Acts of Forgiveness

by Sadeness

Inspector Javert's final thoughts before his plunge into the Seine.

Acts of Forgiveness
by Sadeness

NOTES
This spoils the ending of Les Misérables, though as it is one of the most watched Broadway play in the world (or one of them), I suppose there's not much left to spoil.

NOTE2
This is based on the ending provided by the movie Les Misérables, not the play or book, starring Liam Neeson as Valjean and Geoffrey Rush as Javert. But since there are no category in the movie section, I will post it here, as it does pertain to the book as well, and changes nothing of the actual ending itself.

***

Jean Valjean.

Those very words sends a violent tremor through my body. Why is it that every time I hear the name uttered, my reason flees and I am reduced to obsession?

He has beaten me, that is why.

I remember ... faintly, in Paris ... I would trick myself ... believed with firm conviction that I saw him fleeing amid a crowd. How often did I use my leave to travel to Vigo and search for his elusive presence? How much time have I wasted? How many nights awake and cursing his wretched name?

The snuff provides a quick, unsatisfying high. I turn the silver box in my hands - it is a painful reminder of what I have become because of Valjean. Celibate, driven, obsessed ... but how can a man who calls himself obsessed be truly so? Awareness of this fact contradicts this condition. The box makes a quiet sound as it disapears beneath the surface of the Seine. A vestige, shrugged off. I have become too old to attach romantic notions to personal items.

He has broken the law.

How can I let him go? Repeatedly he has flaunted the very flaws I have spent my whole life correcting. He slanders, he steals, he associates with whores ...

And yet ...

Given the opportunity, he spares my life.

"You're the only one who's managed to beat me."

"I'm not trying to beat you Javert!"

Have I deluded myself all these years? That I was as important to him as he was to me? He said he was nothing. The fact he had broken the law and lived a life of wealth and freedom made him much more to my eyes.

I watch the ripples of the water and ponder the situation. The memobook I carry with me is wraught with scribbles, nonsensical drivel ... Jean's name repeated over and over. I tear the sheet away and watch it swim away from me, captured by the Seine's terrible current.

I am bothered by our last encounter. Its memory remains to nag at my conscience with horrible persistance. I wonder briefly why I let it consume my thoughts. Why should he be so important?

He does not respect the law.

I hear the conveyance in the distance. That is Valjean, returning to me for his sentence. His execution. The pistol feels heavy against my side. The pencil moves of its own accord, given fancy by my ever present conscience. What am I writing? It hardly matters now.

I feel as though I have triumphed, in the end. I vowed to find him, and I have, repeatedly. Coincidences perhaps aided in my journey, but those are mere rhetorics. Have I ever vowed to kill him?

I close the notebook and stand, unholstering the pistol. It feels much heavier in my hand. Valjean has spared my life. He deserves, in the end, salvation from the quarries. I cock the pistol and watch as they escort him out of the carriage.

It is difficult for me to understand what drives a man such as him. I've spent many hours wondering that very thing. Was it the beautiful Cosette, the daughter he's never had? Was it to vicariously enjoy the love she shared with the rebellious Marius? I feel as though I have watched these people, these people who have become such an integral part of my life, and I feel ...

... nothing.

I will never be like them. I will never feel a love so strong that it should corrupt my law-abidingness - not now, not ever. And yet I've seen it so often ... I wonder, at times, if I have taken the wrong path.

My mother the whore, my father the thief. I would be so adamant in denouncing them wherever they went. My own blood. Why do I hesitate, now, with Valjean? He is nothing ... he stated as much to me.

He remains calm under my ministrations. The pistol lifts his chin and he does nothing but watch the Seine with equaminity. I see the gun steady, and yet feel as though my entire body trembles. After all these years, it has come to this. A command from thought, a twitch of the finger ... it could be over.

Over ... what would the act leave me with? These mindless dialogues I have with myself ... they all conclude the same. With Valjean gone, what do I have left?

"I am nothing Javert!"

What a fool you are, Valjean. Do you not know that you have become everything to me? With you gone, I would be no better than your rotting corpse. You have a chance at happiness. Somehow, you've shown me that reform is not a discredited fantasy.

For that, I hate you.

And for that, I give you my life. An empty shell is all that remains, and what else to do but destroy what's left?

Jean Valjean. The name no longer affects me as I feel his destined chains slip around my wrists. In this one act, I have obeyed Valjean's -- then Monsieur LaFitt -- orders that I forgive myself.

In this one act, I repent.

The water is frigid ... there is a moment of panic as it engulfs me whole, without mercy. Have I ever deserved mercy? Surely I've never accorded it. But Valjean has. That, in any case, deserves something.

The panic fades. My bound hands prevent me from swimming, but my feet kick tokenly ... without determination. Obsession has left me. Years of solitude seem meaningless now. The water is cold, numbing my body ... my feelings.

... have I ever had such a thing as feelings to numb?

Now the current takes me. It is but flesh carried on by the merciless Seine.

... God ... I repent.

LA FIN