta 'is room. An' tha's when I found 'em. 'E and 'is razors were doing numba' 17. The spread eagle!"
They are all confused, but Lucy is the only one with the courage to speak up, "How is that…?"
"I don' wanta think abou' it! It wus too disturbin'! Well, I wus in such a state of shock I completely blacked out. It wussn' until I wus washin' the blood off me hands that I knew 'e wus dead!"
Two red sashes flew out of her hands, and she waved them around in fury.
He had it coming
He had it coming
He had it coming all along
I didn't do it
But if I'd done it
How could you tell me that I was wrong?
Johanna stepped forward, looking sad. "I loved Anotony Hope more than I could possibly say."
A young, slim wisp of a man stepped forward.
He was a sensitive man, but he was also a good sailor. He always told me how he belonged out at sea, and how every time he went on a journey he would find a piece of himself along the way. So he would go out and find himself. And along the way he found Elizabeth, Maya, Lucia, and Sven. We did break up because we could not stand the long distance relationship, but we also ended it all over an argument we once had. He wanted to live, and I wanted him dead."
She took out a red handkerchief and made a motion of strangling him. A well of repressed rage appeared on her tear-streamed face.
They all burst out into song at once. Forming a cannon of anger, repeating each other for effect.
"They had it comin'"
"They had it comin'"
"They had it comin' all along"
"'Cause if they used us"
"And they abused us"
"How could you tell us"
"That we were wrong?"
"He had it coming"
"He had it coming"
"He only had himself to blame."
"If you'd have been there"
"If you'd have seen it"
"I betcha you would have done the same!"
The Asylum was slowly turning back to normal, as they slowly were calming down once they'd finally gotten their problems off their chest. They were still simmering though. They started talking to themselves, repeating their stories over and over again to themselves until they turned to key phrases. And then from phrases it ended up in words. Painful, deadly words.
"Puff."
"Six."
"Pies."
"Oh no!"
Razor blades…"
"Hope!"
The sound of water dripping from the leaky ceiling increased by decibels, as the beat of the music died down. The heavy sound of the cell door closed with a rattle and a thud.