This chapter

is dedicated

to all those

who stuck to this story

till the very end.

Cold.

It was so terribly cold.

Toby leaned tiredly against the slimy stone wall of the cell. He could feel Death prowling around, hungering for his life. Toby sighed, his breath frail and weak. How much longer did he have to stay here? How much time did he have left? A week? A day? An hour? Time was chasing after Toby, determined to finally take him once and for all. Toby was indebted to time. He should have died ten years ago, as dead as Mrs. Lovett and Mr. Todd. Now he had to pay Time back with his life.

Toby closed his eyes, breathing in the sickly air. He had somewhat lied to Constable Crane back at the docks. He really didn't mind dying, but he didn't want to die at the gallows, to die a traitor's death. But he didn't have a choice. He breathed in deeply as the bitter desolateness flooded him. To die was awfully lonely.

Speakin' o' the Constable, Toby thought bitterly. I wonder 'ow 'e's doin'...

Toby knew he should be angry. Furious that because of the nosy Constable, he was condemned to death and rotting in this dark grave. He was doing fine for ten years until now. But he wasn't angered. He felt empty and cold inside without any grudge. Perhaps it was the fact that Toby felt he deserved this fate.

But he still remained indignant that it was Crane who conversed with Mrs. Lovett and not him. He had heard her familiar voice below in the pie shoppe that fateful day, the voice he was deprived of for so long. Toby clenched his fists furiously but slowly released them, feeling an empty comfort that he was going to join Mrs. Lovett soon anyways.

"My dear boy."

Toby's eyes immediately flipped open, darting around frantically. He couldn't see anything in the bleak darkness, but a form was molding from the shadows. Toby backed away, his thin back pressing against the clammy walls.

"My darlin' Toby," the voice murmured. Toby's eyes widened as the figure approached him. Even in the pitch darkness he could recognize her.

"Mrs. Lovett," Toby whispered. Mrs. Lovett gave a watery smile as she stroked Toby's thin face. Her touch was like sunlight; warm and soothing but barely palpable. Toby shakily clutched her hand, realizing with a jolt that she was there, and not a hallucination.

"How do I know you're real?" he breathed.

"You won't know," Mrs. Lovett sighed. Toby shrunk back, eying Mrs. Lovett with glazed eyes.

"'Ow come ya come now and not before?" Toby asked feebly. "Ya only talked t' the Constable all the time, but ne'er me."

"I tried speakin' t' ya, Toby," Mrs. Lovett insisted. "But ya couldn't 'ear me."

"And what abou' now?" Toby said slowly.

Mrs. Lovett didn't speak. She only stared at Toby with such mournful eyes that it frightened him. Mrs. Lovett knew Toby's time was coming. You had to be dying or linked with the dead in order to hear spirits speaking to you.

"I'm sorry for everythin', Toby," she sniveled, choking on tears. Toby immediately knew she was talking about how she locked him in the bakehouse and tried to have him killed. "I really am. I was jus' tryin' t' 'elp Mr. T...and the Parliament would 'ave both our 'eads if ya told..."

Toby stared at the molding floor, unable to look at Mrs. Lovett in the eye. Mrs. Lovett took Toby's small hand and gripped it tightly, as if trying to warm his icy skin.

"I forgave ya a long time ago, Mrs. Lovett," Toby said, his voice faint and fragile. Mrs. Lovett smiled as Toby clutched her hand, afraid that if he let go, she would disappear.

"What abou' Mr. T, Toby," she asked softly. "Do ya still 'ate 'im?"

Toby breathed deeply, finding each inhale harder than the last. "I do," he finally managed to say. He glanced warily at Mrs. Lovett. "Did you forgive 'im?"

"Yes," Mrs. Lovett replied quietly.

"Why?" Toby exclaimed, his voice cracking. "'Ow can ya forgive someone who killed ya? Not only you, but a lot o' other people too!"

"I deserved it," Mrs. Lovett whispered. "I did somethin' terrible, Toby, and 'urt 'im badly...'e's changed after death, dearie, 'e's Benjamin Barker again...mos' o' the time."

Toby opened his mouth to demand what she was talking about, but all that came out was a wispy wheeze. Toby felt his heart weakly hammer his chest, straining to escape the defeated body. He was dying and he knew it. His senses were dulled and his sight blurry. Mrs. Lovett's voice felt faraway and muffled. Toby knew that Time was impatient.

"What do you mean, Mrs. Lovett?" Toby whispered.

Mrs. Lovett wetted her lips. Toby was a barely alive. He was like a faded pearly shadow, threatening to vanish at any second. Life was already sifting from his grasp. Mrs. Lovett nuzzled her cheek against Toby's cool forehead.

"I'll explain everythin' t' ya la'er, Toby," Mrs. Lovett whispered. "Jus' rest now. Let go, it'll all be o'er before ya know it. It won't 'urt..." Her voice trembled as a lump swelled in her throat. "We'll be together again very soon Toby, I promise. Please, jus' let go, you won't be in pain anymore."

Toby struggled for a rasping breath. To die seemed so difficult and frightening. He could already feel his strength diminish at every breath he took. He blearily reached out for Mrs. Lovett, clutching her sleeve desperately.

"Mrs. Lovett?" he murmured, his voice as fragile as a glass thread. Mrs. Lovett scooted closer, sadness glazing her eyes.

"Yes, dearie?"

"If you forgive me, I'll forgive Mr. T," he murmured, slowly closing his eyes.

"What do you need t' be forgiven for?" Mrs. Lovett asked.

"For not protectin' ya," Toby sighed. "For lettin' ya die...M'sorry, ma'am...if you could forgive someone as wicked as me, I know I'll be able t' forgive Mr. T."

Tears streamed down Mrs. Lovett's face, but her voice remained steady. She pulled Toby into a loving embrace, rocking him and burying her face into his dark hair.

"O' course I forgive ya, Toby," she whispered. "I forgave ya a long, long time ago."

Her voice had dwindled into nothingness. Toby felt the warmth of Mrs. Lovett's touch slowly melt away as darkness enveloped him like a welcoming friend. The same hug where Toby first felt love and happiness was the same embrace where he faded away with a final quivering sigh, cold and crying. When the prison guards entered the cell, ready to drag the prisoner to the gallows, they found Toby's limp and pale body curled in the corner, a broken smile softening his frozen features. His cheeks were still stained with tears.

Everyone was convinced that Toby died unloved and alone, his soul doomed to rot in the dungeons. That wasn't true. His mother had carried him home.