A/N: Hello and welcome to a new ST story. Don't ask how this came to me…Let's just say that I was inspired by several Sweeney fics…
So, this is a ST/OC story in later chapters…Our dear Mr. Todd is his usual tormented, dark self and my OC is…Well, you shall see…
So, if you read please, leave me some feedback because I need it! Also, let's see if I can go back to writing Sweeney with ease…Hmmm…
By the way, I want to thank XantheXV because she inspired this story! And no, she is lovely despite this dark tale I plan to weave…Ahem. Love you, darling!
Also, the rating will change as we go on…
Anyway, on with the first chapter (which is short, but for a reason)!
Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd. I only own my OC and this plot.
~Chains~
Chapter 1
Is life so dear or peace so sweet as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take, but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death!
~Patrick Henry
Botany Bay, Australia 1835
The ground was hot, hard and unforgiving, but he had no choice. He fell, face first upon the dirty soil. Pain exploded up and down his back, but he held in his cry of pain even when rocks bruised and nicked the skin of his pale cheek. He tumbled to the ground with a harsh gasp, his hands catching the dirt underneath him for purchase, but it was of no use to try and hold himself up. A booted foot connected with his back with a sickening crack and he felt his breath leaving him in a painful rush that caused him to lurch forward like a beggar begging for help.
His palms got caught on the ground and he hissed as the rocky surface, hidden under the scorching heat of the sand, scratched at the sensitive skin. He inhaled sharply and he had one moment to examine his hands, his barber's hands, before he closed his eyes and forced strength into his body. He bucked upwards, trying to push away the heavy weight upon his back and he succeeded for only a moment before he was forced upwards by a hand in his hair.
He closed his eyes then because he knew that the laughter and jeering would come soon enough. Hands on his arms and hips urged him backwards until he was bent at an awkward angle and he squeezed his eyes further shut when it finally began.
It was his own fault really. His own damn fault and he should have seen it coming. No use to play the brave and the strong among miscreants. Inmates and guards were the same and perhaps for a reason.
He opened his eyes as the hands on his arms started hauling him away and he managed to glance at the beaten man that was on his knees several feet away from him. He noticed the gratefulness in the man's gaze, he noticed the battered hand that rose to acknowledge him, but he turned his face away and gritted his teeth. He ignored it like the man he had saved from another whipping had stood and looked as the guards hit and kicked him. He stood and simply stared like the rest of them when the possessive grip on his hips became more firm and less taunting; when it became a threat.
"Time's up, Barker." The voice in his ear caused his skin to crawl and his stomach to churn, and he flinched in revulsion.
The hands released him only to push him into a dark cell. He crawled backwards and started sitting up, a bloodied hand against the wall as he tried to stand on his own, but he knew it was useless. He knew it when the door was locked and bolted. He knew it when the bulky guard started approaching him with a leer, he knew it when the belt was loosened and pulled through the loops with obvious intent.
He walked to the right and then to the left, but the jailor followed him wherever he attempted to go until the pain in his chest and the bruises on his body caused him to buckle and crawl on the humid ground like a desperate insect that was trying to find a way out.
When the first belt lash fell upon his back and buttocks, he did not feel it. He was too numb.
Ignore it…Shut it out.
When the second came, his chest collided with the ground and he scrapped his knees upon the hard floor.
Don't-…
With the third one, his shirt was shredded into two halves, almost like his battered dignity.
Oh my God, have mercy…Please-…
With the fourth one, he swore to every neglectful God that he would take his revenge on anyone who shattered his life and his body.
I swear…
With the fifth one, he grunted and looked at his bleeding hands, wondering, musing how he was going to touch his wife with such hands.
Lucy…
With the sixth one, he knew he'd never touch his wife again.
Never.
With the seventh one, he realized that he would never get out alive.
My baby…Johanna…
When the eighth arrived, he felt a pair of hands on his hips and he shuddered in disgust.
No…no…
With the ninth lash, he shut his eyes and lifelessly fell into the manipulation of his limbs.
Coward. You disgusting coward…
With the tenth lash, he felt his eyes rolling into the back of his head and he realized that he had missed his chance to pray.
Forgive me, God…Forgive me…
When the final blow came, he knew no more.
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Fifteen years later, upon the 'Bountiful'…
Thunder erupted and her eyes snapped open. She sat up in her bunk and rubbed her eyes in an effort to clear her blurry vision. She pushed the covers away and shivered as the cool air hit her bare feet. She sat up against the bulkhead and searched for the source of cold. Sighing and cursing at her inattentiveness, she swung her feet off the side of the bunk and stood up, rushing to close the small cabin window. Her face was splashed with water because of the raging thunderstorm and she groaned in irritation. She couldn't wait to get off that wretched ship. She simply wanted to go home; away from everything and everyone. The trip to the New World had brought her nothing but pain and grief and she suspected that an arranged marriage wouldn't be worse than living with her family.
She paused in the middle of the cabin and placed a hand on her chest, jumping when another thunder lit up the room and shook the ship violently.
"Heavens." She murmured as she returned to her mattress and gazed at the lone candle burning quietly on the nightstand.
Finding it useless to waste it during night, she leaned forward, ready to blow and diminish the flame, but then she heard footsteps down the corridor and she paused. Frowning, she turned towards the bolted door and she stared at it hard.
"Not another fight, please." She murmured with dread and as the footsteps approached she tensed up.
Two sharp knocks came on the door and she blinked. Sitting up, she grasped her robe and shrugged it on.
She stopped in front of the door and leaned her ear against it, "Papa?" She mouthed, her voice barely a whisper, but her only answer was another sharp knock. She stumbled backwards and stared at the door with apprehension.
Don't open your door at nights. Especially when aboard a ship with desperate sailors. Her father's words echoed in her mind and she vaguely nodded her head. It was probably the only good advice that man had given her in her entire existence.
"Ms. Avalon!" The voice startled her and she immediately recognized the youthful tone.
"Anthony?" She whispered as she stepped closer to the door with a small frown.
"Ms. Avalon, please!" He implored and she quickly removed the bolt and opened the door.
"Anthony, what in heavens is going on?" She asked as she gazed at his drenched form, but then her eyes dropped onto his straining arms and she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
"God almighty!" she exclaimed as she took a step back.
"Please, may I come in?" Anthony asked as he adjusted his hold on the limp form in his arms.
Speechless, Beatrice simply stared and when Anthony's knees almost buckled from the weight, she reached forward and touched the unconscious man, her hand soft on his arm as she attempted to assist Anthony.
"I haven't seen him before." Beatrice looked up and Anthony swallowed hard as he shot a glance towards the corridor.
"That's because I just found him." He responded in a rush and Beatrice gaped at him.
"Found him?" She whispered and Anthony boldly passed past her and into her cabin.
"Anthony!" she exclaimed as she quickly shut the door in fear of being spotted with a member of the crew, "What are you doing?"
When he simply placed the drenched man upon her bunk and upon her clean covers she blinked in shock.
"Mr. Hope! I demand an explanation!" She hissed in sheer fury and the sailor turned towards her, his eyes pleading with her to understand.
"Please, Ms. Avalon. I found him floating in the sea. James helped me and we pulled him up and-…"
"My father hates trespassers, Anthony. You know that." Beatrice reminded him softly and he nodded.
"Yes, yes, ma'am! But we couldn't leave him. See?" He looked at the man, "He's breathing."
Only then did Beatrice turn and looked, really looked, at the man. Her breath quickened at his state. His clothes were torn and soaked. His dark hair was matted and sticking to his face and neck, and his face…Beatrice swallowed hard and stepped closer. His face was bruised, but his features beautiful, enhanced by the vivid white strand that stood among the dark hair.
She quickly shook her head and turned to Anthony, "Anthony, what have you done?" She shook her head, "Did anyone see you?" She asked and he quickly shook his head.
"No, ma'am…Please, help me. I know how kind and thoughtful you are. Please, Beatrice."
She closed her eyes and looked at Anthony with a furrowed brow before she sighed and bunched up the sleeves of her robe.
"Alright. The Captain will be furious if he finds out, but-…"
"The Captain is your father." Anthony reminded her and she looked at him sharply.
"What makes you think he will be lenient on me? Do not presume things, Mr. Hope." She stepped closer to the bunk and tucked her hair behind her ears as she leaned down.
"Forgive me, ma'am." The sailor said quickly, "I just thought that-…"
"What do you want me to do?" She cut him off, interrupting him and he nodded before he leaned forward and parted the man's shirt.
Beatrice stumbled back in shock at the sight of his chest, "My God." She exclaimed and Anthony shook his head in agreement.
"I don't suppose you have any alcohol in your possession, ma'am." He whispered and Beatrice blinked to clear her vision before she turned to the young man.
Wordlessly, she turned on her heels and opened a small cabinet to their left. She pulled out a bottle of rum and stood there with it.
"Beatrice!" Anthony was speechless and she simply shrugged.
"Don't act so surprised, Mr. Hope. I am aboard a ship full of men." She uncorked the bottle and took a small sip to gather her courage.
"I am not ignorant of the ways of the world, Anthony. And I think tonight we will both fully realize in what kind of world we are living. Lock the door." She instructed and Anthony lingered before he snapped out of his shock and did as he was told.
Together they set to work, trying to put together the pieces of the stranger lying in front of them.
Above them, in the mist of the raging storm, right above the clouds and above every earthly thing, a seemingly neglectful God smiled.
End of chapter 1
Author's note: Thank you for reading! Ahem, thoughts, please? I love them and they will encourage me to write more…If you like it, of course!
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Until next time!
Xxx Lina ;o)