So Red your Blood – So Black the Darkness of the Night

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this. Les Miserables belonged to Victor Hugo long before I was born, and the characters used in this story belong to the actors who portrayed them in the 2012 movie, the one and only impression I ever got of this story. May everyone who loved the book or the stage performance forgive me my ignorance. This story is nothing but my personal spin … and even for me it´s far outside my usual perimeter.

I still hope you´ll enjoy it. I sure did.

Temptation

It was raining. Water on his skin, making it feel cold and numb and just drained. Weakening him. But he could stand it. He could still do his duty, watching the prisoners, and pretend at least on the outside that the wet element did not effect him at all. Others would not be able to hold up that well. One of the rare occasions when his bastard blood became a blessing for him.

At least the heavy clouds were keeping the sun away.

There might be voices within his family who claimed his mother´s side had made him weaker than the others, but for Javert it was the other half that was to be despised. No. It was his father who´d made him weak. Weak when it rained, like it did now, the strong wind of the ocean spraying the salty liquid towards the land and all over him and the other guards. Weak when the sun was shining down, heavily like it did so often here in France, on hot summer days, or clear days in winter. On such days Javert

would feel a pulsing headache, and pressure behind his forehead as if his brain was getting too voluminous to fit the inside of his skull. On such days he thanked God for the strength his mother had passed on to him. Even if she had been far from being pure and innocent, but at least she had not been that. She´d given him the blood that flowed in his veins, warm and full of life – or so it could have been, if it hadn´t been for his father´s side.

He looked down, to the prisoners, and was more than glad to be up here. If he had to stand in the water like this scum down there, he´d feel much worse. Being drenched in water all over would weaken even him enough to make it dangerous for his health. Thanks God he was a righteous man, not criminal like those. He would have died years ago, considering how long they made them work on fields all day long sometimes in the burning sun. Or deep in water, like he watched it now. A rightful punishment for men that had broken the law. A life threatening torture if you were cursed with dirty blood like he was.

Although, looking at some of those men now, the one or the other didn´t seem very healthy either. The work was hard enough to kill some of them over the years. They were only human after all, no matter how low. All of them. And all of them could die down there, from exhaustion, dropping dead without an outside reason, any time.

All of them, except for one maybe.

Javert was always able to spot him, even in the crowd. There was something strange about the man, something that made him stand out, among those other prisoners. And Javert had no idea why. He was a normal man, nothing more. And yet, he was different. It wasn´t as simple as the strength he had demonstrated on many occasions. Many prisoners developed strength over the years – as if they gained strength from the same work that made others fade away more quickly. If Javert would have believed a human being capable of that, he would have said they traded energy. Or maybe stole the spirit, sucking it from others to survive with it. Just like a vampyre, who would drink the blood of someone, to gain new strength.

But he knew that humans couldn´t do such things. So there had to be another reason why some of them got stronger, while others only sickened more and more, until they died of all their weaknesses. It was a mystery of human nature. And so was this man. At least he was to Javert.

Just as he found him in the line of the prisoners, the man looked up, directly into his eyes as it seemed. And for a moment Javert frowned, suspiciously. But of course that was ridiculous. It was coincidence that their eyes had met. The convict could not have known – or felt – that Javert was looking at him. Humans did not have this kind of intuition. Still, it was a sign of insolence. This gaze. Always so sassy and riotously. A dangerous combination. And somehow this was just as Javert expected it from that man.

He gave him a signal, pointing down with his truncheon. You´re ought to work, prisoner! You´re not to look up.

The man obeyed. For now.

Prisoner 24601. Four escape attempts. 19 years by now. He was in this prison so much longer than Javert himself. As if he was born here. But Javert knew he wasn´t. None of them was. Yet, sometimes it seemed to him as if this was exactly the place where they belonged. As if the jail was their world, another world, existing parallel to that of every other human being.

He felt a stitch of something painful at the thought, and pushed it aside. He wasn´t here to think about the past. Or worlds that might or might not even exist, apart from each other or – even less plausible, side by side, like twins of different natures.

Javert called himself to order, forcing these thoughts away. Focus, he told himself. You´re not here to solve the riddles of the world – or your own soul.

Again the convict looked up, searching for a moment until he found Javert´s gaze again. A dangerous man indeed. Javert felt his heart boil with anger. He´d done his best, with glares and punishment of all kinds, but he had not managed it to get this sassy gaze out of the man. He would still look up, again and again, directly into his eyes, daring him. Again and again. Javert hated this.

Maybe it was a good thing that he left at last. He´d been here way too long. Too long he´d dared Javert to pick him out, to look right back at him, with equality even? Who did he think he was? He was nothing. No one. He didn´t even have a name. He was a number nothing more.

Then why, why did the mere thought of him make Javert so angry? If the man didn´t mean anything, why bother? Why would he waste time, imagining how he could finally teach him respect? And by misusing his powers on top of this? Never, in his life, would Javert do such a thing. No matter how sassy a glance might be. He had no right to punish a man for being sassy. Not as long as he did not commit a crime.

Still, the thoughts were there. And Javert had noticed, not too long ago, that there was a certain regularity to them. And of course he knew, only too well, where it came from.

It was his curse. This demon deep inside of him, hidden from the world but not from him. This demon he was damned to live with, the blood of his father. If he´d had a choice he would have simply denied it, never spoken of it, and condemned it to be gone from him, as if it never was. Back to the gutter where disgusting things like that belonged. Unholy like it was. His entire existence despicable, just because a thing like him was alive in the first place.

It was in those days, when he found himself imagining to go down to the cells at night, to 24601, and take the man down. Tear him apart, like an animal. He believed that he could kill the man, despite his strength. Javert was not weak either, had an advanced strength all of his own. Especially in nights like those, that seemed to boost his energy. He could kill him, yes he could. Maybe even unseen. Unheard. All it would take would be a turn of his hand, a jerk of the man´s head, to snap his neck, tearing into his jugular, to make the blood flow.

But he would never do that. The thought alone was evil and disgusting. The fact that he would have them anyway, that he would have them in the first place, was scaring Javert deeply. Never before had he even entertained the idea of misusing his powers against a prisoner. Or worse. To kill a man to have his blood. To urge the smell, the taste of this warm and thick liquid …

It was repulsing. And it was tempting. It made his blood curl and boil all at once. He mustn´t allow this. He was stronger than this. Stronger than this lust he felt while he consumed. This mixture of intensive want and utter loathing that the thought alone awoke in him, was almost maddening. How could things be that were so controversy? How could he feel so much intensive heat towards a thing that was so fully wrong? For something that every normal and godfearing person would despise just for what it was? An abnormality. A perversity of nature.

A secret he was shamefully born with, before he´d had a chance to fight it. And now the only chance he had to be forgiven such a sin of birth, was by fighting it constantly, in life, against all urges that would drive him towards this darkness. Towards this evil.

Yes, it was good that the prisoner left. The urge to kill him got too much, and soon Javert might have succumbed. No matter how hard he fought it, those thoughts would just keep coming. He watched the man, right now, and yet again, he wanted nothing more than punish him, just for the fact that he´d awoken such primeval needs in him. He was not an animal, that had to kill for his survival. He had no reason, and no right, to kill a man, just for the kick. He fought it … but it was so strong. It was so thrilling, he could barely suppress it any longer.

Yes, 24601 had to leave. Better yesterday than today. Javert had never hungered for another man´s blood and he would not allow this prisoner to change that. The fact that he had awakened that kind of hunger in him made him all the more dangerous.

Javert looked up, at the sky. The rain was getting less, and at the horizon he saw the sun coming out, casting its warm beams of light over the ocean. Time to get down there, before it would get too much up here. It was one of the worst sorts of light, right after a storm it was blinding more than most others, and even Javert couldn´t stand it for long. Better be in the shadows, where it couldn´t reach him. He was already effected enough by the water on his skin. He didn´t need the sun on top of that. Not now that he had to be on his guard. He would have to speak to the prisoner 24601 after all. And who knew how he would react. He might as well try to attack him, and in this case Javert would need all his strength to fend him.

Maybe this thought was the reason for his order, when the convict reached him. Letting him lift a heavy mast like that all on his own, just because he had the power to order him around. It was pure harassment and he knew that. Still he gave the order.

He wasn´t sure, why he did it, and later on if anyone would have asked him, he wouldn´t have known any definitive answer. All he knew was that he wanted it. To make this prisoner feel one last time, that he was in charge, still, and that he had the right to give him orders. To let him feel it, just to remind him, what it felt like to break the law, and what would wait for him, if he should ever fail again.

Never forget this, 24601, Javert thought, and watched stony-faced how this man indeed obeyed his order. Admittance was the farthest from Javert´s mind. But every other prisoner might have refused the task, or broken down right from the start. But not this man. Not insolent one. The rioter. Was it prejudice? Pride? Unwillingness to show weakness in front of him? Javert didn´t know. All he knew was what he saw. A man too strong and too angry to be anything but dangerous. The way he threw the mast down to his feet and glared at him, was proof of that. An animal, nothing more. Oh God, how he wished to tear out his throat right here and now.

He turned away from him, quickly, opening the paper in his hand, formally like it was his duty.

"Now, prisoner 24601. Your time is up and your parole´s begun. You know what that means."

He didn´t look at the man, not while he spoke, and not while he handed him the letter. Until he heard the smile in his voice. Free? Oh no. Don´t you ever think that, you bastard.

Javert had made sure he´d not get a chance to do any damage out there. His report to the authorities about this man had stated clearly how dangerous he was. And his letter would state that too, to everyone who would read it, now and forevermore. The prisoner 24601 would not get a chance to do harm to anyone out there, for the rest of his life.

The reaction he got was almost too classic.

Imprisoned for stealing a loaf of bread. For a starving child. Yes of course, you are the personalized innocence. Like all of them who are in here. Each of them only mere victims to unfortunate circumstances and the typical cases of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Javert knew all those stories, he´d heard them over and over again. Had investigated their truth, back then when he´d been younger and new to this. When he´d still believed them. After having found them lies, he´d stopped listening to them.

"You will starve again." he foretold the prisoner. "Unless you learn to finally obey the law. It goes for everyone, not just for others, 24601."

The man glared at him, dangerously. "My name is Jean Valjean." he hissed, and for a moment Javert was taken aback. The name was like a physical punch in the face. Sassy, yet again, insisting on being a person, not just the scum that he was. The nameless victim of his bloody imaginations had become a human being.

Javert did not know why he thought it wise to hit right back, with just the same response. To give a prisoner his name was not the best idea he´d ever had. But the prisoner had started it, and somehow Javert felt as if he had to beat him with his own weapons. As if this was the only language he would understand.

Valjean.

A name. A person. A presence he could never understand.

He would not call him by that name. The number he´d worn for all these years would stay with him, and he would always be the prisoner, that had the number 24601. Don´t forget this. Don´t forget it ever. You are lucky to walk out of here. Remember that you got away. Remember that I let you go. I could have killed you, easily.

Javert looked after him, with great relief. Relief that didn´t show. He left. At last. This danger that was urging him, to give in to this animal inside. He finally was gone, from his prison and his life. And yet, even now that he watched him go, Javert could feel his blood stir, with the need to race after him, throw him down and slash his throat. Drink his blood while he was still alive.

Javert wanted to close his eyes, to will the sensation away, but he couldn´t. His gaze was fixed on the man´s back. A man so dangerous, his presence alone could have unraveled a danger much more immediate than he himself could ever be. A demon, that, once it was set free, could bring such awful harm to everyone around … and not even Javert would be able to stop it. What he was most afraid of though, was the possibility that, once this beast would be released, he wouldn´t even want to stop it anymore.

This was what he was. What he was fighting for in life. To be better than this darker half. Stronger than this urge. He had to be or he would lose. Because if he would ever give in, there would be no going back. The beast would take over and the man would perish. Every hope he held for the survival and redemption of his soul, would vanish in the dark. The realm of evil.

He could not allow this. He would prevail. He´d not allow this demon of his father´s blood to take a hold and tear him down. He would survive, as good as possible. And make up before the world and God for this sin his mere birth was.

When finally the prisoner was up the stairs, out of his reach, he did exhale. The man was in the sunlight now. And even if Javert would want it, he would do better not to follow him. Just looking up to him, in this bright light, was hard to stand. But he kept doing it, for one last glance. A warning for the convict, never to forget. And then … he was gone.

Javert looked down, allowing his eyes to recover from the burning of the light. Damn he hated this. But he was glad. Relieved. Hopeful even. Valjean – the temptation – was gone. And Javert was trying to demand the thought of him to leave as well. It would take time, he knew. For days, maybe even weeks he´d wonder, if the man was still around, in the nearer area. If he would see him one day, on a corner, in the darkness, glaring, daring him again. If he would meet him in the night, if he´d attack him, make him kill him. If he would taste his blood after all …

At last Javert managed it to will the image away. Yes, it would take time. But time he had. So much time. If there was anything he´d learned in life, then that it was a constant fight.

To fight the world was easier at times.

Don´t hesitate to let me know what you think. I´m always grateful for feedback. As I already said, I hope you enjoyed this.

And thanks for reading.